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falling | joel miller x fem!oc (part ix)

summary: Winter rolls into Jackson once more, but things are heating up in the big, white house across the street.

a/n: 18+ MDNI smut, but are you ready for the most wholesome smut you've ever read in your life? also update -> so, heh, I'm not really great at smut per se, this one, I've really tried to capture the luuurv, the physicality of it, and I really hope I've done it justice. also, happy earth day people!

There came a time in Joel’s life when he grew so used to boring bullshit that he actually preferred it. He didn’t know if that was old age creeping up on him, dragging him toward the inevitability of doing absolutely nothing, or if he was just plain tired of a life spent running from one disaster to the next. Either way, he found himself appreciating the small mercies. His own simple pleasures.

Going to bed without whiskey clawing its way down his throat. Waking up without his head feeling like a busted canteen. Fresh, warm socks straight from the laundry. Knuckling down and figuring out how to cook something that wasn’t just oatmeal or meat cooked to leather, not because he had to, but because he wanted to get it right.

At some point, he realized he didn’t care much to keep busy anymore—except for when it came to Leela and Maya. But it was strange how a simple life could still surprise him, could still land a punch straight to the ribs with five little words:

“Why don’t you stay here?”

It had caught him mid-sip, a few days after Leela’s little weed trip, while they were eating dinner. He’d had to set his cup down and stare at her. Make sense of it for three seconds. Even though the answer had already been waiting in his gut, inevitable as sunrise, he had smiled:

“Why not, darlin’?”

And yeah, he loved the big, white house. It was Jackson's history, with old black-and-white pictures lining the walls—Leela’s parents, grandparents, ghosts of people who had walked these halls before him. And maybe, in some small way, he was stitching himself into its bones with his work, care, and name. All the little fond memories in every nook of the home. His hands had worn themselves raw winterizing the garden, keeping the fences up, and scraping, painting, hammering, and patching up Maya’s nursery when she got naughty enough to climb right out of the crib. Light fixtures, floorboards, leaky pipes—he’d wrenched his calf muscle twice trying to fix that goddamn water heater.

Now, as Joel sat at Tommy’s dining table, peeling peas like a goddamn housewife, shoulders hunched, fingers working on autopilot, he continued sneaking glances at them—stuck on them. On all the ways it wasn’t working—on all the ways it was. Why not him?

Maya was perched on Tommy’s arm, fiddling with the salt shaker like it was some great mystery waiting to be solved. Tommy, for all his grumbling about how much of a menace she was, held her tight. That kid had him wrapped around her tiny little finger, and everyone knew it. He’d drive her nuts—hide her favourite toy just to get a rise out of her, tease her until she was practically throwing hands at him—but she’d always come racing back, tossing her arms around his neck, giggling as he swung her up high.

Joel’s hands stilled into peeling the peapod.

It was impossible not to notice how Maria and Tommy moved like two parts of a well-oiled machine. He watched them in the kitchen, just weaving in and out of each other’s space without thinking. Like those buzz magnets Sarah used to stick on the fridge from the capsule toys, repelling, colliding, but always snapping back into place. A hand passed a spoon without looking, a playful bump of the hip, a shared smile that needed no words. Tommy smoothed a hand over Maria’s forehead as she ducked too close to a sharp corner, and she didn’t flinch—just trusted.

Maria smirked at him. “Baby, you hover worse than Joel.”

“Please,” Tommy scoffed, stroking up her back. “Joel’s got me beat by a mile. He’s like a damn watchdog with our kid.” He bounced Maya on his arm, glancing at Joel. “Ain’t that right, big brother?”

Joel rolled his eyes, focusing back on the peas. “She’s one. Anybody with a brain watches a toddler.”

Tommy tsked. “You hear that, Maya? Your mean ol' daddy just called me stupid.”

“I mean, if the shoe fits,” Maria teased, setting a pot on the stove.

Maya giggled, still turning the salt shaker in her hands, getting salt everywhere. “Stew-pid.”

Tommy let out a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest like he’d been wounded. “Et tu, Brute?” He kissed her cheek anyway, undeterred.

Joel shook his head, hiding a smirk. He didn’t say it, but Tommy wasn’t wrong. He was like a watchdog when it came to Maya. Couldn’t help it. That little girl had carved out a place in him that he didn’t even know was still open. His little girl. Maybe not by blood. Maybe not by title. But she was his. Just like Sarah had been. Just like Ellie was.

But maybe that’s why watching Tommy and Maria hurt in a way he wasn’t ready to admit. Because what they had—this effortless, built-in kind of love—wasn’t something he’d dreamt of. Now he wanted it.

It wasn’t even physical, not really. It was just… love. Uncomplicated. Reciprocated. A year ago, he would’ve grunted something about getting a room. Tommy would’ve shot back about owning the whole damn house. But now—

He swallowed, shifting in his chair, wondering. Did he and Leela look like that in their home?

No, hell no. No, he wasn’t the type to put effort into how they were perceived. He barely liked acknowledging it himself, how he softened around her, how he let himself be someone else—someone better—when she was near. But it happened anyway, didn’t it? Without him meaning to. Made him want things.

And ever since he wholly made his home at their big, white house, he was sinking into it.

His love for her wasn’t flashy. He didn’t know how far to go beyond small things. He wasn’t the romantic kind of man, the kind to pick flowers or whisper pretty words. He wasn’t great at it, and wasn’t sure how far to go beyond having her coffee ready by her bedside in the morning. Beyond making sure that when he washed the dishes, hers were the first ones he cleaned, every time. Beyond leaving all the hot water for her and Maya, even if it meant stepping into a freezing shower himself when the temperatures were dropping fast.

She never noticed.

Or maybe she did. Because she had her own ways.

He wasn’t proud of how stupidly fond he got over the little things. The times he’d find his old boots, the ones he refused to part with, sitting by his bed freshly polished, patched up with rubber cement like new. Or how the busted projector in the dusty TV room—the one he’d given up on fixing—suddenly worked one night, humming quietly, waiting for him to indulge in some shitty action flick. She never made a big deal out of it and never expected anything in return. She just did things, because that’s how she loved.

God, the damn dopey grin he let out every time he caught on.

But they didn’t move in sync the way Tommy and Maria did around their home. here were rituals and rhythms, but they were dominoes—Joel would pick up where she left off.

Hell, they didn’t even sleep in the same bed. There was always a line. Physical. Emotional. Always a line, a place where he had to stop, where he had to get off.

He hated that fucking line.

He thought they’d been getting somewhere. That all the careful comforts, the small reassurances, the time—that it had chipped away at whatever was keeping her so guarded. Then there was that night.

That late night played back in his mind like a bad dream.

Leela, pacing back and forth, frustrated noises slipping past her throat, her blackboards covered in endless scribbles, eyes darting too fast, too desperate. Her hands shook as she wrote, erased, and rewrote. Then, suddenly, she just… crumpled. Joel found her there like that at two in the morning. Collapsed to her knees. Silent sobs racked her whole body, hands gripping at her hair, shoulders curling inward like she was trying to disappear into herself. The kind of cry that tore her apart, that was meant to be hidden.

It was like a jagged blade to the ribs, seeing her that way, and trying to ignore it. His Leela. His tireless, self-sufficient, do-everything-alone Leela, folded in on herself like a wounded animal.

He’d been on his knees before he even thought about it, hands reaching for hers.

“Hey, baby—” He cupped her palms, kissed them, trying to soothe her out. “It’s okay, darlin’. It’ll come to you.”

And then—she shoved him away. Like he burned her. Like she couldn’t stand him being there. “You don't know anything.”

“No,” he murmured, setting his palms on his knees, “but, talk me through it. I'm right here.”

And he tried to stroke the back of her head now, just to ground her to him, but before he could touch her, she'd jostled his hand off her.

“Please just leave me alone, please,” she’d choked out, voice small, broken. Final.

She might as well have reached into his chest and crushed his heart with her bare hands. He swallowed everything he wanted to say, everything he wanted to do, and stood up, silent. Left her there like he was the one who had misstepped.

And ever since that fucking breakthrough—the discovery she had been chasing for years on end—it had been like this. Slipping. Slipping deeper into whatever obsession had taken hold of her, staring past her own life's work like there was another world hidden behind it. Like she’d solved the last goddamn piece of the puzzle but couldn’t stop staring past it, searching for something else. A prisoner to her mind, a slave to her intellect—and he had no clue how to save her from herself.

He thought a discovery meant solace. That she’d finally rest. Kick back and focus on raising her perfect kid. Instead, she was spiralling. Faster. Harder. And he was left standing there, watching her slip through his fingers.

And maybe he should just let it happen. Let her go. Let her chase whatever was in her head, let it take her, let it swallow her whole. Ignore it, let it blow up in his face, pick up the pieces, and move on. It seemed like the easier option.

Because he sure as hell wasn’t dragging her on some death trip to L.A. to get a bunch of scholars’ rubber stamp of approval. And for what? To hear a bunch of stuck-up assholes tell her what she already knew? To chase after something that might not even be there anymore, past the patrol trails that promised nothing but death?

It wasn’t happening. Not on his watch.

“Joel, can you take this out to the kids, please?” Maria’s voice cut clean through his thoughts. He blinked, glancing up just as she pushed a bowl of garlic knots toward him. “Don’t want them starving before dinner’s done.”

Kids. How the hell Leela had ended up in that category was beyond him. But she’d started hanging around Ellie and her friends more, all of them messing around with her, out of good heart or the fuck of it, he did not know. They’d even managed to rope her into their little hijinks late into the night, like right now.

He’d seen Ellie dragging her outside earlier, that same oversized stack of star charts that Leela had gifted her tucked under her arm, Dina and Jesse trailing right after her with waves, and practically buzzing with excitement. He’d heard snippets of the invitation—something about mapping the constellations, something about seeing the stars “like they used to be.” And, to his surprise, Leela had actually gone along with them.

From inside, he’d catch the sound of laughter floating through the backyard. It wasn’t much, but hell, it was a little relief, knowing she was out there, around some good spirits, instead of pacing around those goddamn blackboards like she was trying to solve the meaning of life.

He stood to take the bowl out, but before he could even make it past the table—

“Da-da.”

Joel stopped in his tracks. Maya had her hands stretched toward him, little fingers grabbing at the air, grinning mouth already open in expectation.

“Pease gimme,” she demanded.

He snorted, reaching over to pop his finger between her lips instead. “Nice try, baby girl. Dinner first.”

“Pease, pease! Aw, da-da!” she whined, brown eyes big and pleading, nearly changing his heart, wriggling against Tommy’s chest in an attempt to get to him.

He just shook his head, slipping away toward the hallway. “Gotta do better than that.”

Tommy was already distracting her with a spoonful of tomato soup that was bubbling away by the time he stepped out the back door.

Outside, the kids were alright. Dina and Jesse were off to one side by the fences, heads bent together in their own little world. Joel should’ve broken them up, should’ve told them to leave some damn space between them, but—

His eyes flicked to Ellie instead.

She was standing a few feet away, arms crossed, staring at the happy couple long and hard. And the second she felt Joel watching her, she snapped her gaze away, clearing her throat and focusing on Leela instead. He tried not to dwell on it, though his brows shot right up in question.

Leela, on the other hand—she wasn’t paying attention to any of it.

She had her head tilted up, her gaze tracking the sky, that damn star map spread open in her hands. She was muttering under her breath, tracing something invisible in the air, her brows drawn together in deep concentration. That look she got—the one where her whole world shrank down to whatever puzzle was in front of her—alive, glowing.

It was the same look she had when she worked through some problem scrawled across her blackboards. The same look she had when she was fixing something—quiet, focused, all sharp edges and restless movement, pulling things apart just to put them back together again. It was amazing how much Maya looked like her mama, she had that exact same look when she tried to decipher the chords as he played guitar.

And god help him, he loved Leela like this. Loved the way she got lost in things, the way her mind worked like a racecar engine. Loved the way she’d get so caught up in the details that she’d forget the rest of the world existed, forget to eat, forget to sleep—loved it, even when it pissed him off.

Loved her. Jesus, it was amazing how his old ass could still get hooked on a girl like this.

Ellie barely had a second to react before he shoved the bowl into her chest. “Haven’t missed the boat just yet, kiddo,” he teased.

Ellie shot him a glare. “Oh, fuck you, Joel.” She shoved a garlic knot into her mouth. “I know Leela’s only tolerating your ass.”

Joel chuckled, stepping forward.

Leela was still lost in the map, tapping a finger against her temple, muttering under her breath as her eyes darted between the lines and symbols. Joel quietly came up behind her, lowering just enough to brush his lips against her ear.

“Lookin' up at your own kind?” he murmured.

Ellie, mid-chew, made an exaggerated gagging noise.

Joel, grumbling, kicked a lazy leg in her direction. “Get outta here. Go on, git.”

Ellie rolled her eyes, snatching another garlic knot from the bowl before slinking off into the house.

