Jul 30
Jesus Christ. Look at him.
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Jesus Christ. Look at him.
Construction Corner with Joel Miller - Part 2
Warnings: Explicit 🔞🔥 🏳🌈 Masturbation, bi-curious!Joel, prescription drug use (antidepressants, blood pressure and anti-anxiety meds - because we do not talk about this canon fact often enough), Joel is still very hooked on that gay construction porn VHS, jerking off in the shower, fingering himself, drinking alcohol, use of a sex toy, Joel discovers his prostate 😌 Word count: +/- 3K A/N: It's been 10 (!!) months since I've last posted any fic, so I'm just going to drop this without thinking too much about editing or whatever. Skip if it ain't your thing, because it's exactly what it says on the label. Massive love to @sin-djarin @qveerthe0ry @lotusbxtch @mountainsandmayhem @perotovar in particular for enduring my existential crisises about writers' block <3
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Joel sleeps for ten hours straight, his mind reeling with images of the gay porn he watched. After three orgasms in one night, he’s exhausted - and frankly surprised he had it in him to jerk off again after he’d fucked Tess.
But the allure of watching the rest of the construction site porno, that had somehow ended up among his VHS rentals, had been too hard to resist. It was rough, almost desperate, as Young Guy surrendered himself to Boss Guy wholeheartedly.
He is hadn’t even intended to get off again, but within minutes his cock was so hard that he had no choice but to touch himself again. This time he wasn't able to stay quiet as he jerked himself off fast and hard, his breathing messed up as he couldn’t take his eyes off the screen. By the time the two actors were both coming, Joel's climax hit him too as he spilled all over his fist, the wave of pleasure not just a relief but with a sharp bite to it.
He doesn’t remember going upstairs afterwards, but when he wakes up the next morning, it’s with his face buried into a pillow. Distant fragments of a dream still float in his head; something about having had his ass eaten, and a guy on his knees in front of him, while Joel could still feel the wet traces of the man’s tongue all over his cock.
The house is oddly silent - too quiet, as it’s making Joel’s skin crawl, a restlessness that’s hard to cope with early in the morning, not used to being alone anymore. The radio chases some of it away while he has coffee and a sandwich, but somehow the living room feels like a loaded space to walk into, the stack of rental videos staring at him accusatory. It’s ridiculous, he tells himself, as he takes the dreaded tape out of his VCR and shoves it back in the white, unlabelled case, ready to return all of the video tapes - but it’s barely 7 in the morning.
It’s an instinctual response that makes him put the tapes in his bedroom, as if anyone would randomly walk into his house and start going through the stack of them, let alone play them. Before he can contemplate for too long whether that makes him paranoid, he’s saved by the phone.
“Hey, it’s me. Listen…”
Tommy.
Something tightens in his chest, making it hard to breathe momentarily, and he’s unable to focus on whatever his brother is saying. “Is Sarah okay?”, he interrupts him gruffly, ready to grab his keys and jump in his truck, but Tommy’s affirming response makes him take a beat and relax - just a little.
“Fuck. D’you know how early it is?” He tries not to snap too much as he reaches for the pill bottles on his dresser, taking a tablet out of each of them. Prilosec, Buspirone, Amlodipine- the trinity. He still doesn’t like the thought of needing to take them daily, but at least the past half year has demonstrated that they do work. Although there isn’t enough anti-anxiety medication these days to deal with calls like this about the ongoing projects, particularly when it comes to the Johnsons.
He talks Tommy through instructions to replace the missing shipment of materials, fighting the urge to take over as he normally tends to do, because he’s tired. It’s the kind of weariness that settles in your bones, much harder to get rid of than any physical fatigue. It’s a relief when he hears Maria in the background, saying something to Tommy about taking Sarah to her friend’s hair salon, and to ‘leave your brother be for the weekend, he needs the time off’ - and he’s not sure which one of those two things he’s most grateful for.
Time off rarely meant doing nothing, and today was no exception. Between overdue maintenance on the house, laundry - the endless piles from a teenager never ceased to amaze him - and running errands, it was well into the evening until he finally got to sit down.
With the groceries put off until tomorrow, dinner is a quick sandwich while he thumbs through his notepad, marking off what he’s gotten done.
- return video rentals
He stares at the note, then checks his watch, groaning when he sees how late it is. There still is just enough time before closing if he leaves now in a hurry, but the thought of going out just to return the tapes feels almost silly. Tomorrow is fine, he tells himself; it’s not like Sarah can come across them now. Besides, he still has to rewind that tape.
Thinking about the VHS makes his skin crawl, the same way it did throughout the day whenever those images would cross his mind again. It’s not even that he’s bothered by how carried away he got last night; it’s the intensity of it that still has him reeling. Particularly when spending time in Tess’ bed did nothing to chase that urge away, nor did a good night’s rest. Most of all, it felt like he didn’t have time to think about this. Not when Sarah would be back home tomorrow night, and the routine of Sunday nights would drag him right into the upcoming week and all the responsibilities waiting for him, often so overwhelming that he’d find himself reaching for an extra dose of anxiety tablets to keep going.
Not yet though. Not tonight.
Have another sandwich.
As he pulls some fixings out of the fridge, he searches for a beer before he remembers he finished those last night. A pang of annoyance hits along with that thought, as the urge for something to take the edge off is stronger than he likes to admit. After searching through the upper cabinets in the kitchen, he comes across a bottle of Jim Beam stashed away - out of reach from Sarah, and out of sight of Tommy, because some things just never fuckin’ change.
Turns out, bourbon goes down real easy with a turkey sandwich after a busy day. A part of him is ready to zonk out for the night, but that low current of electricity is still running under his skin. Clicking through channels is not much of a help; nothing is interesting enough to catch his attention, and the news outlets keep going on about the invasion in Iraq. It’s not that he doesn’t care, but the visuals and running commentary get to him too much. All it makes him think about is when Tommy was sent overseas - and the risk of that happening again, gone for god knows how long. The endless waiting for that weekly call from Tommy, because it’s the only way Joel could be reassured he was still alive.
By the time Joel finishes his third glass of bourbon, he feels a lot better. His skin seems to fit him better again, and the rising tension from earlier has subsided at last. He grabs the bottle of bourbon as he makes the rounds to turn off the lights, then makes his way upstairs, eager for the soothing heat of a shower. The steam and water help him mellow out some more as he washes his hair, and by the time he’s soaping his body with the shower gel, he’s half hard and eager for some more specific touch.
He groans as he lazily pumps his fist around his cock, leaning his head back against the shower wall as he closes his eyes. It doesn’t surprise him that his mind wanders off to the video again, mentally replaying the scene where Younger Guy gets his ass eaten. He hesitates for a moment, but his horniness and the alcohol in his bloodstream get the best of him, making his brain feel even more fuzzy as he reaches back to touch himself. Not all that new, he realizes now, as his fingers move instinctively, because there have been more than a few nights in the past with Tess - both of them tangled up in her bedsheets for the evening or a weekend, her body hot and sweaty against him.
He can almost taste her pussy on his lips again, and how she’d gush over his fingers or tongue after several orgasms. The breathless way she’d say his name, hoarse and wrung out, practically urging him to stop, even though her body remained so damn responsive. He enjoyed playing with her like that, seeing how swollen she was for him, her clit so sensitive that he could see it throb whenever he’d blow cool air on her.
“Joel, I can’t,” her words slurred together, but he could never turn away from that sight. Especially not when he’d see more slick drip out of her, gleaming in the dim light of the bedroom, as it’d spill down over her asshole. He ran his thumb through it, spreading it over her tight rim, and heard her gasp - saw how needily her hips pushed up towards him, now in a different way than before. It didn’t take much to figure out what she liked, how easily she took one finger and more once that muscle relaxed, and how dizzy with desire it’d made him to feel her heat when she’d clamp down on his fingers, crying out his name as he fingerfucked her like that while eating her out.
In that same way, it takes Joel very little effort to find out what it is he likes. That same heat flaring in his belly as he runs his finger over his asshole, exploring tentatively at first, his other hand still wrapped tightly around his cock. But soon that grip loosened considerably, his attention now focused on the slight pressure of his finger tip slipping inside, and - oh. Oh, fuck. He bites his lip hard, trying to control his breathing that has suddenly sped up, and for a moment it overwhelms him. Even without touching his dick, he can see it jerk in response to the new sensation, and all he can think about is that he needs more.
The second time his finger slips in easier, spit serving as an improvised compromise for lube. He’s able to manage his breathing slightly better now, flashbacks haunting him of how he’d urged Tess to relax into the feeling. The heat in his lower belly is rapidly growing, and when his mind flits back to that fuckin’ tape, the response from his body is so instant and eager that it nearly makes him dizzy. The vague thought he had a moment earlier - that maybe Tess would be up for slipping him a finger - is gone now, his heart feeling like it’s going to hammer out of his chest as he pictures Boss Guy’s dick pushing into Younger Guy’s hole, and the loud moans coming from both of them. When did ‘being filled’ suddenly end up so high on his list - all because of one damn VHS?
“Fuck.” He grits his teeth as his legs feel unsteady, then manages to turn around and rest his forehead against the wet shower wall, feeling the warm water beating down on him. Somehow maintaining his balance is easier this way, and slowly he feels the tension in his shoulders creep away, just like the previously tense muscles in his legs. It feels like there’s more room now behind him to continue what he’s doing, somehow the position being easier on his arm too. The angle is still awkward though, but that last bit of practical thought is quickly chased away as he takes his dick in his spare hand, letting the sensation drown out the rational parts of his brain.
Not so much the other thoughts, though.
The look on Younger Guy’s face, pleasure with just an occasional hint of pain as Boss Guy fucks him hard. The way the camera pans away from his face after a little bit, showing how he’s leaking on the ground, then the view of Boss Guy’s hands grabbing onto the younger man’s meaty thighs. A close of Boss’ cock - fuck, oh, FUCK -, thick and flushed with an angry red color, as he’s pounding the younger guy’s round ass like there’s no tomorrow. Heavy balls slapping against those cheeks, the dark thick pubes damp with sweat and other fluids. It makes Joel wonder how it would feel, to have that guy’s hand resting on the back of his shoulders or neck. Holding on to steady him, or that thick arm around his waist as he-…
The sensation hits him hard when his finger thrusts deeper inside than planned, and for a second he feels like he’s going to black out. The heat in his lower belly combusts in a way he hasn’t experienced before, zapping shockwaves through his body and up to his brain. He cries out in pleasure, a howl he almost doesn’t recognize as his own, but he curves his finger once more to push against that spot inside, which is way more sensitive than he had ever even considered before. Again and again and- oh, FUCK.
His hips jolt as the repeated stimulus quickly becomes too much, way too much and too quickly - pushing against the edge of pain in a way that feels both surprisingly good and like he’s going to pass out. With effort he regains the sense of mind to slip his finger out, resting his forehead against the wall as he pants heavily, almost unable to catch his breath. He expects to see his release painted all over the tiles, but instead there’s nothing but drops of water rolling down the wall. His cock is still rock hard, too, a fat bead of precum welling at the tip, and for a moment Joel’s brain is too scrambled to figure out what’s going on.
He turns off the water as he stumbles out of the shower, automatically reaching for a towel before he pauses, then re-routes to the handsoap for a quick wash.
Too much. He drank too much, probably, then got horny and… somewhat carried away. But he wants more - another drink to make his head buzz as much as his body is doing right now. Something to match that feeling in his lower belly, until that is the only thing that drowns out his thoughts and makes it feel like he doesn’t even have to think about anything anymore.
He pours himself another glass, savoring the smokey warmth of the whiskey when it hits his tastebuds again, and this time he doesn’t think - or hesitate - as he pushes the VHS tape into the VCR, then turns the tv on.
Nobody knows.
On screen, Younger Guy has Boss Guy’s dick down his throat.
Fuck- it’s really the whole damn thing.
There should be lube in his nightstand, he remembers finally. But what he finds in addition to that bottle while searching the back of the drawer is about the last thing he expects. Brightly colored silicone, of which he has no memory, but must have been Tess’ at some point.
There’s no way the battery on this thing still works.
On screen, Younger Guy’s mouth is slick with precum when he pulls back - his lips ruddy and beautifully bruised as he gazes up at Boss Guy. Joel knows there’s some kind of dialogue happening, but the words aren’t registering with him. All he hears in that moment is the silicone buzzing in his hand when he presses the innocuous looking button.
Shit. Is he really going to do this?
The rest of his bourbon burns while going down as he swallows it - the ol’ cliche liquid courage that makes him feel like he’s fuckin’ nineteen and trying to talk himself into something. The visuals and sounds coming from the tv help to distract him just enough to not think too closely about how his hand shakes slightly, or the loud squirting noise from the lube.
“Please, fuck me,” Younger Guy gasps on screen as Boss Guy pushes him down, manhandling him on his knees and into the position he wants. Joel’s eyes fall shut as he feels the pressure against his asshole again, definitely not just his finger anymore, and his hips buck up as the vibrations rock his lower body more intensively than he was expecting.
Goddamnit, that feels really fucking good. Wait. Easy. You can’t have that thing on and then…
Minutes later, the lubed toy is inside of him and Joel is so far gone that he can hardly think anymore. Stroking his leaking dick with one hand, feeling painfully hard at this point, he switches the device back on with his other hand. The rush hits him immediately, making him gasp as it rocks through his entire body, and he comes so much harder than he expected - spilling all over himself and the sheets, as it feels like his heart is going to hammer right out of his chest.
The moment he catches his breath, he fumbles to turn that damn thing off, which is anything but easy. It’s not just that he feels wrecked, but he can tell how dangerously fast it’s trying to push him beyond the boundaries of what’s comfortable - and the last thing he needs is for this to go wrong or have him end up in the ER like some TLC show.
Well. You actually went there, huh Miller?
It feels like he has no brain left - at this point, it seems pretty plausible that it must’ve melted and leaked right out of his ears. The vibe ends up wrapped into a bunch of tissues and pushed somewhere into the back of his nightstand, and he lazily grabs a nearby shirt to use as a cumrag as he wipes himself down. He’s already half asleep as he watches the rest of the scene play out on his tv, but by the time Younger Guy and Boss Guy are being replaced by another onscreen couple, Joel is out cold.
He doesn’t hear his cellphone buzz, or the voicemail that Tommy leaves for him.
“We’ll pick you up at 11 am, alright Joel? Don’t oversleep, you grumpy bastard. We’ve got plans for tomorrow.”
New Pajama - Daddy!Whiskey x f!reader
Pairing: Daddy!Whiskey x f!reader
W/C: 2K
Tags/Warnings: 18+ MDNI, DDLG (HEAVY use of 'daddy' nickname), soft Dom/Sub dynamic, a lot of baby talk, teasing, oral (f receiving), allusion to sex (no actual sex happening, oral only)
A/N: Daddy!Whiskey fics after a long hiatus. For a refreshing start :)
Summary: Daddy Whiskey gives you a surprise after coming home late from work. You're really excited to find out what the surprise is going to be.
Daddy Whiskey left you for work leaving you with the whole house, your toys, and your stuffies. You are really bored even though daddy bought you a lot of toys and stuffies to play with. It's 5 p.m. and he's not gonna come home soon. He usually gets home at 9 p.m. or around midnight lately.
"It's so boooriiinggg!" you whine at nothing.
"When is Daddy gonna be home…"
You pick up your phone that your daddy gave you for Valentine's Day. You're not allowed to play it without daddy by your side. It's only for online shopping or for watching cartoons on YouTube with daddy. You are only allowed to call daddy when you are in danger or need him in an urgent situation. You pick it up and dial daddy's number anyway. You are a brat like that. Daddy always has to discipline you with his paddle or rope. It's not a punishment to you, though. You like it too much.
The phone is ringing…
Ringing…
"Baby? You 'kay?" Daddy picked up immediately after two rings and you can clearly hear that his voice panicked a little.
"Umm… m'kay, daddy. I just… miss you a lot." You pout at him even though he can't see you. But he always knows.
"Baby girl… you know the rules. You don't call daddy if it's not urgent, honeybun." His voice is a little bit stern because you know you broke his rule.
"Daddy, pleaaase!! Come home already. I pwomise I'm gonna be a good girl." You're whining and begging for your daddy.
"I'm at work right now, baby… I can't." His voice cracks with regret, and you can picture him rubbing his tired eyes.
"Umm…" You whine and he can hear you about to cry already.
"Okay, honeybun, I'll make you a deal. If you can be a little bit more patient for daddy, I'll have a surprise for you. Deal?" He's really good at making an offer for you to always obey his rule.
“What’s the surprise, daddy???” You asked giddy and excited.
He laughed “Well… it’s a surprise, baby. I can’t tell you.. yet”
"M'kay, daddy. Pwomise?" You ask, hoping it's gonna be another toy or stuffie.
"I promise, baby. Okay, see you soon, babygirl." He promises and hangs up the phone.
You wait maybe two hours or so, playing with your toys, eating your snacks, watching TV, and taking a nap. Then finally you hear a car coming closer to the house.
"It's daddy!" You yelp and immediately get up from your playmat and run to the door.
You open the door for him while he gets out of the car on the driveway. His shoulders slump as he steps out of the car, his tie loosened, his eyes heavy with the weight of the day. But the moment his gaze finds you at the door, the weariness softens, and a tired but genuine smile curves his lips.
"Daddy!" You scream and let your daddy in. When you are about to hug him, he stops you and kisses your forehead.
"Babygirl, thank you for waiting for me. I’m sorry you can’t hug me right now, baby. I don’t want your cute little dress to get dirty.
You pout and give your best puppy eyes.
“Hey don’t be pouting at daddy now. Remember? I got a surprise for yoy, baby. Here's your surprise!" He gives a big brown bag and hands it to you while holding your small waist to make you go inside the house with him.
"Oof, thankie daddy! What's dis?" You question and sit on your playmat again while daddy puts all his stuff on the kitchen counter and grabs a bottle of whiskey from the pantry.
"Hold up, babygirl. Don't open it yet. You gotta take a big bath with me first, will ya?" He pours and gulps his glass of whiskey to relax his mind a bit before the bath.
"Okie, daddy! Comin'!" You're already getting excited and taking off your clothes right there and then. "I will take duckies with me."
He laughs whole heartedly witnessing your cute acts in front of him “Okay, baby. I’ll get the bath ready.”
He goes to the master bathroom to prepare the bath. Pouring in bubble soap that smells like candy that you like so much. Also, light the small woody scent candle near the bathtub carefully so there’s no accidental kicking the candle. He’s taking his clothes off when you come in with the duckies.
"Aww, you bring duckies with us. How sweet of you, honeybun." He looks at you, already half hard, imagining you wearing his surprise gift later. "Come on, the water is already hot."
He helps you get in and sit in the tub, then he grabs both of your soap and shampoo from the tall stool. When he gets in, he finally can relax his body with you in front of him. He hugs you and kisses you from behind. You giggle a bit because you are really happy because daddy’s home.
"My babygirl. I love you so much." He continually showers you with praises while shampooing and soaping your body and hair. He always makes sure to get all of your body really clean because you were playing all day when he's gone, so you don't get a rash or a cut because of your sensitive skin. When he gets to your boobs, he always massages them a little bit and teases your nipples.
"Ummhh… daddy…"
"What is it, honeybun, hm?" The innocence in his tone is a lie, and you both know it. He knows exactly what you need, he's just making you say it. Making you beg.
"Daddy, pwease…" You whine even more when he pinches your nipples.
"Use your words, babygirl." His voice is a low rumble against your ear, and you feel the slick glide of his cock pressing against the small of your back, sliding up and down with lazy, torturous patience.
"I- more, pwease, more…" You grab his strong biceps to hold on and encourage him to place his hand on your pussy.
"Uh-huh. Patience, baby. I want to tease you a little bit more, so you can be nice and wet for daddy to play with later, hm? You want to open your present, right?" He whispers and keeps massaging your boobs and teasing your nipples.
"Ye-yes, daddy. Pwease, I wanna cum, daddy, pwease." You whine even louder and claw at his biceps.
"Shh… shh… you don't get to cum after you broke daddy's rule today, honeybun. After this, you're gonna do what I asked, okay? Then daddy will decide if you can cum or not, understand?" He gets a real grip on your left boob, and the other hand cups your pussy under the water.
You nod furiously. If he makes a sudden move and touches you more than this, maybe you'll cum right there and then. You are so horny, you can cum even when he touches you like this.
"Use. Your. Words. Understand?" He punctuates every word with a playful slap on your left boob.
"YES- yes, daddy, I understand!" You yelp with every slap.
"Good girl. Okay, let's get up and dry up." He gets up and picks you up to dry you with your pink princess towel. You can see his red and raging cock, ready to explode his cum. But he doesn't. Your daddy is really good when it comes to patience and holding his wants and needs just for you.
"Go get your present and bring it here, baby." He commands while he also dries up and puts on his briefs.
You run, still naked, to pick up the brown bag from the living room and bring it to the bedroom. You sit on the bed while he towers in front of you.
"Now, you can open your present, baby." He smiles and kisses your forehead before you open it with excitement written all over your face.
It's a new pajama. The one that you always wanted, and it's got dino nuggies printed all over the onesie.
"DADDY! THANKIE, DADDY! I WOVE YOU!" You screamed and jumped to hug your daddy real tight.
"You're welcome, honeybun. Go ahead, put it on." He smiles and laughs happily because he knows that you always wanted this type of onesie, but you never got it yourself because you're afraid that anyone who comes to the house will judge you for being weird.
When you put it on, his raging boner bobs in his brief. You can see it clearly. "Like dis, daddy?" You shyly ask for his praises.
"Oh, babygirl. You look so beautiful in it. Can I play with you now?" He grabs your chin so you can look up at him. He smiles at you sweetly.
"Yes, daddy, pwease. I want daddy." You spread out your arms, trying to hug your daddy.
He hugs you tight and pushes you onto the bed. He quickly gets on top of you on the bed. "Relax, baby. I want to taste you. Can I?" He asks so nicely.
"Yes, pwease." You hug his neck and let his hands explore your body a bit.
"I know you like this kind of pajama, honey… but I also like this pajama because…" His hands start to explore your crotch area and unbutton the either side until it opens up. "I can open up these buttons whenever I want… right, baby?"
"Mhmm.." you whisper, your voice small and breathless.
He hums approvingly, his fingers tracing the exposed skin of your inner thighs. The cool air hits your wet pussy, and you shiver, arching your hips up toward his touch instinctively. He chuckles low in his throat.
"So eager for me tonight, honeybun. What did you do while I was gone? Did you touch yourself?"
You shake your head furiously, eyes wide and honest. "No, daddy. Pwomise. I waited."
"Good girl." His thumb finds your clit, circling it slowly, deliberately. "Such a good girl for waiting. But you still broke my rule, didn't you? Called me when you weren't supposed to."
You whimper, hips grinding against his thumb. "M'sorry, daddy. I just- I missed you so much."
"I know you did, baby. I missed you too." He leans down, his lips brushing your ear, his voice dropping to a velvet growl. "That's why I'm going to be gentle with you tonight. But you still need to be reminded who's in charge, don't you?"
You nod frantically, already lost in the slow circles he's drawing on your clit.
He pushes two fingers inside you without warning, and you gasp, clawing at the sheets. He pumps them slowly, curling them just right, watching your face twist with pleasure.
