#Local Fence Companies Near Me

[fencingbellevue]

If you're in Bellevue and searching for Local Fence Companies Near Me, you've come to the right place! Bellevue Fencing Company strives to deliver customer-friendly services to meet all of your fencing requirements.

[johnsoncitytnfencecompany]

Johnson City Fence Company: Your Local Expert for Fencing Solutions

When it comes to the effectiveness of the security, privacy and aesthetic value of the property, a well constructed fence goes a long way. Whether you are shopping for a functional fence that will help protect your backyard, or an elegant enclosure to enhance your homestead’s looks, the search for a “fence company near me in Johnson City” is critical. Johnson City Fence Company is the premier choice for fence installation, repair and maintenance services in Johnson City, and the surrounding area.

Why Choose a Professional Fence Company?

There are several benefits of hiring a professional fence company near you, especially when you hire a professional and experienced fence company such as Johnson City Fence Company. Here are a few reasons why hiring experts for your fencing project is essential:

Quality Materials and Workmanship: A competent fence company will use materials that will not degrade easily and therefore provide a long lasting fence. When it comes to the type of fencing that Johnson City Fence Company provides, you can get wood, vinyl and chain-link, depending on the need of your compound.

Custom Design and Installation: Each property is different, and so are the requirements of the owner of the property. Fencing experts are in a position to install fences that meet the physical layout of the area by following the clients’ specifications. If you desire more security or privacy and security our team will create a fence that will meet your requirements.

Permits and Regulations: However, when installing a fence in Johnson City there are regulations, boundaries and permits that may be considered. Fence company is aware of local regulations and all needed permits, so it will make sure that the fence is legal.

Fencing Services We Offer at Johnson City Fence Company

Welcome to Johnson City Fence Company – your local experts in all aspects of fencing for homes and businesses. It is our desire to provide you with long lasting and functional fences that will suit your needs as well as add value to your compound. Here are some of the popular fencing options we offer:

1. Wood Fences

The wooden fences are among the most common types of fences since they give a natural and timeless appearance. Wood is versatile in design whether you want a picket fence or a high privacy fence for your home. Our team works with the best quality of treated wood, which does not rot, warp, or be damaged by insects, so your fence will serve you for several years.

We can also add more styles and finishing to your wood fence depending on the appearance of your home. Our wood fences range from the countryside to chic neat lines, and provide privacy and aesthetic appeal to any outdoors area.

2. Vinyl Fences

Vinyl fences are now widely used because they are easy to maintain and have a very long life expectancy. Vinyl fences come in different color and patterns; they imitate the looks of natural fences without requiring constant painting or application of stain. They do not fade, crack or warp and are well suitable for the fluctuating climate of Johnson City.

3. Chain-Link Fences

When one wants a type of fencing that is cheap and yet serves its basic purpose well, then chain-link fences are the best. As a versatile type of fence and which offers a good level of security, the chain link fence is widely used in residential as well as in commercial areas. They offer a good security way while at the same time giving a clear view thus recommended for use in securing yards, playgrounds, sports fields and industrial compounds.

Why Choose Johnson City Fence Company?

When you’re looking for a fence company, you need to hire a company that is professional and has the best workforce. Here’s why Johnson City Fence Company is the right choice for your fencing needs:

Local Expertise: Being a locally owned and operated company, we know the fencing requirements of the people of Johnson City. We understand the local zoning ordinances, weather and property terrain hence we provide fast and efficient installation services.

Experienced Team: Our team of expert employees has enough experience in installation and repair of fences of various types. This is why we boast of our professional workmanship on all our projects irrespective of their size or difficulty.

Customer Satisfaction: We are a company that has been established to ensure that customers of Johnson City Fence Company are fully satisfied. Our firm has a close relationship with all our clients to ensure that we are able to offer them the type of fencing that they require from us. Our team will always be willing to explain any issues that you may have or provide clarification on any question that you may ask during the process.

Free Estimates: All our fencing services come with free and no obligation estimates. Whether you need a new fence or have a need for some repairs on the existing fence, we will give you an upfront and fair estimate.

Contact Us Today

Are you ready to enhance the security, privacy and aesthetics of your compound? Well, Johnson City Fence Company is here to help. At the heart of being the best fence company in Johnson City, we ensure that our customers get the best in fencing services that will improve the appearance of their compounds.

[fencendeck]

Fence and Deck Contractors Maryland, Annapolis, Baltimore 

Trusted Fence and Deck Contractors Maryland since 1991, serving MD & DE with custom fences, decks, and porches. Call 410-757-551 for a free estimate! 

[barrierboss]

Barrierboss: Leading Chain Link Fence Manufacturers in Canada

Looking for reliable and high-quality chain link fence manufacturers in Canada? Barrierboss offers durable and cost-effective fencing solutions tailored to both residential and commercial needs. Their Canadian-made chain link fencing products are crafted to withstand various climates, providing a practical solution for property boundaries, pet enclosures, and more. With a commitment to excellence and quick shipping across Canada, Barrierboss is an industry leader ready to meet all your fencing requirements.

[sophiamcdougall]

I am never going to complain about Greek Duolingo again

I mean, I am. But still.

So, as some of you know, my family has been coming to this tiny Greek seaside village for several years. Just over a week ago I came out here with my mum, under the impression that early September, after the height of the summer heat, would be a good time to have a holiday. ANYWAY Storm Daniel had other ideas about that. Locally things are improving (I'm actually really pissed off about the disaster-porn tone of most English-language media coverage, but that's another post). The power is back on, there's running water most of the time, and though the latter is not drinkable, a truck from the government came and handled out free bottled water yesterday. But we are currently kind of stuck. Can't do tourist things. Can't go home. There aren't any local flights out until Saturday and the road to Thessaloniki is still closed.

So this evening, feeling kind of aimless and depressed, I go down to the nearest beach with a couple of binbags and start cleaning up in an effort to at least do something positive. I always try to do this at least once out here and obviously, after the storm, there's a lot more plastic and rubbish than usual.

At some point I find this large, round bit of metal - some kind of machinery part, I think -- that's too big for the bag, so I take it to the bins on its own, leaving the rubbish bag on the beach. And when I come back for it, something among the stones beside it moves.

Specifically, it pulls its head sharply inside its shell

So, meanwhile I've been trying to learn some Greek with the help of Duolingo.

I currently have a 33-day streak and... I have questions. Shouldn't I be able to use the past or future tenses by now? Shouldn't I be able to say "x is like y"? I can't do those things. But one thing I absolutely can say all day long is έχω μια χελώνα : I have a turtle.

This is far from the limit of Duolingo Greek's turtle-related content. "An obsession with turtles" is my mother's characterisation. I can inform you that the turtle is not a bird, and, improbably, that the turtle is drinking milk. I can introduce you to a turtle in company with a horse and an elephant. As far as Duolingo is concerned, it really is turtles all the way down.

Now this, you may be able to see, is not a turtle. It has claws rather than flippers. It is a tortoise. I know there are wild tortoises in Greece: my aunt once rescued a pair of them shagging in the middle of the road -- but that was up in the mountains. I've even seen one myself, but it was also on a road and very dead.

I am 95% certain they don't belong on beaches. There's nothing for it to eat, except, unfortunately, a lot of plastic. Even if it gets off the beach it will immediately find itself on a road where it could get hit by a car. I'm pretty sure it must have been washed down by the floodwater and has been just sitting there, dazed, ever since.

Now obviously the first thing I want to do on encountering this unusual animal is to go and tell my mummy, so I do. The tortoise immediately brightens her day. She agrees that the tortoise is not happy on the beach and needs to be taken somewhere safe. it gets surprisingly wriggly when picked up so we put it in a carrier bag with some grapes and cucumber and go looking for somewhere to rehome it.

We find a path leading up between the houses towards a likely-looking field, but before we get very far a dog in a yard goes berserk and a man's head pops over a fence and demands to know what we're doing. He does this in English, as evidently we're just that obviously tourists.

"I found a tortoise on the beach!" I explain. "We want to find somewhere to put it."

"A what," he asks.

"It's like a, you know," I begin and then to my astonishment I find myself saying... "μια χελώνα"

"Oh! A turtle!" he says.

"But from the land. δεν είναι χελώνα", [it is not a turtle,] I say, as I am worried he will tell me to put it back near the sea where I found it. As it turns out it actually IS a χελώνα, Greek does not distinguish between turtles and tortoises, but I don't know that; I can't even name the days of the week or identify any colours other than pink yet, give me a break.

The man's entire demeanour changes and thaws. He does not worry about my turtle-that-is-not-a-turtle conundrum. He knows where οι χελώνες come from and where η χελώνα μας belongs. He leads us through a gate into a courtyard area.

"[somethingsomething] μια χελώνα," he explains to the assembled onlookers, of whom there are, suddenly, a surprising number.

"ΜΙΑ ΧΕΛΩΝΑ!!!" crows the throng of delighted small children, who are, suddenly, everywhere.

"μια χελώνα!" I agree, accepting that at least for current purposes, that is what it is.

"Μπορούμε να δούμε τη χελώνα σας; [can we see your turtle?]" asks an adorable little girl, shyly, and I understand??

The children fucking love looking at the χελώνα and showing it to them is kind of magical?

I finally put the tortoise down on the grass of this wild area off to the side of the courtyard, and marvel aloud that it is weird that I barely know any Greek except how to say μια χελώνα.

"I think she will soon run off," a kind lady called Aspasia assures me, seeing I remain slightly anxious about its fate. "I don't know why I'm saying 'she'. I suppose because χελώνα is feminine in Greek."

"Yes! I know that!" I exclaim, thrilled.

"Well done!" she says. And also she asks if we are OK for drinking water after the storm and if we need any help with anything and is just generally incredibly lovely and now we know more of the neighbours!

So "μια χελώνα" has just become, by a long way, my most-used and most understood and all-around most conversationally successful phrase in Greek. So I guess I have to admit I was wrong to doubt Duolingo's wisdom: it is correct to be obsessed with turtles. And I concede that prior to learning how to count to ten or to distinguish right from left, the simple ability to yell the word TURTLE over and over again is, it turns out, a crucial element of the responsible traveller's social skills.

(I am pretty fluent in Italian and turtles haven't come up in conversation even once?)

[pedgito]

𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄, 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘, 𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇 | BFD!Joel x Fem!Reader

summary | the rich father of your bestfriend, sarah — joel miller, was a mystery to you until one day he isn't and you quickly find that your interest in him isn't one-sided. [12k]

pairing | joel miller x fem!reader

content warning | 18+ content, as always: no use of y/n, au/no outbreak, bfd!joel, ceo!joel, mentions of reader growing up poor/absent parents (joel is ridiculously loaded, it's fic y'all let me live lol), sneaking around, age gap (not explicitly specified, but reader is in final year of college and joel is probs late 40s/50s), vacations, gift-giving, unprotected piv, come swallowing, daddy issues if you squint, one (1) pussy slap, oral (f receiving), semi-public fucking

author’s note | anyways, here’s this. big age gap, some power dynamic stuff but not really. if you don’t like, don’t read & all that jazz. love you babies. xo.

↝ other fics | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic recs

There was no hiding who Joel Miller was to the town of Austin—a pioneer in the community for rebuilding and building upon the surrounding shopping areas and neighborhoods to save the town from complete gentrification. He owned three companies at this point—one manned by his brother Tommy who dealt with larger businesses, handled the biggest amount of workload when it came to dealing with customers. The other was handled by his wife Maria, more often communicating with smaller businesses in the area. Mom and Pop shops, family owned and locally sourced shops. And Joel dealt with the community directly, building houses at an affordable rate that kept his business booming and well above the surrounding competition.

He was so sought after that the idea of him felt like an enigma.

But, to you—he was just Sarah’s dad. For years you never had the pleasure of meeting him, with his constantly busy schedule he was often away when you came to visit Sarah on their massive—almost too comically large piece of land on the outskirts of Austin, Texas. 

A large two-story farmhouse that seemed like something right out of a storybook—pristine and in perfect condition, surrounded by what felt like miles of grassy land and fencing. Horses, chickens, goats, growing piglets that were taken care of by Sarah and Joel themselves.

You’ve known Sarah since you were fourteen, aware of her upbringing and the type of family she came from, but it never deterred her from being the kindest friend you’ve had. And your shared, similar interest led to an easy friendship that lasted well into college. Sarah was also aware of your…less than ideal family situation, living under the roof of a single parent household, given you were an only child it wasn’t horrible—but your father was a drunk and didn’t manage his money well and that often meant going without. It didn’t matter what, but there was always something lacking that you wish you didn’t have to make up for with your already overwhelming amount of college work and lingering debt.

You didn’t have anywhere to go, unfortunately. 

But, Sarah was always there.

And it isn’t until your final year of college that you find yourself finally meeting the once mysterious Joel Miller, remembering that Sarah told you something about how he was trying to take a step back, allowing more responsibility on his trusting employees to head the company while he took a step back and managed everything as a whole from a distance—less involved, more time at home around Sarah, it was a win win situation.

With both of you working toward similar degrees, it was helpful and convenient to share notes and study as often as you could, especially as your final term papers were nearing and looming like a dark cloud.

It’s an unsuspecting Thursday night when you and Sarah are pausing the heavy studying to cook a quick dinner when Joel walks into the kitchen, approaching the island and nearly tilting your entire existence on this earth on an axis. Your breath catches briefly, eyes dragging over his figure. You’ve seen pictures—family vacations that Sarah has shown you when they were flying across the country over summer breaks and you were stuck at home. 

But, nothing compared to the real thing.

His hair is grown out, curling around his ears. A warm, soft brown that is styled and shaped so perfectly it seems unreal—but the loose curl that falls over his forehead gives it away. There’s a deep cut in his silk-pressed shirt that hangs loosely on his frame, some abstract pattern that shouldn’t work as well as it does on him, but his tan skin compliments the deep tones and varying designs. The faint dusting of chest hair is obscured by the chains that hang in the space the silk-button up creates where he lacks the ability to fasten them, or rather chooses not to.

And you try not to let your gaze linger on the cut of his jeans as they cling snug to his legs, cuffed at the ankles and showcasing a pair of—what you can only suspect are new loafers. A dark chocolate brown accented with a gold metal piece along the center to complement his jewelry around his neck and the few rings placed meticulously on his fingers.

It’s no secret his ring finger sits untouched, lacking the heavy weight of a significant other's mark. Sarah mentioned her mom dying young, much like your own—maybe that’s why you two bonded so easily. 

“Got enough for your old man?” Joel questions curiously, tapping away at his phone meticulously before pocketing it, eyebrows raised in question.

“You hate boxed mac and cheese,” Sarah argues flippantly, flicking the empty box at her father across the counter, “so no, I don’t.”

“No, babygirl—I just hate the powder kind.” He flicks it back just as easily and you note how easy their relationship feels, like this is how things should be. 

Sarah laughs, scrunching her nose up in amusement. “Charming, isn’t he?”

Oh—she’s talking to you? You look at her for half a second, confused, before you’re quickly nodding in agreement without fully listening to what she had asked.

“It’s alright, you don’t have to lie.” She assures, stirring the noodles in the pot over the stove.

Your gaze lingers selfishly, catching the faint twitch of a smile on Joel’s face as he catches you looking. It’s nothing more than a friendly smile, comforting rather than disarming. 

“You know—Sarah never brings her friends around.” Joel starts begrudgingly, eyeing Sarah down before switching to you, “Seein’ as I’ve been hearing all about you for years now and I’m just now meetin’ you in the flesh.”

“Dad, stop scaring her.” Sarah gripes, searching around haphazardly for a couple of bowls, “seriously—just ignore him. He doesn’t know how to act now that he’s home more.”

Joel rolls his eyes dismissively, extending his hand in a kind gesture. You grab it hesitantly and he senses it, pointer finger dragging along the underside of your palm as he holds it delicately and bows his head.

“She’s just mad she can’t get rid of me now,” Joel tells you softly, nodding toward Sarah over your shoulder, “how’s the studying goin’?”

He doesn’t let go of your hand immediately and you don’t try to escape either, allowing the brief moment of lingering contact before you slip it away, shoving your hands into your back pockets.

“Fine.” Sarah’s response is clipped.

It’s stressful, if you’re being honest. But, you could see that Sarah didn’t want to relay that to her father, side-eyeing you wearily. 

It’s the first of many interactions that led to the tiny crush you began to have for Joel Miller. Your once a week studies eventually turn into two or three times a week, desperate to spend as much time away from your own home situation as possible.

Eventually, it’s nearly an everyday thing. You and Sarah would finish your day of classes and drive the short distance to her house and spend most of the night studying. Gradually, you were introduced into their own routine. At first, Joel would offer to buy dinner and leave things be, allowing you the space you needed. But, it eventually delves into weekly dinners and sitting down as if you were a part of this pseudo-family situation you’ve interjected yourself into.

Sarah knew you didn’t like it at home, so it was never a problem. Joel caught on after a few weeks—noticing how you avoided any questions about yourself, your family, anything that would allow him any glimpse into who you were outside what Sarah had told him, which wasn’t much at all. He’s trying to make you feel welcomed and you can appreciate that.

You’ve offered to help pay for meals on multiple occasions, but it never works. Quickly thwarted off by Joel’s extended hand as he shoves your cash away, assuring you that it wasn’t your responsibility. This was his house, his gesture, and he didn’t want you to think you owed him anything.

Yet, something in you yearned to do so. 

You wanted him to know just how grateful you were.

-

His curiosity about you comes to a head on a night after a few beers with friends, poker table trashed and the kitchen a mess. You were bringing down the trash from Sarah’s room, the shared dinner you two had had as a treat for your first day without studying—it was relaxing, mostly because your day had been spent here rather than home.

Joel gathers a few bottles in his large palm, slipping the lips of the bottle through spread fingers. “You two enjoyin’ yourselves?” He asks, looking at you casually. It was a question you’ve heard often, a simple conversation starter. And talking to Joel was much easier now.