Joel, though—he stayed.

Leela finally glanced up from her map, blinking at him like she’d just realized he was there. The slight furrow of her brow softened, the haze of focus giving way to a quiet, warm smile. “Hi, Joel.”

That smile. His name shaped like a hymn on her lips. Subtle. A thing most people wouldn’t catch if they weren’t looking for it. But Joel was always looking, listening. And God, he loved catching her like this. Unaware, until she wasn’t.

He smiled back, slow and knowing, waiting for her to say something else, maybe acknowledge the way he’d lowered his voice just for her, the way he’d leaned in close enough for his breath to stir a few strands of her hair—

But she didn’t. She just turned back to her damn star chart, completely disregarded his sorry attempt at flirting, as if he was nothing more than a passing shadow.

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. The only thing worse than flirting with Leela was getting ignored by her.

The air had shifted before he had even noticed. Not by much—just enough that he could feel it. The barely-there stiffness in her shoulders, all the implicit everything sinking in the inches between them.

Because this was the first time he’d properly approached her in two days. He hadn't crossed past the courtesies or bare necessities, this time, he felt like it had soothed over.

The last time being her breakdown. And she was here now—outside, breathing, looking up at the sky like she hadn’t spent days holed up in that house, tangled in her own mind. Like she was okay.

But Joel knew better.

Leela clucked her tongue, rolling up the chart in frustration. “It’s like I’m wasting my potential.” A sigh, thin and frayed at the edges. “I can’t think straight. I can’t find the stupid… star. Something’s wrong with me.”

Joel nudged his shoulder into hers, trying to shake something loose. “There ain't nothin’ wrong with you. You just need to get out of the house a little more.”

She shook her head, already brushing him off. “I’m not teaching at the school, Joel. I told you, it's not for me.”

There was something automatic about the way she said it—premeditated. A flicker of irritation behind her eyes, like she’d already decided where this conversation was going before he even had the chance to take it there.

Joel just lifted a brow. “Not askin' you to.”

Leela blinked, lips parting slightly. Like maybe she’d expected an argument. But he wasn’t Tommy or Maria. He wasn’t anyone else. He wasn’t trying to fix her.

Leela ran a hand down her face, rubbing at her eyes. “I just… it’s so incomplete.” Her voice wavered slightly, barely above a whisper. “I know I’m done, I ran the numbers a hundred times, but I—” She bit her lip, frustration flickering across her face. "I can’t stand the fact that I don’t have anything else to work toward.”

Joel studied her for a long moment.

This wasn’t just about the damn star chart. She needed something. A goal, a project—something to occupy her hands, her mind, something to pour herself into. Because without it, she was stuck in her own head. Stuck waiting.

He reached out, sliding a hand to the back of her head. His fingers traced slow, absentminded strokes before his arm draped heavy around her shoulders, pulling her into his side.

“You need a break, darlin’.”

Leela let herself sink against him, nestling her nose against the worn fabric of his shirt. Her hands slipped against his sides, resting at his ribs, tentative, like she hadn’t touched him in a while and wasn’t sure if she still could.

“And do what?”

“Help me fix up that swing for Maya’s birthday.”

Joel felt the small hitch in her breath before she even lifted her head.

“Maya’s—” She gasped, cupping a hand over her mouth. “Oh my God, her birthday. I completely—” Her voice broke slightly. “How did you know?”

Joel shrugged. “Did some mental math. She was barely a month old when we first met. Figure it’s comin’ up soon.”

Leela closed her eyes. “Yes. Christmas.”

“Holly jolly Christmas baby,” he said, snickering. He didn’t know if it was hard-luck or fortuitous that their baby girl’s birthday overlapped with a holiday.

Leela groaned softly, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes. “I’m a terrible mother.”

Joel made a derisive noise, picking her hands off her eyes before cupping her cold cheek. “Nah, just a scatterbrained one.”

And when she finally laughed—light, breathy, warm—it was as if he’d struck gold.

He let himself look at her then. Her long hair was a mess, spilling around her face from the loose braid, wild and tangled from where she’d been tugging at it in frustration. The stars flecked in her big, dark eyes, dim and soft, like the whole night sky had been stitched there just for him.

Christ, he loved her. It hit him in strange moments like this. Not in the middle of some grand declaration, not when they were on the brink of tragedy. Just here. Just in the way she folded against him, breathing slow, in the way she trusted him enough to let her guard down.

Joel brushed his thumb against her temple. “You’re alright, you know that?”

Leela blinked. “What?”

“You,” he murmured. “You’re doin' okay. I've got you now.”

A breath. Then she smiled—small, almost imperceptible, but there. And Joel, stupid, old fool that he was—he fucking melted.

Because he’d said nothing special. Just a handful of words, low and gruff and barely above a whisper. And yet—there was something in her eyes now, reassurance, like she needed to hear it, and she hadn’t let herself believe it until now. Until he said it. Until it came from him.

She tiptoed, her forehead leaning into his, her fingers curling lightly into his shirt. He could feel the warmth of her breath, feel the way she hesitated for just a second, like maybe she was unsure—

But then she kissed him.

Slow, soft, uncertain, and God help him, but he could’ve crushed her right into his bones. “Right now?”

“Just a little one,” she whispered against his lips.

“Killin' me.”

Because it had been too fucking long since he had her like this—since she let him have her like this. And for weeks now, ever since that weed trip of hers, he’d been holding himself back, watching her from a distance, all while within their house, twenty-four by seven, just waiting for the right moment.

His large hand found the curve of her throat, his thumb pressing gently beneath her jaw as he tilted her into his smiling lips, deepening the kiss. She tasted of him, of her, a blend of them both, and Joel wanted to drown in it.

She made a soft noise against his lips, barely there, but felt, and he was already stretching for her ass, already—

“Mama!”

Joel flinched, eyes still half-lidded, mind heady with her, with them, but—Leela broke away immediately, her head snapping toward the deck.

And there stood Maya. The little menace herself, gripping the railing for balance, two entire garlic knots stuffed in her tiny fist.

Joel sighed sharply, tilting his head back toward the sky. Just on time, the peanut-butt cockblocker.

Maya’s attention wasn’t on them, though. No, she was too focused on her real struggle—getting herself down the stairs while holding onto both knots, because apparently, letting go was out of the question.

Joel huffed, already moving. “Hey-ey—now, who the heck gave you those?”

Because Maya didn’t just find food. No, that kid knew exactly who to ask and how to ask. A little manipulator before she even hit two years old.

Maya just grinned at him, all teeth and mischief, one cheek puffed out with the stolen bread, and Joel didn’t even have to guess which poor soul had caved under that wide-eyed, baby-faced con job.

He reached for Maya's hand. “Gimme that. Didn’t I tell you no snacks before dinner?”

And because she was, without a doubt, his worst nightmare—she twisted away from him with a high-pitched squeal, shoving another bite into her mouth as she waddled to the other side of the deck.

Joel sighed. “Goddamn it, trouble.”

Behind him, Leela laughed with her daughter, already climbing up onto the deck. “Alright. C’mere, baby.”

Maya didn’t fight her. Just beamed up at her mama, eyes bright and full of adoration. Leela crouched before her, brushing at the curls on her forehead.

“Can you feed Mama one?”

And just like that—without hesitation—Maya held one out. Anything her mother said, she followed. Anything at all. It was Joel she was coming to rebel against with her little cheekiness. And Joel being completely susceptible to her charms, fell for it constantly.

Leela leaned in, mouth open, and Maya giggled before pushing the knot between her lips.

Joel shook his head, arms crossed over his chest, watching them. Leela, the master Maya manipulator, struck once more.

She hummed in approval, chewing theatrically. “Mmm, so good. One more, please?”

And Maya, delighted, shoved the other half-eaten, slobbery garlic knot into her mother’s mouth.

Joel made a noise. “Jesus.”

Leela, struggling through a laugh, wiped her mouth, grinning. “Thank you, baby.”

Maya clapped her hands together, voice piping up—“No-mo.”

Leela licked some garlic butter from her thumb, grunting as lifted Maya onto her hip. “Let’s get something real to eat before your poor dad pops a vein on his head.”

Joel scoffed, following them up the stairs, feeling every damn step in his knees. “Pop a vein—psh, yeah, you wish.”

Dinner with the Millers' was always a big thing nowadays. Joel, finally, had found himself growing used to the way the table felt a little more complete now, moored closer to one of his own.

Back in the old days—hell, even when it was just him and Tess in Boston—meals were quiet, nothing but the clink of cutlery, the scrape of bowls, the occasional grunt of acknowledgement if someone asked for the last bite. Food had been something to get through, not something to enjoy.

But here? This? It was a whole damn production.

It seemed like Leela, Maria, and Tommy were trying to outdo each other on every dinner occasion. Joel never saw them outright say it, but the evidence was all right here—plates filled to the brim with roasted vegetables and some sort of braised meat that smelled damn near decadent. There was even fresh bread, sliced and golden, butter melting into the soft notches. Warmth, everywhere—lamplight spilling golden across the table, the faint crackle of the fireplace, boots nudging against each other under the table.

And noise. So much noise.

Jesse had ducked out early, leaving Dina to make herself at home beside Ellie, and it didn’t take long for them to get into it.

“Okay, but that is not how you use a fuckin' knife,” Ellie was saying, waving her fork in Dina’s face.

Maria sighed. “There's a talking toddler at the table.”

As if on cue, Maya smacked her little hand onto the table. Ellie showed her teeth at her, sheepish. “My bad.”

Dina rolled her eyes, all dramatic. “Well, excuse me for not being a serial killer, Miss ‘Lemme Show You The Proper Stabbing Technique.’”

Joel smirked at that one, chewing on a piece of trout.

It was a different kind of comfort. Something he still wasn’t used to—this abundance after a long time.

And then there was Leela, stealing his heart, piece by piece. The way she’d always scooted her chair a little closer to his. The way her knee brushed his under the table. The way she let him rest a hand over her thigh, stroke it when he was tense like it was all his. The way she’d laugh when someone cracked a joke at his expense—which was often—squeezing his shoulder like he was some goddamn kicked puppy before turning back to her plate.

Didn’t even take long for that to happen. Joel knew Tommy had that look in his eye—that look, the one that meant he was about to open his dumbass mouth. And sure enough...

“So,” Tommy started, all innocent-like. “How's shackin’ up in the big house treatin’ ya, Mensch Miller?”

Joel wanted to put his fork through his brother’s skull. Right between the eyes. So, he barely spared him a glance. “Go to hell.”

Tommy snorted. “C’mon now, ain't no shame in it. We're all real proud of you for finally gettin’ over your fear of commitment. Folks?”

A round of agreements circled the table—Maria, Dina, even Ellie with a smirk and a nod, like they’d all been waiting for this exact moment. Joel sighed through his nose, already regretting every life choice that led him to this.

Dina leaned in, grinning. “Oh my God. Joel, did you finally put a ring on it?”

Ellie snorted. “Yeah, ‘cause there’s so many jewellery stores open these days.”

Joel shot her a flat look. “Could always carve one outta bone.”

Dina sighed with literal heart eyes. “Aww. So metal.”

Ellie recoiled instead. "Dude—what the actual fuck?"

Tommy wheezed at that one. But Leela didn’t react much at all. Just blinked at them, her expression blank, like she had no idea why the hell they were making such a big deal out of it. Then, casually, like it was the most obvious thing in the world—

“We’re partners,” she said simply, reaching up to his jaw, nails scraping at his scruff. “Right, Joel?”

Joel damn near choked on his own tongue.

Because—what the hell? She wasn’t one for casual touches, wasn’t one for public anything, really. Wasn't some joke, not a passing comment—she just said it, plain as anything. Like it was a truth she’d already made peace with.

Partners. Not a maybe. Not a half-measure. A fact. Halves. Two mates. And it knocked the wind right out of him.

Because Joel had spent so damn long waiting—waiting for her to say something, to define this thing between them, to give him even the smallest indication that she saw him as more than just a man passing through her life.

And here she was, not making a big deal out of it. Not afraid of it, simply stating the obvious. Because fuck, she was right. They were partners now. He had a partner now.

A slow sip of his drink was the only thing that kept him from making an absolute fool of himself.

Dina cackled, slapping the table. “Look at his face. I frickin' love you, Leela.”

Ellie groaned, shoving a bite of food into her mouth. “Jesus, you two deserve each other.”

Maria smirked. “So when’s the big day?”

Dina hummed. “Mm-mm, she'll have to wait, Joel promised to make the ring out of bone.”

Ellie gagged. “Oh my God, Dina—could you please stop with the bone talk?”

Tommy snickered, elbowing him. “Never thought I’d see the day. Big brother all wrangled up.”

Joel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know I got a gun, right?”

Tommy waved a hand, still grinning. “Yeah, yeah. But you ain't shootin’ me ‘cause our baby girl would be real mad at you.”