"Look at you," he murmurs, mesmerized. "So pretty. So wet. All for daddy."
"All for you," you echo, your voice breaking. "Only you, daddy."
He speeds up his fingers, his thumb pressing hard on your clit, and you feel the pressure building, coiling tight in your belly. You're so close, so desperate, your thighs trembling around his hand.
"Not yet, babygirl." He pulls his fingers out just as you're about t cum, and you cry out in frustration. He brings his fingers to his lips, tasting you, his eyes dark with hunger. "You don't cum until I say so. Understood?"
"Yes, daddy," you whimper, tears pricking at your eyes.
He smiles, sweet and cruel, and lowers his head between your thighs. "Good girl. Now let daddy taste you properly."
His tongue is hot and flat against your pussy, and you gasp, your hips jerking up toward his mouth. He groans against you, the vibration sending sparks through your entire body. He licks you slowly, deliberately, from your entrance all the way up to your clit, savoring you like you're his favorite meal.
"Daddy," you whimper, your fingers threading through his hair. "Feels so good."
He hums in response, wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking gently. Your back arches off the bed, a broken moan spilling from your lips. He holds your hips down with one strong arm, keeping you steady while his tongue works you into a frenzy.
He alternates between soft, teasing licks and firm, focused circles, bringing you right to the edge before pulling back. He's torturing you, and you both know it. Every time you're about to fall apart, he slows down, letting you hover in that desperate, aching space.
"Please, daddy," you beg, your voice raw and shaky. "Please let me cum. I'll be good for you. I pwomiisseee pleaaseee, daddyy"
He lifts his head just enough to look at you, his chin glistening with your wetness. "You promise?"
You nod furiously, desperate. "Yes, daddy. I promise. Anything."
He smirks, lowering his mouth back down. "Then cum for me, babygirl."
His tongue presses flat against your clit, firm and relentless, and his fingers slide inside you again, curling against that perfect spot. You shatter instantly, crying out his name, your body trembling and bucking against his face. He doesn't stop, working you through every wave of your orgasm until you're whimpering and pushing his head away, too sensitive to take more.
He crawls up your body, kissing a trail from your belly to your chest to your neck, and finally captures your lips. You taste yourself on his tongue, and it makes you blush, pressing closer to him.
"You did so well, honeybun," he whispers against your mouth. "Such a good girl for me."
You nuzzle into his neck, still catching your breath. "Love you, daddy."
"I love you too, baby." He wraps his arms around you, pulling you tight against his chest. His hard cock presses against your thigh, and you can feel how much he wants you. But he doesn't rush. He never does.
"Rest for a minute," he murmurs, stroking your hair. "Then daddy's going to take care of you again. All night long."
You smile against his skin, safe and warm and completely his.
°❀.ೃ࿔* Lesson Eight: it’s probably a bad idea to wear your exes ex-wife’s clothes, even in an emergency°❀.ೃ࿔
Spotify | pintrest visuals | masterlist | ao3 | kofi
*the formatting of this is weird cause I’m uploading on my phone- I’ll fix the spacing when I’m on my computer :)
Chapter summary: you wake up at Joel's house and are surprised at how...calm he is
Authors note: HEY PEOPLE! THIS IS EARLY CAUSE IM GOING OUT OF STATE TOMORROW AND WONT HAVE MY COMPUTER TEEHEE. I LOVED WRITING THIS CHAPTER I LOVE WRITING THEM INTERACTING BUT
MAJOR TW FOR PAST RAPE DESCRIBED
I also want to draw attention to this post I made if you haven’t seen it ☺️ love you all
Wednesday, September 2003.
Listen.
Listen.
You didn’t mean to get wasted and show up at Joels trailer. Do you really mean to do anything when you drink? You didn’t go into that bar with the intention of becoming inebriated and going to Joels. You went into that bar because you didn’t want to go home in tears again. You wanted to let your anger out at your stupid fucking cunt employer in a healthier way.
At least she had the courtesy not to do it before the school day started so you wouldn’t go through the entire work day in a complete rage that affected your job performance.
You had just finished organizing some of the reading binders for tomorrow when Karens unmistakeable figure appeared in the doorway.
“Let’s have a little chat in my office,” she didn’t even greet you, her voice devoid of that overly sarcastic happiness she put on. Something was wrong. Again. Hell, she was so rigid that her bracelets weren’t even clacking on her arm.
After yesterday, you just were not in the mood to deal with anymore bullshit. You did exactly what you told your brother. You started to implement some different methods from Sarah that you knew had been shown to help children with dyslexia. Just by the sheer grin on her face during the whole lesson, you knew that you were doing the right thing. You hadn’t seen her smile this widely once, not even when you were letting the kids do some free coloring, which she seeed to enjoy too. No, this joy that she was experiencing came from finally understanding. Like when you spend your whole life only seeing blurriness, and you think it’s normal until you start wearing glasses.
Karen didn’t sit at her desk after shutting the door behind her. She just leaned against it, arms crossed.
“Who do you think you are?”
Your lips parted, but your throat suddenly felt dry. You had no idea what she was talking about.
“I’m going to keep this brief, because honestly, I’m so aggravated with you I don’t even want to look at you in my building right now.”
“I don’t understand - “
She held her hand up.
“Shut up. Honestly, just shut up. Don't you dare play dumb with me,” she scoffed. “You came down here from Boston with your fancy little awards, your high-and-mighty attitude, and your tragic little brain condition, and you honestly thought you could treat this district like your personal playground?”
You were rarely so gobsmacked that you were unable to defend yourself. Actually, you were quite good at snapping back quickly and not stuttering. But hearing your boss say “tragic little brain condition?”
That was new.
“I got a phone call first thing this morning from Joel Miller.”
There it is.
"He told me everything. He told me how you cornered him before back-to-school night even began. How you dragged him into a school supply closet and screamed at him like a unhinged lunatic. I know you’ve been gone, but do you realize that he is a respected business owner in this city? He is a hard-working father trying to raise a daughter completely by himself, and you are using your position as an educator to terrorize his family because you can't cope with a car wreck. Lets face it yeah? People get in car crashes every day. You aren’t special."
"That's not…that's not what happened," you choked out. "He was - I was trying to tell him about Sarah’s panic attack -"
"I don't give a damn about your excuses," Karen leaned in so close you could see the tiny veins in her nose. The botox really was not helping her this close. "You are acing like a bitter girl who is letting her personal vendettas infect a 1st grade classroom. You think you can just slap a label like 'dyslexia' on a child just to get back at the man who broke your heart? It is disgusting.
She sighed and rolled her head, her neck crackling in the process.
“I am warning you right now. You breathe in Sarah Miller's direction the wrong way, you look at Joel with anything less than perfect, submissive professionalism, or you drop one more of your little psychological theories on that family, and I will personally see to it that you are blacklisted from every school board in the state of Texas. You are on thin ice. Now get the hell out of my sight."
You didn't say a word to defend yourself. You couldn't. You were drowining in your own humiliation and the burning sensation in your face was almost painful.
You grabbed your tote bag off the chair, your fingers shaking so badly you almost dropped it, and practically threw your weight against the office door to escape. You sprinted through the hallway. There was an irony in the colorful art on the walls making you feel like you were suffocating.
You didn't even make it to the sidewalk. You collapsed against the brick wall of the school building, your knees buckling as you slid down to the concrete, and burst into tears. The shaking in your hands spread to your whole body as you buried your face in your hands, trying to hide the sound of your crying - as if it wasn’t obvious why a 29 year old woman was sitting in a parking lot.
He called her.
Joel had actually called her. He stood there and watched you be vulnerable with him (after you said some not so kind things first…), he watched you be honest about your conditions and your desire to help his daughter who is clearly struggling and his first thought was to try and ruin your livelihood. He was such scum that he wanted you broke, jobless, and humiliated in the city where you grew up. Again.
You were an unconditionally angry woman. It wasn’t something you could hide from other people, clearly, because your mother loved to remind you of it at every waking moment. Said that’s why you never dated after Joel, because “boys don’t like girls who are angry about everything.”
You never had the energy to explain to her that that wasn’t why you weren’t dating. And either way, you didn’t want to hide that about yourself. God forbid you still felt something! Everyone was so neutral and bland lately that you would take being angry over being emotionally gray any day.
You felt the anger building up in you again. Every time you thought of him, you smelled burning rubber and a loud shriek tore through your ears. You knew no one else could hear it, but that didn’t make it any less real to you. Any less loud. And as you pressed your palms flat against your eyes, weeping into the afternoon, you realized you didn't just hate him.
You wished the car had rolled a dozen more times. You wished the steering wheel had crushed him. You wished, with every single vengeful fiber of your soul, that Joel Miller was fucking dead.
You also wished you had a drink.
You swallowed back your next batch of tears and stood up, dusting your skirt off to no reward, because you were covered in endless pavement dust. The only bar you thought you could get yourself to was O’Malley’s, the pub that all of the college kids went to. It was kind of a rite of passage for the Dallas youth. Go to O’Malley’s and you are christened as an adult.
Joel never wanted you to go there. Even when you turned 21, he kept saying that it was skeevy and he didn’t want any weird guys touching up on you. Well look how far that mindset got him. Almost a month later, you were assaulted at a Halloween Party.
One of your last attempts at salvaging your relationship with Joel was inviting him to your friends Halloween party. You adored Halloween and for the past years while you and Joel were dating. He always let you dress him up in a cheesy couples costume, for one, but you also just historically had a good time. A lot of the Saint Patricks parties you ended up puking on your dorm floor, and the Christmas party, one of your friends would get too drunk and then the other girls would get mad at her and there was stupid fucking drama.
But Halloween? That was your holiday.
Joel had been making less and less trips to your school by then, even though he was the one who wanted you to go there so he could visit you more often. And you hoped by inviting him, maybe he could see why the two of you fell in love in the first place. Remind him that the world could be fun with the two of you in each others lives.
…
It was not fun.
The first warning that you should have cancelled the whole night was that he refused to do the costume. Which, fine, you can’t make someone where a costume if they don’t want to. But that wasn’t the Joel you knew. He sucked it up every year becasue he knew how much you loved and now you weren’t worth the energy anymore.
The second warning was that he didn’t say anything when you opened the door for him. No loving hug or ‘I missed you so much!’ He just looked at your costume - Vivian Ward because you had expected him to be your Edward - gave you a half smile, said “nice,” and went to grab a beer. You had immediately turned and went into your room and cry while one of your roommates rubbed your back and tried to tell you how beautiful you looked.
But you didn’t care what anyone thought if it wasn’t Joel.
The third warning came once the party started. You kept trying to hold his arm and introduce him to some of your newer friends that he hadn’t met yet because you were proud to call him your boyfriend. You spoke so much about him, and you didn’t want to make him feel nervous about not knowing anyone, so you thought that was the right thing to do.
Some random frat boy you were introducing him to had made a comment to Joel about stocks and how his exams are going and you jumped in to save him. It was some stupid shit like, “Oh, Joel doesn't have to worry about midterms, he's actually running things up in Dallas while we're all playing student.”
You thought it was nice. It was true afterall. You had helped him get Miller Construction going and he was thriving. You wanted it to sound like he was ahead of the curve, more adult than all of these children.
You realized maybe he took it the wrong way when he grabbed your bicep tight and whipped you around to face him. His pupils used to be huge when they looked at you. Now they were just slits, like a snakes.
“You think you’re so fucking slick don’t you?” He didn’t bother lowering his voice. He was drunk enough that he thought the room was just you two. “You just love pulling my strings in front of your little rich friends, thinking it’s so funny to remind everyone that I don’t go to school. That I'm just the grease-ball you drag down here to make yourself look charitable?”
“Baby, no, that’s not what I meant -”
“Just shut up,” he said so aggressively that the girl standing next to him gasped. "You're embarrassed of me. You've been embarrassed of me since you got your acceptance letter. You just wanted to drag me down here to put on a show and remind me of my place. Well, congratulations. You made it real clear."
Your lips were parted and your eyes quickly flooded with tears, the kind that came on so violently and out of control, you couldn’t even bite your cheek to stop them. You dropped his arm and turned on your heel, running down the apartment hallway until you got to your room.
It was the second time you had cried that night, and the walls of your room felt entirely too thin as the bass from the party vibrated through the floorboards. You honestly wished that something happened to make him hate you. That would break you, but it would feel better than this mess of wondering what you did to make him hate you so much.
Maybe that’s just what happened with you. Maybe you let people get close to you and then they ran away.
Anna, one of your 4 apartment roommates snuck in maybe 5 minutes later, holding 2 red solo cups filled with vodka cranberry - your favorite. How sweet.
She put your cup on your dresser and rubbed your back while you tried to suffocate yourself in your own pillow. But when you kept breathing, you rolled over so you could look at her while she spoke.
“Honestly, babe, he’s such a caveman,”She handed you your drink. “He completely embarrassed you out there…who does he think he is? You got a book deal in college and he’s just doing jack shit at home. He’s holding you back honestly. If I were you, I would dump him.”
You took a big gulp of your drink and grimaced at the burning. Sure alcohol made you more sociable, but the process of becoming more sociable sucked. Anna stayed for a few mintes, echoing the same old, “break up with him!” and performative friend shit. “You’re too hot for him!” And whatever. But her gaze kept flickering to the door and you knew that she really didn’t want to be there. You knew her goal for tonight was to take home the guy from the crew team that she was talking to.
When her cup was empty, she stood up, patted your knee, and left another full cup on your nightstand. "Don't hide in here all night, okay? Get numb and come back out."
It was stupid advice. But, it was the only advice you had. You spent the next hour (or so) drinking your vodka cran and then you moved onto your personal bottle of titos you kept under your bed and away from your RAs. Usually Anna bought all of the alcohol for parties since she turned 21 first, but your treat for yourself when you turned 21 was your own bottle.
You spun it open and nursed…a majority of the bottle. Fuck, it must have been the equivalent of 8 shots that you drank? You drank until your brain was a heavy and spinning like a planet. You were plastered, the room tilting every time you blinked. But none of that mattered.
You wanted Joel to come through the door. You wanted him to hold you, to apologize, to tell you he loved you enough to override the anger. That’s what he always did afterall. He wasn’t a man of many words, so any time you were sad or upset, he would usually come into your room and hold you while you cried or grumbled about what he did to annoy you, and then he would apologize profusely in your ear.
So when the door opened…of course drunk you assumed it was him.
The man had the exact same stature as Joel, with big, broad shoulders that always made you feel small.
Of course when the man’s boots scraped across your floor you though it was Joel. He was the only man you would know that would wear heavy boots to a Halloween party.
"Joel..." you whimpered, your slurred voice thick with alcohol and tears as you reached your arms up in the dark. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..."
The man didn’t speak to you. Just like Joel did. God, every single day you wished up and down that the man who came into your room spoke a single world sooner, because you would recognize your Joels voice anywhere, drunk or not.
He just leaned down and grabbed your waist, pulling you up toward him. When his mouth met yours, he tasted like beer, which Joel had been drinking, and cigarette smoke, which Joel had been smoking. It was like forcing broken puzzle pieces together. It was him. He came back to fix it.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your fingers in his hair, seeking the comfort of his body to erase the horrible things he'd said in the kitchen. Something felt wrong when you realized how fast he was moving. The man didn’t touch you slowly the way Joel usually did, because he knew going too fast made you anxious. This man was rougher, pushing your skirt up around your waist without any of the foreplay Joel gave you. But, you were too drunk to question it, too desperate for the validation of his touch to notice the slight difference in the way his hands held your hips.
He unbuttoned his jeans, his heavy breathing the only sound over the distant thud of the bass in the living room. He didn't ask if you were ready. He just pinned your wrists to the mattress and penetrated you in a single, sharp motion.
A soft gasp left your lips, your head rolling back into the pillow as the reality of the weight above you started to feel heavy, almost suffocating. You shifted beneath him, your hands coming up to rest flat against his chest, trying to find the familiar rhythm of the man you loved.
"Joel..." you whispered into the dark. "Joel, slow down... please."
The man above you paused, his movements pausing for a fraction of a second as he looked down at your face. He let out an unfamiliar chuckle.
"Joel's out on the porch, babe," the man said confidently. "But you're doing just fine."
Your boyfriend had the smoothest southern drawl you had ever heard. It had this calming factor that stopped your blood from boiling. It was a voice you recognized anywhere, and that was not your boyfriend's voice.
You had never experienced such a shock that your drunkenness completely evaporated. You didn’t realized biology worked like that. But your drunken giddy worldview froze instantly - the chest under your hands wa a hockey jersey, not a flannel like Joel’s. The cigarette smell wasn’t from smoking. It was from the firepit in the student commons.
This wasn't your Joel.
Your eyes went wide in the pitch-black room, your panic locking your joints as the stranger moved inside of you, entirely oblivious to the absolute horror shattering your soul in the dark.
Not Joel. Not Joel. Not Joel.
A violent surge of adrenaline fought to break through the paralysis of the alcohol, screaming at you to push him off, to fight, to scream. You shoved your palms against his jersey, your fingers digging in as you tried to wrench your body sideways. You tried to swing at him a few times, but he pinned your arms above your head.
"Get off…Get off me - "
No matter how hard you jerked your body around him, yor limbs felt uncooperative under his weight. He didn't even seem to register your struggle. To him, your frantic pushing was probably just you getting closer and closer to an orgasm.
When your body registered that you couldn’t get him off of you, it shut down. Your throat stopped making noise. Every time you tried to draw in enough air to make a sound, the smell of his unfamiliar sweat choked you. You were completely trapped.
So, you just stopped trying.
Your arms fell limp against the sheets, your fingers curling into the fabric as you stared blindly up at the pitch-black ceiling, praying to whatever God was out there that it would be over soon. You forced your mind to leave your body and retreat deep into the quietest corner of your own head while the stranger finished.
When he finally pulled away, the only thing you processed was the mattress lifting. You heard the rustle of his clothes, the slide of his belt buckle, and then the quiet creak of your bedroom door opening and closing. So quiet, like he knew what he just did was wrong. And he did it anyway.
It took a moment for your brain to catch up with your body.
But the one consistent?
You needed Joel.
He was the only person who could wash away the touch of the stranger. If Joel was here, he would fix it. He had to. He fixed everything.
You scrambled off the bed, your knees immediately buckling as the floor tilted beneath you. You caught yourself on the edge of the nightstand, knocking the empty plastic cups to the floor. Your hands shook uncontrollably as you pulled your skirt down, your fingers fumbling with the fabric of your shirt.
This was so wrong. Everything was wrong.
You pushed the bedroom door open. The party was still raging on - of course it was. Because no one heard you silently losing autonomy of your own body in the other room.
"Joel?" you slurred, your voice cracking as you stumbled into the living room, your eyes frantically scanning the crowd. You pushed past a group of guys by the sofa. "Joel?!"
"Hey, you okay?" someone called out, but you ignored them, your boots slipping on a spilled drink as you made your way toward the back porch. You didn’t care if you made a scene. No one would remember tonight in the morning.
The porch was crowded with people smoking and talking over the music, but the corner where Joel usually stood with a cigarette was empty.
"Where's Joel?" you gasped, grabbing the arm of a guy standing near the railing. "Have you seen Joel?"
He looked down at you, raising an eyebrow at your pale, tear-streaked face and your trembling hands. "Your boyfriend? Oh, yeah. He left like 20 minutes ago, man. Grabbed his keys and walked out. Said he was driving back to Dallas."
You let go of his arm, stumbling backward against the wooden siding of the apartment.
He was gone.
–
You were on your 2nd whiskey sour when someone broke your peaceful silence.
“Hey…aren’t you y/n?”
You closed your eyes and inhaled. You hadn’t run into anyone who recigized you yet, for good or for bad. But the bad grew to outway the good reason to remember you so…it was probably the bad.
The voice came from one of the 3 women at the book near the jukebox. They looked friendly enough, and not in that sarcastic way where they just want to poke into your personal life. And they all seemed to be about your age, maybe a few years younger.
The blonde in the middle gasped and slid out of the booth to come stand next to you.
“I knew it! I remember reading some of your short stories in the paper as a kid and then I read your book once it came out! Oh my gosh, we heard you moved to Boston! What are you doing back in town?”
Maybe it was the alcohol in your system, but them not referencing the accident once warmed your heart. You hadn’t been known just for your writing for years now.
“Just taking a break,” you gave out the same lie you gave everyone. You waved the bartender for another roud. “Just doing some local consulting work. Teaching a bit. Trying to be lowkey.”
“That’s so cool,” the second girl said, joining her friend by your stool. The third fried quickly followed. “We should celebrate you being back! Drinks on my tab!”
And so, you got completely and utterly drunk.
For the next hour, your lability to lie evaporated, as it usually did when you were drunk. You were an honest drunk which was great in the moment. It always made you feel like you were meeting yoru best friends. But then the morning after you were always filled with such profound anxiety that you never wanted to show your face again.
Before you knew it, you were leaning against the bar top with tears in your eyes as you told these equally drunk girls your ecrets.
“He’s a monster! I moved across the country to get away from him, and now his kid is in my classroom. His kid! And I tried... I tried to help her because she was having a panic attack, and he ran straight to the principal today and tried to get me fucking fired.”
“Wait,” the blonde girl slurred. “What’s his name again?”
“Joel,” you grumbled back. “Who even names their kid Joel!?”
“Wait, wait, wait,” the brunette, who you think said her name is Emma held her hand up. “Joel Miller? The construction guy? Are you fuckig serious? He tried to ruin your new job after you helped his daughter!?”
“Yes!” you cried out, slamming your empty glass on the wood. “And then my boss called me a liability. She told me I was the problem. Me! All because he called her and bitched about me to protect his ego. I just…I just want to look him in the eye and tell him how much of a pathetic coward he is.”
The blonde girl (Dani?) stood up, slamming her hand down on the bar right next to yours, her face flushed with alcohol-induced solidarity.
"Oh, hell no. You are not letting him get away with that. You know where his office trailer is? It's literally 3 blocks down on the old textile mill site. My boyfriend works concrete on that crew."
“Really?” you blinked. Miller Construction had a crew now? Last time you were in Dallas it was still just Joel and Tommy.
“Yes! He's probably still there working late again. My boyfriend said he’s a total workaholic," she grabbed your bag off the hook and forced the strap over your shoulder. She hauled you up off the bar stool, steadying your swaying hips with a firm grip on your arms. "You go and bang on his trailer, girl! Show him he can't mess with your career. It's right down this street to the left - you literally can't miss it!"
“Yeah!” You cheered with drunk adrenaline. “I’m gonna tell him off!”
That was the last you remembered of that night.
–
When you woke up the next morning, it was still dark outside, so it wasn’t the light that brought you to consciousness. It was the gentle hand on your shoulder, rocking you back and forth.
You were tempted to shrug the shoulder off. Theo could let you sleep for a few more minutes - you only lived right up the street from the elementary school after all.
You grumbled and rolled over into the pillow before your brain started to wake up along with your body. Your head hurt so fucking badly that you felt each individual neuron pulsating through your skull.
Your bedroom at home was in the basement. With no windows. You had no way of telling it was light or dark out when you woke up.
The memory of storming to Joel’s trailer drunk started flickering in your mind like a faulty light bulb before finally staying on and buzzing.