You nod, lips pulled into a tight smile. “Yes, Mr. Miller.”

“C’mon now,” Joel jests, dropping the bottles into the trash, “none of that—it’s Joel. Shit makes me feel old, darlin’.”

The nickname wasn’t new either. He often called Sarah by her name or babygirl. 

Darlin’ though, it was all you.

He takes the dirty plates from your hands and places them in the sink, palm extended against the ledge of the counter while he rests his other hand against his hip.

“How are you doin’?” He asks, voice softer but still gruff. “Not that you have to tell me, I just want to make sure you’re feelin’ comfortable here.”

“I’m okay,” You say through an unsure smile that Joel notes but doesn’t press on, “it’s just easier to study here—I’m sorry if I spend too much time around here. Feels like you should be charging me rent by now.”

“Not a chance in hell, darlin’.” Joel grins, shiny white teeth showing behind his smile. The small bit of his shirt that was tucked in came loose by the rub of his fingers at his hip and drawing your eyes to the skin briefly, “you’re always welcome here.”

And you hate the way you crave even an inkling of physical contact from him. A pat on the shoulder, a hug, a fucking kiss on the forehead. You weren’t his daughter, you didn’t want to be. But, there was something about Joel that you couldn’t pull away from, trying your best to keep it at bay.

“You know what,” Joel says suddenly, pulling your lingering gaze back on his face, feeling guilty as you chewed on your bottom lip, “why don’t you come on vacation with Sarah and I next month?’

“Mr—Joel, that’s—” You’re quickly silenced by his hand actually pressing against your shoulder now—and fuck, when had he gotten so close?

“Sarah was thinkin’ about asking you anyways. We’re gonna take a trip to the Keys,” He rubs gently at the junction in your shoulder, the thick expanse of his thumb pressed against bare skin, “—just consider it, alright? Lord knows you both need a break as much as I do.”

The thing about Joel is that he was such a good father, something you haven’t been privy to in the couple decades and some few years you’ve been alive. You want to feel jealous and angry, spiteful that this was something you couldn’t have naturally. But, it feels nothing like that.

The crush you had on Joel was dangerous. But, that was all it was. A craving to be around Joel, to seek his approval and gain his trust. And bask in the care he provides. A simple case of daddy issues that you couldn’t admit to yourself was actually happening.

You shouldn’t entertain the idea.

 You shouldn’t even consider it. 

“Oh—okay. Yeah, as long as Sarah is alright with that.” You nod, a genuine, soft smile stretching across your face. Joel squeezes your shoulder tighter and you swear you feel it moving in closer, like he wants to hold you closer, cradle you in his hands. But, then the touch is gone and his fingers are running through his hair, curls separating through his fingertips.

“Alright then.” Joel says triumphantly, “You gonna be okay gettin’ home tonight?”

Sarah was driving you home soon, like usual. You nod.

“Good,” Joel nods, “Goodnight, darlin’.”

“Goodnight, Joel.” You say sweetly, patting your hand against the countertop softly, unable to spare a look his way as you walk in the opposite direction.

But, he can’t help his own fleeting and inappropriate thoughts, eyes dragging along your figure as you walk away, hands gripping the countertop like a vice, internally kicking himself how indecent he was allowing himself to think about you. Still, it didn’t stop the thoughts from flooding in and if he found himself spread out on his sheets that night, cock held tight in his hands as he fucked himself into his fist—well, he could repent for it some other time.

-

You touch down in the early morning on a Sunday, still riddled with anxiety from the plane ride. Joel had tried his best to accommodate, even buying first class tickets despite his usual tendency to go business. He didn’t care much for amenities but he wanted to treat Sarah and you, making you feel guilty with how quickly your face lit up at the sight. Spacious seats stocked with gifts and snacks, a tiny television molded into the area, it felt like too much. 

It was. But, Joel assured you it wasn’t.

There was little planned for the week you had to spend there and you had tried to scrounge up a little cash within the month you had to save, picking up a few extra shifts at your job and stowing it away for this—hoping you could treat yourself to something, anything. Even if it was just a stupid tourist shirt that cost an egregious amount of money.

Joel quickly snuffs out that idea, putting his foot down as he assured you that this trip was a treat. Not just for himself, but for all of you. You never asked how much money the Miller’s had, but it was clearly more than you could ever fathom to be imaginable. He yanks the black Amex from his wallet and hands it off to every waiting server and store owner you three come across.

It’s abundantly clear that they don’t worry about money in the sense that you do—it wasn’t unwelcomed, but it was an adjustment that took a couple days to get over, feeling shame for enjoying it. He’d paid for the plane fare, booked the hotels and the activities you had planned, made sure meals were paid for and then some, even allowing you and Sarah some spending money to go shopping for clothes or whatever you needed. 

He didn’t ask, it didn’t matter. He just wanted you to feel welcomed. Like family…or something.

The trip is fairly harmless fun, a few swimming activities that tire you all out and lend to an early turn in on a couple nights, dinners that lended you to learn a lot more about Joel. Still, as much as Joel tried, you weren’t as open. Vague answers, sidewaying the conversation. He didn’t try to pry, though. And you were thankful for that.

But, with fairly harmless came a few instances that didn’t feel so.

The first comes in the deep end of the ocean, floating on a shared longboard in the midst of the calm waves, humid heat sticking to your skin. Fingers fiddling with the loosening tie around the back of your neck as Sarah wades off to the shore for a brief minute to reapply sunscreen. And maybe you shouldn’t have asked, but you see the lingering look Joel gives you, fingers curling subtly against the edge of the board.

“Can you help me?” You ask, slowly edging around the board until you’re beside him, turning before he has the opportunity to answer. “It’s hard to get it tight on my own.”

Joel clears his throat and offers a smile, “‘Course, chin down for me?” And you follow his lead, feeling his fingers brush against your neck and guide your head down, untying the loose not completely and feeling your swim top go slack, covered by the safety of the water and your back turned to him, but it doesn’t stop the touch of his fingertips against your skin as he ties the knot and tugs slightly, assuring that it was secure to his liking. You lift your head slowly when you feel his palm press flat against your back, fingers curling around the point where your shoulder meets your neck.

“Thanks, Joel.” You turn your head over your shoulder to look back at him, earning a small nod as his touch lingers, only loosening when you rescue your grip on the longboard in front of you.

“Enjoyin’ yourself so far?” He asks, always able to ease into steady conversation without missing a beat. “Any complaints?”

“Definitely,” You smile wide, huffing soft laugh through your nose as you shake your head, “I guess I do have one complaint, actually.” You tell him honestly, a subtle nervousness to your voice. 

“Well, I’m all ears, darlin’.” He responds, leaning his elbow onto the board as it bobbed slightly.

“I just…you don’t have to pay for everything, Joel.” You find yourself rushing out the words, hoping that it wouldn’t cause an adverse reaction, but instead, Joel smiles wider.

“Look, I invited you on this trip,” Joel explains, “and that means you aren’t paying for a damn thing. Alright?”

You nod meekly, quieting down as Sarah waded back into the ocean toward you both.

With Joel, it was something you would have to learn to accept.

You try to ignore the lingering touch of his fingertips on your neck, but now it feels like a burn in your skin that would only get worse as time went on.

The second instance isn’t as much of a thing, rather than a moment.

Eyeing a sundress that resembled some of the similar outrageous patterning that Joel wore, shapes and blobs morphed around the material yet somehow managing to look chicer than anything you’ve ever come across, strappy and long and deep cut down the center. It wasn’t for modesty, you could assume that much. You run your fingers along the creases and stitching in the fabric, admiring it as you flipped the tag in your hand, immediately gawking at the price.

Joel had been lingering by, browsing the various knick knacks and souvenirs lining the shelves off the small store—all hand-made pieces that he could appreciate, but didn’t find any use for himself. And he’s watching you, has been for a while, noticing the way your eyes kept flicking back toward the dress despite your path around the store.

Joel casually follows the same path, taking a subtle peek at the tag. It was a few hundred dollars, but given the silkiness of the material and him being very familiar with the tone of pricing around the area, it wasn’t an outrageous ask. He slips the dress off the rack, careful as he removes it off the hanger and finds you separated from Sarah as you peruse down a wall of jewelry���some cheap and some not, looking around with no real want, just admiring.

He slips the dress into your hands, rough, overworked palms cupping your own as he makes you physically wrap your fingers around and claim the garment, chest to your back as he speaks, lips a hair's breadth away from your ear.

“It’s a pretty dress,” Joel says calmly, much calmer than your rapidly beating heart and the sudden uptick in your breathing, silk material spread out over your fingertips, “shame for it to go to waste, darlin’.”

“It’s expensive.” You argue, voice soft as he locks eyes with you in the mirror nestled in the nearest corner, “It’s nice to want things Joel, but I don’t need it.”

“I dunno,” He responds, unconvinced, “and—maybe I’m speaking out of turn but I think it’d look great on you.”

And you’ve never been more thankful of Sarah’s obliviousness to certain things, so wrapped up in her own shopping across the store that you two remained unsuspecting, eyes still locked on one another through the shared mirror.

He can see the way your body twitches at the comment, responds, but what he doesn’t understand is how it makes your cunt throb, solid body pressed against your back as he squeezes the backside of your hands with his palm. The willingness of contact was still fresh and new but it never made you feel unsafe—in fact, it had the opposite effect entirely.

Joel speaks again, directly to you in the mirror.

“I might just have to buy it for you, darlin’.” He says quietly, “You alright with that?”

You hesitate for a moment, but nod shakily. “Thank you, Joel.”

“Don’t need to keep thankin’ me.” Joel assures, “I know it’s implied.”

But, the instance that had you reeling for days after, still replaying it vividly in your mind, was a night near the end of your trip. Sarah had long gone to bed and you, riddled by insomnia, find yourself at the hallway vending machine, looking for a snack to cure your growing hunger.

Though, it seemed that Joel had the same idea—fork halfway into his mouth as he turned the corner, a sizable piece of chocolate cake inside of a small to-go tray, looking even guiltier as he caught sight of you, feeling like he really didn’t want to get caught like this. It makes you laugh into the palm of your hand. Joel is acting like the kid that got sneaking cookies in the middle of the night, still not hesitating to lick the fork clean as he tucked it away in the styrofoam box.

“Don’t tell Sarah,” He swears you to secrecy, “she’s already on my ass enough about my sugar intake.”

“You’ve got a sweet tooth,” You shrug, “nothing wrong with that.”

“What about you, huh?” Joel’s eyebrows raise in question, watching as you peruse the various snacks but not finding anything particularly appetizing. “Late night snack?” 

“Somethin’ like that.” You chew at your bottom lip, feeling that this was useless.

“Wanna share it?” Joel asks suddenly, pulling your attention to him immediately. “That way I feel a little less guilty about it.”

“Oh—and then bring me down with you?” You tease lightly, “Of course.”

It’s how you end up in Joel’s room that night, no other intentions than to share that stupid piece of cake, lacking a fork so you trade off for a few bites until it slowly delves into you both feeding each other as you talk, one of you hogging the fork more than the other. You curled up in one chair and Joel relaxed out in the other, styrofoam box held to his chest and forcing you to lean closer to assure you didn’t drop crumbs everywhere.

Maybe it should feel weird, but it doesn’t. 

“You know—if there’s anything you do need—” Joel begins after a while, meaningless conversation having died out.

“I know—Sarah tells me all the time. I just have to ask.” It feels pointless, rehashing things again. But, Joel feels the need to reassure and comfort. It didn’t help that he was finding himself, at his age, attracted to you in such a depraved way. “I will—if I do, I mean.”

It’s forbidden territory he couldn’t cross. But realistically, that only made him want you more. 

Joel feeds you a slow bite, lips catching over the fork but smearing a copious amount of chocolate frosting on your chin. Before you have the thought process to wipe it away Joel is already there, leaning forward in his chair as he uses his pointer finger to clean you up, eyes following his movements carefully after the first initiation of touch. 

Your breath catches in your throat, expecting him to use his own mouth to disallow wasting the frosting, but instead he raises it to your mouth in a split decision, his eyes dilating slightly under your shy gaze. Your lips press against the side of his finger in a gentle kiss that quickly spreads, taking the full length of his finger into your mouth as you lick away the excess frosting, feeling the pulse of desire in your belly as it grew, knowing that if Joel wanted to keep you there he could, locked under his gaze with his fingers stuffed into your mouth and you’d let him.

It was despicable. Inappropriate and wrong. But, you couldn’t help how badly your body wanted him, despite your brain telling all of this was a horrible decision.

You pull your mouth away with a soft pop, watching as Joel curl’s his hands into tight fists as he pulls them back to his side lazily, seeming more tense now.

“I should go.” You say softly, terrified to disturb this moment and the tension that blanketed it.

“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea, darlin’.” Joel says reluctantly.

Things only get worse from then on—and maybe worse is a strong word. But, it soon turns into a game that neither of you can stop, waiting until one of you finally makes the wrong move.

-

A few weeks later and your laptop takes the shit on a random Tuesday, head buried in your hands as Sarah tries to console you, but it isn’t much use. You knew it was a stretch to think the laptop could last you through the entire semester, and with just a few short months left, it couldn’t be worse timing. 

Joel walks in at your inconvenience, keys jingling in his hands as he slips off his leather peacoat, glancing at Sarah who didn’t give him much to go off of. He folds the jacket over the back of an empty dining chair and rests his hands against the top of it, eyes scanning over the both of you at the table, one looking a little more distraught than the other.

“Everything alright?” He asks curiously, earning a subtle head shake from Sarah. He clears his throat, “Or—uh, well, how is the studying going? Feel like that’s all you two do.”

You rub a frustrated hand over your face and sigh, “I’m gonna see if I can get a ride home or something,” You tell Sarah, sliding your phone off of the table, “I’ll deal with this later.”

Joel and Sarah share a quick look of communication, her hand waving toward you sharply, forcing Joel to speak up before you make another rash decision and spend money on a long ride home when had the perfect opportunity standing right in front of you. 

“I can give you a ride home.” Joel offers, much to your surprise. 

You’ve been alone with Joel a lot now, though inadvertently.

Sarah would sneak away in her room for longer stretches of time just to call her boyfriend—which wasn’t a bad thing, but it felt odd when Joel would come home and there was no one to greet him but you. Still, you stretched your lips into a smile and welcomed him sweetly. 

Even if this was his home.

Or times when you just happened to cross each other's path, even in such a large space. Sometimes the front porch when you were taking a break to stretch your legs, his watchful gaze dragging along your figure as he sipped on a hot cup of coffee in the evening, foot stabilized on the deck as he rocked in the wooden swing he sat on, crickets chirping loudly as the sun set.

Or just a simple trip to the bathroom, his bedroom across the hall and a couple doors down, often shut, but there were moments when you opened the doors, nearly face to face, and neither of you could look away. Joel would clear his throat, excuse himself, and kindly gesture for you to walk first. It happened often, too often—but neither of you addressed it. Instead, the tension grew. And grew. Until it felt like poking a sleeping bear. So it hibernated in both of you quietly.

Part of you expected things to change, that the small moment shared in his hotel room would make things hard to navigate, but if anything—it’s easier.

“Okay.” You agree easily, not having the proper energy to fight him over it.

The ride is quiet for the most part and Joel doesn’t need the step by step directions as he knows this town like the back of his hand, but he makes a wrong turn somewhere between his house and yours and you don’t feel like something is wrong, but it definitely feels off.

“Joel, you missed the last left.” You speak up as he continues down the road, glancing around leisurely as you soon delve onto a main street, lined with several shops. “Joel—”

“I’m gonna make a quick stop,” Joel attempts to ease your worries, fingers tapping against the gear shift positioned in the center console, “if you don’t mind.”

The moment he pulls into the parking lot of the electronic store, you know. You can see it in his eyes as he squints, checking that the store is still open and pulls into a parking spot near the front of the store.

“Joel, no—” You grab his wrist suddenly, his free hand reaching for the door handle and he looks down, eyes connecting where your skin touched before slowly flicking up to you, “look—just, I don’t need you to buy me a new fuckin’ laptop. I can handle it.”

Joel’s shoulders shrug in his obnoxiously patterned shirt, like he’s working out a kink in his neck as he repositions himself in the seat but doesn’t pull away from you. In fact, his hand gradually pulls toward your knee, fingers squeezing around your kneecap comfortingly.

“Considering it a loan then?” Joel tries to bargain, “Let me help you out now so you won’t have to worry about it and you can pay me back as you get the money? I see how often Sarah uses her laptop, it doesn't make sense for you to go without when I can help.”

You chew on your bottom lip thoughtfully, staring intensely back at him. You could put your foot down and deny his offer, but the idea of suffering through the rest of the semster without your sole life line to surviving through college—well, that was actually torture.

“I’m paying back every single penny.” You tell him forthright, waiting until he nods in agreement.

“Sounds like a deal to me.” Joel responds.

Joel spares no expense, which doesn’t come as a surprise. He buys you the highest, top notch laptop they have to offer—and even as you stare daggers into the side of his face, there’s an inkling in your mind that tells you he isn’t going to allow you to hold up your end of the deal.

-

Joel liked to party too—not giant parties that felt overwhelming and unwelcoming. But, he did have a close group of older male friends that he liked to play poker with on the back deck of the Miller household.

Sarah learned to block it out early on, knowing that at some point things would get just a little too loud and not as easy to ignore. But, Joel never made you feel out of place within any of these instances. You were welcome here all the time and Joel was clear about that.

He’s showered you with gifts and accommodation and you hate the way it makes you feel special, wanted—beyond the night in his hotel room it was only innocent glances. It felt like you were misreading things, making something out of nothing.

Things aren’t great at home and you like it here—love it, even. And you feel your mind nagging away to make a stupid, spur of the moment decision. You could ignore it, but then your eyes catch Joel’s through the slight crack in the door, trapping you in his gaze like you’ve been caught doing something wrong.