And then, of course, there was his baby girl in the midst of all this. It had become second nature by now—the back-and-forth of it all, alternating between holding Maya, fending off his teasing family, and feeding her.

Not that it was much of a competition with her. Most of the time, she quietly ended up in his lap, legs dangling over his thigh, picking curiously at the old scar on his forearm as he spooned food into her mouth.

Leela swore she’d grow out of that habit, but Joel wasn’t so sure. He’d seen that girl study the mark like it held the secrets of the universe since she was a few months old. Tiny fingers tracing the jagged edges, soft and intent, like she was mapping him.

Didn’t matter what he put in front of her—if he ate it, she ate it.

Thank God she wasn’t a picky eater like her mama. He still remembered the first few months of trying to get Leela to eat like a normal person—always picking at her food, losing her appetite, always eating just enough and nothing more.

But Maya? Shit. She was his. His perfect little girl—but nothing like him. Loud, expressive, always moving, always talking. She loved to babble, loved to laugh, loved to feed him right from his own damn plate.

“Da-da, aah.”

He moved his head away. “Nuh-uh. Sit your little butt down.”

“Dinna, da-da.”

“I can eat my own dinner, thanks.”

When her adamant whine pierced through the noise on the table, he gave up. Joel barely glanced at her, already sighing as he opened his mouth.

Sure enough, Maya balanced her pudgy feet on his lap and shoved a forkful of fish into his mouth, giggling like she’d just accomplished something huge.

Joel chewed slowly, unimpressed. “Real nice.”

And then—just to add insult to injury—she reached up and patted his forehead, all delicate and reassuring, just like her mama did to her whenever she did something right.

Ellie snorted. “She's just teaching you manners, old man.”

Dina smirked. “Yeah, ever heard of ‘em?”

He shot them both a look but swallowed the bite anyway. Maya squealed like she knew she was being funny, then reached out for his plate again.

Joel sighed, nudging her grabby fingers away. “Alright, move it, baby girl. Ain’t no way you’re finishing my plate before I do.”

The conversation rolled on around him, blending into laughter and stories. Joel drifted in and out of it, shifting his focus between indulging Maya’s antics and half-listening to Tommy and Maria trade jabs about whose turn it was to cook next.

At some point, the conversation took a turn.

“So,” Tommy started, leaning back in his chair. “What’s next, Lee? The last big thing was that lightning harvester. Then you set up the new water filtration thing.” He gestured vaguely as if the list of things she’d accomplished was casual, nothing major. “You always got somethin’ cookin’. What’s next for Jackson?”

The table quieted just a fraction, all eyes shifting toward Leela with a familiar kind of expectation.

Joel felt her stiffen beside him. She didn’t answer right away, just glanced around at them—Dina, Ellie, Maria, Tommy—all waiting for some brilliant, world-changing answer.

But only Joel knew the sleepless nights, he’d seen her try to redo the math, rework the impossible, just to feel like she had something left to solve. So all he’d been able to do was let her at it, leave her to her circles and theories, and go back to bed, waiting for her to wear herself out. He knew that math of hers had wrecked her—driven her to the edge of exhaustion, of obsession.

And now, sitting here, she looked like she wanted to vanish.

So before the silence could stretch too long before they could push her for something she wasn’t ready to say—Joel spoke for her.

“She actually solved the Riemann hypothesis,” he said, casual as anything, like he was commenting on the weather. A little smug, too.

A beat.

Dina blinked. “The—what?”

Ellie narrowed her eyes. “You just made that up.”

Joel sighed, rubbing a hand over his beard. “Nah. It’s a real thing.” He reached for his water and took a slow sip. “Some math theory. Big deal, apparently. Heck if I knew.”

Tommy, to his credit, pretended like he was just hearing about it for the first time, looking between Joel and Leela with exaggerated surprise.

Dina scoffed. “You don’t know?”

Joel gave her a look. “Do I look like someone who spends his time thinkin’ about math?”

Ellie snorted. “Okay, but you can’t just say it’s a big deal and not even try to explain it.”

Joel sighed again, this time more dramatically, because this truly was exhausting him. “Alright. Uh… somethin’ ‘bout numbers. Division. Shit, I don’t fuckin’ know.” He absently stroked Maya's curls. “S’got a lotta squiggles and letters. But little miss genius figured it out.”

Ellie’s face twisted to a shit-eating grin. “Squiggles?”

Joel turned to Leela, mortified at himself, seeking some reprieve. “Tell ‘em.”

Leela, looking a little like she wanted to shrink into the floor, tucked her hair behind her ear and gave a small nod. “I um, did prove the theory. Took my family a really long time to complete.”

“Wait, actually. I've read about Riemann,” Dina went on, straightening in her seat. “That’s the whole—prime numbers thing—no one’s been able to solve that, right? And if you did, you get like a million dollars or something?”

Leela barely glanced up. “Yes, actually. Millenium Prize problem.”

Joel, watching her carefully, felt the way her fingers curled into the fabric of her pants under the table.

Ellie leaned in. “Okay, but like—now what? You can’t just—sit on that, right? Don’t you have to tell someone?”

Leela exhaled, slowly. “It’s… complicated. Our world isn't the way it was.”

Joel saw it—the way her shoulders went tight, the way her face shut down.

Dina wasn’t getting it. “How? This is, like, huge. You should—”

Maria, sensing the tension, jumped in smoothly. “What about you, honey? You got any idea on this?”

Tommy, still side-eyeing Joel, shrugged. “Nah. Not a clue.” He sipped his drink. “I was more into the rabble-rousin’ with the Fireflies. And these FEDRA shits wouldn't care about all that.”

Joel let out a tense breath.

Dina groaned dramatically, throwing herself back in her chair. “Man. Would’ve been so cool to have your name in a book. Or somewhere. Professor of Mathematics, Leela.”

Leela managed a small smile, but her gaze had gone distant.

And Joel hated it. Hated that look. That quiet, almost-accepting disappointment.

He hated that she knew this world didn’t have room for her name in a book. That she’d spent years solving a problem no one would ever see, ever care about. And that should’ve been fine, right? Should’ve been something she could accept. But it wasn’t, because despite everything, despite how much she pretended not to care, she did.

And Joel, he wished like hell there was something he could do about it. That tiny drop of hope snuffed out in her eyes. Like for half a second, she thought—maybe there was a world where what she’d done actually mattered.

And it did. Just not in a way that’d ever change a damn thing.

Joel clenched his jaw, staring down at his glass like it might hold an answer.

There weren’t any. Not for this.

Because he knew how he could help her. Knew there were people—out west, in LA—who might care, who might listen, who might actually do something with what she’d done. There were still Fireflies, still remnants of old-world thinkers, people scraping together the last bits of science that hadn’t been buried under blood and ruin.

And if he told her—if he let her know they existed—she might go.

Leave him. Leave their perfect baby girl. Leave home. And that—he couldn’t let happen.

He needed her here.

Call him selfish? Monomaniacal? Maybe. But he didn’t give a fuck.

Joel had lived his life losing. Lost Sarah, lost Tess, lost whatever scraps of himself made him good once. And now—now, he had her. Had Maya. Had a reason to come home at the end of the day that wasn’t just the routine of it. He had that little vestige of trust and faith back in him, even if the ghosts lingered. He slept knowing he was going to wake up with purpose that wasn't just behind the flare of a rifle or the scent of blood. He had love, a warm home, all this food, these people.

And if Leela left—No.

He wouldn’t think about that. Not ever. He'd give up his breath before she risked it like a fucking idiot.

So he’d keep his mouth shut. Play dumb. Let the world stay small for her, even when she was meant for something bigger. Even when he saw the ache of it in her eyes. Even when he hated himself for it. But that was fine, he'd grown used to his hate.

So he did the only thing he could do—he raised his damn glass.

“To Leela,” he said, confident, eyes warm when they landed on her. “For doin’ the impossible.”

Her head snapped toward him, eyes widening just a fraction. Under the table, her fingers curled tight around his knee, firm—don’t.

She wasn’t the type to bask in praise, wasn’t one to revel in attention. But Joel wasn’t gonna let her disappear into the silence. So instead of backing down, he just smirked, pried her hand off his knee, and brought it to his lips.

His mouth was rough, the scrape of his beard even rougher, but the way he kissed her knuckles—gentle, slow, promising. A prayer he wouldn’t say out loud.

She froze up, breath catching just enough for him to notice, just enough to make his heart slam against his ribs. This was good. She was okay.

The table had gone quiet.

Then Tommy grinned, lifting his glass. “To Lee.”

Maria followed, then Ellie and Dina, voices echoing the words, raising their drinks. “To Leela.”

And then—clap, clap, clap! Maya, grinning wide, smacked her little hands together, delighted by the sudden chorus of voices, as if she had any clue what was happening.

Joel huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “You like that, baby?”

Maya just kept clapping, giggling as she looked between Joel and Leela, as if she understood this was about her mama, and that meant it was something right.

And Leela—God, she was looking at him now, like he was impossible, like she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to kiss him or kill him. Joel just held her hand tight, letting his thumb trace slow circles into her skin.

“You deserve it,” he murmured in her ear, meant just for her.

Leela let out a soft breath, almost like a sigh. Then, with barely a beat between them, she squeezed his hand right back.

X

Joel knew he had it good because the thought of reality was the only thing keeping him awake. After all, it felt like his dreams had come true.

But of course, nowadays, when Joel slept, he closed his eyes and he fell deeply, just as he did in love and loss, displaced of his path back. When he did ultimately open his eyes once more to the old patterned ceiling, tucked up in a disgustingly comfortable bed, within a house you could hear the wind slide under the eaves, the soft creak of the old floors settling, Maya’s soft little snores down the hall, the occasional rustle of sheets when Leela moved on her bed, he wasn’t sure when life had slowed down like this, when the days stopped being about surviving and started being about living.

Whatever it was, it was all Leela. She had insisted he take the biggest room when he moved in, and she wouldn’t hear a word otherwise. Stubborn as a damn mule, she’d just stared him down when he tried to argue, and—hell. It wasn’t like he minded. The room was ridiculous, the bathroom even more, with more closet space than he’d ever need, but the real saving grace was the football-field-sized bed.

Probably a thousand silky white pillows, freshly washed and dusted, stacked against a plush leather headboard, spilling over a white duvet. Bed to end all beds. Big enough to sink in between. Lonely enough when it got dark. Close enough to Maya’s nursery that when she woke in the middle of the night, whimpering softly in the dark, he was already moving, already lifting her up before she got too lonely.

Outside, winter had crept in slowly. Mornings turned from golden to white, breaths corkscrewing in steam ribbons against the cold. The sky was that sharp, steel-grey that told you snow wasn’t far behind, and Joel had started waking up to a frost-lined world, rooftops silvered, trees edged in ice.

December now, and Jackson was easing into the Christmas season and spirit—garlands strung between shop corners, lights winking from one lamppost to the next, a huge tree going up in the square, handmade ornaments showing up on doors. He had his own big efforts for Maya's first birthday and Christmas.

And then—just like the night before—it hit him.

Maya was turning one soon. The thought still knocked something loose in him. This tiny thing, this impossibly small, impossibly bright piece of his world who barely reached his knee. Who stumbled around in her little boots like she had somewhere really important to be. Who giggled like it could undo every bad thing in the world, cutting straight through the cold, through the ache in his bones, like it was nothing.

His girl. God, that was still a hard thing to wrap his head around. That she belonged to him. That he belonged to her.

He lay back against the pillows, an arm resting behind his head, and let his fingers graze the stack of Polaroids and photographs scattered across his nightstand. He flipped through each one slowly like one of Maya's bedtime stories, but only this one was real.

One of him and Ellie, captured by Leela, sprawled out on the porch swing, their boots propped up against the rail. Ellie mid-laugh, a cup of iced lemonade dangling from her fingers, frozen in time. He could almost hear her voice, thick with dry humour, and see the way her nose scrunched when she got to the best part of whatever story she was telling.

Tommy, Maria and him, once again captured by Leela, arms slung around each other at the hoedown, cowboy hats tilted over their heads, two of them tipsy and flushed. A night of music and good beer and warmth—the kind of warmth that had been rare for too long. The kind they hadn’t thought they’d find again.

And then—his fingers slowed.

One of them. Pretty sure it was Ellie who took this one. Maya, wedged between him and Leela, four little teeth showing, curls and eyes shining, a fork clutched in her fist, attention stolen by something off-camera. Leela, so beautiful under the flash, one hand curled protectively at Maya’s back, the other resting lightly on the table. And Joel, beside them both, his smile unsure, caught between trying to look natural and trying not to think too much about how unnatural it still felt—being in a picture like this.

But when he looked at it now—it looked so real. The family aspect of it.

He held the photo at arm’s length, studying it, the three of them together.

Though he looked apart from them. Incohesive. Hell, anyone would say it. The rougher, older edges of him, the shade of his skin and theirs, the texture of his hair and their black locks, the way his eyes weren’t the same big, almond eyes. Maya had Leela’s delicate features, her wide dark gaze, and her gentle intensity. And him—well, he was just there. An outsider, a man slotted into the frame, but not quite of it.