You flew up right, scrambling to cover yourself with whatever was around you in case you were…well, in case you were naked. Though if you did drunkenly sleep with him you might have killed yourself in front of him.
But he wasn’t looking at you like a man who regretted the night before. He was standing there, in a black shirt with a small “Miller Construction” logo on the side, and some blue jeans. His hair was combed, but free, so his curls bounced around his head. Good to see he was finally listening to your advice - you used to tell him you hated his slicked back hair.
“Hey, hey,” he held up his hand like he was speaking to a spooked animal. “You’re fine. You’re fine. You were just drunk and it wasn’t safe for you to go home.”
You were still trying to mentally wake up and have your memory from last night connect with the present. You just stared at him, eyebrows slightly furrowed.
He glanced at how you were holding the covers over yourself.
“Relax. We didn’t do anything. I may be evil to you but I’m not a monster.”
You shakily let the covers go. You barely even felt the shirt on your skin, it was so big.
“Respectfully, I would rather get into another car accident than ever sleep with you again.”
It was mean to say, but he let out a faint snort.
“I ain’t too giddy to get in bed with you either darlin’. Was just trying to prevent you from getting hit by a car on your drunk walk home.”
You shrugged and rolled your neck.
“Could have checked off two boxes. Get into an accident inside a car and outside a car.”
He looked down when he realized he was smiling a little. You gave him a quick one up and down while he wasn’t looking. The shirt he was wearing certainly wasn’t big on him. It was fitted just enough that you could see his arms straining the sleeves, and a small tummy pushing against the edge of his jeans. He had some greys coming in his hair, just threaded throughout his curls and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was genetic or stress.
When he looked back up, there was something different on his face, something that almost resembled concern.
“Last night you, um…”
You sighed and shook your head.
“I do not need to hear a lecture about me showing up drunk at your trailer Joel.”
“No, not that,” he sputtered a little. “You…you said that you knew it was me this time. You were glad it was me.”
It took even you a moment to think about what you were talking about. You never told Joel the truth about what happened on Halloween. Your relationship was so bad at that point that your roommates told you that it would have been the final straw. Because, they pointed out, it was cheating. You cheated. And then Joel would have dumped you and you would have lost him forever.
You…you hadn’t told him about that had you? In your drunkenness? It was something that took you years to shove into a tiny glass bottle and store it away, and now you apparently decided to be vulnerable with him in a state where you couldn’t even explain.
“You said something too about Halloween before falling asleep,” Joel explained quickly. “And it’s just - do you remember what you meant?”
You lifted your hand up and rested it against your chest. Your heart was hammers through your palms and radiating out of your fingertips.
Change the conversation. Change it.
“Did you try and get me fired?”
His lips parted and his head tilted.
“Did you blackout? I already told you I didn’t.”
You motioned at how you probably looked. You didn’t need to look in a mirror to know you probably looked a mess, makeup probably smudged all over his pillows.
“I admit I called to try and move Sarah out of your class. But I never ever said that you should be fired. In fact, Karen gave me a long lecture on how you are the brightest teacher to ever walk into that building and if I want my daughter to get help for her reading, you are the only person who can help her.”
“I told you in that closet that I am qualified -”
“- I always believe my daughter first. Your qualifications mean nothing to me if my daughter is still miserable at school and crying any time I try to get her to read. But hell, when I talked to her last night, she told me that she finally understood the words because of some shavin’ cream thing you did?”
“It’s a multisensory learning strategy,” you said quietly.
“I don’t give a shit what it is. My girl is finally happy. And that’s because of you. I may not like you one bit, but I did not try and get you fired.”
He was calling a temporary ceasefire. At least, that’s what you thought it was. Maybe just a ceasefire when it came to anything revolving Sarah, which you wanted the entire time, but he was being too emotional. But fine.
He was staring at your with his big brown eyes, waiting for you to answer.
“So…”
“I was talking about 1995.”
The words slipped out of you before you could stop yourself. It was like in your brain, the only way for you to know Joel Miller was complete love or utter hate, and now that he was trying to be neutral with you, your brain was malfunctioning it’s programming.
His thick eyebrows flew up.
“1995?”
You scratched your chin and averted your eyes.
“Yeah…yeah, um, Halloween 1995. It was when we were, you know. Fighting more.”
You thought he would make a comment about your use of ‘fighting more.’ That was such a miniscule descriptor for that time in your life.
Instead, you watched the lines on his face soften in slow motion, recognition flooding his face. Like that date had significance to him too.
A pit formed in your stomach at how concerned he looked. This wasn’t what you wanted…for him to feel welcome in your life again. To feel like he could open up to you and you could open up to him, because you couldn’t.
You certainly didn’t need his pity. He had no god damn right to pity you when he was the one who left you for dead and didn’t even bother to sit by your bed while you were in a coma.
You cleared your throat and feigned shock.
“I have to get to work,” you paused before your real shock slipped in. “Wait, Sarah’s not here right? Oh my god, I can’t be seen leaving here, I can’t traumatize her -”
“- Relax. She’s at my ma’s.”
Joel’s parents were still in town? Oh you loved them so much. Your parents were very strict and traditional, and you did love them, but they weren’t loving in the way Joel’s were. They always invited you over to dinner, got you presents on holidays - hell, you had your own stocking at their house.
“Andrea still lives near here?”
He clicked his tongue and shook his head.
“Yeah, but she’s not going to see you if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I wasn’t-”
“- you really don’t understand how badly you ruined my families life right? You really just don’t get it.”
“Joel, I told you I didn’t know about the lawsuit.”
“Suits. Plural. And of course you didn’t know, because you’re sheltered. That’s why your parents didn’t tell you, wasn’t it? Because you can’t handle anything that might be difficult to hear. They wanted you to know that all of the attention was on you. That you’re the only person who was hurt because you have no sense of not being the only person in the world. I told you about the suits two days ago, and I doubt you can look me in the eyes and tell me what they sued my family for. Can you? Can you seriously tell me that yesterday before you went and got shit faced drunk, you made an effort to call your mom and ask her why she tried to sue me into homelessness?”
Your heart sunk. Because he was right. You were so blinded by the fear for your own job and your fear for Sarah’s education that you didn’t even to think to ask your brother or parents about the lawsuit. You still could barely believe that, and a part of you truly believed he was lying. Lawsuits were almost always a big deal - if there had been one, certainly you would have noticed lawyers coming in and out of the hospital? And certainly your parents would have told you. You knew your parents. They wouldn’t keep something like that from you, even if they waited until your condition was a bit better, they would have told you at some point.
If it came down to believing your parents or Joel?
Your parents came long before Joel did in your life. They got the point for knowing what you needed the best.
You blinked at him, not wanting to pick a fight this early in the morning anf especially after he let you sleep at his place rather than having you drunk walk home and end up in a bush.
“I should probably walk home to get some clothes before work. Kids are surprisingly aware when you wear the same clothes too much.”
He held his hand out confidently but then quickly dropped it like he was being shy.
“You don’t have to rush out. If you don’t want. I mean, I have some clothes that may fit you.”
You froze midway out of the bed and laughed out loud.
“Joel, I can’t wear your clothes to work!”
He flushed a deep red, like he always did when he was embarrassed. It was impossible for this man to hide his nerves, because no matter how stoic his face looked, he always looked like a tomato.
“T-that’s not what I meant,” he turned toward the closet and walked toward it. He definitely knew you could see the heat on his cheeks. You tilted your head while he rummaged through his clothes, wondering what jeans and plain shirt combo he was going to pull out.
Instead, he came outu holding a pair of black and white checkered pants and a light blue fuzzy sweater.
“This isn’t cute and teacher-y like your shirt yesterday,” he was avoiding eye contact. “But this seems colorful? Don’t teachers try to be colorful?”
You chewed on your lower lip to fight your smile, but it betrayed you, the ends of your lips still curving up.
“So many things are wrong with this. First off. You think I’m cute Miller?”
His eyes flew to yours and they were wide with panic. He turned an even darked red against his sun tanned skin.
“N-no thats not, well, no -”
You giggled at his blubbering.
“Relax, I’m fucking with you. Why do you even have womens clothes anyway?”
“They were my ex-wifes.”
The teasing smile on your face fell instantly. Sarah had mentioned it was just her dad at home, but it was just something you kept in her student file. Now that you knew she was Joel’s daughter, it had a whole different meaning.
You felt something coil inside of your throat at the fact that Joel got married. Maybe it was jealousy, not that he was with someone else, but because he got to date again. There was nothing stopping you from dating per say - you went on a couple of dates in Boston. But any time they noticed your hands shaking and you explained your condition, you never heard from them again.
Because you were too much. Your illness would always make you too much for everyone around you.
The idea of opening yourself up to someone new scared you too much anyway. You spent your formative years dating the same man who turned out to be your downfall. During all of those dates you went on you couldn’t help but ask yourself when they would do something to you. Not if, when. You were fundamentally changed 7 years ago into not trusting anybody, especially potential romantic partners.
And Joel just gets fucking married. After he told you you would be the only girl in the world he would marry. It’s not fair.
You rubbed your lip with your middle finger.
“You’re married?”
“Was,” he said nonchalantly. “We got divorced 4 years ago.”
You tried to do the math in your head without looking too obvious, but he noticed your furrowed, concentrating eyebrows immediately.
“We were together for 3 years. You’re doing that squinty thing.”
“I do not-”
“- yes, you do,” he layed the clothes on the dresser. “And it’s okay you know. Might be good for you to know about her. For Sarah and everything.”
Right. For Sarah.
“Actually, you get dressed first, and I’ll make breakfast. You still like oatmeal in the morning right? I know you don’t drink black coffee, but-”
“Black coffee’s great. Same with the oatmeal.”
He gave a small nod and headed out to the kitchen, closing the bedroom door behind him.
The fact that he remembered your favorite breakfast made you feel unnervingly warm inside. Unnervingly, because you knew that you and Joel could never truly unlearn each other with your history.
You stood up and put on Joel’s ex-wifes clothes, something you never ever expected yourself to be doing. You looked around for your purse and stuffed your skirt and top from yesterday in it. That’ll do. You could just hide it under your desk so your kids don’t ask why you have a skirt sticking out of your bag.
You used Joel’s brush to get any immediate knots out and then just threw the rest up in a bun. You paused when you realized that there was no makeup on your face at all.
That couldn’t be right. You have a staple of makeup you wear every day - mascara, eyebrow gel and pencil, concealer, and a neutral lipstick or gloss. It’s not much but it almost always mudges over your face when you accidentally sleep in it or it rains.
It did occur to you that Joel may have taken your makeup off, but that thought didn’t last very long. Knowing him, he probably just dumped you into bed to get you off his hands. You likely just forgot to put some on yesterday.
In the bathroom, there wasa boxed toothbrush sitting on the counter, so you assumed Joel left it out for you. As you brushed your teeth you noticed his mirror was slightly ajar and a rush of noseyness surged through you. You don’t know why you felt compelled to see if Joel was on any crazy medications. Maybe if he had some sort of condition like you did, you would feel less angry at him for getting out of the accident scot free.
You glanced to the door incase Joel was coming in and then you opened the mirror. There were 3 bottles inside.
80 mcg of Prozac
50 mg of Hydrochlorothiazide
2,000 mg of Gabapentin.
Now, you didn’t know what Hyrdrochlorothiazide was, but you did know what Prozac and Gabapentin were. You had tried Prozac when you were trying to figure out which anti-depressant worked for you, and Gabapentin was one of your early pain medications.
What the fuck was he taking Gabapentin for?
Your curiosity was halted by a blinding pain through your head. It was so painful that your hands fell from the mirror to the counter and you gripped so tightly you probably could have broken your fingers.
You missed your meds last night.
God, how could you be so stupid? You knew better than to let yourself miss a dose of medication. That’s why you had to stay with your brother, so he could keep an eye on all of your health issues in case you slipped up.
Did you really let Joel Miller cloud your judgement that much? Still? After all of these years?
You waited for the pain wave to pass before turning on the sink, gulping down some water and heading into the kitchen.
Joel looked up almost immediately from the stove, where he was cooking himself eggs. Your oatmeal sat steaming on the kitchen table with a side of blueberries and coffee.
“What’s the matter?” He immediately looked concerned at the sight of you.
You chewed your cheek and went to sit down. You already embarrassed yourself enough last night. You didn’t want to show anymore weakness.
“This looks good. Thank you. For all of this.”
He gave you that little head tilt he always did when he was seeing right through you. It was the same head tilt that always made you tingle a little bit, one of those minute things about him that meant everything to you.
“Are you in pain?”
“No,” you said quietly. Great, you couldn’t even pretend to lie. “A little.”
He turned the stove off and scooped his eggs on a plate before walking over to sit across from you with his coffee.
“Hangover or brain?”
You chuckled weakly and took a bite of oatmeal. He put cinnamon in it, just how you liked it.
“I don’t actually get hangovers very much. I learned that I only get them if I mix liquors, but last night was just whiskey sours. This is just because I didn’t go home last night so I didn’t take any of my evening medication.”
Joel’s face fell mid-sip of coffee.
“Oh god, m’ sorry…if I knew you had to go home I could’ve dropped you off, you were just sayin’ your brother would kill you if you showed up drunk-”
“-no, oh my god, don’t apologize. It’s not yout fault. You actually did the right thing because if Theo saw you walking me into the house drunk, he may have taken advatage of Texas’s lack of gun laws.”
Joel snorted on the other end of the table.
“I take it your brother ain’t a fan of me either? Like your parents?”
“I wouldn’t say that. I mean, he’s the one who told me to get over our…history.”
He smiled and rolled his bottom lip in slightly.
“Knew your brother was the smartest one in your family.”
“Woah, slow your roll Mister, you aren’t blameless here,” you took a sip of your own coffee. “He said that I shouldn’t blame you for not understanding that learning disabilities don’t equal being mentally broken. That everywhere today there’s people saying that kids with these conditions are just lazy and don’t want to do the work, so of course you and a majority of other people think that my saying your daughter probably has dyslexia is an insult. Theo told me to get over myself because you aren’t saying that I’m targeting your daughter because you hate me. You’re saying that because you don’t want to believe your daughter has a condition that is so misunderstood by society.”
He pursed his lips slightly like he was trying to bite back a snarky remark, but he visibly inhaled and bit his eggs.
“If you’re the best like they say you are, I am willing to listen to you and let you change my mind.”
“I’m not the best. I’m good at my job, but the best was my friend Camilla. From Boston. I was just an elementary school teacher, she was the reading interventionist,” you hadn’t spoken to Cami, but she deserved her credit. She was the reason you became so passionate about helping children with learning disabilities. “And I’m not doing it to change your mind. I’m doing it for Sarah. Changing your mind is just an effect of helping her.”
It was so quick that you could have sworn it was a dream - his eyes flickered to your lips and back up. The attention on your lips made them part, but you instantly closed them when you allowed yourself to think logically. He was probably just avoiding eye contact is all.
“M’ surprised you made friends in Boston,” he teased. “You didn’t show them your charming personality?”
You scrunched your nose up and rolled your eyes.
“And you are charming as always. You use that swagger on your ex?”
His throat bobbed prominently as he swallowed like he was trying not to choke, which made you feel a bit guilty. You and him were at a ceasefire for an hour and you already managed to mention his ex wife. Great going.
“What was her name?” you asked gently. Afterall, he had encouraged you to ask questions about her.
He brushed a stray curl out of his eye.
“Isla.”
“That’s…a really pretty name actually.”
“I know. I wanted to name Sarah somethin’ unique like that but Isla said she had a hard enough time as a kid with a different name so she wanted something more basic.”
Another wave of pain raidated through your head, and you closed your eyes until it passed. Joel must have gotten the hint to not fuss over the headaches, but you could also sense that he wanted to reach over and help. There was no way he could help, but he wanted to try.
“She’s um,” you moisented your lips and swallowed, the pain sucking all of the moisture out of your throat. “She’s not in Sarah’s life? She had mentioned to me on the first day that it’s just you and her.”
He stood up at that and your face fell and the thought that you insulted him in some way. But when you watched him walk over to the sink to fill a glass of water, you realize he had noticed your throat was dry. He noticed.
He noticed. And why did something so miniscule make you feel so much?
“She was around. Last year I got a letter from her saying that she had filed all of the documents to give up custody of Sarah.”
You flew your hand to your mouth to stifle your gasp - what monster gives up custody on a little girl as sweet as Sarah Miller?
“Joel-”
“-a truth for a truth,” he handed you the water. “I told you about my wife. Now you can tell me what you meant about Halloween.”
God fucking damn it.
He knew everything. This is why you couldn’t be civil with him. Because he never forgot anything that made you upset, and once he knew that something was wrong, he made it his lifes goal to fix it.
“That’s not how this works.”
“Ah, I see you’re still in the habit of thinking you make the rules.”
“What rules? We’re eating breakfast.”
“Oh don’t be naive,” he groaned. “You always loved to pretend that whatever you decided about the world was how it’s gonna go. You wanted to write your story as literary fiction when you sold it as a romance. So you wrote a lit fic. You wanted me to make Miller Conracting branding orange? We made it orange.”
Your eyes dramatically fell to the Miller Construction Label on his shirt.
That was orange.
“Well…was I wrong?”
He frowned in a way that resembled a sad puppy.
“That was a bad example. You know what I mean. You’re a control freak.”
It was something that he probably would have said to offend you if he didn’t know you. But you knew Joel Miller. You knew he could say a lot meaner.
You ignored the swipe and took an exaggerated scoop of your oatmeal. This morning felt more normal than any day of your life in the last 7 years - you didn’t want to ruin that, even if it meant being normal with the person you hated more than anyone in the entire world.
But maybe telling him will take some of that guilt off your chest. Ever since Halloween, you blamed yourself for the downfall of your relationship with him, and, in correlation, the accident. If he hadn’t grown to resent you, he wouldn’t have picked a fight that night, and you wouldn’t have gotten distracted in the car.
“That Halloween I was referencing…it was right after you snapped at me for “trying to embarrass you or whatever,” you shook your head. “I went to my room and cried. And cried, and cried, and cried. Remember Anna? My roommate that year?”
Joel nodded slowly.
“She followed me into the room and kept telling me to drink it off. Brought me a whole drink and told me if I got drunk I would forget about it and enjoy my night. And I was so naive that I…I listened to her. I drank straight from the bottle in my room for an hour, and when I finally was drunk enough to forget, someone walked into the room.”
You saw the muscles in Joels arms flex, veins popping slightly. His jaw made a horrible shrieking sound from how hard it was pressed together.
“Ah!” The sound startled you so bad you jerked back, your chair scraping. “Joel what the fuck was that?!”
His face was scruched up in pain.
Look at the two of you. Both in excruciating pain. Lovely.
“That would be my jaw.”
“Well you should probably get that looked at, because I don’t think your body is supposed to make sounds like a fork against a plate.”
He chuckled sarcastically and rubbed his jaw.
“It is when my jaw is made out of titanium.”
You froze, your spoon hovering halfway to your mouth as his words hung in the air.
Titanium.
Like the metal? He has a metal jaw?
Now that he mentioned it, your eyes picked up on the slight asymmetry of his jawline that you had failed to notice in your own resentment of him. His stubble covered it well, but now that you were really looking you could see the faint surgical scar tucked just under the curve of his chin.
He leaned back in his chair and sipped his coffee before letting out a bitter huff.
"Oh, what," he grunted, his tone now oddly reminiscent of when he would get backed into a corner and defensive. "You didn't even bother to think if I had any injuries from the accident?"
You felt your face flush with embarrassment. Your immediate instinct was to snap right back, to throw your hands up and remind him who was the one in a fucking coma.
"I-I, no - Joel, that's not true," you stammered. You didn’t sound confident at all.
Because... it was true. It kind of was.
For 7 long years, your entire universe had revolved around your own body. Your memory loss, your hand tremors, the endless physical therapy, the medical bills, and the fucking resentment of believing Joel had walked away from that crushed truck without a scratch. You had built an entire monument out of your own suffering, convinced you were the sole victim of the accident. It had literally never crossed your mind to ask if he had been hurt. You never had the chance to, because he never came back after that night.
He never made an effort to see if you were okay, so you never made an effort to see if he was okay.
Joel saw the realization wash over your face, but he didn’t gloat. He just looked sad. He gulped down the rest of his coffee and stood up.
"Right," he muttered. He glanced over at your plate, seeing you had finished the last bite of your cinnamon oatmeal. "Well. I gotta get to the construction site early. Need to meet the inspector before the rest of the crew gets there. Let me get you some advil before we leave."
He walked back into his room and rummaged around for a bit before coming back holding 2 advils. You took them with a weak smile and took them with the last of your coffee.
He grabbed his truck keys off the counter and looked back at you.
"If you're good to wait with me there for a bit, I can drive you straight to the elementary school after," he offered, the hurt slowly leaving his voice. "Beats walking, though I guess you seem to like doing that."
"Um... sure. What else am I gonna do?"
His house was too far from the school to walk. You literally were gridlocked.
Whatever bantered was happening between the two of you died out in the car. Neither of you spoke to each other, the radio playing faintly throughout the car.
The strum of an electric guitar through the radio made you lock up.
Joel’s head turned toward you at your obvious movement after several minutes of driving in silence. But you were too focused on the memory your brain was showing in front of you.
The wheels catching on a puddle.
I never wanted to be your weekend lover.
Losing control over the wheel no matter how hard you turned it the other way, just like you were taught.
I only wanted to be some kind of friend.
The car catching on a ditch and flying through the air while you and Joel screamed.
It’s such a shame our friendship had to end.
The feeling of your body being catapulted through the hard glass of the wind shield.
“Hey!”
You blinked a few times before turning your head. The car wasn’t moving anymore, and what was once your favorite song was no loger playing.
There was something warm on your cheek, and it took you a moment to process that it was Joel’s hand, and not the blood on your face from the windsheld tearing your cheek open.
His thumb was gently swiping under your eye.
“You were crying.”
You sat frozen in the passenger seat, just letting yourself feel his thumb wip about the tear falling down your cheek. Knowing that he was finally here, that he finally came back, made your chest feel warm. In its place, you were wrapped in a gooey, terrifyingly comfortable sensation. A comfort that your soul hadn't felt in seven long years. It felt like home. It felt like Joel.
Reality rushed back in through your lungs.
He is not nice to you.
This wasn't the man who loved you; this was the man who had called your boss, who resented your very existence, who blamed your family for his idiocracy.
As if suddenly realizing what he was doing - realizing he was touching the woman he was supposed to hate - Joel’s hand twitched. His eyes widened slightly in shock, and he dropped his arm. The sudden loss of his touch left your skin feeling frigid, like it did in the rain that night.
He cleared his throat, pulling his chin back into his collar and leaning his head toward the driver's side window.
"Don't like Prince anymore?" he teased, attempting to sound lighthearted.
You swallowed the lump in your throat, staring straight ahead at the dashboard.
"No," you muttered. "Just... that song."
Because Purple Rain was the last thing you heard before your life was ruined. It was the background track to the moment your life ended and your coma began.
Joel went completely silent. He didn't make another joke. He didn't offer a snide remark. He just shifted the truck back into drive and pulled onto the main road toward the construction site.
Joel drove with one hand on the top of the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the empty morning road. His truck smelled like saw dust. He must have been driving lumbar around in here.