He squints slightly, lips curling around his beet bottle as he takes a long swig, fist uncurling against his jeans as he rubs out his palm and smiles—he has you hooked in so fucking easy it feels pathetic.

This is wrong. You inhale a shaky breath and turn away, busying yourself with literally anything else—a scuff on the table, the chipped nail polish on your fingernails, something.

Eventually his friends filter out—and Sarah had invited you to stay over the night barring that it was the weekend and she enjoyed your presence just as much as you did hers—if only she could understand the now huge, harboring crush you had on her father. It was harmless, but it felt like a betrayal. 

And the feeling only increased as the night creeped along, your burdening insomnia keeping you awake, shifting and turning in the sheets beside her as you tried and failed miserably to fall asleep.

It was quiet out here, less commotion from the city. It was eerie, in a way. 

You slip out of the bed quietly, walking barefoot on the hardwood as you tiptoed until you were outside of her room, closing the door behind you. You weren’t hungry, so you didn’t bother with the kitchen, rather heading toward the front door that was already halfway open.

Part of you expected Joel to be sitting on the porch, no real rhyme or reason. But, even he is out of sight. The soft, well-kept grass welcomes the press of your feet as you wander outside slowly, the hug of the warm spring air on your skin even this late at night. You catch one of the Miller’s horses hanging out around the edge of their enclosure, wondering if they managed to nudge their way out of their stable. You approach slowly, still not as accustomed to them as you’d like to be. 

But, they were friendly. So, you raised a careful hand and rubbed gently at the horse’s mane, smiling at the soft huff it offered in return, leaning its snout over the fence more.

“Sunshine is always friendly,” Joel says from somewhere you don’t see, startling you out of your body as you jump, whipping your head around to look for him, eventually landing on his approaching form as he left the barn that held the stables, “—sneaky little gal, though.”

You laugh softly, finding it hard to believe that such a sweet horse was capable of escaping.

Joel whistles softly, beckoning her toward him. “Come on.” He nods, silently asking you to join him. You follow eagerly, watching as he unlocks the entrance to the fence for you to slip through, locking it behind you as you pass the threshold, catching up with Joel in a few steps.

“Don’t sleep well, do you?” He asks, heading turned over his shoulder briefly to look at you. You nod quietly, leisurely approaching Sunshine’s stable and watching as Joel locks her back up, rattling the gate for safety this time, ensuring it was secure. “Seems we have a few things in common.”

Joel stays quiet for a moment—in his own head, a deep moment of contemplation, carrying and safeguarding these thoughts he knows he shouldn’t have, wondering how your skin would feel against his palm, how the pulse of your heart would feel as he pressed his hand to the center of your chest and kissed you, full tongue and consumed your essence, this unignorable aura you had around you.

He feels sick, distraught. But, he can’t force himself to avoid you either.

“There’s somethin’ that usually helps me,” Joel tells you, hand pressed wordlessly against the center of your back as he guides you out of the barn and locks it up as well, “just goin’ somewhere quiet—lot of the time it’s just my thoughts keepin’ me awake.”

God, if only he knew.

He did, but that wasn’t the point.

Joel quiets for a moment, stuffing the ring of keys into his pocket as he glances over at the house briefly.

“You wanna go for a quick drive?” Joel asks suddenly, forcing it out before he can find a reason to stop himself.

“As long as it doesn’t end with you buying me another laptop, sure.” You chide deviously, watching the smirk grown on Joel’s face, knowing he still hasn’t taken a dollar from you.

And vehemently refuses every time you offer.

Joel drives you the path further into the land of property he owns, most of it still unexplored by you, eventually finding a clearing near the east edge, right on the edge of a body of water and a dock nestled near the shore. There’s a small boat tied to a post, big enough for a few people.

Under this light, as you exit the truck, Joel looks different.

He’s free of the weight of jewelry he wore, comfortable in his worn shirt and soft cotton shorts. For a while, Joel had been such an enigma that you weren’t sure what to make of him. Sure, he was just Sarah’s dad—but he was also Joel Miller, backbone of the town. His face was plastered everywhere. There wasn’t a single street you could traverse down that didn’t have him nestled away somewhere.

He spots a small mud puddle under your feet as he rounds the truck and quickly catches you before your feet get stuck, hands locked in yours as you jump over the small patch of wet dirt.

You let out an exasperated sigh as you look up at him, silently thanking him with your eyes.

“Can you swim?” He asks casually.

“Yeah…” You respond hesitantly, eyes locked onto the boat several feet away.

Joel releases your hands, but it doesn't matter. His touch still lingered painfully and you want nothing more than to pull him back in. But, now Joel is asking to go on a midnight boat ride with you and—really, how could you turn that down?

-

Joel rows you toward the center of the lake, your eyes locked onto the mesmerizing sight of the stars in the sky, so much clearer out here and away from the city.

“Pretty, ain’t it?” Joel asks, not bothering to look his way.

You smile slightly, leaning back onto the palms of your hands.

“Yeah, it really is.” You miss the way Joel’s gaze lingers, admiring you.

“Now—sometimes I just come out here and talk to nothin’,” Joel explains when the boat comes to a full stop and he rests the oars inside the boat, knees spread as he resting his elbows on them, “then other times I just sit and enjoy the quiet.”

Your choice—that’s what he’s implying. 

You clear your throat softly, finally changing a glance his way.

“I just—I don’t wanna say I’m jealous of what you have here,” You say quietly, “but, it really is a bitter reminder of without Sarah or you, I’d have next to nothing.”

Joel stays quiet, allowing you to marinate in thought and figure out how to convey how you were feeling.

“And—I don’t know. Selfishly, I like it.” Liked him. “But, I don’t want to rely on it and you make that a little impossible. I do have money, Joel. I can pay for things. I just don’t want you feeling like you have to do any of this out of necessity.”

“I’m not,” Joel admits, “Now—what makes you think that, darlin’?”

“I just—I don’t want anyone thinking I need to be fixed, I don’t.” You tell him, “I don’t need charity, either.”

Joel waves his fingers in a come closer motion, taking your slowly extending hands in his own, thumbs rubbing over soft skin tenderly, boring his eyes into your own.

“I’m gonna tell you this once and I need you to listen,” Joel says softly, but his voice feels so loud in the silence of the night, breeze hitting your skin and sending a sharp chill up your spine—but, you’re not how much of mother nature is responsible for that, “really listen, alright?”

You nod slowly, blinking a few times as you feel yourself shrink under his gaze.

“What I give you isn’t charity,” Joel tells you seriously, “and—maybe this is crossing a boundary I shouldn’t but, you’re somethin’ close to family. I take care of people I care about.”

Not family—he couldn’t conitate that with the feelings and thoughts he was having toward you.

“Close to family?” He was praying you wouldn’t harp on it, but you needed to confirm the underlying layer of tension that lingered between you two all the time. It was driving you insane, keeping you late into the night—he was the reason for your insomnia.

Joel smirks slightly, covering it with a quiet chuckle. His hand gradually cradles your face, rubbing along your cheek with a delicate touch, “I think you know, darlin’.”

God, he hoped you did. His thumb dragging along your plush bottom lip, eyes lingering for a brief moment before he pulls away, immediately missing his touch as he reigns himself to the idea that he may have crossed a line, quietly rowing the way back toward the dock.

Neither of you get much sleep that night anyways.

-

More time passes, lingering touches grow, and Joel is terrible at hiding his affinity for you now. Finding that those few words burned all regards he had toward keeping himself restrained around you. He had enough of a mind to keep it private—but there were comments, sweet little words that he’d whisper as you walked by or he caught you alone.

Nothing scandalizing, but just enough that it had your heart fluttering in your chest.

 Until there is a small slip up, helping the Miller’s with dinner one night as Sarah escapes to the bathroom for a brief moment, your arms outstretched into the cabinet to grab for something just out of reach.

“Use the stool, darlin’,” Joel sees your struggle, “safer that way.”

You look around observantly before you find a folded up stool tucked into the only open corner in the kitchen, taking it back to your spot and unfolding it.

“Good girl.” Joel comments quietly, catching the startled look on your face as your head snaps back toward him. And he has the nerve to smile, noticing the hitch in your breath.

And it only grows in intensity until you can’t stand it anymore, cornering him in the kitchen on a night where Sarah is already upstairs gathering herself for bed, thinking you had come down for a couple bottles of water.

Joel is nursing a small glass of whiskey and he’s silent, but his gaze tracks your movement. You move toward him.

There is a belief in you, fully realized, that something is up here.

"Joel," You lick your lips hesitantly, squaring yourself up against the counter, standing straight, trying not to seem like you were teetering near a dangerous edge of delirium, wondering if you were imagining all of this, "can I ask you something?"

There's a severe lack of distance between you two, knees knocking against each other gently from where you both stand, eyes searching out cautiously even though you know there's nothing to worry about. You were alone, something that has happened far too many times over the past few months. Lingering moments of wandering gazes, eyes connecting from across the room even if Joel was surrounded by people, partying with friends while you're tucked away in the corner while Sarah talks to you about the boys at school that you can't be bothered to give the time of day.

Because of Joel. Because your mind is so tainted by the idea of him.

His palm is flattened out against the counter, adorned with a couple golden rings that clack against the marble, gold chains to match that sat perfectly against his chest, framing the small patch of hair that peeked out over his unbuttoned shirt, silk-pressed and adorned in a silly design that somehow always managed to work perfectly with whatever Joel paired it with.

"Course," He assures you, "You need somethin'? 'Cause you know if things aren't alright at home you're welcome to stay with us."

He’s not amiss to notice just how much time you spend here and no one bothers to come around and check on you. Given you were an adult, it was still glaringly obvious you escaped here for a reason.

Joel reaches out to touch your cheek, the warmth of his skin melding with your own as your breath catches in your throat.

Touch wasn't new, but it never got old. Like a brand against your skin that screamed out for more. You look down briefly, mouth opening slightly to say something, but quickly resigns back to its previous position, lips pursed under a soft scowl.

"I can take care of you," Joel reminds, like you could ever fucking forget it, written all over your features and the outfits you wore now, the dainty gold chain that he'd leant to you as a gift when you pointed out how much you liked it—he'd bought it for himself but there was no resistance in offering over it over to you, bright smile stretching across your face in the moment that Joel felt a sickening addiction to, "—if that's what you need, sweetheart."

You nod instinctively, though you’re not sure what you’re answering too.

“We’ve got a spare room,” Your bottom lip pulls between your teeth, the huskiness to his voice shouldn’t feel intimate speaking such meaningless words, “plenty of room for you, alright?”

“Mhm,” You answer weakly, feeling the distance start to close as Joel tries—really fucking tries to fight it, but he can’t help the way his eyes track the way your body responds to his teach, lip trembling when you release it from it’s hold between your teeth, “thank you, Joel.”

“For?” Your heart is racing, terrified of being caught but also enticed by how openly Joel is admiring you, eyes wide with adoration and curiousness, something undiscovered and new to him.

“Taking care of me.” You echo his words, but you’re both quickly retching away at the sound of a door creaking upstairs, separating in an instant.

This was all you had—fleeting moments that would never be.

-

The logistics are complicated to figure out at first, but finishing up the last few weeks of schooling away from the stress of being at home and somewhere where you could actually focus outside of school made the most sense. You pack a big enough bag to last you through the month, clothes and personal belongings you care about, and make the small guest room your new home.

At least, as much as you could.

Luckily, your final classes are a breeze—thankful that most of your discipline with studying had paid off, you and Sarah would graduate in another couple weeks and allow yourself a real break over the summer before deciding how you both wanted to continue. More schooling or not, you would handle that later—for now, you let your mind rest.

And Sarah, well, she escapes the first chance she gets—the first official day free of responsibilities she’s running off for a weekend vacation with her boyfriend, assuring she didn’t mind you tagging along if you wanted to come, but you could see it on her face—she wanted privacy.

So, you had no problem staying back.

A weekend alone—with Joel? Who could barely keep his eyes off of you know that you were around constantly, even in the early mornings when he’d walk through the kitchen shirtless and fumbling with the old coffee pot he refused to get rid of. It was a side to him you hadn’t seen much of and it was slowly etching itself into your memory.

Everything implodes the first night that Sarah is gone, unknowingly yet not unwelcome. But, it’s a turning point neither of you can come back from.

It’s undeniable the amount of boiling sexual tension that has stirred between you both between Joel’s heated gaze and scandalizing comments, stuff that he tries to hold in but fails when he sees how easily of an effect it has on you.

So, as luck would have it, your restless minds meet again.

Joel stops between his open bedroom door and the wall, watching as you approach quietly, smiling kindly as you reach for the door to the guest room, bidding him a soft goodnight.

He could spend his night writhing in bed, hand around his cock as he jerked himself to the thought of you a few feet over, nestled under your sheets—unbeknownst to him, relieving yourself in a similar way and yearning for the stretch of him rather than your measly fingers. It used to relieve the ache and help you sleep, but now it made things impossibly worse.

His fingers encircle your wrist quick, but carefully, silence your ultimate downfall as you stare over at him curiously, his eyes pleading something so desperate it roots itself into your own mind. Like an invisible string tethered to your bodies, it pulls you both together instinctively.

He doesn’t hesitate with touch now, slowly barricading his hands against the side of your neck, gradually working to cradle your head, tipping your head back as he leaned in, not willing himself to cross that line unless you allowed it. He knew the second you stepped over he was done for, similarly, you knew that to be true for yourself.

“Tell me to stop,” Joel begs, “—tell me and I’ll give this up.”

You double down, pressing your face against his own, nose pressing against each other, speaking against his lips in a venomous tone that seeps into his bloodstream.

“No,” You tell him, steadfast and unwavering, “I don’t think I will.”

Joel breathes in sharply before his reverence is breaking, pressing you up against the solidness of the guest room door and crashing his lips against your own, his grip bruising as he palms at your thighs, hooking a leg around his hip as he grinds into you, the feeling dulled out by layers of fabric but you can still feel him. He’s hard and straining against the soft fabric and making no attempt to hide how much you affected him.

“We’re makin’ a big mistake,” Joel says into your mouth, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth to prove his point, pulling a sharp moan from your chest at the slight sting, “you realize that?”

You find your courage and part from him briefly, open palm rubbing against the line of his cock, slowly trailing up and under his shirt, blunt nails clawing into the stomach, the muscle tensing under your skin, “I’m well aware—are you gonna stand here and have a moral dilemma about it or are you going to fuck me, Mr. Miller?”

It ignites a fury behind his eyes, ravenous and wild. He grips your face tightly, tilting your head up at a slightly uncomfortable angle, pussy clenching around absolutely nothing from the show of dominance, the grin spreading across your face all Joel needed to confirm his suspicions about you.

You enjoyed this—him, the little game you’ve allowed him to play over the past few weeks. And just as he’d said before, he wanted to take care of you—in as many ways possible.

“Say it again,” He warns, squeezing your cheeks together between his tight grip on your face, “—fuckin’ say it.”

“Mr. Miller,” You drone sweetly, best you can through his sturdy grip, “—hm, is that what you want to hear? Is that what gets off at night?”

Joel’s eyes squint slightly, attempting to read your expression. How would you know?

“Always want me to call you Joel because Mr. Miller is just too much, right?” You tease, “I guess you could lie to me, but the look on your face says otherwise.”

The back of your head drops softly against the door, nowhere to go as Joel has you crowded, hand tight on the doorknob and unmoving. You’re trapped and you can’t be bothered to care. 

His hand trails to your neck gradually and squeezes, eyes rolling into the back of your head briefly as his jaw clenches, teeth gritting together as he bares them and speaks, “Should’ve guessed you’d like it like this, huh?”

You feign cluelessness, eyes half-lidded and staring back defiantly, swallowing against the solid hand he held against your neck. 

“Tell me you want it,” Joel presses, feeling how mutely you attempt to press against hold and fail, “need to hear you say it first.”

“What? That I want you cock, Joel?” You say vivaciously, grinning at how his mouth twitches at your words, cooing out a soft, “Because I do.”

And that’s all the confession Joel needs before he’s breaking the barrier and shoving you inside the guest room, slamming the door closed behind him with a foot as he tracks and approaches you, hauling you from the back of your thighs as your ass hits the bed, scooting back slightly and spreading your legs to allow him to slot perfectly between them. 

The fabric of your shirt bunches in his hands as pushes it up and away, lips pressing hotly against your stomach, mouthing at the skin greedily, quickly forcing the shirt up your shoulders until you get the idea and rip the shirt over your head, bare breasts bouncing against the jostling of your body. Joel has half the mind to gawk before he’s latching his mouth around your nipple, biting gently at the flesh despite his choice to be more aggressive than you expected. It’s the right amount of too soft and too much, your fingers curling into his hair at the root and pulling, earning a soft groan in response.

His curls fall freely over his eyes from where he’s looking up at you, lips lingering against your breast tantalizingly, “Let me taste you.” He tells you, his fingers dancing along the hem of your bottoms, his body descending as you find yourself nodding absently, helping him in the impatient push and pull until he has you naked and bare before him, his cock straining prominently against the thin material of his pants, rubbing himself through the fabric as he uses his free hand to spread you wide, marveling at the sight of your slick over the lips of your cunt.

Joel settles against the sheets, broad shoulders supporting your thighs as he adjusts them over him and hovers closely of your cunt, waiting for your eyes to connect in a brief moment of confirmation

You wanted this. And so did he.

He remains wide-eyed as his lips connecting with your cunt, straight for your aching clit as he sucks, flicking his tongue over the sensitive spot with a precision that has you falling slack against the sheets, mouth open in a blissful agony as Joel works away at your pussy like he’s had a million years to study it, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs as you continue to pull and twist at his hair, selfishly grinding yourself against his face. 