Except… that wasn’t true, was it?

Because if he looked long enough, he could see it. The shape of familiarity, how lived-in he seemed.

The way Maya leaned toward him in the picture, just slightly, even distracted as she was. The way Leela’s fingers curled gently toward his wrist, even unconsciously. The way he fit there, in the space beside them, not because he forced it, but because—somehow, without realizing it—he belonged there.

It made sense. Anyone who looked at this—anyone who knew—they’d know exactly what they were to each other.

He swallowed thickly, staring at the picture like it might shift in his hands or it might tell him something new. He wanted to keep it that way, within this frame, the three of them, until the time was up. God, how long would that be? Another few years?

A knock at his door pulled him from it, and he blinked, turning his head.

Leela pushed the door open slightly, peering inside. “Sorry. Do you have some time?”

He had his whole life for her, even if it was overkill. Joel cleared his throat, setting the Polaroids aside. “Always.”

She stepped inside, and Christ.

She was barefoot, those thin gold-chain anklets winking at him in the low light. The soft curve of her calves disappeared beneath the loose folds of that goddamn pearl-button nightdress—the one that never failed to drive him insane. It was slipping off her shoulder just enough to make his life miserable, the bare silhouette of her body teasing at the edges of his vision, itching his palms with the worst kind of temptation.

Joel sat up, rubbing a slow hand down his face, across the scruff along his jaw, suddenly feeling a hell of a lot more awake.

She didn’t hesitate, swishing the fabric under her as she perched on the edge of his bed, legs dangling off.

“I was just on the swing set before it started to snow,” she told him, her voice all wistful. “I think I might love it more than Maya does.”

Joel chuckled, dragging a hand through his hair. “I don’t know how baby girl’s gonna feel about sharing.”

It hadn’t taken him long to put together the swing set that stood proudly in the front yard—just a hell of a lot of effort, some cursing under his breath, and more muscle than he cared to admit. Sturdy wood, painted deep green, with painted pink and yellow flowers curling along the edges. The seat hung from two thick ropes, knotted tight, built to last. All safe and ready for his little girl.

Leela had helped, like she promised—though if her irritated grumbling was anything to go by, woodworking sure as hell wasn’t her calling. She hadn’t complained once about the splinters, but he caught her wincing every time she flexed her fingers, scowling down at the stubborn bits of wood lodged in her skin.

Joel, now, watched the way her gaze flicked to the photographs near his pillow, her expression shifting—soft, thoughtful. He didn’t move, just waited, letting her take her time.

Her brows furrowed slightly, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “How are your feet?”

Joel smirked, sinking back onto one elbow. “They're toasty, thanks.”

She pulled one knee up to her chest, resting her chin on it, fingers absently picking at a loose thread on her nightdress. “Mine too.” A grin flickered across her face. “I feel like my parents around you nowadays.”

That had him raising an eyebrow. “How's that now?”

Leela hesitated, her fingers stilling. Then, almost cautiously, she said, “You know… a couple. Partners. Married.” That last word barely even made the breath.

Joel stayed quiet, processing that for a moment. Shit, he couldn't. He almost blacked out.

“They were so crazy in love, Joel. Even at eighty.” A fond laugh slipped from her. “Dad would have her coffee ready every morning, help her tie her shoelaces, and open doors for her. Dance with her every night before bed. Never let her raise a finger around the home, even after the whole world came crumbling down around us.”

She smiled to herself, the memory a gentle thing.

“I’m gonna make you the happiest, fattest, laziest wifey in Jackson, sweetheart,” she recited, voice taking on a deep, playful lilt, like she was echoing her father's exact words.

Joel huffed out a laugh. “Sounds like a stand-up fella'.”

Leela nodded, then faltered, her lips parting like there was something else—something she wasn’t sure she should say. Joel waited, his fingers twitching against the blanket, patient.

Then softly, quietly, “He would've liked you.”

Joel looked away, to itch at his temple, hiding a grin. The thought of this man—the man who had made Leela feel safe, loved—looking at him and thinking he’s good enough for my little girl? No, he would've given him a hard time. Especially since no one stood to compare to Leela, much less a man like Joel, hitting sixty and greying. Her father would've come at him with his expensive shotgun.

Leela’s gaze lifted to his, eyes foolproof. She took a breath. “I feel like that with you.”

Joel's throat worked tough. His body had already moved before his mind caught up, his hand reaching out, fingers trailing along her temple, dipping into the thick waves of her hair.

“Like a fat, lazy wifey?” he murmured.

Leela let out a tiny, breathless laugh and immediately covered her face with both hands, her shoulders curling in. “Yeah. Is that bad?”

Joel’s grin pulled at his mouth, satisfaction sitting right on his bones. His thumb brushed over the curve of her cheek, a little more deliberate now, a little more his. “That’s the goal, sweetheart.”

Leela peeked at him through her fingers, then, as if gathering herself, slowly reached out and took his hand from her face. She held it in her lap, turning it over, tracing the rough lines of his palm. The callouses, the broken skin, the deep grooves time had worn into him.

She ran her thumb along the ridge of a scar, a flash of quiet passing through her expression. Not pity—Leela never looked at him like that. Just knowing. Understanding.

“Do you remember what you told me?” she murmured, still studying his hand, watching the way her fingers disappeared against the breadth of his palm. “That night after the bar?”

Joel exhaled, a deep thing, pulse hammering up his veins. “Do you?”

She squinted, like she was trying to piece a puzzle together, like it lived just at the edges of her memory.

“I don’t remember much. It's hazy.” Her voice dipped even quieter. “You told me you love me.”

Joel swallowed. His fingers flexed against hers before curling, his palm pressing lightly to her own like she might slip away if he didn’t hold onto her properly.

“And I’ll say it again,” he assured.

Leela finally looked up, meeting his gaze fully. Her fingers curled tighter around his hand, holding him there.

“I want to feel you now, Joel,” she said, soft but sure, like it was something she had already decided. “Loving all of me.”

A deep and molten flame uncoiled in him at her words, cracked something wide open.

Because she remembered. And he remembered the way she had trembled under him that night, high and reckless and desperate for something he wouldn’t give her. And he had whispered the only inevitable promise that he had ever felt—

“One day, when I’m deep inside you, I am all you're gonna be thinkin' of. Just me, loving all of you.”

And now—now Leela was here, in front of him, sober and clear-eyed and asking him for the very thing he had promised her.

Joel didn’t rush. He just reached for her, wanting and calm, his fingers trailing from her wrist, up the length of her arm, to her chin. He tilted her face toward him, waiting. Giving her the space to change her mind.

Leela stared at him, eyes, lips, eyes, lips, and it had him in agony. A prolonged soon enough, she simply lifted her lips to his like an offering.

And he took.

He kissed her like a man who had gone without for too long, hands crushing her closer to him, like a man afraid to break the very thing he craved. Worshipping her was softer than before because now he knew she wanted this. He knew she was choosing this. Choosing him. Out of all the sick, sorry bastards in this world, she picked him. Him.

“Gonna make you feel good,” he promised between kisses, hungering forward for more. “I'll make you feel like a queen, baby. I'll give you everything.”

Her fingers trailed up, skimming the scruff at his neck before splaying over his chest. The warmth of her touch shot straight through him, and he exhaled against her mouth, pressing closer. Mad, so mad for this.

Then, gently, he guided her hands to his shirt buttons.

He wasn’t in any hurry. This wasn’t about taking—this was about letting. Letting her have control, letting her set the pace, letting her know she could stop whenever she wanted.

Leela pulled away just enough to glance down at his shirt, her breath catching.

“Go on then, help me out,” he urged.

That’s when he saw it—the hesitation. The clear-cut hysteria that hadn’t been there last time, numbed to the effects of weed. With her clarity came everything else. Every dread, every old wound, every aching recollection, every scar she carried in places he couldn’t see.

Joel stayed still, barely breathing, watching the way her fingers hovered over the buttons, how they trembled as she carefully popped the first one open. Then the next and next.

She pushed the fabric from his shoulders, her hands mapping him quietly, tracing it all. She touched everything—the pale scars left by unseen blades, the sealed bullet wounds, the old burns, the places where life had carved him up and forced him to heal around the damage. Her dark gaze lingered on the fine scruff dusting his chest, palms gliding lower, following the path where dark hair thinned down his stomach before vanishing beneath his waistband.

She wasn’t just looking. She was memorizing. Good, let her. This was all hers anyway.

“Ruined,” he mumbled.

“Survived,” she corrected.

He slid the sleeves off his arms, balling his shirt up in his hands before tossing it aside. Joel leaned back against the headboard like a king waiting on a feast, his legs spreading slightly, the muscles in his stomach flexing as he breathed. His gaze was heavy-lidded, thick, deep and everything unspoken.

Then, slowly, he stroked a palm over his thigh. “Come sit, darlin’.”

Leela hesitated. He could see it in the way her fingers curled and uncurled on the duvet, like she was feeling her way through the moment. But she followed, just like he knew she would, crawling over until she was straddling him, the seam of her legs spread over his zipper, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips.

Joel felt the warmth of her, the light press of her thighs against him, the way her breath hitched when her hands came to his shoulders, fingers curling lightly over muscle and scar.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “You're just perfect, aren't you?”

She nodded. Then blinked in realization, then shook her head, sighing. “Shut up.”

“Psh. Look at you. I ain't gonna.”

His own hands found her waist, steadying her, tracing slow circles over the fabric of her nightdress. This girl was made to be loved.

Then his fingers slid up, tracing her figure, until he was right over those goddamn pearl buttons.

He wanted to take them apart with his teeth, but that wasn’t the way to do this—not tonight. So he traced the cool surface of each one before carefully slipping them free, one by one, big fingers graceless over the little buttons.

The moment the last one came undone, he leaned forward, his eyes never leaving hers, watching every flicker of emotion cross her face. The anxiety, the confusion... the curiosity way beneath it. Observing him.

And then he sank his teeth into the delicate skin on her sternum.

Leela sucked in a sharp breath, her fingers tightening on his biceps.

Joel groaned against her, dragging his lips over the mark, spreading slow, open-mouthed kisses over the same spot, soothing it, claiming it.

He let the thin sleeves slide off her shoulders, watching the way the fabric slipped down her arms, pooling at her midriff.

Joel exhaled sharply, his grip tightening just a fraction before smoothing over her skin again like he couldn’t quite believe she was real.

Because Christ, how was she real? Where had that lonely, grey fart upstairs been hiding her all this time?

She was all honey-warm skin and soft, dusky curves. Her breasts rose and fell with each uneven breath, her ribs tautening, beneath the subtle dip of her waist. His gaze traced the gentle flare of her hips, the little softness at her love handles, the way her toned stomach tensed as she held herself still, waiting—watching him with those deep, knowing eyes.

“Joel?” she whispered.

“You're...” He blinked twice. “You're so beautiful.”

For a terrible lack of words, he wasn't exactly a fucking poet. He really wanted to tell her that she was the Powerball lottery in his life, that even her smartass brain was sexy, and that when she breathed, he was pretty sure a flower bloomed right under her damn feet.

But she managed a quiet laugh. “Oh-kay.”

And Joel had never believed in God much, but if there was one, he’d have to offer up a damn prayer of thanks. Only took thirty whole years.

He let his hands roam, rough fingertips skating over the curve of her waist, following the soft lines of her body. She was delicate, strong, warm, and hesitant, all at once, and beneath the tension in her shoulders, he could feel the slight tremble in her limbs.

She trusted him with this. With herself.

Joel wasn’t about to fuck that up. So he took his time.

He smoothed his palms over her ribs, feeling the way her bones flexed beneath his touch. His thumbs brushed over her perfect nipples, the peaks stiffening, drawing the softest sound from her throat—a breathy little whimper that damn near destroyed him.

His control hung by a thread as he ducked his head, finally taking her into his mouth.

His lips closed over her, hot and slow, his tongue flicking, tasting, teasing. He lavished her with attention, spreading kisses across the swell of one, then the other, loving them equally, thoroughly.

“Fuckin' don't deserve any of this,” he said through his teeth, clutched on a nipple.

“What are you...” she whispered.

He was surrounded by Leela, arching into him, encouraging his lips where she wanted him, and he didn't spare a thought to her instincts. If she wanted him, she'd have it. Her fingers trembled before they slid into his hair, sweeping back through the silver-streaked strands, holding him there like she was trying to commit the sight of him—eyes half-closed, mouth on her, glorifying her—to memory.

Then, without thinking, Joel bit down—just enough to pull a sound from her throat, her grip on his hair tightening, nails scraping against his scalp.

Didn’t think she’d like that. But she did. Nice.

“Joel,” she whispered.

His smirk was slow, lazy, drawn out against her flushed skin as he let his tongue wander over the reddening mark he’d left before sealing it with a leisurely, possessive suck.