"Listen," Joel cleared his throat. He didn't turn his head to look at you, keeping his gaze locked on the traffic light. "You can say no. In fact, I fully expect you to say no."
“What?”
He exhaled, his fingers tapping against the leather steering wheel.
"I was thinkin'... would you be willing to tutor Sarah? With her reading? I would pay you. Whatever your hourly rate is, I'll match it. Cash, under the table, whatever you want."
You stared at the profile of his face, the hesitation creeping into your limbs like a sudden frost.
"Joel... I don't know if that's a good idea. Given... everything."
"Please," he finally turned his head to look at you. His dark brown eyes were wide, completely stripped of any ego. "Please. We called a ceasefire for her, right?"
He leaned his forearm against the wheel as the light turned green, accelerating slowly down the road toward the rising sun.
"I don't have the money to get her a formal diagnosis. The private specialists up in Austin want thousands just for the evaluation. The school district's waitlist is 6 months long, and Karen... Karen isn't gonna push it through any faster. I can't afford to wait 6 months while my little girl cries every time she opens a book. You're the only person who's ever made her feel like she isn't stupid. This would be her best bet. You're her best bet."
You sat in silence for a long moment, watching the trees pass by outside the window. You hated him for the past. You hated him for leaving you. But as you thought about Sarah you knew there was only one answer you could give.
You let out defeated sigh, rolling your neck as you turned back to him.
"Fine," you whispered. "I'll tutor her."
A wave of relief washed over Joel's face. The tight lines around his eyes melted away as he smiled.
"Thank you. Thank you, darlin'."
ongoing
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POV: you hook up with pedro pascal (mlm)
You’re laying on the bed when Pedro walks into the room. The moment his eyes land on you, they darken with raw, unmistakable hunger. He climbs onto the bed and crawls over you slowly, like a predator savoring the moment before he pounces. He’s fully clothed, but you can already feel how hard he is as he presses his body against yours, his thick bulge grinding firmly against your crotch.
He kisses you deeply, hungrily, his tongue sliding into your mouth as one hand grips the back of your neck possessively. His other hand roams down your body, squeezing your thigh, then your ass, pulling you closer so he can grind harder against you.
“I’ve been thinking about this all fucking day,” he growls against your lips, voice low and rough with need. His hips roll slowly, letting you feel every inch of his growing erection through his clothes. The thick, heavy outline of his cock presses insistently against you.
“I need you so bad it hurts.”
After several long, intense minutes of making out and grinding, Pedro pulls back, breathing heavily, eyes dark with lust. He stands at the end of the bed and starts stripping slowly, teasing you.
He unbuttons his shirt one button at a time, revealing his broad chest, then shrugs it off completely. His pants and underwear come next, he pushes them down in one smooth motion and steps out of them. His thick 7 inch cock springs free, already rock hard and curving sharply upward. The fat mushroom head pokes out of his foreskin swollen and glistening with pre-cum. His balls hang heavy and full below. He stands there for a moment, letting you take in his fully naked body, muscular arms, broad shoulders, powerful thighs, and that gorgeous, heavy cock throbbing for you. He playfully flexes his biceps, showing off confidently fully naked and erect, his manhood jutting out twitching with arousal as he flexes his muscles. The sight of this makes you take your clothes off, eager for him.
Pedro crawls onto the bed like a predator, moving up your body slowly. His hard cock drags along your leg. When he reaches you, he looks down with those big, pleading puppy eyes.
“Please… I need you,” he begs, voice deep and desperate. “I want you so bad.”
Then he pounces.
He kisses you hard again, grinding his cock against yours. You both reach down and start jerking each other off, stroking each other’s hard cocks with needy hands.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” Pedro groans, thumb rubbing over your cockhead, spreading your pre-cum. “I love how hard you are for me.”
He moves down your body and takes you into his mouth, sucking you eagerly. His tongue swirls around the head, sucking hard while his hand strokes the base. The wet sounds of his mouth working your cock fill the room as he bobs his head, taking you deeper.
You pull him up and return the favor, taking his thick curved cock into your mouth. You suck him sloppily, pulling the foreskin back to tongue the sensitive head, tasting his salty pre-cum as you take him deeper, bobbing your head while stroking the base.
“God… your mouth feels incredible,” Pedro groans, hips twitching and eyes rolling back. “Suck my cock just like that, baby.” He gyrates his hips, forcing himself deeper.
You both move to ass play. Pedro spreads your legs wide and buries his face between your cheeks, licking and sucking at your hole. His tongue pushes inside you, fucking you deeply while he strokes your cock.
“Fuck… your ass tastes so good,” he moans, tongue-fucking you harder. “So tight and perfect for me.” You do the same to him, spreading his round, juicy ass and rimming him passionately. Pedro is much louder when his ass is being eaten, whimpering, moaning, and pushing back desperately.
“Ahhh… fuck, your tongue feels so good inside me,” he whimpers, gripping the sheets. “Deeper… mmm… please…”
Pedro flips you and rims you again before slicking his thick curved cock with plenty of lube, and pushes inside your hole slowly at first, letting you feel every thick inch stretching you open.
“Mmm you’re so tight, my good fucking boy” he groans, sinking deeper. He starts fucking you hard and aggressive, but still romantic, kissing you, looking into your eyes, whispering how much he wants you.
You scream in pleasure as he pounds you, his thick curved cock hitting your prostate with every thrust. He fucks you relentlessly, grunting and moaning deeply.
You’re on your back with your legs locked high around his waist as Pedro rails you relentlessly. His massive cock slams into you with raw power, stretching you wide open with every brutal stroke. His hips snap forward harder and faster, sweat dripping off his body onto yours.
He’s getting close. His breathing turns ragged and desperate, deep grunts mixing with high-pitched whimpers that grow louder with every thrust.
“Fuck… fuck… you’re gonna make me cum,” he growls, voice hoarse. His thrusts become savage, almost punishing. “So deep… oh shit… I can’t hold it…”
Pedro starts whimpering uncontrollably, broken and needy, his face twisted in pleasure. The sounds coming out of him are filthy, deep grunts mixed with desperate moans that get louder and more frantic.
Suddenly, he lets out a raw, animalistic groan and yanks you up hard, pulling your body up against his in a crushing embrace. Your chests slam together, skin slick with sweat.
He wraps his muscular arms around you, holding you impossibly tight as he keeps fucking you with short, aggressive thrusts. Then he lays you back down without pulling out, still buried to the hilt, and immediately buries his face deep in your neck.
“I’m cumming… FUCK HERE IT COMES!” he screams, voice cracking loudly right against your ear. His entire body seizes up violently. He lets out a long, broken, gut filled moan that turns into a desperate whimper as his thick cock starts pulsing violently inside you. He cums hard, loud, aggressive, and messy. Rope after thick, heavy rope of hot cum floods deep into your ass as he grunts and whimpers through every powerful spurt.
“Take it… that’s it take all of it…fuck yeah!” he moans loudly, voice shaking, hips jerking erratically as he keeps pumping you full. His arms squeeze you tighter, trembling hard against your body while he rides out the intense orgasm, whimpering and groaning into your neck the entire time. It feels endless. Your own cock throbs and spurts cum all over both your stomachs. Both of you ejaculate in full orgasmic pleasure, His body keeps shaking against yours, breath hot and ragged against your skin as the final waves crash through him.
After a long, shuddering moment, Pedro finally starts to come down. He stays buried deep inside you, breathing hard, placing sloppy, exhausted kisses along your neck and jaw.
Then he slowly pulls out. His thick cock is still hard, glistening and absolutely covered in lube and his own cum. A thick white strand stretches from his cockhead to your wrecked, leaking hole before breaking. Pedro looks down at you with dark eyes, then leans in and kisses you, deep, slow, and passionately. His tongue slides against yours with lazy affection as one hand gently cups the back of your head. “Jesus Christ…” he whispers breathlessly as he eyes your cum on both your skin, he runs his fingers in it, bringing the sweet milky liquid to his mouth, licking it up.
“So fucking good, baby. My love really enjoyed that, didn't you?” He lays on top of you, sweaty and spent, kissing you softly between heavy breaths, completely lost in the afterglow.
“I love you,” he whispers, spooning you as if you’re the most important thing in his life, his world, his light.
°❀.ೃ࿔* Lesson Seven: alcohol doesn't taste that good anyway°❀.ೃ࿔
Spotify | pintrest visuals | masterlist | ao3
Chapter summary: Joel calls the school to try and get Sarah pulled from your class
Authors note: hellooooo guys my job is BEATING MY ASS it was so nothing burger then boom one day 5 MILLION tasks. ALSO this is two days early everyone say thank you Elly. I hope this chapter explains Joel a little bit better <3 tw this chapter for drug/alcohol use, domestic violence, unintentional hurting of a child
─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───
March, 1999. Joel.
Isla wasn’t back yet.
Joel had told her for weeks leading up to today that it was Sarah’s birthday and that he wanted to do a little family get together for her. The common thought is that a mother should know her daughter's birthday by heart, but Isla wasn’t really a mother.
He had gone back and forth with his anger toward Isla - was he even allowed to be angry with her? Joel had forced her to go to the doctor to get tested for postpartum after Sarah was born. Sarah was unexpected, but he had accepted the fact that he was going to have a baby. Isla, on the other hand, never seemed to accept it. She didn’t want to go shopping for cribs, or baby clothes, or toys. Joel constantly got calls from the clinic that she didn’t show up to her monthly appointments and he would have to pay a hefty fee. She never ate enough, and she was always disappearing for days at a time.
He was probably in denial. He thought the behavior was odd, but that she was just in denial that she was entering motherhood and it would come in time. But even when Sarah was born, and the nurses handed her their silmey, wiggly, and absolutely perfect daughter, her eyes were completely fogged over. She put her down the minute the nurses told her it was okay, and she didn’t pick her up again.
She stopped showering. She didn’t work, so Joel would leave to go work while she was home with Sarah. There were several times when he got home, and Sarah would be screaming in her crib, and Isla was nowhere to be found. When she randomly appeared hours later, she never explained where she was. She didn’t want to breastfeed Sarah, which Joel didn’t mind, but she never made an effort to feed her. He had to constantly ask Tommy to leave the construction site to go check on Sarah at home at make sure she was fed and not sitting in a soiled diaper.
It made Joel absolutely furious. His relationship with Isla had grown more and more toxic over time, and he was always forgiving, but there was something bigger than himself now. Someone he cared about more than anyone else in the world - his daughter. And any time his wife was actively neglecting his daughter, he couldn’t restrain his anger. He yelled, and pleaded for her to tell him what was wrong and why she hated their daughter so much.
But Joel had a hard time staying angry. Because Isla wasn’t completely numb to all of this. When he raised his voice at her, she would cry. She would break down in tears for hours, because she didn’t understand why she felt nothing toward Sarah, and that she just wanted to feel normal again.
That’s how Joel got her to the doctor and diagnosed with severe postpartum depression.
Things should have been going up from there. She was medicated and going to therapy and making little bits of progress, like bottle feeding Sarah (under Joel’s supervision). She seemed to be getting better. Seemed.
But the progress plateaued. It was like the medication and therapy only took her so far before she actually had to put the work in herself. And it seemed like she never wanted to work.
The door to the apartment creeked open at 8 pm. The few friends and family that came by and brought presents and cooed over Sarah were long gone. No one had mentioned the lack of presence by Isla, because they all knew that this was the norm for her. No point in asking obvious questions.
Sarah was fussy and refused to go to bed, so Joel was sitting with her in his lap, bouncing her and trying to distract himself by making his girl laugh. It was partially for selfish reasons - he knew if he laid her in bed and tried to get her to fall asleep by herself, his anger and misery would spill over and he would do something stupid.
Isla crept in like she was a teenager sneaking in after a night out. And Joel took on the role of the dad who is eerily sitting in a lounge chair in the dark, who flicks on a lamp, scaring the shit out of the teenager.
“Where were you?”
Isla flinched, her shoulders jerking up toward her ears. She froze under the doorway, her keys clutched tightly in her fist. Like she was afraid.
She was always a petite girl, but she looked particularly tiny in her oversized cardigan, her skin almost greying in this light. Her hair was a greasy, tangled mess and her eyes…her eyes. When they finally flicked up to meet his, they were pinned down to tiny, dark needles.
"Don't do that, Joel," her voice slurry around the edges as she shuffled past him toward the kitchen. She didn't look at Sarah, who was sitting up in Joel's lap, her tiny fingers clutching the collar of his shirt. Didn’t even ask why their daughter was up an hour after they usually put her to bed. "I had errands. My head was pounding."
"Errands," Joel repeated as he slowly stood up, cradling Sarah securely against his chest. The rage he'd been sitting on all afternoon was starting to violently overflow. "For twelve hours, Isla? It’s her birthday. She’s two years old today. My parents were here. Tommy was here. I had to sit there and make up some pathetic lie about where you were because you couldn't be bothered to show up for your own kid's cake."
Isla didn't turn around. She was leaning against the kitchen counter, her back to him, her fingers mindlessly tapping against the counter. "She's two, Joel. She won't remember."
"Look at me,” He was trying to sound as stern as he could without triggering her rage. Her anger was a lot scarier than Joels. "Look at me, Isla."
"What?! What do you want from me, Joel? I'm here! I'm home!"
"Are you?" Joel stepped into her space, looking at the slight sweat on her forehead, the way her jaw was constantly clenching and unclenching. "Are you even fucking here right now, Isla? Or are you floating on whatever you took out of the medicine cabinet this morning? Are you high right now?"
"Don't you dare accuse me of that! You think you're so perfect? You think you're the king of this castle because you bring home a paycheck from your stupid little construction trucks? You don't know shit about what I'm going through!"
"I took you to the doctor!" Joel whisper-yelled He was trying so goddamn hard to keep his voice down for Sarah, but her disregard for anyone elses feelings was pushing him over the edge. "I got you the pills! I pay for the therapy! And you're still disappearing for days, leaving our daughter in a soiled diaper while I'm out breaking my back! You're an addict, Isla. You've been popping the painkillers they gave you for the delivery for two years, and you're letting our baby drown because you're too goddamn lazy to put the work in!"
"I am not an addict!" she screamed, her hand flying out.
Her palm slapped hard across his left cheek. The force of it didn't move him - he was much bigger than her - but the violent movement made Sarah start crying. She buried her face into Joel's shoulder, her tiny body shaking as she sobbed.
"See?" She pointed a trembling finger at him. "You're a pathetic father, Joel. You can't even keep her quiet. You're just a control freak who trapped me in this shithole life. You're the reason I'm like this! You and your bastard kid!"
"Shut up. Don't you ever call her that. Don't you dare look at her and say that. Do you forget that she’s your daughter too?"
Sarah’s crying grew louder, and Joel wanted to start crying too. He just wanted his daughter to have two loving parents. To have a normal life.
"Shut her up, Joel!" Isla exploded, completely unhinged as she lost whatever grip on reality she had left. She turned around, her hands shaking as they hit the cluttered sink. "I said shut her the fuck up!"
In the heat of the moment, before Joel could even register the movement, Isla’s fingers wrapped around ceramic dinner plate sitting in the basin. A plate that had just served birthday cake to their family. She spun around and hurled it directly past Joel’s head.
SMASH.
The plate struck the drywall right next to the kitchen opening, exploding into a dozen flying shards.
Joel didn’t care about the shards bouncing off of his shoulder. She threw things on the regular at him. But time around started slow when he heard a gasp from his arms.
Sarah’s crying instantly stopped, cut off by a choke of agony.
Joel looked down. A three-inch piece of the ceramic had sliced cleanly across Sarah's chubby little forearm as it shattered off the wall. The blood was already welling up fast, spilling over her skin and instantly soaking into the sleeve of her yellow birthday pajamas.
He wanted to throw up.
Isla froze, rage draining out of her face in an instant. Her mouth fell open, her eyes widening to the size of saucers as she stared at the blood on her daughter's arm. She took a step back, her hands flying to her mouth.
"Oh my god... Joel, I didn't - I didn't mean - "
Joel didn't hear her. The apartment went completely silent, a ringing static filling his ears. He looked at his daughter’s bleeding arm, and then he looked up at the woman he had married.
The expression on his face wasn't anger anymore. It was something far worse. It was an absolute, icy execution of whatever humanity he had left for her.
"If you are here when I get back…I will kill you."
He didn't wait for her to speak. He didn't look at her tears. Joel instantly scooped Sarah closer, his massive hand coming up to press his palm flat against the cut, putting pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding.
It was a deep cut. She would probably need stitches based on the way her blood pour through Joels hand.
"I gotcha, baby, I gotcha," he whispered frantically, his voice finally cracking as he sprinted out of the kitchen. He grabbed a clean dish towel off the counter, and with his teeth, he wrapped it tightly around her tiny arm as he kicked the apartment door open and flew down the stairwell into the night.
─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───
Tuesday, September 2003. Joel.
His eyes stayed locked on the scar on Sarah’s arm as he dialed the number for Annie Whitman elementary school.
She was happily munching on her cereal and fruit that Joel had cut into stars at her request, completely unfazed by the wound she had. He knew she probably didn’t remember it - she was only 2 afterall. She never even brought it up or asked where it came from, but Joel knew that one day that question would come.
The doctors said the scar would fade with time, and it did. It wasn’t raised anymore, or outlandishly bright against her skin. It had flattened and was starting to blend in with her skin tone a bit more.
“Annie J. Whitman Elementary School, Lisa speaking.”
Joel had to call the main office once a year ago to update Sarah’s family paperwork. He recognized Lisa as the receptionist.
“Hi Lisa, this is Joel Miller,” He paused when he realized she probably spoke to 100 parents a day and didn’t recognize him. “My daughter Sarah’s in the 1st grade.”
“Oh yes! Sarah Miller, of course. What can I do for you Mr. Miller?”
A flash of insecurity flared through him - did she know her because of her panic attack? He didn’t want Sarah to get the reputation of the problem child already.
“I was, um, wondering if I could speak to -” the name of the principal slipped his mind. “ - the principal. Please.”
There was some clicking of a computer.
“Sure. Good thing you called early, Karen’s phone gets flooded around 10. Can I ask what you’re calling about so I can brief her on the issue?”
Joel looked back up at Sarah, who had now finished her breakfast as was sitting on the living room floor playing with her favorite doll. It was one of those Barbie Fairytopia dolls, all colorful with wings. She named her Egg.
“I wanna ask about switching my daughter's classroom.”
The clacking on the other end stopped, and he heard shifting, like she was adjusting the phone on her ear.
“Oh!”
“Is that a problem?” he asked defensively.
“No, no! Of course not. We just don’t get that request unless something serious happened, especially not so early in the year.”
He thought about what genius thought it would be a good idea for you to be Sarah’s teacher. All of these administrators were older than him, meaning many of them were likely living in Dallas when the accident happened. What idiot would put…the sheer stupidity of these people made him mad.
Luckily, he didn’t have to explain himself anymore.
“Karen just got into her office, I’ll put you through Mr. Miller.”
The phone clicked before he could even say thank you.
“Huh!?” A different womans voice shrieked in his ear. “Why is he calling so early? Lisa you need to speak up, my office is far away from your desk!”
The voice was so loud he had to hold the phone away from his ear. Even Sarah turned, her head perking up at the sound blaring through the phone.
“Hello?” He cleared his throat, which was almost certainly not loud enough, so he cleared it again.
“Oh, Mr. Miller are you there? How are you this morning? You’re calling real early.”
That wasn’t entirely untrue, but this was the only time he could call before the workday.
“I work in construction, m'am. Early mornings.”
She snapped her fingers.
“Right! Miller Construction. It’s been so great watching your business grow, especially after everything that happened…”
The muscles in Joels arms flexed as he tensed on the other side. So she did know who he was. She wasn’t even trying to feign stupidity.
“Yeah, I’ve been tryin’ real hard to move on from everything. Makes it real hard when the girl I was in that wreck with is my daughter's teacher.”
He wasn’t trying to hide the hostility in his voice, even though he knew it was impolite. Frankly, he was tired of always having to be the polite one. Any time he showed any anger or frustration, the same narrative from the accident came running back, so he always tried to be your traditional southern boy whose mama taught him manners (which she did).
Oh what an angry man. Do you think he’s drinking again? Did you know it was his fault? Because he was yelling at her while she was driving. Maybe if he wasn’t so aggressive, the accident never would have happened. He was the toxic one.
“Ah,” Karen sighed, and Joel heard a seat creaking like she was leaning back. “I had a feeling this would come up.”
His eyebrows furrowed instantly.
“You had a feeling?”
“Well sure. Joel, I’ve been around for a long time. I remember reading the news about two young kids flipping their car. I recognized her name in the paper…she was supposed to be a big writer, wasn’t she? I saw her face on posters all over town about her book signing. Guess she was good, huh?”
It didn’t brush past him that she stopped calling him Mr. Miller and started speaking to him like she knew him personally. With how much of his life was in the news, she technically did.
“She…she is a good writer.”
Joel may not like you, but he was not a liar. You had a skill beyond anyone else, and denying that just felt petty and beneath him.
“It’s a shame she can’t write anymore. I’m sure she’d write a great biography about what happened - oh! Maybe you can write it for her?”
His lips parted at the sheer audacity of this woman. He had not called to catch up with his daughter's principal. He called to get her into a new classroom.
And yet, the allure of you never truly left him. Now that he realized that you didn’t know about the lawsuit, he was curious how much he didn’t know about you.
“What, um…what do you mean she can’t write anymore?”
Karen chuckled on the other end like the topic of a life changing injury was funny to her.
“She told me that she was going to inform the parents about her brain condition before back to school night. Did she back out of that? I told her she could do whatever -”
“No,” Joel cut her off. “She did. I just don’t understand how that means she can’t write.”
He heard a faint inhale on the other end like she was about to respond, but she caught herself. She cleared her throat.
“What can I help you with Mr. Miller?”
“I want to switch Sarah’s teacher.”
She sighed on the other end, and he heard the jangling of bracelets as she scratched her temple.
“I can’t do that for no reason.”
“No - ” he scoffed, trying to keep his temper down with Sarah in the next room. “ - no reason!? I think her and I’s history is enough of a reason. Certainly a conflict of interest?”
“Joel,” she switched back to using his first name like a disappointed parent. “You aren’t really trying to drag your personal business into your daughter's education are you?”
“No!” He grit his teeth defensively. “I don’t want my daughter to be taught by someone that has shown to me time and time again that she values her own needs over anyone elses.”
“Time and time again? Has she not been living across the country for the last 7 years?”
Joel pushed his hair back as he leaned into the counter.
“I meant her and I were in a relationship for 6 years. I had a wedding ring picked out for her. I know her better than anyone else at that school, parents, administrators, whoever.”
“Joel,” every time she said his name, his grip in his hair tightened harder and harder. “She is the most qualified teacher in this building.”
He rolled his eyes on the other end.
“Yeah, I got a whole mouthful about her awards last night. That means nothing to me.”
“Well they should. Those are extremely prestigious awards that most educators don’t win in their entire lifetimes, never mind before they’re 30.”
Joel did look up the names of all of the awards once he put Sarah to bed last night. He knew he shouldn’t do any digging into your life because that would open a wormhole for him. He was nothing if not obsessive once he allowed himself to be. He was that way with alcohol. And he was that way about you.