He never breaks his gaze on your face, even when you find yourself with your head thrown back, staring up at the ceiling mindlessly, admiring the hurried rise and fall of your chest as you moan out something intelligible, slowly beginning to make sense in his hazy mind, “Oh—right—right there, Joel. Fuck, please—” You beg sweetly, feeling weightless as he lowers his mouth to your neglected hole and licks inside, his nose pressing perfectly against your clit.

“C’mon, baby,” He murmurs against your pussy, “keep talkin’, let me hear you.”

You sigh in exasperation, feeling the burgeoning ache of your impending climax, “Faster—” Joel is an astute listener, never missing a beat as he picks up his pace and adds more pressure, “–shit, I’m gonna—”

Joel silences you with his eagerness to make you come, words falling flat as he assales your clit with a determination to have you coming against his mouth, feeling the muscles spasm as you crying out his name in desperation, orgasming over his greedy tongue as he laps you up synonymously, forcing your body into overstimulation until you have to physically force him away.

Joel doesn’t have half the mind to speak, eyes darkened to near black as he rises to remove his shirt, pants and underwear following quickly after, undressing under your hazy gaze as you try to calm your rapidly beating heart before he’s fisting himself tightly, tip of his cock rubbing against the line of your pussy and catching your entrance, using the last bit of restraint he had left.

He should be courteous and ask about protection—but there’s a heat behind your eyes when you see his thoughts wandering, quickly snuffing out any worries. You reach gently for the hand not fisting his cock, cradling your knee gently, “We’re safe.” You assure him, the first moment of deep, unsettling reality as he realizes the weight of his choices before him—he’s already committed a few atrocities he knows he can’t come back from, so, what was a few more?

And he couldn’t say no to you, not with you staring up at him so wantonly, eyes pleading something desperate and meek, curious if this was all just a heat of the moment thing. Partly, it was—but this was months upon months of built up tension finally spilling into reality.

Joel isn’t sweet either, as he presses inside you. It shouldn’t surprise you, his impatient nature as he pulls you in close, hands gripping under your thighs and manhandling you until your folded nearly in half, hips pistoning sharp and rough, his gaze locked on the sight of himself disappearing inside of you, the sheen of your slick over his cock as you suck him in greedily.

“Come on, baby,” He grunts roughly, “keep showin’ me how good I make you feel. Show me how grateful you are.”

As if it wasn’t already obvious, obscene noises, feeling the quiet air as you sob out, feeling the angle change as he shifts his knee by your ass, angling your hips up slightly.

“Thank—thank you,” You say softly, broken as he snaps his hips roughly, hitting something sensitive inside of you, the coiling heat in your stomach rebuilding quickly, “thankyouthankyouthankyou,” You ramble mindlessly.

Mesmerized, you watch his curls bounce freely over his forehead, overgrown hair sticking to his skin from the soft sheen of sweat, the muscles in his broad shoulders straining as he holds your legs prisoner in his grips, hips aching dully from the unusual angle but you ignore it. He’s locked onto your pussy for a long stretch of time, entranced until he hears your soft moans, realizing you’ve been admiring him this whole time, eyes locking on you in a moment of vulnerability as he speaks directly to you, hips slowing to a manageable, but still slightly overwhelming pace.

“Always—know how to appreciate things, isn’t that right?” Joel asks, the redundancy not lost on you, “Take everything I give you and never ask. Never greedy—just lettin’ me spoil you.”

“Joel—” You whine, his hand slowly trailing the path to your joined bodies, thumb circling slowly over your clit briefly, “—harder, fuck me—harder.”

“But, look at you now—so fuckin’ greedy for my cock,” He’s speaking through a slight groan, releasing the straining hold on your thighs as he falls, spreading his legs out and using his arms for support as he holds himself over you, hands fisting into the sheets beside your head, “gonna make me cum, baby.”

You find yourself desperate for touch now, wrapping your arms around his neck until he’s nearly chest to chest, forehead resting against your own as you whimper into his open mouth, “I want it.”

Joel makes a small noise of question, “Want what, baby?”

“Your cum,” You reply softly, watching the way his pupils dilate at your words, “—please?”

Joel groans involuntarily, feeling the dignified squeeze of your walls around his cock.

“Where?” He asks slightly breathless, panting into your mouth.

You reach blindly for his hand, using his pointer and middle finger to breach your lips, pressing flat against your tongue, “Right here.” You mumble around the thick digits.

It’s the first thing you’ve ever explicitly asked for and who was Joel to deny that.

Joel pulls out quickly, rising on his knees as you push up to rest on your palms, his head hung back as he fucks himself into his hand harshly, a few short pumps and he’s pressing the aching tip of his cock over your tongue, spilling into your mouth with a deep growl, forced through clenched teeth, working himself through the aftershock as he squeezes out the last bit of cum he has to offer into your waiting mouth, forcing your mouth closed with his opposite hand and watching as you tilted your neck up and swallowed, tongue peeking out playfully as you show him your empty mouth.

You have half the mind to think he’s finished, but instead he’s swatting your thigh as he maneuvers your hips until you realize he’s silently asking you to turn over, quickly situating your ass in the air with his strong, domineering grip—burying his face into your cunt without a moment of hesitation, a gasp ripping from your throat. Your hips pull away instinctively out of shock, earning a sharp slap by Joel’s hand against your oversensitive cunt.

“Stay still.” Joel demands.

You answer softly, a pathetic acknowledgement and nod, obeying his order.

“Good girl,” He coos, muffled against your cunt, “Come for me, baby—you’re right there, I can feel it.”

There’s little resistance as his tongue swipes over your clit, sending you into a shorter but immensely more consuming second orgasm, feeling yourself lose consciousness for a brief moment as you sob into the sheets.

“Fuck.” Joel sighs as he rests back on his calves, cock softening between his thighs as you roll onto your back gingerly, thighs shaking from strain, feeling Joel’s comforting touch on the aching muscles as you close your eyes, letting the reality of the situation set in. 

You laugh giddily, “Yeah, fuck.”

Neither of you address the glaring issue of what just took place and somehow, that feels like the biggest atrocity to be committed. 

-

Secrets weren’t something you used to harbor, but it seemed like that was all you had now.

Sneaking off with Joel, lying to Sarah—it was the last thing you wanted to do. But, you and Joel had each other in an equally debilitating grip that neither of you could loosen up on.

And with secrets came gifts, more and more outrageous as time went on—big ticket items that had you fearing that, at some point, Joel would drop something like a new car on you—and that, for what it was worth, would help you. But, it was nothing you wanted. 

Sex started to feel transactional after a few more weeks, graduation creeping on you.

Joel never lacked in care and attentiveness, but there was this nagging feeling in the back of your mind, like you were this unattainable prize he was paying for and you were eating right out of the palm of his hand.

But, then graduation day approaches and Joel is acting odd.

So odd that it unsettles you. He’s there, along with his brother and his small family, cheering as loud for you as he does for Sarah, the obvious absence from your own family never lost on you or him. Then, night approaches.

He’d decided that throwing a party for the both of you in celebration was a good idea, just a small party with very few friends and he swore—swore that there was nothing else up his sleeve until he’s pulling you and Sarah off together, away from the party and there is a pair of matching, new cars parked in the driveway.

Sarah, given she already has everything she wants, is still thankful. It’s the one thing she had been trying to save up for herself, without the help of her dad. So, while she could be upset, she isn’t. She knows Joel’s intentions are good and that he’s just trying to be a good father—which is all he’s ever been for her.

But, for you, it stings. 

You linger, settled a few feet away against his beater of a truck, staring at the car like it was an eyesore.

She doesn’t like it. She hates it, Joel thinks. 

You thanked him regardless, but refused the keys. Joel had stuffed them into his pocket and allowed you the space you wanted, eyes pleading quietly. Sarah had hugged you gently, kind words left in your ear before she departed back inside.

“You’re like family,” She says with genuine love, “and he has more money than he knows what to do with—so honestly, just take it. You deserve it more than anyone.”

And that hurts worse, knowing that you’ve been lying to her for months. 

You weren’t family. Not to Joel. You were something much more convoluted and dangerous.

A drug. A trap. Something he couldn’t rid himself of, not that he desired to. But, he knew—once you were embedded into his life, it would be nearly impossible to get you out.

–

Joel finds you a while later, away from the party and beyond eyesight from the house, curled up against the front end of the truck and picking away at some of the ripped denim of your jeans, counting the frayed pieces. He takes a similar position, sitting next to you silently.

“You don’t have to take it,” He tells you, “but, it is paid for—”

“Joel, please—”

“What?” Joel asks suddenly, his own annoyance getting the better of him, “What am I doing wrong?”

“Joel—we have sex, you buy me something ridiculous. Or, you buy me something ridiculous without my knowledge and then we end up having sex, how does that look to you?”

“Now, I’m not doing that because of sex—”

“But, you see how it looks? How it makes me feel?” You argue with him, “Joel, I can’t help how I feel about you, like—it feels physically impossible, but the constant gifts makes this seem transactional. I don’t want that. I’m already a secret, I don’t need to be bought either.”

Joel shakes his head in silent disbelief, “You really think that’s how I view you? That’s it?”

“You haven’t tried very hard to make me think otherwise, Joel.” You tell him honestly, “I don’t need you showering me with cars and clothes and shit that I don’t need—and if that’s what you feel like you need to do, I don’t want to do…whatever this is anymore.”

Fucking him, sneaking around in secret. You weren’t dating, but it sure fucking felt like it. One intimate moment from a love confession that would seal the deal on your perception of him.

Joel kicks at the gravel as he rises to his feet, pulling you up by your forearm, an immediate look of both confusion and frustration crossing your features as he turns you and presses your chest against the front of his truck, shadowed by the cover of night. His belt clanks together loudly as he undoes his jeans behind you, tucking them far down enough he can pull his cock from the confines of his underwear, lifting up the hem of your dress and yanking your own underwear down your legs and off, and you should stop him—but you don’t want to.

This was the problem. You couldn’t get enough of Joel. 

He slips inside of you with ease, pulling a sharp gasp from your chest that he stifles with his hand, clasped over your mouth, fucking into you with a reverance that was new.

“Joel—we’refuck—we can’t here,” You try to say, yanking his hand away from your mouth, “we’ll get caught.”

Joel grips the base of your neck roughly, fingers curling around the sides as he tilts your head back and looks into your eyes, other hand coming around the bottom of your chin until you’re forced to look up and back at him, not a single speck of warm brown in sight. He looked angry.

But, it didn’t feel like it was directed toward you. Regardless, he fucked you like he was.

“I’ll return the fuckin’ car,” He starts to ramble, “I’ll return everything if that makes you think differently. God—” He snaps his hips harshly, earning a broken sob from you as you reach behind you blindly for something to anchor yourself on, fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt, “—never want you to think this is transactional, baby. It never—never was.”

Never would be, you want him to say.

“Whaddya want me to say?” Joel asks before you can speak, “That I care about you—baby, I fuckin’ do. I thought that was obvious. Know—know I shouldn’t, that it’s wrong, but I knew—”

You gasp raggedly, his hand leaving your chin to find your clit, just the right amount of pressure to have your hands clawing at his skin, head resting back against his shoulder as he fucked into you.

“And I’ll keep this a secret if—if it means I can have you but this isn’t transactional,” He continues to speak, despite your inability, tipping over the edge of your orgasm as his hips stutter slightly, “it never will be.”

That—that was what you needed to hear. Pulling him taut against you as he buried his mouth into the junction of your neck and nipped, biting at the skin roughly but not enough to break skin.

“Come inside me,” You gasp, chest rising and falling quickly, “please—Joel, please?”

“You like when I fuck you like this, don’t you?” Joel teases, “Never ask for anything but my cum—greedy girl,” You moan at his words, spurring him even further, “tell me baby, tell me how much you want it.”

“So bad,” You whine, “Joel, please give it to me—fuck—all of it, please?”

Joel snaps his hips a few more times before his hand is releasing your neck, crossing over your chest and squeezing tightly at your breast as he pulses inside of you, pumping his hips and filling you full of his spend.

Joel kisses at the exposed skin of your shoulder, pulling out with a soft grunt, the slow jingle of metal sounding behind you as you reached for the underwear he offered you, slipping it back up your legs and into place, despite how Joel’s cum dripped out of you, something he makes point of as his fingers drag along the material, causing you gasp softy at his touch, swatting his hand away. He chuckles lowly at the annoyed glare you shoot his way.

Joel shifts your hips until you turn in his grip, back pressing against cool metal. He crowds you in again, leaving you feeling breathless as he grips your face, but his touch is surprisingly tender.

“What do we say?” He says softly, lips pressing against your own.

“Thank you,” You retort sarcastically, capturing his lips in a quick, bruising kiss as you card your fingers into his hair at the base of his neck, pulling gently, “this doesn’t change anything—I don’t want the car.”

“You don’t have to take it,” Joel settles, “but it’ll be here if you need it.”

You pull away further, looking at him endearingly, watching as his eyes flick briefly toward the house.

“What do we do–about this?” You ask quietly, afraid someone might be listening in despite being alone, “About…whatever this is.”

“Hey,” Joel assures gently, “don’t worry about that—not tonight.”

“Joel—” You plead, eyes searching desperately into his own.

“I care about you, that’s all you need to worry about.” Joel speaks truthfully, his thumb rubbing along the line of your jaw as you swallow, muscles tense under his touch.

And you’re wondering if he’s just saying what you want to her—that maybe this was still a game to him and he was letting you feed into it, nodding to his confession. Joel is all in, offering you his metaphorical hand.

You sigh shakily, “Okay—I trust you.” So please, don’t let me down.

And you know things will eventually implode, but you intend to hold on the brief moment of hope you have now, safe under his gaze as he leads you back to the house, everyone blissfully unaware of the moments you’ve shared, leaving you resigned to appreciate the greedy looks his shares with you across the room.

It was a dangerous game, but you were willing to take the risks.

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

title: in a feud with her neighbor

bonus scenes now available

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 5621

summary:

Five times you think Joel Miller is the worst neighbor ever, and the one time he isn’t.

author’s note: this is so self-indulgent. i hope you guys enjoy it! if you like this work, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment because they make my day 💕

special thanks to the angels who helped with ideas: @dreamingofdaddydin @jksprincess10 @mydailyhyperfixations @funnygirlthatgab

additional warnings/tags: explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), explicit language, no use of y/n, story contains visual graphics, everyone pretend the 12 ft skeleton was available in 2003 and you could stream TV shows, no sarah, no outbreak, neighbor feuds, enemies to lovers, oral (explicit f receiving, non-explicit m receiving), semi-public sex, making out in a pool, reader is a menace and arguably the bad neighbor here, unprotected p in v, use of sex toys, praise kink, pet names, dirty talk. let me know if any are missing!

Joel Miller is the worst neighbor ever. 

Your issues with him started on your first Halloween in the neighborhood. You had moved into your new home a few months prior, thrilled that you finally managed to escape the horrors of apartment living. You were now the proud owner of a little single story two bedroom craftsman style home, complete with fenced in backyard and a pool. 

You loved your little house and the neighborhood was ideal, quiet but tight knit. The neighbor to your left, an elderly woman named Betty, had invited you over for tea and cookies and given you the lowdown on the neighborhood gossip.

The neighbor to your right, Joel Miller, she said, was a wonderful man. Polite, kind, and not too hard on the eyes either. You hadn’t met him yet, but with a glowing review like that, you couldn’t wait until you did.

She had also mentioned that the neighborhood goes all out for Halloween. They even hosted a contest for the best decorated house. Your mind already raced with the possibilities.

You loved Halloween. In Texas, the stifling heat finally eased around that time, dropping to a slightly more tolerable range in the 80s with cooler nights. You loved seeing all the displays in the stores and how abandoned storefronts would be overtaken by whole companies dedicated to Halloween. You watched all the horror movies you could and on the weekends you’d seek out local fall festivals because you’re a sucker for candy apples and funnel cake.

No one ever decorated at the apartment complex you previously lived in, so you were extra excited to decorate your house and yard. You bought fake tombstones and plastic skeletons for the yard, spider webs and little ghosts to hang in the trees. You carved two pumpkins to set on either side of the steps leading up to your front door and made little ghost statues out of tomato cages, foam balls, and white fabric. You even strung purple lights through your hedges. 

You were totally going to win the decorating contest. You were confident that you would.

Until you woke up Halloween morning and Joel Miller had somehow decorated his entire home in the time that you had been sleeping, blissfully unaware.

The man had somehow managed to set up an entire army of skeletons, including a handmade wooden jail stuffed with ones trying to escape. There were some posed on the house itself, climbing up the sides and the roof. He had some coming out of the ground, red spotlights fixed on them for an eerie glow. But perhaps most impressive of all was the twelve foot skeleton with glowing red eyes that was posed near the makeshift jail, holding the door open like it was releasing the trapped undead soldiers.

Joel Miller had the motherfucking twelve foot skeleton. You wanted one of those so bad but it was always sold out. You checked every nearby Home Depot for months trying to find one and here Joel Miller has one, taunting you.

He won the decorating contest, sweeping the victory from right under your feet.

It may seem silly, but that was the moment you decided Joel Miller was the worst neighbor ever.

When you were buying your first home, you had been meticulous in calculating your finances in order to comfortably afford the purchase. You did not, however, account for having to repair your air conditioning system within less than a year of moving in. This made a significant dent in your savings, which led you to cut your expenses elsewhere.

One such expense was your internet. Why? Because it turns out Joel Miller, asshole neighbor, doesn’t password protect his router and you can just use his.

It’s not like he would notice.

_________________

Joel stares at his internet bill in confusion. This is the third month in a row that he’s been charged for going over his data allowance. That doesn’t even make sense. He’s the only person in his house and he only uses the internet on his phone to check the news and sometimes play Candy Crush. It’s why he got the lowest data plan in the first place.

He tries to think of what he could be doing differently, but comes up short. Hell, he’s not even home most of the day. He works long hours at different contracting jobs, so his free time is spent watching TV (cable, not connected to the internet), and sleeping.

But then it hits him. The overage charges never happened until you moved in. 