“Shit, baby,” he muttered, voice gone husky. “If this is what you taste like here, can’t imagine what you taste like down there.”

Leela’s breath hitched hard. “Down what…?”

The way she said it—uncertain, like the thought had never fully occurred to her—lit a fire in his gut. Primal, claiming, wanting. Frantic.

She wouldn’t know. Of course, she wouldn’t.

It wasn’t like there had been time for teenage exploration when the world had gone to hell. No fumbling hands in the dark, no stolen kisses at parties, no whispered giggles between sheets. Sex was a free-for-all in QZs obviously, and he sure as hell doubted porn had been a practicality when she’d been at that wonderful age of curiosity.

Which meant this—the way she looked at him, the way her breaths stared back up when he so much as hinted at what he wanted to do—was something else entirely.

Yeah, Joel had never been more careful in his damn life.

“Christ,” he rasped, dragging his hands slowly down her back, fingers tracing the dip of her spine, the delicate lines of her body. "Well, at least a little touch. Lemme feel you.”

“Feel,” she murmured, confused.

He showed her his hand. Then two fingers. Then his thumb. Hoping that was enough for her to get the message across. “Feel.”

She hesitated for only a moment, but then—God help him—she nodded. That was all the permission he needed.

“Let's get this off you,” he muttered. “Wanna see you.”

He eased the night dress up and over her head, watching the fabric pool around her before slipping off completely. Her thick braid slapped softly against her back, and then—there she was.

All herself. Just Leela.

She sat before him in nothing but those little white linen panties, tied into thick knots at her hips—ruffled edges, sweet, soft, so goddamn cute—and his. Yeah, his. All mine.

And then his hands were on her again, slow, reverent, like he had the luxury of time. Because he did. Because this was about her, about her knowing she was safe, knowing she was loved, knowing he'd go wherever she liked him to.

His longest finger wandered closer and closer from her hips, and brushed beneath the edge of her panties, a featherlight bump against that warm, soft groove. Just to let her know.

His jaw clenched, muscles locking as he willed himself to go slow, to savour every second of this, to feel her breathe against his cheek as he did it.

Her eyes flickered up to his, eyes locking. Wide. Waiting. Knowing this wasn't over.

He held her gaze as he pushed further in between her folds, just enough to feel the heat of her, the damp silk of her against his fingertips—aching, perfect, warm.

Her lips parted. A little gasp, barely a sound.

And then her eyes fluttered shut.

He felt it the second she let go, the second she allowed herself to slip into it, to trust what he was doing to her.

His coarse fingers carefully traced, explored, and learned. A decade out of practice, but instincts were instincts. And he knew how to listen—how to really listen. The way her breaths stuttered when he circled just right with the pad of his thumb at the little bud of nerves, the way her body clenched when he curled deeper inside where he needed to. When his fingers worked her low and slow, in loving accuracy, how she completely arched into him, warm walls pressuring around his fingers.

Then, a tiny sound. Soft. Desperate. “Joel, please.”

Fuck. Every person needs to hear that once in their lifetime. Their whole other half just falling apart while clinging to your name.

His stomach tensed, heat surging through him so sudden and hard he had to close his eyes, had to bite down hard on his own restraint before he did something stupid—like buck against her like a goddamn teen and blow a load into his jeans.

Because of the way she moved into his palm, the way her hips found the rhythm like instinct, like something she’d always known but never had the chance to learn—Jesus Christ, his frail heart was going to fail him.

“I know,” he breathed, voice gruff. “I know. Goddamn it, you’re so beautiful. So perfect f'me.”

How unoriginal. Cliché as a bitch. But what the hell else was he supposed to say? Write haikus? Sing praises? He would, if he had any sanity left. She was carved from silent fire and untouchable grace, delicate and untamed, something that had no damn business ending up here, in his ruined hands.

Her fingers dug into his back, ravaged by sensation, nails sinking in, breaking the skin, drawing blood—maybe. Didn’t fucking matter. Even that was sexy. That pain was welcome, something he'd carry with him like a brand, a scar he’d look at in the mirror tomorrow with a lazy smirk and think, yeah, my girl did that.

And then—he felt it. That old familiar twitch against his fingers, the way her body tensed, breath shuddering, forehead dropping against his.

She was close.

And if she was going to come, it wasn’t going to be on his marred hands. No way in hell. He needed to feel her come on him everywhere. Needed it to hit him so deep he felt pinpricks behind his goddamn eyes.

“Baby, hang on. Fuck, honey, gimme a second,” he rasped, voice wrecked, dragging his fingers out from her, savouring the heat, the slick. He popped them into his mouth, groaning low at the taste, the perfection of her. Wasn’t about to waste a single drop.

Leela only watched him, unusual, confused. “So strange.”

He wiped his mouth. “Unreal, baby. Taste so good.”

Then, shifting back against the headboard, he pulled her closer onto his lap. His hands slid up her thighs, thumbs stroking slow circles, coaxing, calming.

He nodded at his pants. “Wanna help me out of this?”

She nodded, still flushed, and reached down. Soft, slender, long hands worked the button loose, nudged the zipper down, knuckles grazing his stomach, fingers tracing down the happy trail, lower, lower—

She sucked in a breath when she laid eyes on the good stuff that sprang free.

He saw the flicker in her eyes, and he prayed to whatever was looking over him that he was in all right proportions, that he was to her liking, that he was good enough for her. But the way she seemed to assess, hesitating... Curiosity? Oh, good—anything other than disgust.

Then she glanced up at him, brow pinched. “You’re not wearing...”

He blinked, momentarily lost in his own haze, until he realized. Oh, for fuck’s sake.

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. God bless America.”

The laugh that burst out of her was sudden, real, pure, like she hadn't expected it. She did a double-take, covering her mouth, her shoulders shaking.

“Omigod, Joel. You’ve been walking around without underwear this whole time?”

He smirked, gathering her back into his arms, hands already working at the ties of her little knotted panties. “Alright, get your judgy ass over here.”

Two tugs, and they were gone, joining the mess of discarded clothes on the floor. He gave her tight behind a nice squeeze. “Y'know, you've got the perkiest butt I've ever seen. All that lifting and stretching—you drive me crazy with those teeny little shorts.”

She twisted his ear playfully. “So that's why you're always messing up with the tools.”

“Oh, yeah. Prettiest pussy, too,” he whispered, winking.

“Joel!” she hissed.

And then—finally—she was straddling his lap, stripped, all soft thighs and tough calves, muscles flexing as she adjusted, aligned over him, and found her balance, fingers curled into the headboard for support.

A little smile tugged at her lips. And it killed him. “Hi.”

“Hi, honey,” he murmured.

She was stunning—lean, strong, effortless. A goddamn supermodel. That hair, those muscles, those striking eyes, she had him by the balls and he wasn't complaining.

He held her hips, warm, smooth skin beneath his rough palms, a thumb tracing the soft, wet seam at her legs. He pushed a testing finger in, and she shivered.

“You ready for me?” he murmured.

She exhaled softly, before her hand came down, sliding into his hair, down his ear, his cheek—thumb brushing over his lips like she was memorizing him like he was something sacred.

And then, so quiet, so sure—“I want to feel all of you.”

Jesus fucking Christ. Not fair. Not fucking fair. That should’ve given him a second, a moment to react, to curse, to do something—

But then she moved. And finally, finally, she took him inside her. Right where he’d been aching for her.

Heat. Tight. Unreal.

“Fuuuck.” A deep groan ripped out of his chest as she plunged down onto him, enveloping him in pressure so impossibly hot, impossibly incredible, that his head kicked back against the headboard.

Strain. Resistance. So much love.

Her body rebelled, not used to this stretch, this fullness, and when a sharp, quiet cry slipped from her, she buried it against his cheek. “Please.”

His breath stilled. Instinct flared hot in his veins—not desire, but protection, care, a tethered restraint that warred with the desperate need to move, to feel her completely.

His arms circled around her, strong. His lips found the edge of her eye, feeling the trail of tears, murmuring against her skin, “I'm right here, baby. You're doin’ so good. Take me so well.”

“It hurts,” she cried out sharply.

“I know, sweetheart, I know. You want to take a breath for me?”

And she did. A nice, long, deep one into his neck. The hot air ghosted around his nape. Then two more, until it felt like her breaths were finally stuttering back into her.

He kissed her eye. “That's a good girl. You got this. Eyes on me.”

She nodded shakily, holding his gaze.

“Only me, alright?”

He tightened his hold on her hips, not to force, not to move—just to be there, to keep her close as he raised up, his back protesting with a pricking ache, meeting her halfway, easing her down inch by inch, a motion as old as time, gentle, ready, his.

“Feel like a dream, darlin’,” he whispered against her skin, voice barely holding together.

A shiver. A squeeze around him, tight and sweet, like a pulse, a welcome. This was his home.

And he felt it—this wasn’t just physical, wasn’t just something done to her, wasn’t something she was just letting happen.

She wanted every inch of him. And Joel was going to move fucking mountains to give it to her.

Joel moved with her, for her, matching the slow, hesitant rhythm she set. Each slide into her was deep, measured—he wasn’t chasing anything except her, wasn’t losing himself in the feeling of her wrapped around him, not yet. No, this was about letting her take what she needed. About making sure she knew, in her bones, that this was hers. He was hers.

“Joel, is this okay?” she panted.

He looked up at her and sighed from numb lips, “Baby, how the hell are you real?”

Because Jesus, if she wasn’t the sexiest goddamn thing he’d ever seen—the way her brows pinched, the way her pretty mouth parted, the way her breath hitched when he hit that spot.

The way her body crashed above him, her hands clung to the headboard, his shoulders, nails gripping, grounding—she was giving him everything without even realizing it. A little gasp left her lips each time he lifted his hips, rocking against hers, pushing her just a little bit further, testing the limits of what she could take.

His fingers smoothed down her spine, following the curve of her back, his lips finding her throat, the little hollow just beneath her ear.

“That's my good girl,” he encouraged, voice rough, rasping into her ear. “Feels nice, don’t it? Feels real nice.”

She shuddered, a little whimper catching at the back of her throat. Her thighs tensed around him, gripping tight around his neck, but her movements faltered. A stutter. A hesitation.

Joel slowed. Just enough to feel her, to see her, to be sure.

And that’s when he knew. That she wasn’t quite there. No matter how wet she was, how ready and tight she was around him, something in her body held back.

But it wasn’t fear or pain or shyness or any of that bullshit. It was just unfamiliar. A wariness just under her skin, something holding her back, keeping her from letting go.

And Joel understood.

His gut tightened, hurt pulling at his chest, but this—this wasn’t just about fucking. It wasn’t just about getting her to some peak, some finish line, some goal he had to chase.

It was about unlearning. It was being with her. It was about replacing whatever fucked-up pain in her, whatever taking had come before, with something soft, small and theirs.

And if she didn’t come or if she didn’t even know what that felt like—hell, that didn’t change a goddamn thing. Didn’t change the way he was making love to her, how much he loved her, loved feeling her move on top of him, for him.

It also didn’t change the fact that he was already hanging by a thread, already wound too tight, already gritting his teeth to keep himself from losing it, because she felt too good, too right, like she was made to be wrapped around him, to take him this deep.

He wasn't going to last very long, he was pushing his limit here, his prime of life was to blame for that. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold onto the moment, hold onto her—but it was too much, too perfect, too fucking good.

His hands flexed at her hips, gripping, steadying her, his own control unravelling fast.

“Jesus—Leela, I'm—!”

“Joel?” she called, concerned almost.

He wanted to wait as long as he could. Wanted to hold off, wanted to take her there with him, to let her feel all of it, but this old fucking desperate body—

But then she moved, sinking down, rolling her hips against him in just the right way, and he broke.

“Oh, shit!”

A deep, guttural sound tore from his throat, his arms snapping tight around her waist, pulling her flush against him as he spilled deep inside her, every muscle in his body seizing up. His forehead dropped to her shoulder, breath ragged, fingers flexing against her slick skin.

He stayed like that for a moment, ears ringing, buried in her, completely wrung out, slumping into her, breathing her in, feeling her heartbeat pound against his own. Oh, but he was currently in orbit, in fucking space.

And then—when his thoughts returned back to planet Earth, back to Jackson, back to this home, when the haze started to clear—he pulled back, just enough to see her.

She looked… confused. Like she'd gone wrong somewhere. Lips parted, eyes hazy, looking between them, like she was waiting for something, like she wasn’t sure if this was it.

She blinked. “I...”

Joel watched her, studied the soft rise and fall of her chest, the way her body still trembled around him, the way her fingers curled gently against his throat.

She didn’t know, of course. Didn’t realize. That she hadn’t come.

And he didn’t feel bad about it—not in the way a man might, not in the way that turned it into some failure, something to gnaw on, to carry like a weight. Shit, she'd gone as far as to relive this for him.