A mere search for what a Golden Apple award was turned into. That turned into finding a Boston Globe article of you with the Mayor of Boston after collaborting on the project you referenced. He found a post on a Boston bulletin board for Prince fan club that had your name attached to it. He couldn’t find anything on new stories you’d put out, any local author talks like you used to do sometimes back in Dallas.
Sure, the awards were cool. You don’t see teachers taking photos with mayors very often. But none of it moved him because he knew how superficial it all was.
“Awards are great and all until you realize that she will abandon all of those kids at the drop of the hat the minute she gets a better opportunity, or shit gets too hard. My daughter is the most important person in the world to me, and I don’t want to constantly be worrying that her teacher has some vendetta against her because of her and I’s personal relationship, or she has some health scare and has to abandon Sarah again just like her mother did!”
He didn’t realize he was shouting until he realized Sarah had stood up and walked closer to him, holding Egg in her right hand.
“Daddy? Who are you yelling at?”
All of the anger left his face, his lips morphing into a frown. He covered the phone and whispered back.
“Sorry baby, Uncle Tommy’s bugging me again. Go play, we’ll drive to work in a minute and then your Uncle will drive you to school.”
She nodded, understanding that Uncle Tommy often bugged Daddy and he was okay. She was always worrying about him.
He closed his eyes and inhaled before speaking again.
“I’m sorry. That was rude of me.”
“No, no,” Karen’s voice was so soft, he almost thought he was speaking to someone else. “I understand your upset. Frankly, I do take fault for this. I didn’t realize you and her were on such poor terms. But I absolutely see your fears. I do. But do you have any reason to believe she would use Sarah as some sort of ploy in your past relationship? That’s an accusation I have to take seriously.”
His throat bobbed when she said ‘accusation.’ He was on such a role with his anger toward you, his own frustrations spilling out of him easily, but the minute a word as serious as an allegation was dropped, his breath stuttered.
Because he wasn’t 100% certain in what he was accusing you of. In that closet yesterday, the way you stepped right into his space and shouted at him with such disdain and unbridled hatred toward him caught him off balance. He thought about how you tried to call him a bad father, despite everything he went through, despite years of trying his best. You insinuated that she would be better off without him. It was unacceptable.
But he couldn’t help looking at you last night, he saw flickers of the girl he used to love. The girl who would always wave to babies being held by their parents in grocery stores. The girl who would always hand cash to a homeless person she saw and have a discussion with them. The girl who came over to take care of Tommy when he broke his leg and he and his parents had work.
He knew, deep, deep down that you wouldn’t hurt Sarah. You couldn’t. If it was true, and you weren’t exaggerating, that you were the only person with her while she was having a panic attack, then maybe this wasn’t about Sarah.
God…he wanted you gone though. He wanted to feel vindicated by getting you fired and seeing you packed up and getting hipped right back to Boston so he never had to look at you again. He spent so long without smelling burning rubber and blood where there was none. Now, he smelled it all the time.
“She’s not…I don’t think she’s using Sarah as a ploy,” he admitted, even though he was watching his pride get stabbed in front of him. “But she’s unstable. She pulled me inside before the night started and she flipped out on me. It was so unprofessional; calling me every insult under the sun, attacking my parenting, insinuating that I don’t try and teach my daughter,”
“And then she had the nerve to tell me that she thinks Sarah has dyslexia. And a-a god damn anxiety disorder! She knew my daughter for less than 24 hours and tried to tell me that something was wrong with her because I work too much. How dare one of your teachers attack my family like that? How dare she?”
It was quiet for such a long time that Joel thought he was disconnected. But then she sighed, her bracelets echoing through the phone. Her office chair creaked as it rolled closer to her desk.
“Joel, can I play the devil's advocate here?”
No.
“I know you’re hurting,” she continued. “I know there’s history between your families. God, I feel like I’m living in Romeo and Juliet here. I will talk to her, okay? Because if what you’re telling me is true, that is unprofessional and I want to make sure there’s boundaries before the year really kicks off. I’ll bring her into my office today and I will make it very clear that personal grievances stay outside of the school.”
Joel let out a joyous exhale like he just won the lottery. He did win something, actually.
“But,” Karen cut his celebration off. “I need you to listen to me too. Put your pride in your back pocket and look at the bigger picture here. You just told me she thinks Sarah has dyslexia, correct?”
“She’s just saying that to get under my skin -”
“Shut up and listen to me Joel Miller,” Karen cut him off, her voice turning scolding and disappointed. “She told you how qualified she was last night. I’m telling you how qualified she is. She didn’t just spend all of those years working at a snobby private school, she spent years developing specialized curriculums for children with social and emotional challenges. She literally designed the modern day curriculum for children with learning disabilities in Massachusetts. If she was my childs teacher, and she believed they had a learning disability, I would be greatful that my child was in such good hands.”
His jaw made a sharp screeching sound which usually happened if he was grinding his teeth too hard.
“Daddy, your mouth needs oiling.”
When his jaw first made that noise, he tried to explain it Sarah by saying that he just needed some oil because metal gets real dry and crackly after a while. Really, the metal they used was just cheaper, and Joel didn’t care enough about his body to try and remove stress from his face.
“Yeah baby, one second.” He said to Sarah before returning to the phone.
“Now, I’m not qualified to say if Sarah has dyslexia or not. But you and I both know that Sarah is a deeply sensative and anxious little girl. If she is struggling with reading, you have the most decorated and qualified teachers in the state of Texas sitting in that classroom. Plus, she’s legally obligated to give your daughter 40 hours a week of her attention. At no cost to you. Most specialists cost thousands.”
Thousands. Thousands of dollars that he didn’t have.
“Use her Joel. Use her to your advantage. You swallow that pride of yours, you look past that car accident, and you help your daughter. Because she is so smart and she has the exact tools Sarah needs to succeed. If you truly love your daughter, which I know you do, you will want what’s best for her. And what’s best for her right now is her teacher. Do you understand me?”
He chewed hard on his lower lip and looked up at Sarah, who was now braiding Egg’s hair. He was her protector, and right now? Right now, he wasn’t doing his job. He had high hopes for Sarah, hopes for all of the things he never got to accomplish; college, pursuing her dreams without the fear of money, travelling the world.
She couldn’t do any of that if she didn’t have the proper foundations. As her protector, he needed to make sure she learned the foundations so she could have a better life than him.
“Yeah,” he swallowed. “I understand.”
─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───
Joel sat behind his trailer desk, which was illuminated by a few measly lightbulbs since the sun wasn’t fully risen yet. He was surrounded by stacks of blueprints, concrete invoices, and a mountain of bureaucratic safety logs he needed to sign off on before his crew arrived. And yet, he couldn’t focus.
Ever since he hung up his call with Karen,, a migraine had been clawing its way from the base of his neck to the front of his skull. The silence of the trailer had never felt so loud.
He clenched his teeth in pain after a head rush from sitting upright too fast and his jaw let out that screech again. The physical therapists had told him that he would have to learn to divert tension in his face with his new jaw…whatever the fuck that means. Clealry it didn’t work.
Sarah was entirely oblivious to his pain. She was sitting on a milk crate, wearing her backpack over her shoulders, waiting patiently for Tommy to show up and drive her to school. To pass the time, she was using his blueprints as a temporary runway (he guessed what it was) for her Fairytopia doll.
"Fly, Egg!" she whispered softly. Maybe she was more aware of Joels migraine than he thought, speaking so quietly like that.
He watched as Egg took off of the runway and Sarah made ‘brr….brr’ noises like a plane. He wasn’t quite sure where this new fascination with planes came from. He had never been on a plane, and that meant neither had she. He didn’t watch any shows on the TV that had planes in them, and he wasn’t aware of any kids shows that were centered on planes.
Kids are so fascinating.
"Daddy?"
"Yeah, baby?" Joel didn't look up from the invoice he was pretending to read. His thumb was rubbing the scarred skin beneath his beard where the metal met his bone.
"I miss Mommy," she said casually, making the doll do a loop-de-loop over a concrete slab.
The pen in his hand froze mid-signature, the ink bleeding into a blotch on the paper.
He flung his head to the side at the sound of a shatter ceramic plate against the wall and Sarah’s wail. The same wail that she made while she was bleeding through her PJs and all over him.
Why was she missing her?
Sarah had been so understanding when Joel explained that she wouldn’t be seeing Mommy anymore. She was good when they were going through the divorce too. He knew he should have been more hesitant at that reaction. He knew he should have been less easy going - what toddler doesn’t bat an eye that her mother is leaving?
Isla hadn't sent a single card, hadn't made a single phone call, hadn't looked back once after she signed away her rights. He had done everything he could to supplement her. He broke his back at work every day, he learned how to braid her hair, he cut her fruit into stars, he stayed up through every nightmare, he played dolls with her.
Is it because of the reading? Is it because I shouted during the phone call? Am I not enough for her?
He turned his head to look at her.
What's that, Sarah? Why…why you sayin' that, sweet face?"
Sarah paused, holding Egg by her glittery wings, her eyebrows furrowing slightly as she looked up at his upset face.
"Because Katherine in my class yesterday said her mommy lets her sleep in her bed when she gets sad. And I got sad in the library yesterday. I just thought... maybe if Mommy was here, I could sleep in her bed. And she would help the letters not swim."
It wasn't about Isla at all. It was about the exact thing you had accused him of letting happen. She wanted a mother because she thought a mother would notice the letters mushed on the page. She thought a mother would fix the broken parts of her that her daddy was apparently too busy or too blind to see.
He stared at the scar on her little forearm. It meant so little to him, but it was a reminder to Joel of the night he chose to stop drinking. The night he ripped the bandaid off and spoke to a lawyer. He had thought he saved her that night. But standing here, watching her feel so insecure and sad, he realized he was still letting her get cut by the shards of his own life.
Before he could find his voice, the trailer swung open and a rush of exhaust came in.
"Alright, sorry I'm late, man," Tommy said breathlessly, stepping into the trailer with a travel mug of coffee, his boots muddy from the lot. He walked straight over to Sarah and extended a hand. "Come on, time to get you to school before the bell rings. Uncle Tommy's buying you a donut on the way to make up for it."
Sarah's eyes immediately lit up. She scrambled off the milk crate and shoved Egg in her backpack.
"A chocolate one?!"
"You bet," Tommy chuckled, ushering her toward the door. "See ya when I get back Joel."
Joel didn't move. Didn’t say bye. He just watched the door click shut behind them before bursting into tears.
─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───
Joel was an alcoholic.
He didn’t have a hard time admitting it. Anymore. He couldn’t say the exact moment he started developing a problem with alcohol, but he could say the exact moment he decided to pursue sobriety.
It was one month after Sarah was born. Isla was so far gone she was practically out of the picture, but that wasn’t to say Joel was much of a saint. He was far out of the picture because he was afraid that if he spent too long with his daughter, he would contaminate her. That’s what Isla had told them in one of their last big fights before she was born, hadn’t she? That he ruined everything he touches? That he would ruin their daughters life just like he had ruined Islas?
She said…things during their fights a lot. Things that Joel learned to brush off because she would always come back and cry, claiming that she didn’t mean it. But something about this specific comment never left his blood, even today.
By the time Sarah was born, his drinking was at its worst. But it was several bricks that had been placed since he was 18 years old, bricks that pushed him further and further into alcholism.
He never felt quite normal. That was the only way he could articulate it. He had a great childhood. Incredibly kind and supportive parents. Him and his brother got along well. He had friends that were like brothers to him. And yet, he never felt very fulfilled. Looking at the big picture, his life was nice. But the day to day was a drag for him to get through; it felt like shackles were stuck to his feet, trying to pull him into the center of the earth.
He remembered a world with color, so he knew that his life didn’t have color anymore. It was as if someone took a turkey baster and sucked all of the color out of the world around him, leaving him to try and exist in a dull, grey hellscape.
When he started drinking socially, he was amazed that all the color had been repainted onto his surroundings. God, did he miss vibrance! Saturation! Rainbows! When you have color every day, you grow to appreciate it less and less because you know it's going to be tere tomorrow. You don’t know what you have until it’s gone.
He craves the color back so badly that he makes more and more excuses to find a drink at a party. He managed to keep his yearning for it pretty underwraps for a while…until his relationship with you progressed and he got more and more insecure.
All you wanted more than anything was for your writing career to take off. All Joel wanted more than anything was for your writing career to take off. He had the privilege of being the first person you let read your stories, which meant he had the privilege of being the first person to know that you would go down as a writing legend. He wanted nothing more than to see you take off and reach your dreams.
He just didn’t expect for your dreams to change you so much.
The sweet, shy girl he forced into publically reading her story publicly became…well, mean. Sharp. Aggressive. He once expressed his insecurity to you that he wasn’t going to college and working a blue collar job unlike most people he went to high school with. He was afraid that deep down somewhere, you judged him too and would grow out of him. But you swore up and down, left and right that you would never. Someone’s education and job does not shape who they are here:
You tapped his heart.
The change started with little comments during fights, about how he wouldn’t know good writing since he never took a real college class on it. You began throwing your own college education in his face like a weapon. You’d insult him over dinner, glare at his grease-stained hands, make passive-aggressive comments about how he never had to use his brain because building houses required no skill. You systematically made him feel small and unworthy of being in your orbit.
And instead of fighting back, he just drank even more to numb the bleeding. Because despite the insults, despite how cruel you could be, you were still the only good thing he had ever known. He was so terrified of losing you that he swallowed the poison you fed him and washed it down with cheap bourbon.
There was one night toward the end of your relationship, where your roommates at your college apartment were throwing a Halloween Party. Joel had made the drive out, excited to spend some time with you since your school work was really swamping you lately.
But the party really wasn’t fun at all. He felt so out of place in that apartment, even though he was with you, the only person who ever made him feel at home. Hell, he was a contractor standing in a room full of trust fund literature students who were talking about the fancy vacations they were going on over Thanksgiving, or the internships they had lined up.
He had stepped out to grab himself another beer, having lost you almost an hour ago. But when he saw your bedroom door slightly ajar, he walked over to go sit with you. You always made him feel better. Yeah. You would make him feel better.
But before he could open the door, he froze. The sounds bleeding out into the hallway were unmistakable.
It was the heavy breathing of two people behind a closed door, one of which wasn’t his. There was that guy from the hockey team he saw hovering around you all night. It made him uncomfortable how he looked at you, but he…It wasn't a misunderstanding. It wasn't something he could rationalize or explain away. You were in your room with someone else while Joel stood in the hallway feeling his entire universe collapse.
He didn’t do anything in that moment, because the numbness he felt his whole life doubled down. He didn't say a single word to you about it. Not that night, not the next day, not ever. If he brought it up, it meant admitting he wasn't enough. It meant hearing you confirm every single insecure thought he’d ever had about himself.
So he just left the party. He walked out into the night, climbed into his truck, and drove straight to the nearest dive bar he could find. And he drank.
From that night on, the alcohol wasn't a medicine anymore. It was a suicide mission.
He drank before he went to see you, masking the scent with gum. He drank after he dropped you off. He drank until his chest stopped burning from the memory of that hallway. Every time you looked at him with those big pretty eyes, every time you made a remark about his background, he just went back to the bottle. You were the only good thing he had ever had and you had severed the rope.
A month after Sarah was born, his mom was supposed to be watching her for a few hours so Joel could supposedly "clear his head" and sleep off his exhaustion. Instead, he had spent 6 hours sitting in a (suspiciously) sticky booth at a tavern, drowning himself in cheap tequila, trying to drown himself from the inside out. He didn't care about his job, he didn't care about the bills, he didn't care about himself.
When he finally stumbled back to his parents' house, the screen door slamming loudly behind him, he was pathetic. It was undeniable. He reeked of alcohol, his shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, his clothes were disheveled, and his eyes were bloodshot and completely out of focus. He didn’t hide it as much around his mom, because he knew she had a hard time confronting him about it.
But he didn't find his mother waiting for him in the living room.
He found his dad sitting entirely alone at the kitchen table. Sarah's diaper bag was sitting on the counter next to an empty baby bottle.
Joel tried to feign sobriety, instantly pulling his shoulders back and masking his slurred speech with an attempt at swagger. He looked like an idiot. He grabbed the edge of the kitchen counter to steady his rolling vision.
"Heyyyyyyy, Dad. Mom around?"
Scott didn't buy it. He didn't yell. He didn't throw a fist the way Joel half-expected him to. He just slowly stood up from the chair, looked at his eldest son and broke down in tears.
It was the first time Joel had ever seen his father cry in his entire life, and the sight of it horrified him, snapping him out of most of his drunkenness.
He didn’t even notice Tommy was there. He walked out from the back hallway, holding a sleeping Sarah against his chest. His face was completely pale, his eyes fixed on the floor. He was disappointed in Joel. His younger brother was disappointed in him.
"You're gonna kill yourself, son," Scott choked out, gripping Joel’s shoulders, shaking him slightly. "And you're gonna leave this little girl with nothin'. No mama, no daddy. Nothin! You gotta stop, Joel. Goddamn it, please. We can't lose you too. I can't bury my boy."
So much had happened in his life, and yet, the sight of his daughter sleeping in his brother's arms completely broke something inside Joel's chest.
He collapsed forward into his father’s arms, his face burying itself deep into his dad's shirt. He fell to his knees on the linoleum, dragging his father down with him.
"I don't wanna do it anymore. I don't want to be here. I'm ruined. I ruin everything I touch. Isla's right... Sarah... Sarah would be so much better off without me. I'm just a piece of shit. I'm just gonna contaminate her. I'm gonna ruin her life too."
It spilled out of him so fast he was surprised his dad understood any of it.
He didn't offer a lecture or tell him he was wrong, and he didn't tell him to man up. He just wrapped his arms completely around Joel. He rocked him slightly, refusing to let go until the shaking finally stopped and the liquor ran dry in his veins.
Now 6 years later and sitting back at his desk in the construction trailer, Joel stared down at his hands.
They were clean. He hadn't touched a single drop of alcohol since that night on his parents' kitchen floor.
He had chosen to stay alive for Sarah. He reminded himself that no matter how much his jaw ached, and no matter how much the ghost of your voice tried to tell him he was unworthy, he was the one who held his daughter when she cried. Not Isla. And certainly not you.
─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───
“How was pickup today?”
Andrea had picked up Sarah today so Joel could stay after hours at work and finish this damn elderly home project. After he found the faults in the wall yesterday, his team had to tear down a large chunk of what they had done, and they needed to start over. He gave his guys a choice if they wanted to stay or not, of course offering overtime pay. Two of the younger guys agreed, but the other men had families they had to get home and feed, so they left.
So did Joel. But he was running this business.
“Oh she seems so happy there Joely. I know you said she got upset yesterday during the day, but she came in just raving about her teacher, and - “
“TELL DADDY I DREW HIM A PICTURE!”
Joel snorted at the loud squeal of his daughter on the other end.
His mother chuckled and spoke to Sarah.
“You wanna tell Daddy yourself? Come take the phone sugar.”
Joel waited patiently, perking up slightly with excitement to hear from his daughter. Her little voice just sent an injection of dopamine straight into his veins.
“Daddy,” she sounded almost breathless from excitement. “We did art today.”
“You did art? You love art!”
“I. Know. My teacher told us to draw a picture of us with our families somewhere we loved. So I drew us at the zoo.”
He thought Sarah’s zoo phase would leave about a year ago. She often did that little kid thing, where she discovered something new about the world and became obsessed with it for a month. But her love for the zoo has been going strong.
“Yeah? You put any animals in there?”
He mouthed lions on the other end of the phone.
“Lions. And monkeys. Can we hang it on the fridge when you come get me?”
“‘Course baby,” he paused and rolled his lips into his teeth. “You do any reading today?”
“We practiced learning how to say new words. Like s-a-t, sat. Teacher gave me something special to do too.”
Joel stiffened, like he was bracing for her to say that you did something mean to her.
“Yeah?”
“She put cream on my desk daddy! That stuff you put on your face in the morning! Everyone else was just saying the letters outloud, but she told me I got to write the letters in the cream.”
His head tilted on the other end. Shaving cream?
“Do you…do you feel like it helped you read the letters a bit better?”
“Yep!”
His whole body warmed with joy and he couldn’t fight the grin on his face. She was so little she probably didn’t know how it helped, but if it helped her, he would take it. Oh god, he would take it.
“That makes me so happy baby,” he could hear his own happiness in his voice. “You have fun with GG okay? I think you’re having dinner with her, but I’ll pick you up after. I love you.”
“Love ya,” it was quiet for a moment before Andrea was on the phone again.
“It makes me so happy that she’s enjoying school.”
Joel didn’t tell his mother that you were Sarah’s teacher. Everything surrounding the lawsuits and the accident were a sore spot for her, and rightfully so of course. None of them ever really came back from that, and he couldn’t handle the additional stress of his mother worrying why you were back.
“...me too.”
Andrea paused.
“Are you okay sweetheart?” Moms and their ability to read their childrens tones. “Is that old folks home having trouble? You don’t usually have to stay this late.”
He checked his watch which read 7 p.m. Fuck, it was later than he thought. He ignored his mothers question.
“I thought it was still 5ish, I didn’t realize it was so late. Did Sarah have dinner? I told her I would pick her up after dinner. I can come get her - “
“Joel,” his mother said firmly. “Hon. You sound exhausted. Why don’t I watch Sarah for the night? That way you can focus on your project, get to bed early, treat yourself.”
She was funny if she thought Joel slept.
“You already watch Sarah so much -”
“Do you think I care if I spend a lot of time with my only grandbaby Joel Miller? I would snatch her up from you if I could. And besides, she hasn’t had a sleepover since the beginning of August. That’s a whole month.”
“You know some kids don’t see their grandparents for whole years.”
“And I will not be one of those grandparents! Go have a night to yourself, I’ll get her to school tomorrow morning and you can pick her up.”
“I -”
She hung up on him.
It was a nice thought for her to do that, but he was physically incapable of having a night to himself. It was like his brain was always on addreall, which was an accurate description because he tried adderall several times at high school parties. He was always worrying about Sarah, and house bills, and new contracts, and business bills, and lawyer bills.
His work phone started buzzing in his pocket. One of the better purchases he made for the business, so now his personal phone wasn’t blowing up with requests from clients.
“Miller Contracting, this is Joel.”
“Hi Joel!” A cheery womans voice was on the other end. “My name is Laurel Watson, I’m the Chair of the Historical Preservation Trust here in Dallas.”
She paused like Joel was supposed to recognize what that was. Did she seriously think ordinary people had time for frequent historical monument visits?
“How can I help you Laurel?”
“I’m calling because the Trsut just secured a massive federal revitalization grant,” Laurel explained. “We’re looking to completely overhaul the old Johnson’s Crest textile mill over east - you know that one? That really big brick building?”
Joel reached over to his desk to grab his Redbull.
“Yeah, I know the building. That shits been abandoned since before my parents were around. What are you gonna do with it?”
“We want to convert the entire facility into a public library with a community arts hub attached to it. We’re even looking to maybe build a small charter school next to it, but that would be later. It’s one of the biggest projects we’ve ever worked on. The budget we’ve allocated is upwards of 6 million dollars.”
He choked on his Redbull. Full on, soda out the nose, burning, coughing.
He started running the quick numbers, looking around the material costs and labor fees. A project of that scale meant a guaranteed, massive payout. Probably enough to wipe out his parents legal bills - the legal bills that had been draining his mothers spirit and ruined his fathers retirement.