Joel powers up his ancient laptop and has to Google search what a router is. Turns out, he doesn’t have a password set on his. Which means, if his hunch is correct, you’ve just had free access to his internet this whole time.

He learns how to set a password and, more importantly, he learns how to change the name of his router. 

He needs to send a message, after all.

_________________

You’re about to start another episode of Grey’s Anatomy, courtesy of your friend generously sharing her Netflix password, when you receive an error message. 

No internet connectivity. Try again?

The little WiFi connection icon is missing from your toolbar. You investigate further, opening the list of options and scanning them for Joel’s, conveniently titled Miller.

But instead you find a new name.

GetYourOwnWiFi. And it’s password protected.

“Son of a bitch,” you hiss.

Joel Miller’s tree is always dropping debris in your yard. The limbs have grown over your shared fence line and on windy days you have to deal with extra pool clean up on top of the usual mess it makes of your yard, twigs and leaves ruining your perfectly manicured backyard oasis. 

You’ve asked him to trim the branches. Left him notes on his door and in his mailbox, but he still hasn’t done it.

Today you’re sending a new kind of message.

He’s going to wish he’d listened when you asked nicely. 

_________________

“What the fuck,” Joel growls when he gets home just after sunset. There’s piles of leaves and twigs littering his front porch, almost to the point that he can’t see the concrete slab beneath. 

There’s no way this just happened through the force of nature. It’s been a perfectly clear day in Austin and besides, there’s no trees at the front of his house for this kind of mess to fall from.

Which can only mean…

His eyes spot the bright pink Post-It note stuck to his door and he curses under his breath as he stomps up the porch steps and rips it down.

Here. Clean your own mess up for once. 

xoxo

Joel crumbles the note in his fist, taking deep breaths as he heads for the garage to grab a broom and a trash bag.

He’ll get you back.

He always does. 

You love animals, especially cats. Unfortunately, being allergic, you don’t have the option to have one of your own all the time. 

When you spot the first neighborhood stray, your heart lights up with excitement. It’s a little black and white cat with bright green eyes that walks right up to you while you’re getting your mail, winding its lithe body between your legs and purring against you. You stoop to pet it, mentally reminding yourself to wash your hands before you touch your face, otherwise your eyes would be itchy for hours.

“Hello, little baby,” you murmur, rubbing a hand down the length of its back. “How are you?” The cat gives a strong meow in response. “Oh, are you hungry? Let’s go see if I have anything I can give you as a treat.”

Back inside your house, you locate a can of tuna and dump it into a small plastic bowl. The cat sits patiently on the porch, tail flicking in anticipation. It hops down and shoves its little face into the bowl as soon as it’s within reach. 

“So cute,” you say, giving it one last pat on its back before returning inside.

_________________

There’s a cat sitting on Joel’s porch, watching him as he parks his truck. It’s the second time this week there’s been a cat lurking around his property. The first one he found out in the backyard, tearing up his flower beds.

The neighborhood had never had an issue with cats before, so he has a sneaking suspicion that you’re, once again, the root cause of his suffering. 

His suspicions are confirmed when he sees you on the porch one day, laying out a row of plastic bowls filled with what he assumes is cat food. At first he’s annoyed that he’s right, it is you feeding the cats, which is why they’ve been terrorizing his yard, but then you turn around and he’s struck by how utterly gorgeous you are. 

This is the first time Joel’s ever actually seen you. He’s usually out of the house before dawn and back after sunset, which must not coincide with your schedule since you’ve never run into each other. He remembers Betty, the older woman who lives to your left, telling him about meeting you.

“Gorgeous girl, that one. You two would probably hit it off,” she said as he hung a picture frame for her.

“Don’t go playin’ matchmaker, Betty,” he replied. 

But damn, seeing you now in a pair of little shorts that hug your hips and ass just right and a tight white t-shirt that shows off the tiniest bit of skin above the waist of your shorts is making him think he should have taken Betty up on her word.

Joel’s so distracted that he almost misses the way the cat on his porch hits one of his planters with his paw, knocking the ceramic over and spilling dirt all over the ground.

“Fuck!”

_________________

There’s a note on your door the next morning, a torn piece of paper with a familiar scrawl of messy handwriting that could only belong to one person.

Stop feeding the cats or you owe me new plants.

-Joel

The note actually makes you giggle. Betty sees you on your porch and beckons you over to hers.

“What’s got you gigglin’ like a schoolgirl?” The older woman asks.

“What? Nothing,” you reply too quickly.

“Wouldn’t happen to be a note from a certain tall, strong, and handsome young neighbor of yours?”

“No, definitely not.” 

She smirks at you. “You better quit terrorizin’ that poor man, honey.”

“Now, Betty, where would the fun be in that?” You say brightly as you head back to your house, the sound of her laughter following you through the door. 

There’s a package on Joel’s porch when he gets home from work. He doesn’t remember ordering anything, but he wouldn’t put it past himself.

He brings it inside without thinking twice or checking the label, chucking it on the counter with the rest of his mail as he searches for a box cutter in his junk drawer.

Joel cuts through the packing tape, lifting the flaps and rifling through the packing paper to pull out the contents.

It’s another box, light pink with the image of a hot pink u-shaped device on the top. The text across the top reads REMOTE VIBRATOR in black script.

He nearly drops the box in surprise, fumbling it in his hands. He’s certain he didn’t order this. 

Joel pulls the shipping box back towards him, keeping an eye on the vibrator like it might grow legs and run away. He flips the lid over to inspect the shipping label, his eyebrows rising as he reads your name and home address instead of his.

He looks at the toy again, mind whirling with images of you on your back, remote in hand as you bring yourself pleasure. He coughs, clearing his head and adjusts himself in his jeans.

He searches the junk drawer for a sheet of paper and a pen.

_________________

You’re staring at the delivery confirmation email from Lovelies, panic creeping down your spine. It says that your new toy has been delivered but there’s no package in your mailbox or on your porch. You’ve checked everywhere.

Which means it was either delivered to one of your neighbors or someone stole it.

If you’re being honest, you’d rather someone stole it than to have to go knock on Betty or, god forbid, Joel’s door to ask if they accidentally received your sex toy delivery. Your cheeks heat at even the thought of Joel knowing what you ordered. You head back inside empty handed.

Later, when you open your door to feed the cats, you’re surprised to find a box on your welcome mat. You set the bowls of food down and carry it inside, your excitement mounting. 

But when you open the box, you’re mortified to find a torn piece of paper on top of the packing material, Joel Miller’s familiar handwriting on the sheet.

Interesting choice

-Joel

“Fucking asshole,” you mumble, crumbling the note and tossing it to the side. You pull your new toy from its box and turn it on. “Huh. Fully charged.”

Your jerk of a neighbor won’t ruin your night if this little gadget has anything to say about it.

It’s Joel’s one day to sleep in and you’ve been blasting your music all fucking morning. He’s already got his head shoved under his pillow but the sound still filters through, ruining his chances of any extra hours of sleep to make up for his lack of it during the week.

He rolls out of bed with a heavy sigh, scrubbing a hand across his beard. He heads downstairs to make coffee, the heavy beat of your music chasing him through the house. He can feel the beginnings of a headache pulsing behind his eyes.

Joel tries to tune it out. Really. He does. As much as the two of you butt heads, he doesn’t mean anything by it, not really. He doesn’t want to be an asshole, nor is he trying to be one. 

But if you don’t turn your music down soon he’s going to lose his fucking mind.

He gives you another hour. He’s feeling generous. But when the music just keeps playing, he finally snaps. 

Joel shoves his feet into the work boots beside the door, paying little mind to the fact that he’s not wearing socks. In fact, he’s still in his sleep pants and ratty old t-shirt but he’s too far gone to care.

Once he’s in front of your door, he bangs on the wood with his fists. He waits for a response and when he doesn’t get one, probably since you can’t fucking hear him, he bangs again. There’s movement from the corner of his eye and he turns his head to find Betty watching him, lips tilted in a smirk.

“You okay with this?” Joel asks, gesturing vaguely to your house to indicate the noise level inside. 

“Don’t be such a party pooper,” she replies before shuffling inside. He turns back to the door to pummel it with his fists again but he’s surprised to find it open.

“Howdy, neighbor,” you say, eyebrow raised and arms crossed beneath your breasts.

Which were currently covered by the tiniest bikini top he’s ever seen. His eyes trail lower, over the expanse of your stomach to the matching bikini bottoms that peek out past the folded waist of your denim shorts.

“Uh,” he says, followed by a strained cough. “Hi.”

_________________

Joel Miller is standing on your porch dressed in a threadbare t-shirt and gray pajama bottoms that sit low on his hips, a strip of soft tan belly peeking out from above the waistband when he stretches an arm up to run his fingers through his dark, messy curls.

Christ, you think. The man is prettier than Betty gave him credit for.

“Can I help you?” You ask. His eyes snap from where they’d been lingering on your chest and you straighten your back just the slightest bit at the knowledge he’d been checking you out. 

Joel clears his throat. “Your music is way too loud.”

You roll your eyes. “Does it hurt?”

“Does…what hurt?”

“Always having a stick up your ass.” 

Betty barks a laugh from her porch and Joel’s head turns so fast you have whiplash just watching him. He throws his hands up.

“Who’s side are you on, Betty?!” He shouts. 

You’re bent over, laughing so hard your stomach hurts and tears form at the corners of your eyes. When you finally catch your breath and return your attention to Joel, he’s got his hands on his hips and an impressive furrow between his brows.

“Listen, maybe we got off on the wrong foot. I’m about to go out by the pool and have a drink. Wanna join?” You ask. 

“I don’t have my suit with me.”

“Well good thing you’re just right next door, huh? Go get it. I’ll leave the door unlocked,” you tell him before shutting the door in his face.

_________________

Joel returns to your house thirty minutes later, showered and wearing his swim trunks and a new t-shirt. He wipes his sweaty hands against his chest, not entirely sure why he’s nervous. He’s just having a drink with his annoying neighbor to hash out all the issues. No big deal.

Your music is still playing when he enters your house, giving the door a courtesy knock before letting himself in. The front door opens directly into the main living space, a large sectional couch facing a TV mounted between two windows to his right and a dining nook to his left. Your kitchen is nestled in the corner, just past an opening to a hallway that he assumes leads to the bedrooms. Your place is bursting with colors and textures and patterns, from the floral blanket draped over your velvet couch to the leaf patterned wallpaper and natural stone backsplash in your kitchen. You have tea towels hanging from your stove that say “ANOTHER ONE BITES THE CRUST” with a picture of a pizza, and an impressive looking bar cart that houses a variety of liquor bottles and glassware.

There’s a splash from outside and Joel sees that the sliding glass door to your patio is open. He steps onto the concrete deck, surveying the backyard oasis you’ve created for yourself. The pool is on the smaller side but still, it’s a pool, and Joel’s a little jealous of it. You’ve got chaise loungers lined near the edge and matching chairs that surround a little fire pit further out in the yard. There’s string lights hung from the shade canopy that extends from your house. 

You pop up from beneath the surface, your hair slicked back from your face and little droplets of water clinging to your skin. Joel stands there, unsure of what to do, until you swim to the ledge closest to him and drape your arms over it, regarding him with keen eyes.

“Hi,” you say. He swallows, the nerves returning as he tries desperately to not let his gaze fall below your neck.

“Hey,” he replies. 

“There’s beer in the cooler. Grab me one?” You ask before ducking back beneath the surface. He can see you swim towards the edge of the pool that the loungers face. He grabs two beers as instructed, popping the tops with the bottle opener fixed to the lid of the cooler. You break the surface once more, swimming over to where he sits on the end of one loungers.

Joel passes you the beer and you tip it towards him in thanks before taking a deep pull, your lips wrapped around the lip of the bottle and distracting him monumentally. 

“So, you’re the Joel Miller, huh?” You ask. “Tell me about yourself.”

The two of you talk for what feels like ages. He learns that you’re a software engineer and you work a typical 9-5 schedule, which is why he’s never caught you around the neighborhood before. You don’t like to be outdoors much, preferring reading and catching up on your Netflix shows. You have two brothers, both of whom are older than you and live on the opposite side of the country, but you visit them around Christmas. You love animals, but have major allergies so you settle for fleeting moments with the neighborhood strays and occasionally watching your best friend’s dog when she goes out of town. 

He tells you about his work as a contractor, which he’s been doing since he was fresh out of high school and had no idea what to do with his life. He talks about his brother Tommy, how they work together on most projects and they want to start their own contracting business, but that’s a dream for another day. He mentions he’s more of a dog person than a cat person, especially because he has a grudge against the orange neighborhood cat that is still tearing up his flowerbeds. 

Joel loves the way you laugh, bright and full bodied as you toss your head back and bring a hand to your chest each time. You talk with your hands a lot, which is funny because you keep letting go of the pool ledge and scrambling to grab it again when gravity pulls you down in the water. If he doesn’t give enough detail in an answer, you’re not shy about asking him for more information, like when he said his favorite color was blue.

“Okay, but what shade of blue?” You asked.

“Just…blue?” Joel asked, clearly not understanding your question.

You rolled your eyes. “Men. I like lavender. Not just purple. Purple is a range of shades.”

“I guess…navy?”

“Now you’re getting somewhere, big guy!”

The conversation lulls as you share your drinks in companionable silence. The Texas sun bears down on his back, his t-shirt sticking uncomfortably to his sweat slick skin. He bites the bullet and reaches behind his head to tug the damp fabric off, leaving him in just his swim trunks. He doesn’t miss the appreciative once-over you give him.

You extend a hand to him. “Help me out?””

Joel grasps your hand in his, marveling for a moment how small it is in his broad palm. He’s distracted enough that he doesn’t notice the michievous look on your face, or the way you plant your feet to the pool wall for leverage.

You give a sharp tug with both hands and he goes toppling into the pool with a surprised shout.

_________________

You’re laughing so hard you can barely catch your breath. The look on Joel’s face as you tugged him into the pool will be burned into your memory for years to come. You’d been waiting all afternoon for the man to take his shirt off, not only because you were admittedly dying to see what was hiding beneath the fabric, but also because you wanted exact a little neighborly revenge for stomping over to your house to tell you your music was too loud.

You’re feeling mighty accomplished, right up until you feel a hand wrap around your ankle and you get pulled beneath the surface with no warning. 

You open your eyes, chlorine stinging them as you see Joel torpedo towards the shallow end of the pool. You give chase, breaking the surface with a gasp.

“You asshole–”

Joel cuts you off by wrapping an arm around your waist, tugging you close and tipping his head down to capture your lips with his. He kisses like a man starved and he tastes like sunshine and chlorine and the beer he’d been drinking as his tongue slides hungrily against yours. He uses his arm to press your body to his, but it’s not close enough.

You wrap your arms around his neck and lift your legs to circle his waist, your center grinding against his rapidly hardening length. Joel trails his hands up and down your back, stopping to grab rough handfuls of your ass as he groans against your mouth.

“Fuck,” he curses. “This little fuckin’ bikini has been torturin’ me all day.”

“Why don’t you just take it off then?” You offer. He pulls back to watch your face as his fingers find the strings of your bottoms beneath the water, giving both sides a quick tug until you feel the material fall away. His hand creeps up your back, pulling at the strings holding your top together around your back and neck until they, too, fall away.

Joel walks the two of you forward until your back collides with the rough stone of the pool wall.  He presses a muscular thigh between your legs, boxing you in with his body. Your hips jerk at the sudden pressure and friction against your bare pussy, a moan slipping from your lips as Joel presses kisses to your jaw and neck, nipping the delicate skin with his teeth.

“You gotta be quiet, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your skin, the deep timbre of his voice making a shiver dance down your spine despite the Texas heat. “Those sounds are just for me, isn’t that right?”

You nod your head quickly and he rewards you with another toe curling kiss. Your hips rock against his thigh and he swallows every little whimper as his hands explore your body.

“Joel,” you whine. His fingers pinch and pull your nipples before he soothes them with sweet circles of his calloused thumb.

“What’s the matter, baby?” He asks. One of his hands slides across your thigh and your breath hitches as he brings it dangerously close to your pussy before trailing it back down. “You need somethin’?”

“Need you to touch me.”

“That right? You want me to take care of that pretty little pussy?”

“Mhm,” you hum. “Please.”

“So polite. Where’s all that attitude from earlier, hm?” Joel asks, sarcasm dripping from every word. You narrow your eyes at him.

“I can be rude, Miller. You want that instead?”

“Trust me, I know, but I think I like you better when you’re beggin’ for me,” he replies with a grin. 

Joel’s hands grab onto your waist and he hoists you up onto the ledge. His broad shoulders press against the back of your thighs and his arms drape across your hips. He smiles at you, mouth tauntingly close to where you’re desperate for relief. You lean back on your elbows, the concrete warm against your bare skin and the sun washing over you.

“How about you show me those nice manners one more time?” He asks. 

You grit your teeth. “Joel, I swear to god I will go inside and lock you out–”

Your threats are cut off by your startled moan as he licks through your folds, broad swipes of his tongue from your fluttering entrance to your aching clit. His sweet brown eyes are sinful as he looks up at you from between your thighs, devouring your pussy like his last meal. His nose rubs against your clit each time his tongue dips inside of you and you’re quickly reduced to a writhing mess.

You shift your weight to one arm and reach down with the other to tangle your fingers into his hair. He moans appreciatively against your cunt, the vibrations making you keen. When your hips start to fight against his hold, his lips wrap around your clit, sucking and rolling it with his tongue.

“Fuck, fuck, just like that,” you babble, trying to keep your voice down as you balance right on the edge of your orgasm. He hums again, tongue swirling over your clit until that final thread snaps and you free fall into oblivion, fingers curling tightly against his scalp and making him groan as he works you through your release.

Your limbs go boneless in the aftermath and you collapse against the ground, an arm over your eyes to block out the sun. You hear the sound of water sloshing before Joel lays beside you on his back, arms beneath his head. He turns to look at you, his bright smile making your heart flutter in your chest. 