But still—he wanted to give that to her. Wanted her to feel it, to know what it meant to be shattered and held together all at once.

“One more try, okay?” he rasped, barely breathing it into her skin. He kissed her shoulder, collar and throat. “Gimme one more. You can do it. Just hold onto me.”

A small smile came alive on her lips. “Okay.”

Joel bore down again, gripping her hips tighter, pulling her closer, pushing deeper—trying this time, rather than feeling.

His breath came wild, strained, body shaking with the force of it, sweat splashing lazily onto her breasts, in the effort of making her feel it. His heart was hammering, his arms flexing, his thighs burning as he surged up into her, chasing that high for her, something he needed to give her.

And still—still—Leela just watched him. Soft, quiet, moving with him, letting him take her, feeling his strength beneath her, stroking his cheek, his hair, her fingertips whisper-light against his damp skin.

No gasping desperation, no frantic, uncontrolled unravelling. Just… this.

And Joel—fuck—he didn’t know what to do with that. She wasn’t pretending. Would be nice if she did. She wouldn’t know how to fake it, would she? Wouldn’t know the right way to move, the right way to sound, the right way to let a man know he was making her come undone and get this over with.

And the realization punched him in the gut. Blindsided him completely.

It wasn't about to happen. He'd just have to let go.

But Joel couldn’t stop. Not now, not when he was this close. When he was teetering on the fucking edge. When his body was demanding release with an intensity he hadn’t felt in years.

“I'm sorry,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Sorry, I can't. I can't.”

“Joel, it's okay, it's okay,” she coaxed.

So he held her down, his grip firm, desperate. Feeling so fucking selfish as he pushed and pushed harder. Broke a sweat. Gave it everything he had left in him, one last time—until his muscles locked, until heat ripped through him once more, until he spilled deep inside her again with another ragged, shuddering groan.

And Leela—sweet, accepting Leela—just cradled him through it. Breathed against his cheek, kissed his ear, smoothed her hands over his hair, and ran her fingers along the tense lines of his back, comforting him.

Because Joel had never felt more fucking helpless in his life. He buried his face in her neck, his arms locking tight around her, his body wracked with aftershocks, his chest rising and falling hard against hers.

“Joel,” she said, a softness behind his name.

His throat was tight. He swallowed. “You have to—you haven't—”

“I feel really good,” she whispered. “Really good.”

Joel breathed in deep, exhaled slow. She meant it. She felt good. It wasn’t some half-truth, some lie to spare his feelings. Leela didn’t lie to him—she didn’t know how to, not in a way that mattered.

So he let it go. Let himself believe her. However difficult and excruciating it was.

“Do you wanna lie down?” he murmured, brushing the backs of his fingers over her jaw. “Lemme clean up and hurry back to you, alright?”

“Okay.”

She nodded, watching as he rolled out of bed, buckled up his pants, and stretched his sore back with a quiet grunt. That pleasant ache in his muscles, he could get used to this. He ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair, then disappeared into the bathroom.

The second he flicked on the light, he set both hands over the sink, bracing himself. His reflection stared back at him, every line on his face a little deeper, slick with sweat, his greying scruff a little rougher, hair a Leela-made mess. His body was still running hot, his ears still rung, still a little shaky in the aftermath.

But under all that? Confusion. Loathing. Every i had been dotted, every t crossed. So what the hell went wrong?

His fingers turned the tap on, ran cool water over his palms. He splashed some onto his face and neck and chest, let it dribble down to his throat, rinsed his mouth and took another breath.

“You goddamn dud,” he muttered to himself.

Maybe it was him. All those years of nothing. Years of his body belonging to no one but himself. Years of only touching for a release. A ferocious protector, sure, but it made him an incapable lover. He never knew a damn thing about the female body, how to work it, how to please her. Should've let her come on his hand when he had the chance. Stupid, greedy asshole.

With a final splash of water to his face, he scrubbed a wet hand through his hair and stepped back into the bedroom. Time to face the music.

Leela had already slipped her nightdress back on, the straps falling just slightly off her shoulder, her hair combed back a little neater. She was curled up against the pillows, drowsy, waiting for him.

Joel didn’t hesitate to slide into bed beside her, sinking into the warmth of her body like he belonged there. Like they’d been doing this forever.

She nestled in closer automatically, her breath soft against his cheek. His fingers trailed down her face with a slow, lazy kind of affection, committing the shape of her in this light to memory..

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured.

She smiled sleepily, amusement tugging at the corner of her lips. “You said that a lot.”

“Mean it every time,” he said, voice rough. “You’re my dreamgirl.”

She huffed a quiet laugh, low and teasing, but her fingers curled into his chest, holding onto him like she didn’t quite believe it.

“So I’m supposed to come, is that it?” she mused, drawing out the words.

Joel had spent most of his life keeping things simple. Straightforward. No fuss, no questions, no goddamn talking about it.

He let out a long, suffering sigh, pressing his forehead to hers. Jesus, he could just roll over and fix this. He would—happily. But for once, he didn’t want to rush, didn’t want to miss the quiet, golden stretch of time between basking in the afterglow and sleep.

“It amazes me that you don’t know that,” he muttered.

She shrugged, unbothered. “I did feel nice.”

He shook his head. “I'm sorry, I couldn't give it to you.”

Her eyes softened. She turned her face into his hand, pressing a deep, lingering kiss into his palm. He swallowed around it, around the way it made him feel—too big, too much, too good.

“Don't be. I had a lot of fun,” she admitted.

Fun. Sex had never been fun. Not for him, Not in his whole goddamn lifetime. It had been a release, a need, a way to forget or feel an ounce of freedom. But fun? Especially from someone who'd been through hell on this?

He looked at her like she’d just rewritten the entire world in front of him.

“I could get used to this with you. Just... slowly.”

His brain short-circuited. “Used to this with me?”

She nodded, pushing half her face shyly into the pillow, a single, shining brown eye peering up at him.

Jesus Christ. He really was about a pop a vein in his forehead. “Right back at you,” he managed.

Then she lifted onto her elbow, hovering over him, her fingers trailing slow, aimless patterns over the fuzz on his chest. Her touch wasn’t meant to start something—to tease or demand. It was just her, touching him because she wanted to. Because she could.

“Don’t look at me like that, darlin’,” he grumbled, already feeling the heat creep back into his body. “I can barely see straight anymore. There’s three of you in front of me.”

She grinned, leaning in so close her lips almost brushed his. “It’s usually the one in the middle.”

He let out a hoarse laugh, shaking his head. “I ain’t one of your damn machines either. If I am, well—I need big repairs. Gotta oil my gears, tighten some screws.”

She kissed his cheek with a soft giggle, once, twice—then a third time to his lips, slow and sweet. A silent promise. A quiet goodnight.

“I’ll take twenty years off you in no time,” she murmured, nuzzling her nose against his. “You’ll be living till you’re a hundred. Goodnight, Joel.”

She nestled back into the cold pillows, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, guiding him close until his face was tucked between her neck and the soft swell of her chest.

Joel breathed out, letting himself sink into her. His arms slung over her waist, pulling her close until there was nothing between them, his leg tangling with hers.

“Till I’m a hundred, my ass,” he muttered, already halfway asleep. “You keep ridin’ me like that, I’m kickin’ rocks at sixty.”

She gasped, appalled. “Joel!”

He grinned against her skin, pressing a kiss to her throat. “G'night.”

X

Joel felt that night in his bones for three days straight.

The delicious ache, the lingering burn, the way his body still hummed like it was catching up to itself—he felt every damn bit of it. Like walking about with a brand on his chest, her name in big, fat capitals, burned into his skin that wasn't ever going to fade. If he let his mind wander, he swore he could still feel the imprint of her nails on his shoulders, the scratch of her breathy moans against his throat.

It had been a long, long time since he'd felt this kind of soreness, since he'd let himself have anything that good. And now that he had—Christ, it was all he could think about.

Sure, his stamina wasn’t what it used to be. He wasn’t some young buck anymore, wasn’t out here trying to prove anything. That kind of energy belonged to a different lifetime. A life where survival meant running, fighting, bleeding, and losing.

But now?

Now, his life was slow. Lazy. Boring. And fuck, if it wasn’t the best goddamn thing in the world.

Every morning, he woke up in what he could only rightfully call the bed to end all beds—wrapped up in a too-soft duvet, which made it near impossible to leave. Sheets tangled around his legs, pillows propped just right. But the best part?

Leela. His girl. Partner. Whatever the fuck. Just call her his.

Sleeping right beside him, fingers still loosely twisted around his from sometime in the night.

He wasn’t a man prone to sentiment. But every single morning, without fail, he’d lie there for a minute, blinking slowly at the ceiling, feeling her warmth beside him, and he’d think: what the hell evil did I destroy to deserve this?

Because he didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve to wake up slow, wrapped in her warmth. Didn’t deserve the way she just let him have this—her body, her trust, her time. But she gave it anyway.

And if he was weak, if he was pathetic, well—he wasn’t strong enough to just lie there and not touch her.

So he’d roll onto his side, push his face into her shoulder, into her hair, breathe her in, feel the strength of her long legs beneath his palms. Because, deep down, some stupid, aching part of him needed to make sure she was still real. That she hadn’t just vanished into steam.

“Mornin’,” he’d murmur, voice gravelly with sleep, lips brushing over the soft skin of her neck.

And she’d hum, still mostly asleep, shifting closer without thinking, tucking herself against him like she knew. Like she knew she was his, and he was hers, and they had time—all the time in the world to wake up slow and warm in each other’s arms.

Joel didn’t know how to handle that. Didn’t know what the hell to do with the way it made him feel, all thick and too much in his chest.

So he did what he did know how to do. He kissed her. Once. Twice. Again. And again.

Unhurried and soft, against her shoulder, her arm, her cheek, wherever he could. Until she grumbled, barely audible, something along the lines of Joel, let me sleep, swatting at him half-heartedly.

He never listened. Not when he had her like this. Not when she was somewhat awake, turning over onto her back, peeking up at him with those bleary, half-lidded eyes.

“Last one before I get your coffee,” he’d lie, pressing a slow, lingering kiss behind her ear.

And it was never just one. Soon enough, Joel would drag himself up, forcing himself to leave the warmth of their bed, of her, if only for one thing.

His next favourite part of the morning.

His little girl. Maya.

The second Joel stepped into the nursery, flicking on the dim light, the world felt right. Scented in warm linens and baby powder, as the soft morning glow bled through the curtains, it painted everything in muted greens and pink.

And there she was. His baby girl curled in her little nest of blankets, fists rubbing at her groggy eyes, her dark curls sticking out every which way like she’d been fighting sleep all night.

Then she saw him. And the second she did—

“Da-da-da-da-da!”

Joel barely had time to brace before she shot straight up, balancing on the tips of her toes against the crib bars, hands clapping, a little bouncing bean of excitement.

And that damn sweetheart grin. All toothy and wide, like she’d been waiting her whole life to see him again. It got him every time, that overwhelming sense of sweet defeat. He'd take a knife in the heart for her.

He let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head at her, at the way her tiny face was all lit up with him simply showing up.

“There’s my baby girl,” he rumbled, stepping forward, and scooping her up into his arms in one smooth motion, raining kisses on her cheeks.

Maya let out a squealing little giggle, tiny hands immediately going for his face, his beard, her favourite thing to grab early in the morning. She clutched two greedy handfuls, tugging at the scruff like it was hers.

He brushed a hand down her curls. “Did you sleep well?”

“Sleeeepy,” she said around her fist.

She babbled against his shoulder—nonsense, tiny sounds he swore had some kind of meaning only she knew—her chubby little arms tightening around his neck in a hug that damn near melted him.

Then—of course—she went right back to attacking his beard, tugging with all her tiny might.

Joel winced, letting out a mock grumble, “Yeah, alright. You just want Daddy for the whiskers, huh?”

Maya let out a high-pitched giggle, and he felt her breath, warm against his neck, little fingers wandering up to pat his cheeks.

Joel, of course, pretended to eat her fingers instead, lips smacking, making exaggerated chomping sounds. Maya screeched, all wiggly and squirming, kicking in his arms with laughter so wild and free, it made his whole day before it even started.

He sighed, pressing his nose against her cheek, breathing her in. Baby powder. Warmth. His baby girl.

“Alright, trouble. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He carried her over to the little bathroom by the nursery, got her washed up, and changed into one of the tiny little sweaters that had once belonged to her mama. Maya, of course, made it an ordeal—wiggling, talking to him, playing with her own toes.

Joel took his time. Didn’t rush a damn thing.

A normal, mundane morning—waking up next to the woman he loved, starting the day with his baby girl. That was his whole rhythm now.

Some days their mornings went quick—too quick for his liking. Early in the morning, shovelling down his breakfast alone, yelling goodbye to his girls, and heading out for patrol, only to spend every second waiting until he could get back to them. Waiting for that first breath of home, that happy squeal he would hear from Maya ten yards out, that first kiss again.