His own bills and debts were probably too high, but to finally lift that weight off his families shoulders felt like a miracle.
But miracles don’t happen to Joel.
“That sounds like a hell of a project,” he laughed skeptically. “But Miller Contracting is a small group. We do residential builds mostly. Concrete pouring. I’m sure you got firms out of Houston and Austin who bid on stuff like this. Why are you calling me?”
Laurel let out a reassuring laugh.
“Because those firms don’t care about Dallas. They want to tear down the original building, gut the character, and turn it into some concrete box. I’ve seen the work your crew did on the firehouse downtown last year. You really respect what you do because you know how to rework old structures without taking away from their history. I think your team is exactly who I want.”
Hearing a complete stranger express complete belief in his capability made him feel confident in a way he hadn’t been in years.
He looked down at the safety logs on his desk that he still had to sign, then out the window where it was now dark outside.
He didn’t want to work until it was dark out anymore.
"Alright…Alright, Laurel. Send over the preliminary blueprints and the grant specifications to my office trailer. I'll review the structural integrity reports and have a formal bid on your desk by Friday morning."
"Wonderful! I knew I called the right man," he could hear her excitement on the other side . "Have a wonderful morning, Mr. Miller."
"You too. Thanks."
He clicked the phone shut and tossed it onto the desk. And then…he laughed. For the first time in seven years, he felt a genuine spike of excitement coursing through his veins. He wasn't just surviving anymore. He was going to pay off his family's debts, he was going to build something that mattered, and he was going to secure his daughter's future.
It was the kind of joy that made him lose his mind for a moment. $6 millio. He had never been affiliated with the word ‘million’ before. He felt giddy like a child, so much so, that he stood up from his desk chair and danced.
Badly. But it was dark.
It was a dorky dad dance, shuffling to side, his arms popping in different directions. It was like his body had a thermometer that was filled with joy, and right now he had a fever - joy and happiness shattering the glass and pouring over the edges.
He was a simple guy. If he didn’t have all of his and his parents' debt, he would move to Tennessee. Not have a whole farm, but have some animals for himself, maybe a couple of chickens. Oh, a cow! A cow seemed fun. He’d buy a big ole’ farm house where he would have his dream guitar collection, and when Sarah was old enough, he would teach her how to play too. He would take her on trips to all of the big monuments across the world, and even though he didn’t know anything about them himself, he would do research on them beforehand so he could answer all of Sarah’s questions.
But, for now, paying off all of the debt you caused him and his family would do.
BANG BANG BANG
It wasn’t out of the ordinary for one of the guys to bang loudly on the door. But not when it’s dark outside and all of them are either home or in the home. And not when he was in his own world, dancing.
He walked over to the door, his pulse thrumming out of his wrists. It was probably just one of the guys telling him they were done for the night.
“Yeah you guys can wrap-”
He froze when his eyes finally connected to his mouth. Because he wasn’t looking at one of his men.
He was looking at you.
You, with hair slightly frizzy from the extreme Texas humidity. You, with the glossed over eyes, almost as if tears were going to fall. You, who was holding yourself upright against the DIY railing he made and yet still stumbling around. You, who smelled like like strawberries and cream, cigarettes, and whiskey.
You…were drunk. Anyone could see it, but he had seen you drunk enough that he knew all of your little obscurities you had when you were drunk. You weren’t wearing a usual going out outfit like you did while the two of you were dating, but you were also nearly 30. Did women still having designated going out tops at 30? Either way, you looked like you went to the bar straight after work, still wearing your landyard, a long pale pink skirt, and a blue shirt that said ‘Book Worm’ on it.
“Did you try and get me fired!?”
You took a step forward, pushing your finger into his chest. You nearly fell over just doing that.
Meanwhile, Joel was still speechless that you were standing outside of his work trailer. He instinctively reached out, holding the sides of your arms to keep you upright, and he guided you into his trailer.
“What the hell are you doing?” He hissed, ignoring her question and sitting her down at his desk. Not the most comfortable chair for a drunk girl but he wasn’t going to put you on the floor. He hated you, but he wasn’t an animal.
“Don…” your words were slurring. “Don’t fucking ignore my question Miller.”
Joel slammed the trailer door shut and locked it before walking over to you.
“I’m not ignoring your question.”
You looked so…silly. In the dorkiest and most ridiculous way possible, you looked like the most dishevleved teacher in the entire world. It didn’t help the warmth that was spreading through his cheeks when you looked up at him with your big puppy eyes, your pupils absolutely blown with intoxication.
“Did you try and get me fired?” you asked again, still slurring, but not so loud this time. Your head lolled back so hard against the headrest that Joel swore he heard your neck cracking.
Joel’s arm shot out before he could even register what he was doing. His hand cupped the back of your head, his fingers splaying across your neck so you didn't whip your spine against the hard seat. He held you there for a moment, one that felt so familiar, Joel let his thumb brush the hairs at the nape of your neck. As soon as he realized what he was doing, he let go, but he stayed close, his boots pressing right up against the wheels of your chair.
You glared at him, oblivious to his worry.
“Karen just pulled me into her office and threatened to throw me out of the district! She said I was a liability! Because 'I' pulled you into a closet and screamed at you like a lunatic!”
He raised an eyebrow. That wasn’t at all what Karen said she would do. She just said she would talk to you.
“I didn’t tell her to do that. That’s not what she told me she was going to do at all,” he muttered. He did say some awful things to Karen about you, but something about seeing you in his space, vulnerable and clearly hurt made him feel guilty.
He hated feeling guilty. You deserved to be reprimanded! What was he doing?
“But you did pull me into that closet. And you did scream at me. I called the principal this morning because I wanted to talk about my daughter's classroom placement. I didn't ask for your contract to be reviewed.”
“Bull-fucking-shit!” and you were yelling again. You stood up shakily, your palms slapping his desk. Your knees buckled almost instantly, sending you nearly crumbling into the sharp edge of his metal filing cabinet.
Joel caught you by the waist with both hands, his fingers digging into the fabric of your shirt, pulling you flush against his chest to absorb the impact of your fall. For a second, you were entirely in his arms, the scent of your hair filling his lungs.
He held you the same way he held your limp body on the side of the road. Except this time, you didn’t smell like blood and burning rubber.
His heart started racing as you thought back to that night, like your body was a time machine. He quickly lowered you back to your feet and dusted his hands off.
"Sit down before you break your neck,” He stepped back, crossing his arms tightly to keep from reaching out a third time. But you kept going.
"You just want me gone! You've wanted me gone since 1996! You wish I was dead didn’t you? You wish I died in that accident and I would be gone from your life…”
As you rambled on, Joel’s heart fractured. You thought he was so evil that he would prefer you dead. And of course he didn’t want you dead. He did everything he could keep himself conscious so that he could call for help for you. Hell, sometimes he wished he would just let himself die, but that meant you wouldn’t be here either.
"I called the school because I don't want a woman who has a 7 year personal vendetta against me diagnosing my kid just to hurt my pride. But Karen told me what you did up north. She told me you're the most qualified person in the state to help her. So I swallowed my pride. I told her you weren't using Sarah as a ploy. I saved your damn job this morning.”
You blinked up at him, your slurred defiance faltering for a fraction of a second as his words registered through the alcoholic haze. And in that flicker, he saw the youthful, innocent you, the one he fell in love with. The one he lost.
"You... you told her that?" you whispered, your hand instinctively coming up to clutch your lanyard.
"Yeah, I did," Joel sighed, straightening back up and rubbing the bridge of his nose/ He reached over, grabbed his half-empty bottle of water from the desk, and pushed it into your hand, forcing your fingers to wrap around the plastic. "Drink some water. And then you need to tell me how the hell you got here, because you are in no condition to be driving a car."
You tilted your head at him like he just asked the most stupid question in the world.
“I don’t drive.”
Joel froze, his hands half way through rubbing his face.
“What do you mean? You seriously walked all the way here?” His eyes darted to your feet, which must be aching. “You…you never got behind a wheel again? Not once…”
He didn't ask anything else. He couldn't. Because the truth was, Joel carried a mountain of guilt about the smell of dirt, burning rubber, and flipped metal under a black Texas sky. It was guilt about the absolute horror of waking up upside down, coughing on smoke, and realizing you were flung through the windshield. Despite his pleas for you to wear a seatbelt, he had failed to save you, and that failure had fundamentally broken something inside him.
He hated you now. He had spent seven years building a wall of pure spite to survive that guilt. But underneath the anger, Joel was a man who was physically incapable of not taking care of the people he loved. It was in his DNA. He was a protector, a provider, and a savior to a fault. And looking at you right now, his old instincts didn't care about the lawsuit or the bitter words - they just saw you.
"Where's your phone?" he demanded gently, stepping into your space and reaching for your small handbag.
"No," you slurred, trying to weakly swat his hands away. "Theo... Theo's gonna kill me, Joel. He's bein' so good to me... letting me live with him. If I walk in like this... he's gonna know I messed up."
Joel didn't say anything as he fished the flip phone out of your bag. He knew Theo, and he knew he would absolutely lose his mind if he found out you were anywhere near a Miller, let alone drunk in a construction trailer. He flipped the phone open, and posing as you, he typed out the quickest lie he could think of.
Got invited out for drinks with some of the other teachers from school. Going to stay at their place tonight to be safe. Love you, see you tomorrow.
He hit send, snapped the phone shut, and slid it into his pocket. No drunk texting for you.
"Come on.”
"No! Let go of me!" you protested, your slurred voice rising as you shoved his chest. You fought him all the way out of the trailer, your heels dragging in the gravel lot, but Joel just kept a grip on your waist, hoisting you into the passenger seat of his truck like a doll. He closed the door, rushing around to the driver's side before someone thought he was kidnapping you.
There was a certain irony about your inability to drive yourself and how quickly you fell asleep in the car, like the engine was a lullaby. Like you found peace in being just far enough away from the trauma. The trauma was behind the wheel.
When he finally pulled into the driveway of his house, it was pitch black. He turned off the ignition and looked across the bench seat. You were entirely dead to the world, your head tilted against the glass in a way that looked ridiculously uncomfortable.
Joel sighed at how helpless you looked. He climbed out of the truck and walked around to the passenger side. Opening the door, he leaned in to carefully unbuckle your seatbelt, making sure his hands didn't snag your lanyard - they were so calloused they looked almost like splintered wood. He slid one arm beneath your knees and the other behind your back, lifting you out of the cab bridal style.
He used to dream about holding you like this.
As soon as frigid air hit you, you whimpered. Your body instinctively sought out the closest heat source you could find - his chest. You turned inward, your face burying directly into the crook of his neck, your hands clutching blindly at his shirt as you snuggled yourself as deep into his space as you could possibly get.
Joel’s breath hitched. His heart began hammering against your ribs. The sensation of just holding you was melting him from the inside out. It was too familiar. It felt too much like the nights he used to carry you to bed when you were 19, entirely safe and entirely his. He adjusted his grip, pulling you a bit closer, his chin resting gently against your hair as he kicked his front door open.
He had fully intended to give you the couch. He had told himself you didn't deserve his bed. But Joel was a gentleman, and the couch was far too small, and his body simply wouldn't let him treat you poorly right now. He carried you straight past the living room, down the hallway, and into his own bedroom, laying your body onto his mattress. Still small, but more adult sized.
"Hey," he whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed and shaking your shoulder with a tenderness that contradicted everything he’d said today. "Hey. Wake up for a second, sweet girl."
He gulped when he said the name he used to call you. Sweet girl…his sweet girl.
Well. You weren’t really sweet anymore. Joel was living in a memory tonight.
You groaned, your eyelids squinting open.
"Joel...?"
"You want a shirt and some shorts to sleep in? You can't sleep in that heavy skirt."
"Yeah," you yawned. "Yes, please."
Joel walked over to his dresser, pulling out an old grey t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts, pulling the drawstring loose so they wouldn't pinch your waist. He walked back to the bed and set them down beside you.
"Alright. I'm turning around. Change your clothes."
He turned his back to the bed, standing completely still as he faced the wall, trying hard not to envision what you looked like changing into his shirt. This isn’t real he kept telling himself. Tomorrow the real you will come out.
"Done," you whispered even though it was just the two of you.
Joel turned back around. You were swallowed whole by his t-shirt, the fabric hanging past your knees, looking tiny in the middle of his bed. He leaned over, pulling the heavy quilt all the way up to your shoulders, tucking the edges around you like he did for Sarah when she had a nightmare.
He walked out to the kitchen to get some water and placed them on the nightstand right next to your head. He placed a plastic trash bag on the floor right by the edge of the mattress, just in case your stomach turned.
And finally, he knelt down by the side of the bed. He was holding a washcloth he had run under the bathroom tap with warm water, squeezing out the excess until it was just damp.
"Hold still.”
He brought the cloth to your face, wipingn the smudged mascara and foundation from your skin. He was careful around your eyes, his thumb resting lightly against your cheekbone to steady his hand. He traced the slope of your nose, cleaning your face the exact way he used to do when you’d stay up until 3 in the morning writing and couldn't keep your eyes open.
It was so quiet he heard you swallow before whispering.
“Joel?”
“Mhm?”
“I’m glad it’s you…I know it’s you this time. Don’t worry.”
ongoing
taglist (open - message me your username): @happilymagicallady @mystickittytaco @vickie5446 @din-cognito @pascalgold @cuteanimalmama @zeebmaster @eviispunk @somedayheaven @twilightvelour @callmebyyournick-name @onlythehobi @speaktothehandpeasants @laughsandlivia @doblasftcisco @monalicious67 @richierae08-blog
WIP weekend - SoCal to NorCal Ch 5
Hiiiiiii my lovelies! Thanks for the like.... 3 tags in a row @penvisions lol, plus @sin-djarin , @kokoluwie and anyone else who's been tagging me. Sorry for being so MIA lately but I FINALLY left my shitty ass job and am starting my new one soon! Hooray! So I haven't had much time to write before this, but I had a fantastic writing session with my IRL writing buddy and worked on this chapter. I finished the emotional pinnacle that was giving me grief, so now I'm onto the smutty parts and oooooohWEE Frankie is about to be so goddamn filthy while getting squeaky clean in the shower, hehehe. Smut under the cut!
You purr contentedly. “Your fingers are magic.”
“Oh yeah?” Frankie responds, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. His hands slide down the curve of your ass.
“Fuck, Frankie, please,” you beg. He hums, then the sound of the soap squelching in his wet hands echoes around the tiles.
“So pretty when you beg,” he murmurs, massaging the globes of your ass. You let loose another moan, tipping your head back in search of his mouth. Your glute muscles relax at the same time your cunt starts to throb and clench on nothing. Frankie meets your lips with his own, tongues tangling and sliding in a familiar dance. When his sudsed fingers reach your folds, he swallows the gasp you let out.
“Tell me you need me,” he commands gently.
“God, Francisco,” you moan, “need you to touch me.” You cant your hips back to expose yourself more to him, and his cock kicks against you once again. Thick fingers stroke slowly between your thighs to tease you and clean you simultaneously. The intimacy is diaphanous yet strong, a spider’s web of emotions.
“You need me here?” Frankie asks, moving his fingers to the tight ring of your ass. Your gasp this time is loud, surprised, tinged with a growl. He chuckles when you nod your head rapidly.
NPT: @for-a-longlongtime @gothcsz @whocaresstillthelouvre @simpingforjoel @djarins-cyare @kedsandtubesocks @shesealena @skyesdelight @musings-of-a-rose @beefrobeefcal @oliveksmoked @magpiepills
°❀.ೃ࿔* Lesson Six: Try not to strangle your brother for not telling you that your ex-boyfriend still lives in town °❀.ೃ࿔
Spotify | pintrest visuals | masterlist | ao3
Chapter summary: you try and make it through parent teacher night after Joel's confrontation
Authors note: HELLO I am home from my cruise! we had 5 minutes of wifi a day and I had downloaded a bunch of really shitty movies to watch before we got on - speaking of which, follow me on letterboxd xoxostarfire_ teehee yay hope you enjoy! I'm insecure about my smut writing and there's a smut flashback in here so go easy on me.
Monday, September 2003.
The last time you saw Joel Miller, he told you you ruined his life.
As much as you spent the last 7 years trying not to think about him, his last words slipped into your mind from time to time. How could they not? Seconds before both of you nearly died, the man you thought you loved changed the entire narrative of what you thought the relationship was.
Your mom told you that he only said it because he was jealous and drunk, and you nodded along to please her. But that’s certainly not the case - drunk words are sober thoughts. He really and truly believed that you ruined his life.
It’s hard to know how you ruined someone's life when they aren’t there to tell you what you did. When you woke up from your coma and started regaining memories of the drive leading up to the accident, you waited day after day for Joel to show up so you and him could talk.
You knew the quote from Hemmingway, “The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places.” After the accident, you hated Joel for all of this. You wanted to scream and hit him and scream at him for ruining your life. And yet…part of you naively hoped that you and Joels relationship would come out stronger after this. Like both of you nearly dying was some sort of reincarnation.
He never showed up.
You thought maybe he was embarrassed to face you and that in time he would come by. He must have his own injuries from the accident right? Maybe he was in rehab just like you. It was a lame attempt to try and humanize the man who you once loved more than anything in the world.
If he loved you, he would have found a way to see you.
Cami had told you that after you moved to Boston and were telling her about the accident. She told you that life was too short to make excuses for men who treat you poorly. That the fact of the matter was, if you weren’t in a coma, you would have found where his hospital room was and sat with him. He didn’t. Your mom told you his parents didn’t even send their regards - the couple who you thought were going to be your future in-laws. Your family and the Millers were completely cut off overnight.
Any…no, love isn’t the right word. Nostalgia maybe? Any nostalgia you had left for Joel left in 1996. You were still in rehab, going to Physical Therapy and Occupational Therapy and Psychological Therapy every day, but even though you were constrained to the hospital, you weren’t immune to gossip. Your suburb in Dallas was small, which meant everyone that was everyone knew about the accident.
“Did you hear he moved on already?”
You had been waiting for your dinner, watching television when you heard two nurses talking by the nurses station. You innocently perked up - the gossip you heard was the only source of real entertainment you had in these four wall. Yet you were completely unaware that they were gossiping about you.
“Oh my god!” the other nurse whispered so loudly it was basically a hiss. “Her cousin does pilates with my sister and told her. How long have they been together now? I feel like it’s moving fast.”
“Oh god…what, must be 3 months now? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of an engagement that fast. Not unless someone's knocked up.”
Your eyes widened and you winced as you tried to sit up straighter in your hospital bed. You heard stories about kids in your high school getting engaged after 8 months, but 3 months? That’s insane.
“Her cousin didn’t say if she’s knocked up or not, but I honestly think they really like each other. I’ve seen them around town and the way he looks at her…God, I wish my man would look at me like that.”
“Yeah, but people can be madly in love and get engaged after 3 years. I just can’t help but feel bad for Y/N.”
You were still smiling after they said your name, like when a firework goes off and it takes a moment for your ears to take it all in.
They were talking about Joel?
He was an off limits topic in your family. The mere thought of him made everyone around you so angry it was just better for everyone. But that meant you had no idea what he did with his life after the accident. You didn’t know if he had brain damage too, or if he had several surgeries like you. Maybe he walked away injury free, but given that the car was smashed practically in half, that was unlikely. Either way…you certainly didn’t know he had a girlfriend. That was the least likely result of what happened to him.
“Yeah…I mean, he moved on fast. And he has every right to find love after all the shit that happened to him, but that can not feel good for her. Like, she still hasn’t fully recovered and he’s living his best life and engaged to a damn supermodel.”
You hadn’t realized your hands started trembling until your right hand jerked so violently to the right that you yelped out in pain. Your eyes felt heavy, and wet with tears, but you knew it wasn’t because of the muscle strain.
Joel had moved on and was living his best life while you were in a hospital bed, still struggling to sip your own glass of water. It wasn’t fair.
And now, he showed up to your first back to school night at your new job. The new job that already wasn’t working very well. He always had to ruin everything.
When you stepped out of that closet, you didn’t pause to catch your breath. Hell, you had so much rage pumping through your veins, you barely remembered half of the insults you had thrown at him, even though they were the same insults you had been sitting on for 7 years.
Your hand pressed to your chest, and you put a bit of pressure on it, to try and feel your chest rise and fall. That always made you feel better…yeah. Rise and fall. In and out. You could hear the echo of Joel calling your name - rise and fall, in and out.
Do not cry.
You cried over the first bad review of your book to Joel. You thought you were safe. He used to hold you, and cradle you in his arms, stroking your hair until your tears dulled into a weak exhaustion.
But that night you went to him, he snapped at you. He called you ungrateful. A whiny crybaby for crying over a bad review when you had the privilege of even getting a book deal. He told you to grow up and learn that not everything is going to go your way in life. To stop thinking everything you do is perfect and learn to accept some fucking criticism. He told you maybe the reviewer was right.
So, you would be damned if you cried in front of Joel Miller ever again. Nor would you cry in front of your new students and their families.
You paused just outside of the door and wiped underneath your eyes. It had been 7 years. You needed to show Joel Miller that you moved on from him and from the accident.
“Hi everyone!”
You didn’t recognize your own voice as you stepped inside, not bothering to hold the door for Joel, who had quickly closed the gap between the two of you.
You stepped right in front of the whiteboard where you had written your name across it.
“I was so excited to meet all of my students today and I am definitely excited to meet all of their lovely parents as well,” you smiled, your eyes scanning the room. “I wrote my full last name on the board so you are aware of it, but I told everyone to call me whatever they fell comfortable with - teacher, miss, m’am, whatever they want. I know my name can be a bit tricky to pronounce and that goes for all of the adults in the room too. Or you can call me by my first name, Y/N.”
You looked at your kids sitting next to their respective adult.
“That last one doesn’t apply in the classroom y’all.”
That got a few laughs from the parents. Good. You were still funny even though your life was falling apart.
“I do want to address something before I open up the floor for questions about how I plan for this year to go if that’s all right with everyone.”
All of the heads nodded, and your eyes caught Joels, sitting next to Sarah who was smiling and kicking her little legs that didn’t fully touch the bottom. But Joel was staring at you with a seemingly blank expression. Only you would know that it wasn’t blank. Only you would know that his face went empty when he was analyzing something, trying to figure out the bet way to handle a situation.
And in this case, the situation was you.
“I’m certain some parents in the room knew my name when they got the class roster,” your eyes never left Joels. “Others may not have even bothered opening the letter.”
More laughs. It made Joel’s cheeks pinken slightly, the fact that everyone was laughing like not reading the class roster was the silliest thing they ever heard. Because it was.
“For those who don’t recognize my name, well…that makes me happy. But, to address the elephant in the room for those who do know me, yes, I am the same woman who was in the accident of 1996.”
You didn’t want to address the fact that it was a car wreck in front of the kids, but you wanted the parents to feel at ease. It was almost inevitable that one of your kids would go home and say that their teachers hands shake and the parents would think you are some kind of junkie who was high during the school day.
“The accident left me with what is called a Diffuse Axonal Injury. It is a brain injury that I got from the accident. I spent a year in rehabilitation learning to speak again, walk, and redevelop my fine motor skills. I am 99% recovered, accepted for one lingering side effect that the doctors were not able to fix - hand tremors.”