And when he extends an arm out for you to snuggle up against him, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, Joel Miller isn’t such a bad neighbor after all.

“What do you mean you thought I was the asshole?!” Joel asks indignantly as he leaves your bathroom. He’s got a towel held up around his waist and you’re finding it hard to concentrate on his words at this exact moment.

You’ve just finished showering together after your outdoor activities, where you returned his poolside favor with some attention of your own. Now, you’re laying on the bed in your own towel, tired from the sun and the sex. 

You’ve also just admitted that you thought he was the worst neighbor. An asshole even. And now he’s looking at you like you’re insane.

“You stole my internet!” He exclaims. 

“You can’t prove that,” you reply, maybe a bit too quickly. He raises an eyebrow at you, but you refuse to back down.

“Fine, but you put all those twigs and shit on my porch.”

“They were from your tree, I was simply…returning your property.”

“And the cats?” He crosses his arms. “Because of you, my flowerbeds look like shit and I’ve lost two planters.”

“Not my fault they can sense you’re the weak link. They’re asserting their dominance. Hiss at them or something,” you say with a shrug.

Joel gapes at you. “You can’t be serious.”

“Look, it’s water under the bridge now, right? What can I do to make it up to you?”

He’s silent for a moment before a mischievous grin spreads across his face.

“Where’s that toy you bought, sweetheart?”

_________________

Joel’s got you on your back, your wireless vibrator placed snugly inside of your and against your clit. You’re glaring at him because he’s stopped you from another orgasm. He’s quickly becoming obsessed with that fire in your eyes and the curl of your lip when you’re mad at him.

He presses a trail of kisses from your ankle to the inside of your thighs, nipping the sensitive skin close to your pussy just to hear you gasp. He continues across your abdomen and your breasts, stopping to lavish attention to each sensitive nipple, your back arching against him for more.

“Joel,” you whine, squirming beneath him. He stretches up to capture your lips in a kiss, your lips dragging across his in the most addicting way. His cock slides against the smooth skin of your hip, making him groan. With a flick of his thumb, he turns the toy back on. “Oh, fuck!”

“Want you to come for me this time, baby,” Joel tells you. “Then I want you to come all over my cock, okay?”

You nod, back bowing and muscles straining as your writhe against the vibrations. Joel sits back on his heels to watch you, the way your mouth is dropped open in a silent shout and how your eyes find his at the exact moment you start to come undone.

“Oh my god,” you pant as Joel swiftly removes the toy, the pink silicone shiny with your release. He tosses it to the side and presses his cock to your fluttering hole, sinking inside of you with a deep groan. Your walls are still clenching with the aftershocks of your orgasm as he begins to thrust, slow and deep.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so fuckin’ good,” he growls. He uses a hand to press one of your knees closer to your chest, his fingers wrapped tightly beneath your knee. 

The change in angle gets him deeper and his pace grows faster in response to your moans. He can feel you start to pulse around him, each drag of his cock out of your cunt getting harder as your walls squeeze, desperately trying to keep him inside. 

“Touch yourself,” Joel commands. “Wanna see you come for me again, pretty girl, come on.”

Your fingers find your clit, swirling through the mess of slick coating your folds. Your eyes are glued to him as you work yourself to the same rhythm of his thrusts. He knows you’re close when your eyes start to flutter, your head dropping back against the mattress and your thighs going tight against his hips.

“That’s it, good fuckin’ girl, just like that,” he growls as you come with a shout of his name. “Christ, you look so damn good.”

You blink at him, your eyes hazy and your smile languid as he chases his own release, using your sensitive cunt for his pleasure. When it gets to be too much, too close, he withdraws, fisting his cock with rough strokes until he comes in thick splashes against your belly.

He collapses on the bed beside you, both of your chests heaving with deep breaths. After a moment, he uses one of the towels to wipe you clean, tossing it to the floor. You glare at him. 

“You better put that in the hamper later,” you admonish. He pulls you into his side. 

“So, why exactly did you think I was an asshole neighbor?” He asks. To his surprise, you blush, mumbling something he can’t make out. “What?”

“I said because you beat me at the Halloween decorating contest.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes. You have the twelve foot skeleton and I’m jealous.”

“I’ll get you as many skeletons as you want,” Joel laughs. You smile at him.

“Sounds good to me, big guy.”

_________________

The following Halloween, there are two twelve foot skeletons in the neighborhood, and they live right next door to each other.

Joel Miller taglist: 

@huffle-punk @johnwatsn @hopelessromantic727  @whereasport @pedr0swh0r3 @yellingloudly @dragon-of-winterfelll @thedeadsingwithdirtintheirmouths @mydailyhyperfixations @liati2000 @ghostofjoharvelle @cutesyscreenname @morgaussy @letsgroovetonighttt @endlessthxxghts @fake-bleach @brilliantopposite187 @mattmurdock1021 @str84pedro @justsomeoneovertherainbow @loquaciousferret @milly-louise @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @kirsteng42 @caatheeriinee07 @eternallyvenus @midnightswithdearkatytspb @evyiione @leeeesahhh @tloubarbie @afterglowsb-tch13 @loveliestofthoughts @theviewfromtheritz @brittmb115 @uncassettodiricordi @pedritosgfreal @adriennemichelle98 @mxtokko @gingersince97 @switchbladedreamz @casa-boiardi @tonysterco @rvjaa @ladymunson @sexpoisoned @trisaratops-mcgee @decemberdolly @spookyemorockbabe @reader-without-a-story @katmoonz @simping-soldat @mswarriorbabe80 @orphanbird95 @shatteredbaby @tusk89 @gingersince97 @mssbridgerton @internetobsessed1234-blog @sloanexx @manazo @bigboiseason123 @bean-is-reading @darlingpedro @silkiers @pascals-cat @bbyanarchist @therealcap @pedrosgrogu @dreamingofdaddydin

Want more Joel Miller? Check out my masterlist.

[delusional-through-and-through]

HER 🥀

After the intense infernal outbreak and the explosive battle between Captain Shinmon Benimaru and the demon infernal, the once-lively streets of Asakusa were left battered. Homes were reduced to rubble, the air was heavy with the acrid stench of charred wood, and the cries of the injured echoed through the district. Asakusa’s resilient people, though accustomed to such chaos, were in desperate need of medical attention.

Amid the aftermath, Benimaru sat cross-legged on the ground, looking grumpy as usual, while Konro tried to keep his coughing at bay. The members of Company 8 stood around them awkwardly, with Captain Obi attempting to mend fences.

“Alright, let’s just clear the air here,” Obi said, clapping his hands together. “We’re not here to invade Asakusa, alright? We’re all on the same side.”

Benimaru raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Sure, but you lot have a knack for showing up right when things go to hell. Coincidence?”

“Yeah, that’s just our luck,” Maki muttered under her breath, earning a nudge from Hinawa.

“We came to help,” Obi insisted, his tone earnest. “And speaking of help, I’m calling in our resident doctor. The people here need treatment ASAP.”

Benimaru leaned back, his expression skeptical. “Your doctor better not be some quack.”

“She’s good,” Obi said confidently. “Bit of a character, though.”

.......

Izanami Yoru, Company 8’s nicotine-loving doctor. Walking with her platinum blonde hair styled in a regal crown braid and her long bangs framing her face, she looked like she’d strolled straight out of a fashion magazine. She wore her signature sunglasses—not for style, but because her eyes were fucking dry, and staring at anything too long made her feel like she was being punished by the sun itself.

Yoru was a picture of nonchalance as she lit a cigarette and surveyed the unfamiliar streets of Asakusa. She exhaled a plume of smoke, muttering to herself, “Great. First time in this place, and I’m already lost. Damn Obi and his vague directions.”

Spotting a group of locals huddled near the remains of a shrine, she approached with her usual unhurried swagger. “Hey, you lot,” she called out, startling them. “Seen a bunch of uniformed weirdos around here? Big guy, military posture, looks like he spends more time in the gym than at his desk?”

One of the older men pointed toward a side street where Company 7 guard house is located. Yoru gave a mock salute and headed off, cigarette dangling from her lips.

.......

When Yoru arrived, she was greeted by the full cast of Company 8, most of whom looked relieved.

“Finally,” Obi said, clapping her on the shoulder. “Took you long enough.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Yoru replied, brushing him off. “Next time, drop a pin or something, Captain Lost-and-Found.”

Benimaru stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized the newcomer. “This is your doctor? She doesn’t exactly scream ‘medical professional.’”

“Don’t worry,” Yoru said, smirking. “I scream plenty when I need to.”

Konro, ever the peacemaker, chuckled softly. “If she’s from Company 8, I’m sure she’s capable.”

“Damn right,” Yoru said, flicking her cigarette away. “Now, point me to the clinic. I’ve got miracles to work.”

......

The local clinic in Asakusa was crowded, with injured residents filling every available space. Yoru surveyed the scene, cracking her knuckles. “Alright, people, let’s get this shit on the road.”

With a flick of her wrist, a swarm of shimmering blue flames in the shape of butterflies materialized around her. They danced through the air, their glow filling the room with an ethereal light. The injured gasped as the butterflies landed on them, the blue flames engulfing their wounds. Within moments, cuts sealed, burns faded, and broken bones knitted back together.

One particularly skeptical old man muttered, “What kind of witchcraft is this?”

“Relax, gramps,” Yoru said, smirking. “It’s not witchcraft—it’s top-tier medical care.”

......

As the night wore on, Yoru continued her work, occasionally pausing to light another cigarette and complain about the sheer number of patients. At one point, Benimaru walked in, leaning against the doorframe.

“You’re good,” he admitted grudgingly.

Yoru glanced at him over her sunglasses, her smirk returning. “Good? Try amazing. But hey, I’ll take the compliment, Mr. Grumpy Pants.”

Benimaru frowned. “What did you just call me?”

Konro chuckled from behind him. “I think she’s warming up to you, Benimaru.”

By the end of the night, Asakusa’s injured were on the mend, and Yoru had cemented her place as the unusual, chain-smoking savior of the day. As she packed up her gear, she muttered to herself, “Next time, Obi owes me extra coffee for this. And maybe a damn GPS.”

[mmkin]

The Siren's Shark (Fury of the fishman race)

New chapter of the Siren's Shark now up on AO3, the chapter title is pretty self-explanatory. Content warning - violence, a lot of it.

It's also under the cut and picture I did of Arlong having a party and chilling with Yolande and his bros. 15-20 min doodle that was a hecking lot of fun to do. Initially it just started out with the couple but they looked so happy I wanted to draw more fishmen.

XIII

o0o0o0o

Yolande watched the fires on the island, explosions going off one after the other, some near the shore, others a bit further inland. With the distraction from the first wave of explosives, the fishmen could move forward and plant the second round that would breach the wall that guarded the nicest estates on the island… and its most prized and powerful slaves.

“Maybe you need a drink, eh?” she heard Caten say from behind her. She felt an arm wrap around her own and was tugged away from the railing. For a couple of moments, she tried to resist, but Caten had more fishman strength than her. “It’ll do you no good to just stand there and watch. Come have a drink with us, misery loves company.”

The others were in the mess hall, including Rekiin. He’d wanted to go with the pirates, insisting that he was strong from Kuroobi’s classes. It was hard to not admire the boy’s pluck, and he’d pouted as the others left him behind. But such a pout did not work on the mighty Captain Arlong or even the more pliable Hatchan. The boy was now at one of the tables, playing a game of Go with Rosa while a couple of the others watched, relaxing and enjoying themselves.

A cup of rum was pressed into her hand, and Yolande looked down. Despite her anxiety, she was hesitant to drink because what if something happened on the island and she had to respond to it? Wouldn’t it absolutely suck if the invasion failed and she and the remaining fishmen had to fight or run for it? She couldn’t bear the thought of Arlong and the others enslaved.

No, no, no. You all came up with a good plan, she told herself. She had provided the firepower. The fishmen would provide strength and rage. The few humans not on Arlong's shit list helped to provide intelligence that could be used for stealth and surprise. And there were a few high-value hostages in the brig if needed.

Fisher Tiger had pulled it off in a larger city with fewer men. So Arlong could, damnit. Her fingers squeezed around the glass. Whatever had happened in Arlong Park, it seemed like Arlong and his men had learned from it. They can do it, they will do it, she kept trying to tell herself.

“Hey, take a deep breath. Sit down.” Caten squeezed her arm. The explosions had died for some time, and she could almost imagine it in her mind’s eye with the help of the map that Koji and Hazel had drawn for them. They were no cartographers but as lifetime residents of the island they had been able to give out a good lay of the land, pointing out the walls and divisions of the city.

“How about I tell a story?” Caten asked. “I think you’d like this one.”

“I’d welcome the distraction,” Yolande replied with all sincerity.

“So you remember before I was saying how misery loves company? There’s this story my grandmother would tell me when I was a kid. I always thought it was pretty clever. So here we go…” She took a long swig of her rum before several of the other fishmen settled nearby.

“There was this woman called Misery. She was old and poor and hardworking. Her one joy in life was a tree she had that bore succulent fruit, the likes of which were rare under the water or on land. She did not have much else in her life so every year, she looked forward to enjoying that fruit, but unfortunately, as you will expect, there are those determined to take joy from others. The local boys enjoyed climbing the tree and taking the fruit, and the poor woman was too old and feeble to climb the tree herself. This left her quite miserable and helpless as the boys would break through her fence and steal the fruit. She cried, she pleaded, she begged, but they thumbed their noses at her and their parents would simply tell her that boys will be boys…”

“These little shits,” Yolande muttered before she sipped her rum. Caten grinned.

“You’ll love what happens to them! ...This year, the same thing happened. She tried to be vigilant, but she was old and tired, and the boys plucked the fruit from her tree and left just one behind. It was better than nothing, she told herself, and took it into the house with her. Not long after, a stranger came to her house and asked if he might have shelter for the night. Misery was not without a heart, so she allowed the weary traveler a spot next to her hearth and shared the fruit with him. He was a cheerful fellow, and though she did not have much to offer, she was a gracious host and laughed at his stories. In the morning, he said that he appreciated her kindness and that she could have one wish granted.

Misery thought that he was jesting with her, and remembering the fruit, she asked that anyone who climbed up the tree would not be able to come back down without her leave. The traveler tipped his hat at her and left.

A year passed, and she had all but forgotten that curious offer. And the boys were back, bigger and more brash, and when she came out to yell at them, they laughed at her as they scooped the fruit into their pockets. Brokenhearted, she went into the house, hearing them laughing at her.

However, soon enough the laughter turned to exclamations of surprise, confusion, and cursing. She went back outside to see the boys perched on the branches, unable to hoist themselves down. If they tried to jump, they were stuck fast to the tree. They cried, begged, and swore, and Misery realized that her wish had indeed been granted.

Oh boys, will you return my fruit to me then, and leave me be? She asked. They swore at her, throwing fruit at her. She gathered the fruit in a basket and went back inside, ignoring their cries, which eventually died down and she finally had her sleep, after having a good meal.

The next morning, she came back outside. As one might expect, the lads had quite a fitful night. Not one wink of sleep, and quite a few bruises and scratches they had in trying to get out of the tree.

Now, are you boys going to behave? She asked, and they offered no argument this time. Then you will mend my fence, bring me roast meat and a pot of rice every week, and promise to never touch this tree or its fruit again unless I give you leave.

To this, the boys could only agree, and for years after that, Misery was well-fed and left alone. She would share her fruit with travelers and listen to their stories, enjoying their company. Eventually, Death came from her. And as with anyone else, she received Death with cordiality.

I have no fruit in the pantry to serve you right now, so would you mind going up the tree and getting some for me? I'll make us a nice meal and then we'll be on our merry way, Misery said. Glad to have someone receiving him so kindly, Death agreed.”

Yolande chuckled softly. Nothing like a story about someone outsmarting their adversary.

“Death got stuck in the tree, and Misery decided to leave him there, so no one could die. The pharmacist, priest, doctor, and undertaker all came to her to complain, telling her that business was bad because no one was afraid of dying anymore. Misery simply laughed and said they were welcome to join Death in the tree.

However, one day, she was visited by a friend of hers, even older than she was. The friend told her that she was ready to move on. She'd lost her husband, all of her children, and even some of her grandchildren. Her arthritis and other aches only got worse and worse. She would welcome Death, and so would many others. These fatally wounded on the battlefield, or gravely ill with no hopes of reversing their health. Those who were tired of life and felt they'd lived their natural course, and those who sought an escape from pain. Death was needed in this world, he was not evil but was a means to an end of pain and suffering.

The pleas of men in power did not move her, but this supplication from a frail old woman appealed to her, and she consented to let Death out of the tree… but only if Death would not claim her.

Very well then, Death said. All became right in the world… but Misery still loves company and is still out there, ready to welcome it.”

Well, that certainly provided a useful distraction. “Thanks, I really needed that,” Yolande said with a chuckle as she took another swig of her drink and enjoying the buzz before another explosion sounded through the air.

“And you made these?” Caten asked with a smirk, gesturing in the direction of the island.

“But someone else had to drag them to the island, find the proper locations, and light them,” she replied modestly. “Ishidai and Mido among others are doing the real work out there, liberating our brothers and sisters.”

“And we’re all proud of them,” Kaneshiro said. The injury he’d gotten from Spike made it difficult for him to breathe at times, particularly after a run or a long swim, so he was left behind as the senior pirate of the ship until the others came back.

“To our brothers and sisters. To our nakama and the proud and noble fishman race,” Erhu said as he raised his cup. The others echoed similar sentiments, and Yolande was right there with them, raising her cup as the Arlong Pirates raided Marzu Island.

o0o0o0o

This Devil Fruit user had the ability to shoot out what looked like very thick webbing, almost like a spider, from their hands, and as fishmen and slaves alike ran around in the chaos, the dark-haired woman encased several of them.