The house was still half-asleep when Joel clattered his plate into the sink. Maya let out a soft whimper from her mother's arms, travelling across the kitchen, getting his attention first, and Leela—half-awake, hair mussed, sweater slipping off one shoulder—murmured, “You’re being loud.”

Joel grabbed his jacket off the chair, shoving an arm through one sleeve. “Ain’t got time to be quiet. Tommy's gonna blow a fuse.”

Leela huffed, rubbing a hand over her face. “You ever think about waking up ten minutes earlier?”

Joel snorted, already at the door. “You ever think about wakin’ up with me?”

That earned him a half-hearted glare over her shoulder. “I'm a night owl. I need the dark to think.”

Maya stirred, a tiny, bleary-eyed thing, her hands stretching toward him. Joel hesitated, foot already over the threshold.

Leela, catching the way his shoulders pulled tight, sighed. “Go, Joel.”

“Don't work yourself too hard while I'm gone,” he warned.

Leela just hummed in accord, adjusting Maya against her shoulder.

Joel hesitated. Then, before he could think twice, he ducked back in, pressing a long, deep kiss to her lips, holding her chin tight between his palm, just until he fought for breath.

She startled when he pulled away, blinking up at him. Then playfully shoved at his chest to get him out the door. “Go already.”

But some days—the best days—mornings were slow. Breakfast on the island or out on the porch, the intense scent of coffee thick in the cold air, his hand curled around the mug that curled out steaming ribbons into his face, while Leela sat beside him, legs tucked up under herself, grinning at him over the rim of her cup.

Joel tipped his mug toward his lips, letting the heat of the coffee melt into him. Watching her.

She tilted her head, nudging his thigh with her knee. “Are you always this quiet in the mornings? I never noticed.”

Joel glanced at her. “Ain’t got much to say with you around.”

She raised a brow, taking a small sip of her own coffee. “That so?”

Joel smirked, sipping slowly. “Just like listenin’ to you talk.”

Leela scoffed. “That’s funny. ‘Cause last time I checked, you like cutting me off halfway.”

Joel pursed his lips, considering. “Only when you’re talkin’ nonsense. Y'know, your little nerdspeak thing you do.”

Her mouth parted in excessive offence. “Oh, so my technicalities are nonsense?”

Joel blew into his coffee cup. “Mm.”

She gave him a slow, evaluating look, then nudged him hard enough that coffee nearly sloshed over the rim of his cup.

“Goddammit, girl.” He shot her a glare, but it was ruined by the way his lips were twitching.

The mornings when snow blanketed the whole town, and he’d bundle Maya up like a little marshmallow, watching her waddle out into the white, her excitement vibrating through every inch of her tiny body. He’d stand there on the porch, arms crossed, watching her vigilantly as she threw herself into the snow, chubby hands slapping the ground, kicking her little legs while Leela laughed beside him.

Sometimes, mornings like this used to feel like a chore. Errands. Town. A list scrawled on his palm, running through daily tasks that he used to do alone—back when it had just been him and Sarah, back when Saturday mornings meant grocery runs, when her tiny hands would have been in his, tugging him toward whatever caught her eye.

Now, it was Maya, and she was a whole different kind of trouble.

Leela had gone off to meet Maria at the dam—something about some loose wiring, an issue that she was insisting she could fix, even though Joel had very strong feelings about her doing anything that required standing near running water with electrical tools. But that left him here, alone with Maya, tackling grocery shopping.

Joel let her wander, let her explore at her own level, tiny squeaky boots padding against the wooden floorboards of the trading post, soft little oohs and ahs slipping from her lips whenever she spotted something that intrigued her. He kept one eye on the list, the other on her, reaching out every so often to keep her from knocking into someone’s knees or tugging on a coat that didn’t belong to her.

But the second she drifted too far—too quick, too small, lost too easy in the crowd—he was on her.

A sigh deep in his chest, scooping her up, tucking her under his arm while she squealed and huffed, little hands batting at him in protest. Little gremlin.

“Don't gimme that, baby girl,” he muttered, setting her down just long enough to grab the last thing on his list.

Potatoes. Should’ve been easy. Joel let go of her hand for two damn seconds to grab the bag from the shelf—and when he turned back, she was gone.

His stomach dropped.

“Christ, not again,” he muttered under his breath, shifting his basket to his hip. “Maya?”

No answer. Just the quiet squeak of her boots, quick little steps padding away.

“Maya!”

Joel pushed past people, scanning, breath already working too hard through his nose. It wasn’t panic—not exactly—but it was something close. He had to remind himself that she wasn't made of glass and this was Jackson, yet that was still his baby.

His eyes locked on her in an instant. “Fast fuckin' menace,” he muttered.

She was standing a few feet away, tiny and oblivious, playing with the tab of a can of beans, flicking it up and down with rapt fascination. Didn't even bother looking at him.

Someone was crouched in front of her, blocking her from view. “Where’s your mother, sweetheart?”

Joel already knew who it was before he even reached them.

“Eugene,” he called.

The man glanced up at him, eyes narrowing for a beat before recognition settled in, mouth stretching into a knowing grin. “Miller.” He stood with a grunt, rolling out his shoulders. “Hey, help me out here. This kid’s parent—”

“Is me,” Joel muttered, already reaching for Maya, plucking her up onto his hip like she belonged nowhere else. “C'mere, trouble,” and a firm kiss to the top of her head, his fingers pressing into her tiny back.

“You?” Eugene questioned, thrown off balance.

What, had he been living under a rock? Maya had been the talk of the town since she'd been born. Who speaking off, squealed, giggling, smacking a hand against his cheek—some little game she’d apparently decided was hilarious.

“Me,” Joel confirmed, levelling Eugene with a look. “We got a problem?”

Eugene made a low sound in his throat, eyes flicking between them, like he was sizing up a damn prize mule. Then his mouth curled up once more.

“Oh yeah, I see it,” he said, nodding. “She’s got your big-ass nose.”

“Fuck off.”

“Calmeth thy tits,” Eugene grinned, “I’m tryna be polite.”

“Don’t need it.”

Eugene raised his hands in mock surrender, chuckling under his breath. “So this is why you’ve been copping out of patrol a lot lately. Got Tommy's panties in a twist.”

He nodded toward Maya, who had now taken to tugging on Joel’s beard, testing its durability like she had every right in the world to grab at her old man’s face.

Joel sighed, prying her fingers free one by one. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “Guess it is.”

“Yeah, by the looks of it, she's a handful. Cute as shit, though.”

And Eugene—he just stood there a second. Looking at Joel, smelling strongly of weed, basket in his grip, a box of food from the canteen and a bottle of whiskey sitting inside.

Joel saw it then. The difference between them. An old ghost of himself.

Eugene—the kind of man he might’ve been had it not been his instinct to quiet a baby's cries from next door. A year ago, maybe even less, he would’ve been the one with the bottle of whiskey in his cart, the one picking up meals from the canteen instead of making them. The one going home alone.

Eugene exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Huh,” he muttered. Then, a nod, a flash of grudging pride behind his eyes. “You came through. Good for you, Miller.”

Joel didn’t have the words for it. Didn’t know how to put into words what this was, what it felt like to have this, to have them—after years of nothing.

So he just cleared his throat and adjusted Maya in his arms. Eugene just chuckled, slapping a hand on his shoulder before stepping past him, humming under his breath.

Eugene didn’t walk off right away.

Joel could feel him there—still standing at his side, still weighing the words on his tongue. It set his teeth on edge, the way Eugene hesitated. Like he was debating whether to say what was already burning behind his lips.

Then, finally—

“You wanna tell me why Ellie and Dina are so interested in the Fireflies all of a sudden?”

Joel went winded. The Maya's little weight in his arms was suddenly the only thing keeping him upright, keeping him tethered. He barely blinked. Barely breathed.

His voice bit out dangerously low. “The hell are you talkin’ about?”

Eugene tightened the basket in his grip. Shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. But his eyes were sharp when they cut to Joel, measuring.

“She’s been askin’ these ex-Firefly folks like me and Tommy,” he told him. “Came to me couple nights back—askin’ if I knew anything. If I’d heard anything about ‘em regrouping.”

Joel swallowed, throat dry as dust.

His grip on Maya didn’t tighten—he made sure of that. Kept his hands gentle, careful, even as the rest of him braced. But inside—inside, he clenched up like a fist.

Ellie. Asking about the Fireflies.

It wasn’t panic curling up his spine. Worse.

Because she’d known. She’d gone back to that hospital. She’d walked through the bloodstains, the echoes of gunfire, the remnants of what he’d done. She’d seen the truth laid bare, stripped of all the justifications he’d tried to wrap around it. And she’d spent months—years—dragging herself through the wreckage, trying to make sense of it.

Trying to make peace with him.

He’d watched her try. Seen it in the way she forced herself to stay, even when the silence stretched too long between them. In the way she looked at him sometimes, like she was still searching for something, still waiting for an answer he could never give. He thought—he hoped—that with time, she’d let it rest. That the scars would settle, and they could leave that part of their lives buried where it belonged.

But now—now they were here again.

And Joel didn’t know if they could come back from it this time.

The walls of the room felt like they were creeping in closer, like if he stood still too long, he’d get swallowed whole, but Joel forced his breath steady. In. Out. In. Out. Kept his shoulders loose even as something behind his ribs coiled tight, wound like a spring.

“And?” He made his voice even, ironing out the edges. “You tell her anythin’?”

Eugene huffed, shaking his head. “Nothin’ worth tellin’. Just old stories, y’know? Old bases, old rumours, old movement. And about that research base over at Caltech. I don’t know what she’s lookin’ for, but maybe keep an eye out for your other little girl, too, yeah?”

Joel stared at nothing. His heart pounded heavy, like a fist banging against a locked door. Ellie had stopped asking a long time ago. Or at least, he’d thought she had. Maybe she’d just stopped asking him.

But why now? After all this time?

Not unless—

His mind snagged on the past few weeks. The time Ellie had been spending across the way. The quiet conversations, the way she lingered at their porch, shifting her weight like she was waiting on something. He hadn’t thought much of it at first. Leela kept to herself, and Ellie wasn’t exactly a social butterfly. Two closed-off people drifting toward each other, not expecting much in return.

But that wasn’t it.

Ellie was digging.

And Leela had handed her the shovel.

Of course she had.

Joel’s stomach twisted, that sourness settling deep. He should’ve seen it sooner. Should’ve recognized the signs.

Leela—the girl with something ripped from her before she ever had the chance to claim it. A name that couldn’t be rooted in history. A life that had been rewritten for her before she could write it herself.

Ellie had always been drawn to ghosts. The lost, the forgotten, the ones who didn’t get a choice. She saw herself in them. Clung to them. And Leela—she was another reflection in the glass.

Another kid who could’ve been something more.

Another wasted potential.

Another shot at redemption.

Joel clenched his teeth. He should’ve seen this coming. Should’ve stopped it before it got this far. Because this wasn’t just curiosity—not for Ellie. It never was. She was always looking for meaning in the wreckage. Always chasing the answers that would rip her open in the end.

And now she was looking again.

For the Fireflies. For Leela. For something she thought she’d lost. For something Joel had taken from her. Taken from them.

His chest tightened, breath coming sharp through his nose. He hadn’t just lied to Ellie all those years ago. He’d tried to close the door. To bury it, deep enough that she’d never claw it back to the surface. But maybe that was never the way it was going to go. Maybe it had just been a matter of time.

Eugene must’ve caught something in his expression, because he turned fully then, brows knitting together.

“You alright, Miller?”

Joel blinked. Swallowed. Got a hold of himself

“Yeah.” His voice was rough, scraped raw. “M’fine.”

Eugene didn’t look convinced. “You take care now.”

And maybe—for the first time in a long time—Joel wasn’t either.

But Eugene didn’t push. Just cleared his throat, nodded once, winked at Maya, and finally stepped away, boots heavy against the floorboards.

Joel stood there a second longer, the world shifting around him. It was a feeling he despised. The sensation of something slipping just beyond his grasp.

Then he looked down at Maya, small and soft in his arms, her tiny hand curled into the fabric of his coat, trusting. “Da-da, go. Go.”

The only part of his world that still made sense. He focused on that. On her warmth.

He pressed a kiss to her temple, breathing her in. “Yeah, baby. Let's go.”

Then turned, stepping toward the door, already knowing—

He needed to find Ellie. Now.

X

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falling | joel miller x fem!oc (part ix)

summary: Winter rolls into Jackson once more, but things are heating up in the big, white house across the street.

a/n: 18+ MDNI smut, but are you ready for the most wholesome smut you've ever read in your life? also update -> so, heh, I'm not really great at smut per se, this one, I've really tried to capture the luuurv, the physicality of it, and I really hope I've done it justice. also, happy earth day people!