Joel’s throat flexed and his hand lifted up to massage his jaw. For the first time since you started speaking, his eyes darted away from you.
“The tremors, while visible, are completely controlled by medication. They rarely get severe enough that I am unable to do my job, and in a worst case scenario, the teacher next door and I have made a plan that she will step in so I can leave the room until my hands are under control. The administration is also aware of this and they are willing to watch the classroom if I need to step out, but that is not expected to happen,”
“I want to make it clear that just because my hands shake from time to time, I am no less qualified for this position. During my recovery year, I finished the last year of my college degree through a plan I made with my professors - one degree in English Literature and one degree in Elementary Education.”
A few of the parents nodded, impressed. You had the tendency to disregard your accomplishments since everything in your life was so focused on what you couldn’t do, so it felt good to see something you did (that was extremely difficult), be acknowledged.
One of the parents sitting next to your student Katherine raised their hand. It was a woman dressed up in a pantsuit who wore tiny glasses at the edge of her nose. You would bet $1000 that she was a lawyer.
“Where did you go to college?” she asked. Of course she asked that.
You grinded your teeth together at the question and you glared at Joel. You wanted to shout in front of everyone, “Why don’t you answer that Miller?” Afterall, he was the one who guilted you into staying close to home for college, insinuating that your relationship wouldn’t last if you went to Rice Unversity, the best school in Texas, that just so happened to be almost 4 hours away from you.
“Texas Christian University. Full ride.”
That seemed to please her enough, so you moved on.
“When I left the hospital, I moved to Boston where I got a job at the top private elementary school in the state. There I won the Milken Award, a $2,500 prize for early career teachers who show promise in the field. Before my move back to Dallas, I won the Golden Apple award for my work on developing special education programs not only in my school, but across all of Massachusetts, and the same year I was recognized by the mayor of Boston for the project,” you paused and clapped your hands together. “I hope that eases any concerns. Please feel free to throw questions my way.”
Katherine’s mom immediately leaned forward, her pen poised over a leather-bound notepad. Some parents really took the 1st grade seriously.
"Given your impressive background in Massachusetts, I'm curious about your transition back to the public system here. What specifically are your curricular plans for this cohort, particularly regarding reading benchmarks? And how do you plan to handle differentiated learning if a child is struggling to meet those benchmarks early on?"
"That is a fantastic question," you said. This was your specialty in the classroom. "My philosophy is that reading shouldn't feel like a high-stakes interrogation. At this age, children develop at completely different rates. If a student is struggling with phonological decoding or showing anxiety around text, the absolute worst thing we can do is force it until they cry and associate books with failure. We break it down. We use multi-sensory tools like letter tiles, sight-word games, and we lead with patience. My goal is to make sure every child in this room feels capable, not broken."
From the second row, Joel’s entire posture shifted. He was so self-centered he probably thought that that was a dig at Sarah.
His hand, which had been resting on his jaw, dropped into his lap. You didn't look directly at him anymore, but you could see him out of the corner of your eye. His chest rose and fell in a slow, strained breath, the same way yours did when you were trying really hard not to have a panic attack.
He didn't blink. He just sat there, completely frozen, his eyes burning into yours as the words force it until they cry hung in the air between you. Maybe you had subconsciously made a dig…but certainly not at Sarah. At him. He looked like he’d just been hit right in the chest, his face tightening as he clearly connected the dots back to whatever Sarah had told him about their reading battles at home.
"I have a question about your history," a father in a polo shirt chimed in from the back, leaning over Mickeys tiny desk. "You mentioned the Milken and Golden Apple awards - I work over at the high school so I know how big those are. If you were doing that kind of high-level work with the mayor of Boston, why come back to a standard public district in Dallas?"
You smiled, though the corners of your mouth felt tight. Nothing wrong with telling a white lie here for the greater good right?
"Boston was an incredible chapter, but Texas is home. And frankly, the public school system is where the work matters most. The private sector has resources, but public schools have the heart. I came back because I wanted to bring the specialized programs I developed up north back to the community that raised me. And no, I'm not going anywhere."
A subtle scoff barely escaped Joel's nose, so faint that if you hadn't spent four years memorizing his exact cadence, you would have missed it completely.
He shifted his weight in the tiny student chair, his work boots making a sharp scrape against the linoleum that drew a quick look from Sarah. He was so…broad. He was always a muscular, but seeing him next to something so small really put into perspective how big he was. His arms crossed over his chest, his shoulders bunching tight under his flannel shirt. The sheer hostility radiating off him was palpable - he was clearly rejecting of your little speech about "the community that raised me."
"Ms. L/N," Katherine’s mother spoke up again. "To touch back on what you said about your recovery... a Diffuse Axonal Injury is an incredibly severe diagnosis. Most people don't walk away from that, let alone earn two degrees and win state-level accolades. If you don't mind me asking, how exactly did that recovery period shape your approach to teaching children who face their own cognitive or emotional hurdles?"
She must be a medical malpractice lawyer, because you had no idea why she knew what a DAI was.
The room went entirely quiet. You kept your posture perfect, but your left hand, the one hidden slightly behind your hip, gave a sharp jerk, the tremor fighting through the high dose of your evening medication.
"When you have to spend a year re-learning how to force your brain to tell your feet to move, you learn a lot about frustration. You learn what it feels like to be trapped inside a mind that isn't doing what you want it to do. When a 6 year old is having a panic attack, or hitting a wall with a word, they aren't being bad. They are frustrated. My injury taught me that every single milestone is earned through a mountain of unseen work. I don't give up on kids who take a little longer to get there, because nobody gave up on me."
Joel’s pupils were blown as he glared at you, but the anger faltered at the phrase nobody gave up on me. For a split second, the anger on his face slipped, replaced by an expression you actually didn’t recognize. He seemed to fully acknowledge the permanent damage from the crash, using your shaking hand as a shield to protect his daughter.
He lowered his eyes, looking down at Sarah, who was beaming up at you with absolute worship. When Joel looked back up at you, his face had gone entirely blank again, masked in that terrifyingly empty composure he always used when he was completely overwhelmed and trying to force himself not to feel a single thing.
"Ms. L/N," a father in the third row interrupted, raising his hand before the quiet in the room could fully settle. "You mentioned specialized programs for emotional hurdles. My son tends to shut down when he's frustrated. Do you employ any specific behavioral intervention models in the classroom, or is it mostly intuitive?"
"It’s a mix of structured tier-intervention and trauma-informed care. We use a 'cool-down' corner-” you motioned to the corner of the room you had decorated. “-with regulated breathing visuals, and we track behavioral triggers daily. If a child shuts down, we don't punish the isolation, we investigate the cause."
Before the father could thank you, Joel’s work boots scraped against the floor as he shifted his weight. The crossed arms came undone, his large palms flattening against his knees as he leaned forward in the tiny plastic chair. The sudden movement drew the attention of a few parents.
"I got a question," Joel said, his accent really popping out. He always sounded more southern when he was angry, but it wasn’t intentional. You knew he tried to mask his accent so that he would see more professional, but it always slipped out when he couldn’t control his emotions.
You forced a polite smile.
"Yes?"
Joel didn't smile back.
"You talk a lot about foundations and not giving up on kids. That sounds real’ nice on a flyer. But you also just said you have a plan to walk out of this room and hand my daughter over to the teacher next door or an administrator if your hands start shaking too bad."
Several parents raised their eyebrows at Joel - whether agreeing with his concern or shocked at his open hostility, you had no idea.
"I want to know how that's supposed to build a stable environment for a child who already has anxiety," Joel’s demenor was so intense it looked like and interrogation. He didn't look at anyone else in the room; his entire universe had narrowed down to you. "If a kid is in the middle of a freak out under a desk, and the person who's supposed to be running the show suddenly leaves the room because her own body is short-circuiting... How is that prioritizing the children? How many times a week are my taxes paying for a substitute to take over your job?"
It was so blunt he may as well have stood up and slapped you in the face in front of all of these people. You felt the heat rising up your neck, but you kept your chin up, refusing to let him see you shatter.
"Mr. Miller, as I stated, the tremors are fully managed by medication. The protocol with the neighboring teacher is a worst-case redundancy. In my 7 years of teaching up north, I never had to leave my classroom a single time due to my injury. My students have always had a perfectly stable, highly structured environment."
"Up north," Joel repeated. "Right. At a private school where parents pay thirty grand a year and the class sizes are capped at twelve. This is a Texas public school. You've got over 20 kids packed in here, and no full-time aid. You really think a few breathing visuals and some letter tiles are gonna hold a room together when things get loud? Or are you gonna find out real quick that this public system is a lot heavier than what you're used to?"
"Joel," a whisper came from a mother a few seats over who seemed to recognize the personal venom in his voice, but Joel completely ignored her.
"I'm just asking about capability," He continued, ignoring the woman’s gentle warning. "You’ve been out of the state for a decade. You don't know the curriculum changes here, you don't know the stress these kids are under with state testing, and by your own admission, you spent a year just trying to figure out how to walk again. I think the parents in this room have a right to know if you're actually physically and mentally equipped to handle the workload of public school kids, or if we're just an experiment for your specialized programs."
The sheer malice behind the words was breathtaking. He was weaponizing your medical history in front of your new employers, trying to dismantle your credibility before the first week of school was even over.
Next to him, Sarah looked up at her father, her little face falling into a confused frown as she sensed the upset in her dads voice. She wrapped her arms around her dads arm and tucked her chin into her chest.
Seeing Sarah shrink out of the corner of your eye injected a shot of adrenaline into you. Your left hand stopped shaking entirely behind your back.
"I am more than equipped, Mr. Miller," You looked him dead in the eye, letting every single parent see the unyielding strength behind your posture. "My degrees, my state awards, and the endorsement of the principal who hired me speak to my capability. If you have specific concerns about your daughter's placement, my door is always open for a private conference. But in this classroom, I am the educator. And I can assure you, no student under my care will ever be abandoned when things get heavy."
His lips pressed into a thin line. He looked like he wanted to jump out of the chair, but with twenty pairs of eyes now staring at him in uncomfortable silence, he slowly forced his back against the plastic chair.
He didn't say another word, but his hands curled into iron fists on his knees, his gaze remaining locked onto you like a predator waiting for the room to clear.
─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───
Was it innapropriate to throw a tantrum at 29 years old? Probably.
“Where is he!” You slammed the front door of the house shut and stormed inside without taking your shoes off. Eddie was sitting on the living room couch with a plate of something in hand, the evening news turned on.
“Well hello to you sunshine. Could you be more specific?”
You glowered at him, stomping over and standing over him. Meanwhile, he looked completely relaxed, like the woman in front of him wasn’t bright red.
“Your partner, dipshit. My evil fucking brother.”
Eddie looked up at you, chewing on…it looked like sludge. Eddie was not a man of the kitchen like your brother was.
“My dipshit partner is in the shower. Is there anything I can help you with while you wait for him?”
He was so laid back that you couldn’t help but feel a bit calmer in his presence. When Eddie was around, the world wasn’t all that shitty, because he said so.
You dropped your bag on the ground, sunk onto the cushion next to him, and immediately started sobbing. A day's worth of frustration finally pushing you over the edge as you buried your face in your hands.
You were always embarrassed with how you cried. You always lost your breath, and your face contorted in a way that looked like you were melting. You always turned so red and warm that if you got your temperature taken it would say that you have a fever.
“Woah!” you couldn’t see Eddie in your hands, but you could hear the concern in his voice. He rested his hand on your back and rubbed it gently. “What happened?”
“WhydidnoonetellmethatJoelhasadaughterandthathestilllives - “
“ - stop right there because I absolutely have no idea what you’re saying. Just let it out for a minute then talk to me.”
You inhaled and forced your hands away from your face even though your skin felt like it was on fire. Your vision was blurry with tears, but you could see Eddie had set his plate down on the coffee table.
"Okay, breathe," Eddie said softly. He would have made such a good therapist with how stabilizing his voice was. He continued gently rubbing your back. "In and out, sweet pea. You're completely safe in this living room. Just give it to me piece by piece."
"Joel," you choked out. "Joel Miller. He was there, Eddie. At back-to-school night."
Eddie’s hand froze flat against your spine. His entire face went completely rigid, his eyes widening as the color practically drained from his cheeks. He didn't look confused; he looked entirely, utterly horrified…and guilty.
"Oh, shut up," Eddie whispered. "Oh, my God. You didn't know?"
You pulled back, your brow furrowing through your tears as you looked at him.
"What do you mean, did I know? Eddie, his daughter is in my class. He came in for the presentation. And before we even went inside, we got into this horrible, vicious fight in the supply closet. He was asking me what the fuck I was doing back in Texas.”
“But he got the roster! He should have known ahead of time - “
“ - He didn't read it. Eddie... he didn't throw it away because he was mad or because he didn't care. He threw it away because he didn't care enough to look at it at all."
All that pride he’d displayed in the supply closet was just a mask for careless apathy. He hadn't even given the paper a single glance. He hadn't checked the name, hadn't looked at the classroom number, hadn't bothered to spend five seconds ensuring his anxious daughter was set up for success.
He had just tossed it into the trash like junk mail because checking up on her school details wasn't worth his limited time.
"What?" He reached out, his hand resting gently on your knee. "What do you mean he didn't care enough to look?"
"He didn't even check," you said, a new kind of bitter laugh bubbling up in your throat, completely devoid of humor. "He stood there and screamed at me for not requesting a transfer, acting like he did nothing wrong by not checking important mail about his daughter's education. But he was lying to cover his own tracks. He just couldn't be bothered. He didn't look at the list because he's so checked out, Eddie. He's so busy playing the martyr, working eighteen hours a day and running his company, that he didn't even give his own daughter's first-grade teacher a second thought."
You stood up from the couch, the rage returning, but this time it was directed at his absolute negligence as a father. You started pacing the length of the living room.
"That baby is drowning," your voice shook as you gestured toward the door. "She's sitting at home crying over books, having full-blown panic attacks under library tables, and her dad can't even be bothered to read a one-page printout from the school district? He just throws it in the trash because it's an inconvenience to him? And then he has the nerve to come into my classroom and interrogate me about my capability?"
"Oh, so he's a hypocrite," Eddie said, his voice dripping with absolute disdain as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Fabulous. He’s out there pretending to be the father of the year in front of the other parents, pointing fingers at your health, when he’s really just a lazy, negligent prick who can't take five seconds to read a roster for his own kid."
"Exactly," you stopped by the window and pressed your forehead against the glass, trying to stop the heat from radiating off your skin. Your left hand gave a tiny twitch, but you forced it down into a fist. "He wanted to make it about us. He wanted to make it about my brain injury because it's easier to attack my stability than to admit he's completely failing his daughter."
"If he wants to play the neglectful contractor who ignores school notices, that’s his business. But the second he tries to blame his bad parenting on your tremors? Absolutely not. You are the professional in that room, and you just proved it."
You thought as much as you could about your past with Joel Miller. So many of your arguments with him were because he refused to ever admit he was wrong. When he accused your friend in college, Bryce, of wanting to sleep with you and you introduced Joel to Bryce’s girlfriend, he refused to acknowledge that he over reacted.
"I'm not going to give him the satisfaction of an all-out war. I don't care about him anymore. I’m just shocked, is all. I don't care about his anger, or his insults, or his bitter little under his breath mumbles he does. I am a professional. I work with his daughter, not him. She is the one sitting in my classroom every single day, not Joel."
You dropped back down onto the couch, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to your bones, making your shoulders slump. Eddie’s hand went to your shoulder and squeezed.
"But Eddie," you choked out, your eyes burning all over again as the sheer helplessness of the situation hit you. "Sarah is going to struggle so badly based on her reading assessment today. It's not just that she's behind or that she's nervous. From everything I saw today, she clearly has dyslexia. And I guess I’m less qualified to say this, but she clearly has some sort of anxiety disorder. She’s terrified of failing, and she's only 6 years old."
"Oh, the poor thing. And you tried to tell him?"
"Yes! When we were trapped in that closet, I tried to change the conversation and bring it up. I told him that she's drowning, that she sat at my desk crying because she couldn't decode basic words. And do you know what he did? He didn't even listen. His massive, fragile ego immediately went up like a house on fire. He claimed I was insulting his daughter. He said I was just trying to call his kid broken because I hate him."
You shook your head, the utter madness of it making your hands tremble violently in your lap. You had to clasp them together, locking your fingers tight to keep the tremor from taking over.
"He’s so blinded by his hatred for me and his own defensive pride that he thinks my observations are a personal attack on his genetics," you whispered. "How am I supposed to help this baby girl if her dad won't even let me find her the resources she needs? To get her the proper testing, to get her an IEP, to get her accommodated so she doesn't spend the rest of her childhood thinking she's stupid... I need his signature. I need his cooperation. But he’s going to block me at every single turn just because my name is at the bottom of the paperwork."
Eddie reached out and took your shaking hands into his own, his thumbs smoothing over your knuckles.
That’s how Joel used to calm you down.
"Then you do what you always do, love," Eddie pushed some of your hair out of your face. "You bypass his ego and you focus entirely on that little girl. You document every single thing she does in that classroom. You track the reading data, you log the anxiety triggers, and you build an airtight case that the school administration cannot ignore. If Joel Miller wants to play the blind, stubborn fool because he's too proud to admit his kid needs help, you let him choke on the paperwork. You are the educator. You are her lifeline right now, and you are going to save that baby girl whether her caveman of a father likes it or not."
“I agree,” Theo’s voice said from the door way and you and Eddie both jumped.
“Jesus!” Eddie pressed a hand to his chest. “I didn’t hear the shower turn off.”
He must have been out for a while, because he was in a shirt and sweatpants, just using his towel to dry some of his hair.
“That’s because you speak like there’s loud music in the room,” he threw his towel into the bathroom next to him and walked over. “I am so sorry I didn’t tell you faster than Joel was still in town.”
You scowled at him from the couch.
“Did you even try? I know you worry about me but seriously, I would have rather known that be fucking ide blown into a closet by him!”
Theo’s face fell and you immediately felt horrible. He was much older than you, and yet, you felt incredibly protective of him. It was the day your parents got the call that he was in the hospital after being attacked that you realized that the bigger and older person in the room isn’t protected from hurt.
He walked over, but didn’t sit on the couch. He stood in front of you and Eddie.
“I tried, I really did. I just kept getting cut off -” Eddie opened his mouth to defend himself, but your brother held up his hand. “I’m not blaming you babe. It was circumstantial. But I swear on my life, up and down, that I did try to tell you. I can’t fucking believe he wasn’t mature about it and cornered you like that.”
You pushed the heel of your palm into your eyes.
“I don’t know what I expected… this whole thing is certainly not normal. I didn’t expect him to just brush me off or to fucking smile and wave like nothing happened. But I can’t believe he won’t let me help his daughter. That’s a different type of low.”
Theo chewed on his cheek.
“Is this the appropriate time to make a point that may seem like I’m taking his side but I absolutely am not?”
“No,” Eddie said confidently.
“Yes,” you said at the exact same time. You were never one to expect the people around you to tell you everything you wanted to hear. And to you, your older brother was the smartest man alive.
“I think hearing that your daughter has a learning disability that will almost certainly negatively impact her life is a hard thing to hear. I know that you’re a teacher so you obviously know that these conditions don’t make a child lazy or stupid like they say. But you’re coming from the perspective of a trained professional. And the only reason I know more than the average person is because my sister is a teacher.”
You blinked at him.
Theo sighed, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned his hip against the armchair. "You have to think about what Joel actually knows about special education. In 2003? In Texas? The public perception of a learning disability isn't 'differentiated learning styles.’ To a guy like him, it's a life of being labeled slow or broken by a system that already doesn't care about kids like Sarah."
He walked over to the dining table, shuffling through a stack of newspapers he’d brought in from the porch earlier, flipping through the local section until he found what he was looking for.
"I knew this would be in here. Look at this," Theo said, tapping a blunt finger against a headline from last week's Dallas Morning News. "There was a whole panel at the state capitol on the new standardized testing requirements. One of the state representatives literally stood up and said that the rise in dyslexia diagnoses was just “an excuse for lazy parenting” and a way to “coddle kids who just don't want to do the work.” He explicitly called special education accommodations an “unfair advantage for the weak” that ruins a kid’s work ethic."
Eddie let out a sarcastic laugh.
"Of course he did. Leave it to a politician to be a complete troglodyte."
"Exactly. But that is the exact rhetoric Joel is surrounded by. He works in construction - He's surrounded by old-school, blue-collar men who think you just beat the laziness out of a kid, or you make them sit at the table until midnight until they read the damn page. To Joel, when you say dyslexia, he doesn't hear a neurological reading difference that can be accommodated. He hears a label that is going to follow his daughter forever, brand her as defective in the eyes of the school board, and limit her future before she even gets a chance. No parent wants to hear that,"
"And then there's the pride factor. He’s working 18 hours a day to prove he isn't a failure, to prove he can provide for his kid. And the second he walks into that school, the woman he blames for his ruin stands up and basically tells him, “Your daughter is struggling, and you didn't even notice.” His immediate defense mechanism is going to be rage, because admitting you might be right means admitting he’s failing the one thing he has left to protect."
You stared at the newspaper clipping, the black ink of the headline blurring slightly as Theo's words sank in. The sheer weight of the cultural and personal walls you were going to have to climb just to get a six-year-old girl a basic reading accommodation felt completely staggering.
"So," you pulled your legs up onto the couch and hugged your knees tight against your chest. "He's not just fighting me because he hates me. He's fighting the label because he thinks he's protecting her from being marked as stupid."
"I think so," Theo nodded. "He's entirely wrong, and he's hurting his daughter by burying his head in the sand. But you aren't fighting a deadbeat who doesn't care. You're fighting a terrified, uneducated father who thinks the system is trying to handicap his kid, and who happens to think you're the enemy commander."
If Joel was scared of confronting Sarah’s dyslexia head on to protect her and not because of his long term hatred of you, you…you could work with that. He probably wouldn’t hear it from you, but maybe an administrator could talk to him and explain what dyslexia really is to him.
Theo was right. This was more nuanced than just his hatred for you. You just needed to get over your pride and help his daughter.
─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───
February 1991
"Joel, please. I'm going to throw up.”
Your back was pressed flat against the cold and disgustingly damp brick wall in the hallway leading to the coffeehouse restrooms.
The air back here smelled like espresso grounds and vanilla, two things that you usually loved, but it did nothing to ease the back flips your stomach was doing. A bass guitar vibrated through the drywall right behind your shoulder blades, immediately accompanied by the muffled snapping of fingers from the dense crowd out front.
"I can't do this. My knees are literally shaking, Joel. SHAKING! Look at me, I look like shit. I'm going to pass out on that stage and ruin everything and everyone is going to hate me and want me dead-"
Joel stepped directly into your space, completely blocking out the rest of the hallway, the restroom doors, and the terrifying world beyond of 20-something year old poets with cool colored hair and piercings in places where there should not be piercings.
"Look a’ me," he commanded softly. When he let his true accent slip out, it was like molasses to you, slowing everything in your body.
This was all his fault actually, but it was hard to be mad at him when he put on that gentle voice, like he was talking to a small puppy. After he read your notebook, he decided that you had a ‘talent’ that should not go to waste. And because you had zero backbone when it came to your boyfriend, you let him sign you up for this.