Chew was careful to remain out of her sight as he unscrewed his canteen, several balls in his other hand as he took a mouthful of water.

He slid one of the balls past his lips, positioning it on his tongue as he’d practiced before aiming it at the woman’s neck, the nape bare above the collar of her uniform, which looked a lot like a business suit. The thin clay casing of the ball splintered on impact, smearing a greaselike substance onto her neck. As she instinctively reached up to brush it off, the substance spread on her neck and onto her fingers. It took another couple of moments, but the webbing she’d been making with her free hand disintegrated. Seastone worked against a Devil Fruit user with skin contact, and it looked like seastone filings in the gel Yolande had made worked about as well.

Chew grinned in triumph as two of his nakama quickly closed in on the woman, restraining her effectively. The human slaves stared at him before a younger woman stepped forward, wearing a collar and dressed in what appeared to be the uniform of a domestic worker.

“Are you here to free us like Fisher Tiger did in Marijoa?”

Chew was startled to hear that from a stranger’s mouth, way out here in Marzu, which was more than halfway across the South Blue from Marijoa.

“Yes,” he replied automatically, thinking of his enslaved brethren, and then realized that the human would hear his answer as being inclusive of the humans here, too.

Well, Fisher Tiger had not been picky about the slaves of Marijoa, had he? “Yes,” he repeated more firmly. The woman regarded him with a brilliant smile. She turned to the slaves near her.

“The day has come! Fuck yeah!”

o0o0o0o

Yurie stared down at the children that surrounded her, expecting her to do something to comfort them. The explosions had started less than an hour ago, rousing them out of their sleep. Her heart thudded in her chest as she heard more explosions and shouting. Was it really happening? She’d heard whispers of Fisher Tiger from a fishman who’d been brought here after Fisher Tiger freed the slaves of Marijoa. Ever since she heard his story, she’d prayed for Fisher Tiger to find this place and free its slaves.

She’d been kidnapped half a lifetime ago, her father and his small crew set upon by Captain Aiucbi and his crew. They’d been a merchant ship, her father an ex-pirate but retired from the lifestyle and plying his trade around several islands near the Grand Line, making a modestly prosperous life for himself, his daughter, and his crew. Her fishman mother had died when she was young, but her human father had more than made up for it, taking her across the seas, showing her various things, and encouraging her to embrace her fishman heritage.

She missed him so much that sometimes she wanted to cry. Her father had been murdered by Captain Aiuchi, and she was kidnapped and enslaved. Fourteen long years she'd been on this island. Not that she didn't attempt escape, but the humans were used to slaves trying that, so they had various measures for it, including keeping their more exotic slaves behind the wall that separated the upper echelons of Marzu Island from the commoners, and applying harsher practices when they deemed necessary.

So she’d gotten with the program – or acted like it, and now she enjoyed a relatively comfortable position as the personal maid and nanny to the Mukachin household. The Mukachins would be surprised to know the depths of the hatred that boiled under her placid exterior as she went about her chores, listening to the orders of the adults and the screeches of the children.

There was an explosion that sounded a lot nearer than the previous one, and she jumped, spinning around and looking through the window. The wall had been breached. Oh fuck, yes. Was it really happening? Her hands were shaking, and she brushed them against the smock she was wearing. The collar around her neck felt heavy all of a sudden as if reminding her of what had been done to her.

Her father had often said that sometimes when an opportunity arose, one needed to wait a bit to assess it. But on the other hand, he said, sometimes you just have to grab it and run with it.

So she did, shoving the Mukachin children aside, ignoring the cries of indignation and protest as she pried the youngest child’s fingers from her skirt and tore out of the room.

The doors were locked, but she climbed out of a window and bolted across the grass, seeing the crumbled gap in the wall several estates down, laughing wildly when she saw several men advance down the street, all of them fishmen. A couple of guards tried to stop them, but the fishmen flung them aside like toys.

She skidded to a halt several meters away, panting. The fishmen regarded her with caution at first before they noticed the collar on her neck and the gold-green coloring of her skin.

“Take, you have the key,” a tall and fat pink fishman with bright green fins said. The pale-skinned fishman beckoned her forward. She needed no further invitation and took a shuddering breath as she felt the collar side from her neck.

“Oh yes, fuck yes. Thank you so much!”

“Glad to be of service, honey,” Take said with a grin. “You’re free to go down to the water, but we could use your help.”

“I’ve been here for years. I know where many of the other slaves are. I’m ready to kick ass!”

This time, another fishman answered her. He was ruddy-skinned, with a dark green shirt that had roses on it. He’s cute, Yurie thought to herself, and her heart fluttered as the salmon fishman smiled at her. “I bet you are, you certainly look like you’re roaring for it. Well, come on and let’s do just that. I’m Shioyaki, by the way.”

There were nearly two dozen estates within the wall, resided by the upper caste of the island. She'd never seen Marijoa, but Toma and the other fishmen who'd spent time as slaves there would recognize the architecture of the Holy City, albeit on a smaller scale. With the observation skills her father had helped her hone, she had learned much about her new home. She listened, she observed, and she held onto every bit of information she could glean about this island, the residents, and the fucked-up system that was enforced upon the people unfortunate enough to be poor and indebted or captured by the Mukachins and their ilk.

Fishmen were notably stronger compared to humans, so the masters had experience in compensating for that with various measures, but Arlong’s fishmen came well-prepared, as Yurie was quick to notice.

And there were plenty enough human slaves who were willing to throw their lot in with these invading fishmen. Their welcome was lauded, unlike on the Conomi Islands. Yurie had befriended some of them, so when they saw what she was doing, they were quick to offer whatever aid they could render. Many of the free but poor humans stepped aside when fishmen came for the masters. The island had worked under its system for generations, and that could only be maintained by strict control, but it collapsed… or rather blew up, causing an effect that went beyond fire and smoke.

o0o0o0o

The fishmen left behind on the White Mermaid had taken turns telling stories or jokes, making sure to keep the conversation upbeat so there was a good amount of laughter shared among the fishmen. Needing some fresh air, Yolande stepped outside with her cup, staring at the distance, seeing the glow of fires, flame, and moonlight reflected in the plumes of smoke that rose upward. It'd been several hours since Arlong and his team set out.

No fishmen had returned to the ship, and no distress signal had been sent up. So far, so good, Yolande sighed. Fingers crossed that it’d remain that way – she didn’t want to think about what a failure would mean for Arlong’s crew as well as the slaves on the island.

Who would have thought she’d be rooting for pirates to be successful in a takeover of an island? With a sigh, she sat on the deck, leaning against the railing as she pressed her forehead against the white-painted wood.

“I kinda wish I could see them in action,” she heard Caten say. She smirked dryly to herself at that. Sure, she’d watched some of Kuroobi’s drills, or when the fishmen would spar with one another, but the heat of actual combat was another matter. How well she remembered the capture of the White Mermaid, Arlong’s crew pitted against Aiuchi’s crew in a battle that would help to determine the ultimate fate of Marzu Island.

“There’s something about seeing men in action, huh?” Yolande asked dryly.

“And why not?” Caten asked with a smirk. “I mean, it’s not just seeing them in action, it’s also knowing how strong they are, or how capable they are of fighting because it means they can protect you…”

“Especially when there’s three of them?” Yolande asked, but there was no sarcasm or bite in her tone. Caten regarded her with a knowing smile and winked. “I’m curious and I’ve been dying to ask, but I’m afraid of sounding rude or nosey…” she admitted as she looked at the fishwoman.

“How do I juggle the attentions of three fishmen?” Caten asked. “Easy. They know that if there’s any fighting, it’d be over,” Caten said.

“… And they were okay with it?” Yolande asked. She couldn’t imagine any of the men she’d known personally to be willing to enter such an arrangement.

Caten shrugged. “If they were not okay with it, it means they don’t get any of this…” She gestured to herself, “and they also don’t get to enjoy the things I do. It’s their choice.”

Yolande stared off thoughtfully for several moments. She knew what the priests and nuns of Nitirb Island would have thought. Depraved, sinful fornicators. No better than animals if you do not honor the sacred bonds of marriage… or celibacy. After all, as they were eager to point out, many of the children at the orphanage were bastards, and even if a girl was lucky enough to avoid such a consequence, what man wanted to marry an unclean woman?

She remembered wondering why she should care about virtue so much because on the other hand, who wanted to marry an orphan? Well, Yolande did end up getting married… more than once. Many illusions had been shattered. Yolande snapped herself out of her musings. That was in the past, she’d learned from experience how beliefs could undergo fundamental shifts.

Caten looked happy, and so did her partners. They operated on mutual respect for her and one another. The young fishwoman had a difficult life from what she'd shared with Yolande, and she was taking whatever joy was offered to her. How could anyone begrudge her that? If anyone did, that said more of the would-be judges than Caten or her lovers.

Yolande finally smiled before she finished her drink. “Good times, good times.”

“If you ever need tips, just let me know,” the catfishwoman said with a merry grin. This sent Yolande into a fit of giggles.

“I’m a widow taking advice from a woman the same age as my stepdaughter…” Oh gods, how good it felt to laugh.

“I’m sure you have some wisdom to offer, too,” Caten chuckled. “Having someone like Arlong to share your bed with… you’re the envy of the girls and a few of the guys.”

Yolande felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “That bastard,” she huffed, recalling the sounds they’d made the last time they’d fucked. Arlong had gotten quite vocal, though she suspected that was in part because he was so keyed up about the imminent takeover of Marzu Island.

But honestly, he could come up with any excuse he wanted for it, and see what sorts of noises he could draw from her.

"He is an inspiration to the crew!" Caten replied cheerfully. There were a few titters and cheers over that, and Yolande buried her face in her hands as another drink was poured for her. "To our mighty Captain Arlong and his pirates!" Caten raised her cup in the air and the others joined her before they looked over to the island. "To the glory and the safety of the fishman race! May those who oppress us be crushed under our heel!"

It seemed like Caten was leaning closer and closer to officially joining the crew, Yolande thought with a small smile. Good on her, she thought to herself.

o0o0o0o

Arlong had engaged in plenty enough battles at sea while being part of the Sun Pirates, and even after taking over the Conomi Islands against an occasional pirate or Marine ship. He’d gone up against swords, guns, cannonballs, and Devil Fruit users.

Even as he swung his sword, or used water as a projectile, he remained vigilant of his surroundings – it would do him no good to be picked off by a sniper or otherwise. Marzu had a decent security force, but Arlong and his men had the advantage due to the combination of factors they'd carefully planned.

Arlong looked up with a grin as he heard an explosion and looked up to see fire shooting up as part of the wall that surrounded the upper part of the island collapsed. He wondered if this was how Fisher Tiger had felt when he breached the walls of Marijoa. As he looked at the way the wall crumbled down to create a gap amidst the flames, he saw a flash of steel and reacted just in time to grab the blade of the guard's sword between his teeth. He glared down at the armed man, clenching his jaw and shattering the man's sword before grabbing him by the neck and hurling him at the man who was trying to attack him from behind.

He let out a roar of challenge, encouragement, and triumph. There were guards to challenge him, yes, but none of those who challenged his advance wore a collar. He saw slaves fleeing both fire and guards and grinned as he quickly poured himself a handful of water from his canteen.

He might as well have hit the guards with bullets of steel, as he pelted them by flicking his hand. He moved on, saying nothing to the slaves as he made his way to the wall.

The next couple of hours passed in a flurry of adrenaline, blood, rage, and fire. He maintained enough presence of mind to not lash out at the human slaves, but he did not hesitate to mow down anyone who tried to attack him.

The son of Omald and Elania Mukachin was the Mayor of this island, although he might as well have been called prince, such was the life he enjoyed and the power his family held in Marzu. He was well-defended, but between several seasoned fishmen with Arlong and Kuroobi taking the lead, they were able to overcome the guards.

However, when Arlong towered over Nald – who bore a more than passing resemblance to his mother – some sixth sense told him to remain on alert even though all the guards had been subdued. He braced himself, senses tingling as he stared up at the heavyset man in his lavish robes.

He felt it before it could hit him with full force, and he gritted his teeth as he resisted Nald’s Conqueror Haki. It pressed against his consciousness, demanding him to submit.

Never. He carried the rage of the fishman race and felt it suffuse him as he thought of the brothers and sisters born before him, condemned to misery under human rule and ownership. He thought of his pain and the pain he'd witnessed of his brothers and sisters. And if he did not succeed here, future generations would suffer. He poured his hate and rage into his will.

He squared his shoulders and puffed out his chest as he leaned his head, pushing against Nald's will with his own before he swung his arm, the sword slicing through Nald's upper arm and causing the man to lose his focus. Arlong almost stumbled at the sudden lack of resistance and managed to right himself, squeezing the handle of his sword as he noticed the blood dripping from it.

Arlong panted slowly as he stared at the Mayor who was now screaming and clutching what remained of his arm.

o0o0o0o

The story Caten recounts for her friends is an adaptation of Tia Miseria, a Latin American tale. It’s one of my personal favorites :)

As always, feedback is very much welcome, appreciated, and nourishing for this author.

[pastelraccoons]

SuleMio Week Day 7: Gardeners

(If you’d rather read this on AO3, you can read it here!)

Suletta stared hard from her porch towards the rather empty backyard. She had just moved into her new home and unpacked everything, but something definitely felt off about her outside space.

It’s too lifeless, she thought. Suletta scratched at her cheek. Maybe I could get some chairs and a table? Oh, maybe some plants for a garden? That would be nice.

She nodded to herself. She pulled her phone out of her pocket to search for local greenhouses. After all, she’d rather support smaller businesses than some giant company. She quickly opened her browser and searched for ‘greenhouses near me.’

After scrolling for a little bit, one finally caught her eye: the Rembran Greenhouse. It was only about a mile away, an easy enough bike ride for her, and the reviews were phenomenal. They mainly mentioned the sheer variety of plants available and that the owner knew what she was talking about.

“Sounds like the perfect place!” Suletta said to herself.

She slipped her phone back into her pocket. A small grunt came from her when she pushed off the railing of the porch. She quickly ducked inside to grab the small backpack she kept by the door so she could easily bring back any plants she bought. Suletta paused for a moment to lock the door behind her. Then, she jumped off her porch, ignoring the few steps that led into her yard. She made her way towards her bike that she had propped against the side of her home.

Picking it up, she threw a leg over it to perch herself onto its seat then pushed off towards the greenhouse.

-----

The summer sun warmed Suletta’s skin. A slight sweat clung to her forehead that she wiped away with the back of her forearm. Several large greenhouses were lined up in a neat row. A small, white truck branded with the greenhouse’s name was parked nearby. The rumble of a lawnmower from somewhere in the distance cut through the air. She carefully leaned her bike against the fence at the entrance.

The gravel pathway crunched beneath her shoes. Peeking into the first greenhouse, she could see rows upon rows of brightly colored flowers. Concentrated pollen tickled her nose then made her let out a loud sneeze. With a sniff, she shook her head.

I don’t think I want to grow flowers, Suletta stuck her hands into her pockets while moving on to the next building. Something practical would be nice, like vegetables.

Suletta stuck her head into the next one to see more of the same. A disappointed sigh fell from her lips as she moved on.

The last seemed promising when she stepped inside. The heat and humidity inside pressed down on her when she started to move through the rows of produce. Anything she could imagine seemed to be in there. Brightly colored peppers were to her right and fragrant herbs to her left. As the choices swam around her head, the sound of what she assumed was a shovel being stabbed into soil finally registered in her ears.

Suletta walked in deeper until she finally found the cause of the sound.

A rather petite woman knelt down in front of a bed of tomatoes. A wide brimmed hat shielded her face from the bright summer sun that shone through the windows of the greenhouse. Silvery hair flowed down her back from beneath it. Her lightly colored sundress had been smeared with soil, though she seemed to pay it no mind. Thick, tan colored gloves that seemed a bit too big covered her hands. One of which held a small rake in its grip. She wore a calm, loving expression on her face as she tended to her plants.

She's so pretty… Suletta thought.

"Uhm, excuse me?" she stuttered. "Are you the person who I should talk to?"

The woman stopped moving to look up at Suletta. She smiled slightly, causing her gray colored eyes to crinkle at the corners.

“Yes, I am.” She stood up, pulled off one of her gloves, then extended a hand towards Suletta. “Miorine Rembran. I’m the owner of this greenhouse. How could I help?”

“Oh!” Suletta accepted the handshake with a smile of her own. Even though Miorine’s hands seemed delicate, she could feel several callouses in her grip. “I’m Suletta. I was interested in growing some vegetables in my backyard.”

“Have you ever grown anything before?”

Suletta shook her head. Miorine clicked her tongue then motioned towards the tomatoes she had been taking care of.

“If that’s the case, tomatoes are actually a decent starting plant. Since we’re at the beginning of the summer, they’ll grow wonderfully.”

Suletta pressed her hands against her knees to bend down and look the plant over. Very small, obviously unripe tomatoes grew on their vines that were wrapped around a sturdy piece of wood. A hum buzzed in her chest.

“If you think so, then I trust you.” Her smile widened when she looked back at Miorine. “May I get one of these, then?”

Miorine nodded then knelt back down. It was then that Suletta noticed a small toolbox practically bursting with gardening tools were at her feet. A moment of noisy rummaging later, and Miorine held a trowel in her hand. With meticulous precision, she carefully chose a good looking tomato plant and dug it up. She carefully held the bundle of roots in her hands as she plucked an unused pot from a stack nearby. Once she placed it inside, she offered it to Suletta.

“Since you’re starting out, I’m assuming you don’t have any tools or soil?” Miorine asked.

Suletta shook her head again. A laugh bubbled up from Miorine’s chest.

“I thought so. Then come on. I’ll help you.”

Suletta’s head spun at all the new information being shown to her. But as she followed behind Miorine, she thought it might not be so bad.