He reached out, his hands cupping the side of your neck where your pulse was trying to break free. His palms were so wide they cradled your jawline completely, his thumbs tracing back and forth over your cheekbones. He was so warm…like a blanket.
"You ain't gonna throw up, and you ain't gonna pass out. I'm right here. I gotcha."
"You don't understand," you choked out, the stage fright tightening its claws around your throat. "What if they laugh at me? What if they think it's stupid and nerdy? It's too personal, Joel, tt's too much - "
"Shh. Stop that right now. Listen to my voice.”
He took a deep breath, his chest expanding fully against yours, instructing your body how to mirror his. He stayed like that for a moment, breathing for both of you, letting you absorb his strength through his shirt.
"They ain't gonna laugh. Because what you wrote in that notebook is absolute magic. I told you that when I found it, and I meant it. You think I’d let a bunch of strangers laugh at you? I wouldn't have signed you up if I didn't know for a fact that you're gonna blow the goddamn roof off this place."
"I still hate you a little bit for signing my name," you muttered, a tear slipping down your cheek.
Joel laughed and his lips curved into an almost adoring smirk. He used the side of his thumb to catch the tear before it could drop - his skin was scratchy on your skin from all of his callouses. He looked down at you like you were the only thing in the room that mattered.
"You can hate me all you want tomorrow, sweet girl. But right now, you're gonna walk up to that microphone, and you're gonna read the same thing you read to me. You do it for them, or you do it just for me, I don't care which. But you're doin' it, because you're too special to stay hidden."
He leaned down and gave your lips two pecks before dissolving into a deeper kiss. He leaned into you, his hand sliding down from your neck to press flat against the small of your back. Your panic entirely dissolved by the taste of him.
He squeezed your shoulders, gently turning you toward the hallway exit where the light was brighter.
"Next up on the mic, we have Y/N!" the coordinator's voice echoed from the main room.
Your heart leapt right back into your throat, but before you could pull back, Joel’s hand slid down your arm to grasp your hand. His fingers tangled tightly with yours, his calluses scratching pleasantly against your knuckles, giving your hand one last squeeze.
"Go get 'em, babe," he whispered against your hair. "I'm right behind you."
Walking onto the creaking wooden riser felt like stepping directly into a dream. The spotlight overhead was warm and a vibrant yellow, blinding you just enough that the crowded tables of college students and local bohemians blurred into a sea of slightly creepy anonymous silhouettes. The microphone stand hissed with a tiny bit of static as you adjusted it, your heart hammering against your ribs as you flipped open the leather binder.
You looked out into the crowd, a sudden wave of vertigo hitting you, until your eyes frantically scanned the very back of the room.
Joel was standing right against the exit door, his arms crossed over his chest, his frame easily clearing the heads of everyone sitting down. The second he caught your eyes, he gave you a reassuring nod.
Your voice started out small, but as the familiarity of your own prose took over, the lingering anxiety completely dissolved. The words flowed out of you exactly the way they had when you wrote them in the dead of night. The coffeehouse went completely silent; no one clinked their ceramic mugs against the tables, no one whispered. The snapping stopped. They were entirely yours, suspended on every syllable that left your mouth.
When you finally hit the last line, your voice trailed off a bit as you realize the story was ending and you were now going to be faced with the scrutiny of your peers.
The room completely exploded.
You had been expecting some pity snapping, but it was loud, enthusiastic clapping, with people sloshing their drinks as they cheered and a few college guys in the front row whistling.
It was startling - you blinked, concerned about what all the commotion was for, before a smile broke out on your face when you realized that the applause was for you. You clutched the notebook to your chest, gave a flushed nod to the crowd, and practically floated off the wooden riser.
Before you could even make it back to the hallway, Joel met you at the edge of the seating area. He didn't care that everyone was watching you; he caught you securely by the waist with both hands and lifted you right off the floor.
You squealed at how easily he lifted you, wrapping your arms securely around his neck as he spun you a half-circle in the crowded room.
"See?! What'd I tell you, huh? Knocked 'em completely dead. You're the smartest, most talented girl in this whole damn city baby. Don't you ever let me catch you hidin' it away from the world again."
–
The drive back from the coffeehouse felt entirely different from the drive there. Mainly because you weren’t having a panic attack. But there was something different there…something you couldn’t recognize. It frightened you a bit, not being able to place how your own body was feeling, Joel kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting on your thigh. He was playing his Purple Rain CD, the one he bought himself after you told him that was your favorite album of all time.
That unfamiliar feeling continued into his apartment, where you were going to stay with him and watch a movie for a bit before going home. Usually, when you came over, there was a pretty domestic routine; he’d offer you a soda, you’d sit on opposite ends of the sofa talking about your classes or his latest project at the shop, and everything felt safe and carefully contained.
Tonight, Joel didn’t move toward the kitchen. You didn’t move to the living room to turn on the lamp.
He took his canvas jacket off and tossed it over the back of a chair, leaving him in just his long sleeved shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms.
You stood just inside the entryway, still gripping your notebook tight in your hand. The longer you stood there, the quicker you started to place that mysterious feeling in the car.
Vulnerability.
You were a senior in high school, and yet, inexperienced. It was embarrassing, something your friends would tease you about. Lighthearted, of course, but you hated that it was even something that could be the target of teasing.
And it’s not like you weren’t interested in sex…that’s all you knew. You were so uneducated about sex that you didn’t even know how to touch yourself to the point of release. But you did crave the release. You did.
Joel knew all of it. And he didn’t make fun of you once. He’d known you were a virgin since your third date, when you had confessed it to him in a fit of absolute panic, fully expecting him to look at you like you were some sort of puritanical freak (which you weren’t. You weren’t even religious!) But he hadn't. He had just looked at you and told you he wasn't in any rush.
For two months, he had been protective of your boundaries. He’d kiss you until neither of you could breathe, his hands holding you by the waist, but the second he felt you tense up, he’d pull back, press a kiss to your forehead, and change the subject without making it feel awkward. He wanted to wait until you were ready. He wanted you to feel safe.
But tonight? You didn’t want to wait anymore. The validation he gave you from the stage just added to the weight of how much you loved him. More than anyone in the world - he was the only person who never made you feel bad for being you.
Joel’s lips scrunched to the side of his face. It was a cute thing he did subconsciously that meant he was thinkin’ real hard about something.
"Hey," he walked closer to you, stopping when he was so close you could feel his breath on your neck. He reached down, taking the notebook from your grip. He set it down on the small table by the door without ever breaking eye contact. "You're still shaking a little bit. You still running on all that adrenaline?"
"No," you sounded fragile, and yet you had never felt more sure. Your hands felt completely empty without the book, so you reached out, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, right over his chest. "It's not the reading."
Joel’s hands came up to rest flat against your waist, his thumbs tucked into the belt loops of your jeans. He didn't pull you closer yet; he just held you there. He had many love languages, but the one he addressed the least was his love of touch. He always had his hands on you, not sexually, just always resting on you like that was where they recharged.
"What is it, then?"
"I don't want to go home tonight, Joel," you said before your standard anxiety could talk you out of it. But then your cheeks flared and your eyes darted down to his collarbone, the old insecurity flaring up in your throat. "I mean... I want to stay. With you. For real."
Joel didn't move. He didn't smile or make a joke. His hands on your waist tightened just enough that you could feel the strength in his fingers.
"Love," He slid one hand up your side, his thumb lifting your chin until you were forced to look at him again. His pupils were completely blown to the point that his brown eyes looked nearly black. "Look at me. You know how I feel about you. You know I want you more than I've ever wanted anything in my life. But you don't gotta do anything just because tonight was a big night. We got all the time in the world."
"I know. I'm not doing it for the reading. I'm doing it because I love you. And I'm ready, I-I'm completely ready."
Joel leaned down and captured your mouth in a kiss that was entirely different from the ones before. It was hungry. His hand slid from your neck into your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands, holding you against him while his other arm wrapped entirely around your lower back, lifting you up slightly until your chest was crushed flush against his. He tasted like black coffee and cigarettes, two things you used to hate before Joel came around.
You whimpered softly against his mouth, your arms flying up to wrap around his neck, burying your fingers in the short hairs at the nape of his neck. It was starting to get long, but you didn’t mind. He stopped his frequent trims after you told him how much you liked when his hair got a little shaggy.
He pulled back just an inch, his forehead resting against yours.
"You're sure?" he growled slightly, his hands trembling just a fraction against your back. "Because once I take you into that bedroom, I won’t ever letting you go."
"I'm sure," you whispered back, your heart bursting with a love so intense it felt like a physical ache. "Please, Joel."
He didn't say another word. He just slid his arms under your knees and lifted you into his arms, carrying you out of the living room and toward the bedroom, leaving the wreckage of your fears on the floor behind you.
Joel's bedroom was even darker than the living room, the only light filtering in from the streetlamp outside casting pale blue shadows across his bed. He always made his bed. Always.
He didn't turn on the overhead light. Instead, he reached over with one arm and clicked on the small lamp on his nightstand, replacing the blue low with an amber one that made the room feel warmer.
You could see the nervousness in his face now, the way his fingers hesitated before tracing up your sides. For all his strength and despite being older than you, he looked almost boyish in his uncertainty - his eyes wide and searching your face for any sign of hesitation.
"Never done this before," he admitted, his thumb brushing along your jawline. "Not with somebody who... not with somebody who matters this much. I don't wanna hurt you. I don't wanna get anything wrong."
"You won't," you said with such certainty, even though you had never done this before. "I trust you."
He knelt down in front of you, his hands moving to your boots, unlacing them slowly. He did usually do this for you because you could never wedge your heel out of these particular shoes. But this was different. It was like he was tracing you.
"Gonna take care of you," he murmured, pulling off your boots one by one, setting them aside. His hands moved to your socks, peeling them off and warming your cold feet between his palms for a moment before sliding up to the button of your jeans. "Gonna go slow. You tell me if anything feels wrong, yeah? You tell me to stop, and I stop. No questions."
You nodded, unable to speak as he unbuttoned your jeans and eased the zipper down. You felt silly being so shy. This was your boyfriend. The man you loved. You just…you’ve never been naked in front of anyone before.
He hooked his fingers into the waistband, looking up at you for permission, and when you lifted your hips slightly, he slowly worked the denim down your legs. The goosebump on your legs were so prominent they looked like ski moguls on your skin.
You were in just your sweater and underwear now, and the vulnerability made you want to curl into yourself, but Joel's eyes stopped you. He wasn't looking at you with hunger yet. He was looking at you like you were something precious, something he'd waited his whole life to deserve.
"You’re so beautiful," he stood up, his height towering over you as he reached for the hem of your sweater. "Arms up, sweet girl."
You obeyed, raising your arms as he peeled the fabric over your head, revealing your basic tan bra. You chewed on your cheek - if you had anticipated this happening earlier you would’ve put on your nicer one, the one that made your tits look bigger than they were.
But Joel didn’t seem to mind. He tossed the sweater aside and just stared for a moment at your chest, his own rising and falling. You could see the distinct outline of his arousal straining against his jeans, his hands shaking as they returned to your waist.
"You're shaking too," you reached out to touch his forearm.
"Yeah," he admitted with a laugh. "I'm scared as hell. I want this to be perfect for you. I want to be worth this."
"You are.”
Joel took inhaled and reached behind you, his fingers finding and undoing the clasp of your bra…freakishly fast. The fabric loosened, and he slid the straps down your shoulders slowly, his eyes never leaving yours, giving you every chance to stop him. When the bra fell away and you were bare in front of him for the first time, he whimpered.
"God. You're... you're perfect."
He touched you then, finally, his palms cupping you. His hands were so warm against your cold skin that you let your head tilt back slightly. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, and you gasped at the sensation. You didn’t realize your body could…Jesus that felt good.
He watched your reaction, learning you, mapping what made your breath hitch and your back arch.
"Like that?"
"Yes…Yes..."
He leaned down and replaced his hands with his mouth, kissing down your neck, your collarbone, and finally closing his lips around you. You bit down on your tongue at how good it felt, your fingers tangling in his hair as he sucked gently. No one had ever touched you like this. No one had ever made you feel like your body was something to be worshipped rather than hidden away.
He moved to the other side, his hand replacing his mouth on the first, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger with just enough pressure to make you squirm. You could feel yourself growing wet between your legs, a throbbing ache building that you didn't fully understand but knew only Joel could soothe.
"Joel," you whimpered, pulling at his shirt almost pathetically. "I want to see you too. Please."
He straightened up as if he was caught doing something wrong and pulled his shirt over his head in one smooth motion. He was bare-chested in front of you, all broad shoulders and lean muscle and scattered scars from his work at the site. You reached out nervously, tracing the line of his collarbone, the sparse hair on his chest, the faint planes of his stomach. He wasn’t a super lean guy - he was big. Entirely muscle, and yet, a bit of life covering his work. You found that far more attractive than any of those six packs your friends liked.
He shivered under your touch, his abdominal muscles jumping as your fingers drifted lower, hovering at the button of his jeans.
"Can I?"
"Yeah," he groaned, his hand covering yours and guiding you. "Yeah, you can."
Together, you undid his jeans, and he pushed them down along with his boxers, stepping out of them. He was fully hard now, and you couldn't help but stare. He was bigger than you'd imagined. How on earth was he going to fit - he was kneeling before you again, his hands on your thighs, spreading your knees gently, and all coherent thought dissolved.
"Gonna take these off now," he said, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your underwear. "That okay?"
"Yes.”
When the cotton cleared your ankles and joined the rest of your clothes on the floor, you were completely bare to him. Completely bare for the first time ever. You instinctively wanted to press your thighs together, to hide the most private part of yourself that no one had ever seen, but Joel's hands kept your knees gently parted.
"Fuck me," he exhaled, the words barely audible. His eyes fixed between your legs, which should have embarrassed you, but the admiration in his expression only made you feel beautiful. "Look at you. You're already wet for me."
You whimpered at his words, at the knowledge that he could see your arousal, that there was no hiding how much you wanted this. Joel leaned in and pressed a kiss to your hipbone, then lower, the stubble he was developing grazing your inner thigh. He moved to the other thigh, kissing his way up, closer and closer to where you ached but never quite touching where you needed him most.
"Joel," you gasped, your hands finding his hair again. "Please... I don't... I've never...I don’t know why it feels like this."
"I know," he soothed. "No one's ever touched you here. No one's ever seen how beautiful you are. Let me, baby…Let me be the first."
He didn't rush. He took his time and you could feel his hesitation, his fear of getting it wrong, but it was overwhelmed by his desire to please you.
When he finally leaned in and pressed the softest kiss to your clit, your moan echoed off the walls. It was a sound that scared you, so unfamiliar from your mouth. He just held there for a moment, his lips pressed against you, breathing you in.
"You taste like heaven. You have no idea how long I've dreamed of this."
It still blew your mind that he dreamed of you. He could get any girl he wanted and he still chose you every time. You just…you couldn’t think about what made you so special.
Once he got the confirmation that you were okay, he went in hard, licking you long and slow from bottom to top. Each pass made your vision blur at the edges, your hips jerking involuntarily toward his mouth.
"Easy babygirl," he cooed, his hands gripping your thighs more firmly, holding you still. "Just feel it."
He found your clit with the tip of his tongue, and despite how soft he pressed, you still gasped. It started building a pressure deep in your belly that you'd never felt with your own weak attempts at touches.
"Joel," you sobbed, your head falling back, your eyes squeezed shut. "I can't... it feels too..."
"Yes, you can," he sounded so muffled with his mouth buried in you. "You can take it. You're doing so good, baby. Just relax and let me make you feel good."
He changed his technique, flattening his tongue and pressing firm, steady pressure against your clit while his hands slid up to grip your hips. The sensation shifted from teasing to overwhelming - your legs started shaking uncontrollably. You looked down at him, watching him between your legs, his eyes closed in concentration. He looked like he was having the time of his life.
"Please," you begged, not even knowing what you were begging for, just knowing you needed more, needed him closer, needed something.
Joel pulled back slightly, his chin glistening.
"I'm gonna put my fingers inside you now. Gonna open you up slowly. You tell me if it hurts, okay? You use your words."
You nodded frantically, unable to speak, and he lowered his mouth to you again, sucking your clit gently between his lips as his hand moved between your legs. You felt his fingers there, circling you, gathering your wetness, and then one thick finger was pressing against you.
"Relax." he coached. "Let me in."
You forced yourself to breathe out, to unclench the muscles you'd been holding tight without realizing, and his finger slid inside you. You gasped out, your hands flying to his hair again, gripping tighter as he held still, letting you adjust to the sensation of being penetrated for the first time.
"That's it," he said, pressing kisses to your thigh, your hip, anywhere he could reach while his finger stayed buried inside you. "God, you're tight. You're so warm, baby."
The dual sensation made you nearly black out. How could something so good have effects that made you look like you’re in pain? You were gasping,squirming, moaning, and nearly sobbing, and yet, you had never felt so good in your life.
He added a second finger, scissoring them gently to stretch you, preparing you for what was to come, and the fullness made you gasp, your inner walls clenching around him involuntarily. He curled his fingers slightly, pressing against a spot inside you that made your eyes roll to the back of your head..
"There?"
"Yes! Yes, right there, please don't stop, Joel, please - "
He didn't stop. Of course he didn’t. His fingers pumped in and out, curling to hit that spot with every stroke, his mouth sucking and licking and driving you higher and higher. Your whole body was trembling, sweat beading on your skin.
His fingers pressed harder against that spot inside you, his tongue flickered rapidly over your clit, and you shattered, crying out his name as your first orgasm ripped through you from your clit to your stomach to your head. Your inner walls spasmed around his fingers, your back arched off the bed. You had never felt so out of control before.
It was addicting.
Joel didn't stop, even as you started shaking from being sensitive. He was so lost inside of you that you had to pull him up to you.
He gathered you into his arms as you shook through the aftershocks, your body feeling like syrup. God, what did he do to you?
"Okay?" His chin still glistening with evidence of what he'd done to you. He cradled your face, his thumbs wiping away your tears that you didn’t even know you shed. "Was that okay? Did I hurt you?"
You could only shake your head you were so spent. You could feel him hard against your hip, but he made no move to rush, just held you close as you caught your breath, whispering love against your skin until you were ready for more.
"Joel," you traced the hook of his nose, your favorite part of his face. "I want you inside me."
He groaned, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment, his hips pressing involuntarily against you. "I need you to know... it's - it’s gonna hurt. The first time. I don't want to hurt you, but I can't... there's no way around it."
"I know," you said, remembering the awkward health class lectures. You may be inexperieced but you weren’t stupid. "I took sex-ed, Joel. I know what to expect. I don't care. Well, maybe I do. But I’ll get over it."
"You might bleed," he brushed your lips with his thumb the same way you did his nose. "Not everyone does, but you might. I'll go slow, I'll wait as long as you need, but I need you to tell me if it's too much. I need you to be honest with me."
"I will.”
You reached down and cupped him. He twitched against you which made you gasp a little, because while you did take sex-ed, you were unaware that they twitched.
Joel froze at your touch and moaned before rolling away from you just long enough to reach for his nightstand. You watched as he tore open a foil packet with shaking hands and rolled the condom down his length. The sight of him touching himself, even for protection, made you wide awake and ready to go.
He moved back between your legs, his hands sliding under your knees to hitch your legs up around his waist. The position opened you completely to him and you felt the head of him press against your entrance.
"Look at me. Don’t close your eyes. Need to see you so I know how to make you feel good."
You nodded, your hands gripping his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as he began to push forward.
And - oh. God. It felt like a large pole splitting you entirely in half like in one of those torture movies. You gasped, your whole body tensing and locking down. Maybe you just couldn’t fit him.
"Relax," His whole body was trembling with the effort of holding still. "Breathe, baby."
You forced yourself to exhale, to unclench the muscles that had seized up in panic, and he slid in another inch. You sobbed out, feeling the pole push higher and higher into you.
"Joel," your voice cracked. "It hurts. It really hurts."
"I know…I know, baby, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry it hurts."
He stopped moving, buried halfway inside you, and just held there. You could feel him shaking, every muscle in his back and arms corded tight with the effort of not thrusting and taking what he so clearly wanted.
But he waited. He waited for you, his hands stroking your hair, your face, his lips pressing kisses to your eyelids, your cheeks, anywhere he could reach.
"You're doing so good. Just breathe. Just let your body adjust to me."
As the mintes stretched out, the burn started to ease slightly. The pain didn't disappear exactly, but it shifted into more of an overwhelming fulness.
"Okay," you whispered finally, your hips shifting experimentally, testing the sensation. "Okay, you can move. I'm ready."
Joel pulled back slowly, just an inch, before pushing back in.
"Still hurts?"
"A little," you admitted, your fingers tracing the line of his spine. "But it feels... it feels good too. Don't stop, p-please don't stop."
He bit his lip hard and began to thrust a bit harder. The pain faded with each thrust, replaced by a building pleasure that seemed to radiate from your core outward, filling your veins with pure, chemical serotonin.
“You feel... you're so tight."
You were curious what that meant to him. What does it feel like to have sex with someone who was tight? They said the same things in the porn you tried to watch before.
You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper, and the change in angle made you both moan loudly.
"There!" you gasped. "Right there!"
He found that spot again and again, his thrusts gaining speed and force as he lost himself in you, as you lost yourself in him. The room filled with the sounds of skin against skin, his low groans and your breathless cries, the creak of the bedsprings beneath you.
His hand slid between you to find your clit, circling it with his thumb.
"I'm close baby, do you - do you think you can come with me? Please come with me."
He didn’t have to ask you twice. You came around him, clenching hard against him as you lost control again. He thrust deep one final time, burying himself, and you felt him pulse inside you, his whole body going rigid as he came, his face buried in your neck.
He stayed inside you for a moment. You ran your hands up and down his back, feeling the sweat slicking his skin.
"I love you," he whispered, pressing kisses to your own damp skin. "I love you, I love you, I love you."
He pulled out carefully, dealing with the condom and tying it off before reaching for the tissues on his nightstand. Between your legs ached and when you shifted, you saw the faint smear of blood on your inner thigh.
Joel must have seen it too, because his face immediately fell. He didn’t even say anything as he stood up to go dampen a cloth in the bathroom. When he came back, he gently parted your legs and wiped away the evidence of your first time. Then he gathered you into his arms and carried you to the bathroom (even though you could probably walk with some pain), setting you on the closed toilet lid while he started the shower.
"Can you stand?" he asked, his hands cupping your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks.
"Yeah," though you were kind of lying. Your legs felt like jelly.
He helped you into the shower and he washed you with the same care he'd shown every step of the way; washing your hair, your shoulders, between your legs. No one had ever showered with you before. You leaned against him, your cheek pressed to his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
He got out first when you asked him if you could stay in the shower a bit longer, the water feeling good on your skin. But when you stepped out, wrapped in his towel, you noticed that the bed had been remade. You hadn't even heard him do it.
He looked up from where he was folding the old linens, his expression softening when he saw you standing there, wrapped in his towel.
"Come here," he opened his arms.
You went to him, and he lifted you again. He laid you down on the fresh sheets and crawled in beside you, pulling you against his chest, your legs tangled together, his heartbeat rocking you toward sleep.
continue
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