-----

Suletta stood up with a grunt. Sweat made her hair stick uncomfortably to the back of her neck, but she felt satisfied nonetheless as she looked down at her newly planted tomatoes. It looked a little sad, being the only thing she had for now, but she couldn’t deny how proud of herself she was.

“And it was all thanks to miss Miorine helping me,” she said to herself.

All day she couldn’t seem to get the gardener out of her head, even while she was hard at work. She brought a gloved hand to her face to brush the hair and sweat from her eyes.

“I wanna see her again and tell her how I did…”

-----

The next day, Suletta hopped back onto her bike and went back to the greenhouse. Now that she knew which building had the vegetables, she headed straight for it. Again, she looked up and down the various rows of plant-life, though this time looking for Miorine.

Her shoulders dropped when she couldn’t find her. A disappointed frown pulled on her lips.

“Ah! Miss… Suletta, was it?”

Suletta spun around to see Miorine in the doorway. She carried a small palette of barely sprouted plants in her hands. She wore another, different colored sundress from yesterday, and the same wide brimmed hat. Her strangely graceful movements had Suletta staring when she approached.

“Miss Suletta?”

“Ah! I’m here!” Suletta’s posture stiffened once she realized she had been staring. “I’m sorry! I zoned out for a minute there!”

“It’s probably the heat. It gets rather hot in the greenhouses,” Miorine sighed, obviously knowing from experience. “But what brings you back here? Did the tomato plants not work out?”

“No. I mean, yes, they did!” Suletta stammered, nearly biting her tongue. “They’re fine! I wanted to tell you that I planted them.”

“That’s wonderful. I’m glad to hear you had no issues.”

Suletta responded with a hum and a nod.

“Actually, would you mind helping me choose another plant?” She fidgeted slightly with her hands. “It looks kind of lonely with only one. That’s not really a garden, is it?”

Miorine gave her a bright smile that strangely took her breath away.

“I’d be glad to.”

-----

“I think I have a problem…”

Suletta leaned against her porch’s railing with a sigh. She looked out at her transformed backyard. Vegetables and herbs lined her fences. Everything from hot peppers, to rosemary, to her precious tomatoes stood happy and healthy. Only a bit more than a week had passed since she started making the garden, and it already looked like she had it for months. She ran a hand through her hair.

“And it’s all because of Miorine,” she mumbled. “I can’t get her out of my head.”

Suletta clapped her hands against her cheeks to try and clear her thoughts, but they kept going back to Miorine. Back to her hardworking hands. Her flowing sundresses. Her caring smile. Over and over again, like she haunted Suletta’s every waking hour.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Suletta soon gasped from a sudden realization.

“I think I love her…”

-----

Suletta put her bike in her usual spot by the greenhouse’s entrance. It had become like clockwork. Every day she would show up in the afternoon, find Miorine, and ask about another new plant.

Though she had another question on her mind this time.

One by one, she checked each greenhouse. Part of it was to make sure Miorine didn’t happen to be in one of the other’s for a change, but it was mostly so she could delay the inevitable. Unsurprisingly, she found her amongst the vegetables, like she always seemed to be around this time.

Suletta gulped. The noticeable increase in heat inside stopped bothering her after her third or fourth visit there, but it felt stifling that time. Her mouth went dry as she approached Miorine.

Miorine’s eyes seemed focused and a bit distant, like she was lost in thought. It was a stark difference to her usual content look when she worked.

"You've come here every day now, Suletta." Miorine suddenly spoke up, causing Suletta to let out a surprised squeak. She stabbed her trowel into the dirt. She stood up with a grunt and planted her hands on her hips, not bothering to remove her usual thick gloves. "There must be a reason other than the plants. You've bought so many!"

Suletta fidgeted and bit the corner of her lip. She'd been caught red-handed and now she felt stuck. Her eyes darted around to look at anything but at Miorine’s face.

"I just wanted to start my own garden," Suletta stuttered. She figured it wasn't a complete lie, so she thought she could get away with it. "And the stuff you've grown is so impressive that I wanted it to be like yours."

"While I'm flattered you think like that," Miorine stepped up to Suletta and stood on her toes to get in her face. Despite the height difference, her intimidating aura made Suletta shrink into herself. "I'm also not stupid. What's going on?"

“I-” Suletta’s heart pounded hard against her ribs. Her palms felt clammy, so she reflexively wiped them against her shorts. Nerves started to make her stomach churn. It made her want to throw up, but she shoved the feeling down. “I think I love you, Miorine! Would you go out with me?”

Suletta’s face lit up bright red once she registered what she blurted out. She tightly gripped the bottom of her tank top and bit her lip to keep herself grounded. She waited in silence for Miorine’s answer.

Miorine’s eyes went wide. The surprise on her face was obvious. Slowly, a blush of her own spread across her fair skin all the way to her ears. She soon stared down at her feet while biting her lip.

“I thought you’d never ask…” she muttered.

“What?” Suletta couldn’t believe what she heard. “So you mean-?”

Miorine nodded then finally tore her eyes away from the floor to meet Suletta’s gaze.

Something behind that familiar shade of gray felt different. It felt warm and inviting. It was then that Suletta realized what Miorine said.

A large grin spread across Suletta’s face when she threw her strong arms around Miorine. Without thinking, she lifted Miorine off her feet and spun her around in her hold. Her musical laugh spilled directly into Suletta’s ear. The sound caused her feelings to swell. Suletta’s grin widened to the point her cheeks hurt.

What started with visiting a greenhouse on a whim bloomed into a romance she didn’t expect; and she was quite fine with that.

[miami-water-slide-near-me]

Miami water slide rentals near me

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Looking for Local Fence Companies Near Me? Then Bellevue Fencing is the right one for you. Our friendly team of professionals is dedicated to finishing each job with the utmost elegance and refinement, ensuring that your fence is a point of pride on your property.

[teacherintransition]

As We Take Our Leave of Columbia, Missouri…

This charming city has worked it’s magic on us

Time has been influx these two years of traveling. We’ve loved the places we’ve lived and while we are there, the time seems to fly by incredibly fast. In the moment, we feel immersed in all of our places and it feels like home. Quality of mindset makes each “home” detached from the stresses of time and we are better people by being open to adventure. Alexandria, Granbury, Round Rock are such wonderful cities, but Columbia has moved to the top with little doubt. The city, the countryside, the small, rural communities are incredible and unique to our experience. Quaint, clean, friendly and maintaining their historical origins and feel has been a special experience.

We just thought that we’d lower our heads for thirteen weeks at a time and accomplish our goals and move onto the next one. But…but…love the place and the people? Oh great….again? Who wanted that? Now, it is heartbreaking to leave. Why does this keep happening? The world ISN’T a cesspool of struggle and strife? Who’d a thunk it? For my wife, she has been treated as a professional of the highest order; made special friends of her co workers and one might say she has been compensated lucratively. …she has. (wink wink) I’ve done a great deal of writing, photography, hiking and exploring. The variety of restaurants has been incredible, the historical sites and art venues numerous and all employing excellent, friendly folks from the region. It is among these locales that we have met wonderful people that will never be forgotten.

Our small house, right next to a park, had a nice fenced in backyard that our herd has loved. Close to the downtown historic district, we are near everything: art galleries, coffee shops, restaurants, entertainment venues …I love it! I discovered long ago that a truly wonderful coffee shop is a place where ideas and conversations flow like fresh brewed elixir from the coffee bean. When we got here, there were a number possible shops. On day one, I walked into the Lakota Coffee Shop …decision made. There walls were decorated in a classy and calming brick interior offset with masterfully composed photographs of the region. I’ve gotten a tremendous amount of writing done in such a vibrant environment. I have also spent many wonderful cool afternoons sitting outside, drinking tea and people watching. In a world of going hither and yon, the Lakota has been a haven of good coffee and peaceful surroundings. Keith and his co-workers are amazing people.

If you know me in any way, you know the word “pub” carries an almost, to hell with almost, a TRUE mystical significance. It ain’t just about the drinking my friends, but that is an important aspect. One can get a drink in a bar, a saloon, a cantina, a club, a bar and grille, a restaurant, a cooler….but none of these places come close to being a pub. A pub is something else altogether. A haven for those beaten down a bit, a place for those lonely in their soul, a well of happiness for one seeking conversation and companionship. A true pub has an old world feel, it has a dark calming aura, and a sophisticated selection of whiskies. In my personal experience, I’ve only entered into a handful of places that qualify as a true pub in the magical sense of the word. In Columbia, I came across a clear watering hole that fits my standard of a public house, and we did find some additional pleasant places for relaxing libations. Macnally’s definitely qualified as “pub worthy.” It’s an excellent, large city dive bar on Sixth Street. The staff was excellent and they serve a truly outstanding whiskey/whisky selection. It’s a perfect Chicago deep dish pizza provider …delicious. Aces to the Macnally’s

I wouldn’t consider Missouri as foreign, but the cuisine and offerings were very unique… and delicious. The Barred Owl, Sycamores, Ozark Biscuit Company, Delilas, Addisons …I could go on. The people were very kind and the wares excellent. They do like their bourbons and Killians Irish Red, which was fortunate as I do as well. We enjoyed every spot and equally enjoyed how surprisingly tasty the food of Missouri is to a couple of Texans.

The countryside and mountains are sublime. No pine trees ….yea… allowed us to finally see an actual autumn landscape. We enjoyed numerous hiking trails and quietly enjoyed sitting by the Missouri River. Not being from farming country, the infinite rows of corn and soybean and sunflowers were incredible. The pastures were green and splashed with the vibrant yellow of the corn and sunflowers. All of it seemed like walking into a Van Gogh or Grant Wood painting. Far surpassed the muted pine green of East Texas. Delightful.

We planned for many things on this adventure and many wonderful things have taken place. Ive yet to adjust to having my heart broken joyfully by these wonderful locales. I had people warn me that Alexandria was a rough city; a run down city, a crime ridden city….bless their poor, slow little hearts. I had folks warn us that Granbury was just a hick spot in the road. Most of the criticisms of Round Rock centered on traffic …I’ll go with that one; but good friends and good times outweighed all the negatives. Columbia has proven to be our Nirvana …we could move tomorrow…well, maybe not exactly. If you look for the negative…it will be found. I look at things with my soul’s eye…it’s then that you can see the magic of a place and the beauty of another’s spirit. I didn’t expect to love these people and this place…but our hearts are healed and we didn’t know they needed healing. Thank you Columbia and au revoir.

.

[bluewolfstrawberry]

The Importance of Choosing Experienced Fencing Contractors

Introduction

Choosing the right fencing contractor can feel overwhelming, especially given the myriad options available today. Whether https://bestpropertyenclosures.net/fence-contractor/ you're searching for a fence company near me, a reliable fence installer, or the best fence company near me, the importance of experience cannot be overstated. This article delves into why selecting experienced fencing contractors is crucial for your fencing project, discussing everything from quality materials to professional installation practices.

The Importance of Choosing Experienced Fencing Contractors

When it comes to installing a fence, experience matters more than you might think. An experienced contractor brings not just skills but also knowledge about various types of materials and the best installation techniques. But what exactly makes an experienced fencing contractor stand out?

Quality Assurance: Why Experience Matters

Experienced contractors are well-versed in industry standards and local regulations. They know how to source high-quality materials that can withstand different weather conditions and offer longevity. This attention to detail ensures that your fence will not only look good but also serve its purpose effectively.

Expertise in Different Types of Fences

From wooden fences to vinyl and chain-link options, an experienced fencing contractor has likely worked with various materials. This familiarity means they can offer insightful recommendations based on your needs and preferences.

Wooden Fences: Ideal for aesthetics but requires maintenance. Vinyl Fences: Durable and low-maintenance options. Chain-Link Fences: Cost-effective and functional, great for security. Proper Installation Techniques

The way a fence is installed greatly affects its durability and functionality. Experienced contractors are equipped with the right tools and techniques to ensure that your fence is installed correctly.

Avoiding Common Pitfalls

Hiring inexperienced contractors can lead to a host of issues:

Subpar Materials: Without proper knowledge, they may choose low-quality materials. Improper Installation: Incorrect techniques can lead to leaning or breaking fences. Legal Issues: Lack of understanding of local codes could result in fines or removal orders. Understanding Your Needs

When you engage with seasoned professionals, they take the time to understand your specific requirements before moving forward with any designs or installations. This personalized approach often results in better outcomes.

Consultation Process with Experienced Contractors

An initial consultation is usually part of their service package:

Discuss your vision Assess your property Provide estimates based on material selection and design choices Cost Considerations

It’s tempting to go with the cheapest quote you receive when looking for fence installation near me, but this approach can be misleading. Here’s why:

Long-Term Investment vs Short-Term Savings

While experienced contractors may charge more upfront, their work typically lasts longer, saving you money in repairs down the line.

References

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Reliable Solutions for Chain Link Fences and Repairs

Professional installation ensures your fence stands strong against the elements and offers maximum security. Experts understand the technicalities involved in properly installing a chain link fence, from choosing the right materials to positioning the fence posts securely.

Moreover, a professionally installed fence enhances the aesthetic appeal of your property while increasing its value. It also guarantees longevity, saving you from unnecessary repairs and replacements. To find the right professionals for the job, look for chain link fence company near me reviews and testimonials to identify trustworthy service providers.

Common Issues with Chain Link Fences

Although chain link fences are known for their durability, they may encounter wear and tear over time. Common issues include rusting, sagging, or damaged links. Severe weather conditions, improper installation, or accidental impacts can exacerbate these problems, making repairs inevitable.

If left unaddressed, these issues can compromise the security and visual appeal of your fence. For such scenarios, reliable Chain Link Fence Repair Services Rockland are necessary to restore the integrity of your fence without replacing it entirely.

Importance of Timely Fence Repairs

Timely repair of a damaged fence is crucial to maintaining safety and functionality. A broken fence not only weakens your property's security but also poses safety risks for pets and children. Repair services address minor issues before they escalate into costly replacements.

When seeking Chain Link Fence Repair Services Rockland, it’s important to choose a service provider with experience in handling various fence repair challenges. Whether it’s fixing a rusted section, reinforcing weak posts, or replacing damaged links, professionals can restore your fence to its original condition efficiently.

How to Choose the Best Fence Repair Services

Selecting the right repair service involves more than just searching online. Evaluate service providers based on their expertise, customer reviews, and the range of services offered. Look for professionals who use high-quality materials and provide warranties for their work.

An experienced service provider will conduct a thorough assessment of your fence, identifying all areas that need attention. They will also offer cost-effective solutions tailored to your budget. To find the most suitable service, consider recommendations for Chain Link Fence Repair Services Rockland from friends or neighbors who have used similar services.

Maintaining Your Chain Link Fence for Longevity

Preventative maintenance is key to prolonging the life of your chain link fence. Regular cleaning to remove dirt and debris helps prevent rust buildup. Applying a protective coating can also enhance its resistance to harsh weather conditions.

Additionally, inspect your fence periodically for signs of damage, such as bent links or loose fittings. Addressing these issues promptly can save you from expensive repairs. For ongoing maintenance or professional advice, reaching out to achain link fence company near me ensures your fence remains in top condition year-round.

Investing in Quality Fencing Services

A chain link fence is a long-term investment that requires proper care and professional expertise. Whether you need a new installation or repairs, partnering with a reliable service provider ensures the best results. With the right guidance and timely support, your fence will continue to protect your property while enhancing its appeal.

For anyone in need of dependable Chain Link Fence Repair Services Rockland, local professionals are equipped to handle a variety of repair tasks efficiently. Likewise, when searching for a trusted chain link fence company near me, prioritize those known for their reliability and excellent craftsmanship.

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Why Choose Spettro Remodels?

Your home is your most significant investment, and we treat every project with the care it deserves. Our commitment to quality craftsmanship and attention to detail makes us stand out among addition construction contractors Alpine. With us, you’ll receive personalized service tailored to your needs.

Services We Offer

✨ Additions

Expand your living space with thoughtfully designed additions. As experienced home addition contractors near me, we handle everything from planning to construction, ensuring your new space feels seamless and functional.

🏡 Kitchens

Revitalize the heart of your home with a kitchen makeover. Whether it’s new countertops, cabinets, or a full redesign, we offer remodeling services near me that bring your vision to life.

🛠️ Tile Work

From floors to backsplashes, our tile work adds beauty and durability to any room. Trust the team that’s part of your local alpine construction company for precision and quality.

🏚️ Basements

Unlock the potential of your unused basement. Our team creates custom spaces for entertainment, work, or relaxation, making us the go-to addition contractor Alpine.

📚 Trim and Built-ins

Add elegance and practicality to your home with custom trim and built-in furniture. These features are perfect for making your home stand out.

🌳 Decks

Extend your living space outdoors with beautiful decks crafted by our skilled addition contractor near me. Whether for relaxation or entertaining, we’ve got you covered.

👗 Custom Walk-in Closets

Upgrade your storage solutions with custom walk-in closets designed for your unique needs. We are the trusted addition construction Alpine professionals for quality projects.

💤 Master Suites

Transform your master bedroom into a luxurious retreat with our tailored designs. Spettro Remodels is your go-to contractor for home addition near me for personalized spaces.

🛁 Attic Conversions

Convert your attic into a functional bedroom or bathroom. Our expertise in addition construction near me ensures a smooth transformation.

🏠 Exteriors and Fencing

Improve curb appeal with custom exterior enhancements and fencing. We’re proud to be an addition construction company Alpine offering stylish and secure solutions.

How We Work

At Spettro Remodels, collaboration is key. From start to finish, we ensure your vision is at the forefront of every decision. As a leading addition construction contractor Alpine, we use only quality materials and proven techniques to deliver long-lasting results.

Get Started Today!

Don’t wait to bring your dream home to life! Contact Spettro Remodels, your trusted construction company near me, to schedule a consultation. Let’s create a space you’ll love for years to come.

🌟 Call us today and discover the difference with Spettro Remodels!

Contact us:

Spettro Remodels 255 S Alpine Blvd, Alpine, UT 84004 (385) 378-5676

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