There came a time in Joel’s life when he grew so used to boring bullshit that he actually preferred it. He didn’t know if that was old age creeping up on him, dragging him toward the inevitability of doing absolutely nothing, or if he was just plain tired of a life spent running from one disaster to the next. Either way, he found himself appreciating the small mercies. His own simple pleasures.

Going to bed without whiskey clawing its way down his throat. Waking up without his head feeling like a busted canteen. Fresh, warm socks straight from the laundry. Knuckling down and figuring out how to cook something that wasn’t just oatmeal or meat cooked to leather, not because he had to, but because he wanted to get it right.

At some point, he realized he didn’t care much to keep busy anymore—except for when it came to Leela and Maya. But it was strange how a simple life could still surprise him, could still land a punch straight to the ribs with five little words:

“Why don’t you stay here?”

It had caught him mid-sip, a few days after Leela’s little weed trip, while they were eating dinner. He’d had to set his cup down and stare at her. Make sense of it for three seconds. Even though the answer had already been waiting in his gut, inevitable as sunrise, he had smiled:

“Why not, darlin’?”

And yeah, he loved the big, white house. It was Jackson's history, with old black-and-white pictures lining the walls—Leela’s parents, grandparents, ghosts of people who had walked these halls before him. And maybe, in some small way, he was stitching himself into its bones with his work, care, and name. All the little fond memories in every nook of the home. His hands had worn themselves raw winterizing the garden, keeping the fences up, and scraping, painting, hammering, and patching up Maya’s nursery when she got naughty enough to climb right out of the crib. Light fixtures, floorboards, leaky pipes—he’d wrenched his calf muscle twice trying to fix that goddamn water heater.

Now, as Joel sat at Tommy’s dining table, peeling peas like a goddamn housewife, shoulders hunched, fingers working on autopilot, he continued sneaking glances at them—stuck on them. On all the ways it wasn’t working—on all the ways it was. Why not him?

Maya was perched on Tommy’s arm, fiddling with the salt shaker like it was some great mystery waiting to be solved. Tommy, for all his grumbling about how much of a menace she was, held her tight. That kid had him wrapped around her tiny little finger, and everyone knew it. He’d drive her nuts—hide her favourite toy just to get a rise out of her, tease her until she was practically throwing hands at him—but she’d always come racing back, tossing her arms around his neck, giggling as he swung her up high.

Joel’s hands stilled into peeling the peapod.

It was impossible not to notice how Maria and Tommy moved like two parts of a well-oiled machine. He watched them in the kitchen, just weaving in and out of each other’s space without thinking. Like those buzz magnets Sarah used to stick on the fridge from the capsule toys, repelling, colliding, but always snapping back into place. A hand passed a spoon without looking, a playful bump of the hip, a shared smile that needed no words. Tommy smoothed a hand over Maria’s forehead as she ducked too close to a sharp corner, and she didn’t flinch—just trusted.

Maria smirked at him. “Baby, you hover worse than Joel.”

“Please,” Tommy scoffed, stroking up her back. “Joel’s got me beat by a mile. He’s like a damn watchdog with our kid.” He bounced Maya on his arm, glancing at Joel. “Ain’t that right, big brother?”

Joel rolled his eyes, focusing back on the peas. “She’s one. Anybody with a brain watches a toddler.”

Tommy tsked. “You hear that, Maya? Your mean ol' daddy just called me stupid.”

“I mean, if the shoe fits,” Maria teased, setting a pot on the stove.

Maya giggled, still turning the salt shaker in her hands, getting salt everywhere. “Stew-pid.”

Tommy let out a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest like he’d been wounded. “Et tu, Brute?” He kissed her cheek anyway, undeterred.

Joel shook his head, hiding a smirk. He didn’t say it, but Tommy wasn’t wrong. He was like a watchdog when it came to Maya. Couldn’t help it. That little girl had carved out a place in him that he didn’t even know was still open. His little girl. Maybe not by blood. Maybe not by title. But she was his. Just like Sarah had been. Just like Ellie was.

But maybe that’s why watching Tommy and Maria hurt in a way he wasn’t ready to admit. Because what they had—this effortless, built-in kind of love—wasn’t something he’d dreamt of. Now he wanted it.

It wasn’t even physical, not really. It was just… love. Uncomplicated. Reciprocated. A year ago, he would’ve grunted something about getting a room. Tommy would’ve shot back about owning the whole damn house. But now—

He swallowed, shifting in his chair, wondering. Did he and Leela look like that in their home?

No, hell no. No, he wasn’t the type to put effort into how they were perceived. He barely liked acknowledging it himself, how he softened around her, how he let himself be someone else—someone better—when she was near. But it happened anyway, didn’t it? Without him meaning to. Made him want things.

And ever since he wholly made his home at their big, white house, he was sinking into it.

His love for her wasn’t flashy. He didn’t know how far to go beyond small things. He wasn’t the romantic kind of man, the kind to pick flowers or whisper pretty words. He wasn’t great at it, and wasn’t sure how far to go beyond having her coffee ready by her bedside in the morning. Beyond making sure that when he washed the dishes, hers were the first ones he cleaned, every time. Beyond leaving all the hot water for her and Maya, even if it meant stepping into a freezing shower himself when the temperatures were dropping fast.

She never noticed.

Or maybe she did. Because she had her own ways.

He wasn’t proud of how stupidly fond he got over the little things. The times he’d find his old boots, the ones he refused to part with, sitting by his bed freshly polished, patched up with rubber cement like new. Or how the busted projector in the dusty TV room—the one he’d given up on fixing—suddenly worked one night, humming quietly, waiting for him to indulge in some shitty action flick. She never made a big deal out of it and never expected anything in return. She just did things, because that’s how she loved.

God, the damn dopey grin he let out every time he caught on.

But they didn’t move in sync the way Tommy and Maria did around their home. here were rituals and rhythms, but they were dominoes—Joel would pick up where she left off.

Hell, they didn’t even sleep in the same bed. There was always a line. Physical. Emotional. Always a line, a place where he had to stop, where he had to get off.

He hated that fucking line.

He thought they’d been getting somewhere. That all the careful comforts, the small reassurances, the time—that it had chipped away at whatever was keeping her so guarded. Then there was that night.

That late night played back in his mind like a bad dream.

Leela, pacing back and forth, frustrated noises slipping past her throat, her blackboards covered in endless scribbles, eyes darting too fast, too desperate. Her hands shook as she wrote, erased, and rewrote. Then, suddenly, she just… crumpled. Joel found her there like that at two in the morning. Collapsed to her knees. Silent sobs racked her whole body, hands gripping at her hair, shoulders curling inward like she was trying to disappear into herself. The kind of cry that tore her apart, that was meant to be hidden.

It was like a jagged blade to the ribs, seeing her that way, and trying to ignore it. His Leela. His tireless, self-sufficient, do-everything-alone Leela, folded in on herself like a wounded animal.

He’d been on his knees before he even thought about it, hands reaching for hers.

“Hey, baby—” He cupped her palms, kissed them, trying to soothe her out. “It’s okay, darlin’. It’ll come to you.”

And then—she shoved him away. Like he burned her. Like she couldn’t stand him being there. “You don't know anything.”

“No,” he murmured, setting his palms on his knees, “but, talk me through it. I'm right here.”

And he tried to stroke the back of her head now, just to ground her to him, but before he could touch her, she'd jostled his hand off her.

“Please just leave me alone, please,” she’d choked out, voice small, broken. Final.

She might as well have reached into his chest and crushed his heart with her bare hands. He swallowed everything he wanted to say, everything he wanted to do, and stood up, silent. Left her there like he was the one who had misstepped.

And ever since that fucking breakthrough—the discovery she had been chasing for years on end—it had been like this. Slipping. Slipping deeper into whatever obsession had taken hold of her, staring past her own life's work like there was another world hidden behind it. Like she’d solved the last goddamn piece of the puzzle but couldn’t stop staring past it, searching for something else. A prisoner to her mind, a slave to her intellect—and he had no clue how to save her from herself.

He thought a discovery meant solace. That she’d finally rest. Kick back and focus on raising her perfect kid. Instead, she was spiralling. Faster. Harder. And he was left standing there, watching her slip through his fingers.

And maybe he should just let it happen. Let her go. Let her chase whatever was in her head, let it take her, let it swallow her whole. Ignore it, let it blow up in his face, pick up the pieces, and move on. It seemed like the easier option.

Because he sure as hell wasn’t dragging her on some death trip to L.A. to get a bunch of scholars’ rubber stamp of approval. And for what? To hear a bunch of stuck-up assholes tell her what she already knew? To chase after something that might not even be there anymore, past the patrol trails that promised nothing but death?

It wasn’t happening. Not on his watch.

“Joel, can you take this out to the kids, please?” Maria’s voice cut clean through his thoughts. He blinked, glancing up just as she pushed a bowl of garlic knots toward him. “Don’t want them starving before dinner’s done.”

Kids. How the hell Leela had ended up in that category was beyond him. But she’d started hanging around Ellie and her friends more, all of them messing around with her, out of good heart or the fuck of it, he did not know. They’d even managed to rope her into their little hijinks late into the night, like right now.

He’d seen Ellie dragging her outside earlier, that same oversized stack of star charts that Leela had gifted her tucked under her arm, Dina and Jesse trailing right after her with waves, and practically buzzing with excitement. He’d heard snippets of the invitation—something about mapping the constellations, something about seeing the stars “like they used to be.” And, to his surprise, Leela had actually gone along with them.

From inside, he’d catch the sound of laughter floating through the backyard. It wasn’t much, but hell, it was a little relief, knowing she was out there, around some good spirits, instead of pacing around those goddamn blackboards like she was trying to solve the meaning of life.

He stood to take the bowl out, but before he could even make it past the table—

“Da-da.”

Joel stopped in his tracks. Maya had her hands stretched toward him, little fingers grabbing at the air, grinning mouth already open in expectation.

“Pease gimme,” she demanded.

He snorted, reaching over to pop his finger between her lips instead. “Nice try, baby girl. Dinner first.”

“Pease, pease! Aw, da-da!” she whined, brown eyes big and pleading, nearly changing his heart, wriggling against Tommy’s chest in an attempt to get to him.

He just shook his head, slipping away toward the hallway. “Gotta do better than that.”

Tommy was already distracting her with a spoonful of tomato soup that was bubbling away by the time he stepped out the back door.

Outside, the kids were alright. Dina and Jesse were off to one side by the fences, heads bent together in their own little world. Joel should’ve broken them up, should’ve told them to leave some damn space between them, but—

His eyes flicked to Ellie instead.

She was standing a few feet away, arms crossed, staring at the happy couple long and hard. And the second she felt Joel watching her, she snapped her gaze away, clearing her throat and focusing on Leela instead. He tried not to dwell on it, though his brows shot right up in question.

Leela, on the other hand—she wasn’t paying attention to any of it.

She had her head tilted up, her gaze tracking the sky, that damn star map spread open in her hands. She was muttering under her breath, tracing something invisible in the air, her brows drawn together in deep concentration. That look she got—the one where her whole world shrank down to whatever puzzle was in front of her—alive, glowing.

It was the same look she had when she worked through some problem scrawled across her blackboards. The same look she had when she was fixing something—quiet, focused, all sharp edges and restless movement, pulling things apart just to put them back together again. It was amazing how much Maya looked like her mama, she had that exact same look when she tried to decipher the chords as he played guitar.

And god help him, he loved Leela like this. Loved the way she got lost in things, the way her mind worked like a racecar engine. Loved the way she’d get so caught up in the details that she’d forget the rest of the world existed, forget to eat, forget to sleep—loved it, even when it pissed him off.

Loved her. Jesus, it was amazing how his old ass could still get hooked on a girl like this.

Ellie barely had a second to react before he shoved the bowl into her chest. “Haven’t missed the boat just yet, kiddo,” he teased.

Ellie shot him a glare. “Oh, fuck you, Joel.” She shoved a garlic knot into her mouth. “I know Leela’s only tolerating your ass.”

Joel chuckled, stepping forward.

Leela was still lost in the map, tapping a finger against her temple, muttering under her breath as her eyes darted between the lines and symbols. Joel quietly came up behind her, lowering just enough to brush his lips against her ear.

“Lookin' up at your own kind?” he murmured.

Ellie, mid-chew, made an exaggerated gagging noise.

Joel, grumbling, kicked a lazy leg in her direction. “Get outta here. Go on, git.”

Ellie rolled her eyes, snatching another garlic knot from the bowl before slinking off into the house.

Joel, though—he stayed.

Leela finally glanced up from her map, blinking at him like she’d just realized he was there. The slight furrow of her brow softened, the haze of focus giving way to a quiet, warm smile. “Hi, Joel.”

That smile. His name shaped like a hymn on her lips. Subtle. A thing most people wouldn’t catch if they weren’t looking for it. But Joel was always looking, listening. And God, he loved catching her like this. Unaware, until she wasn’t.

He smiled back, slow and knowing, waiting for her to say something else, maybe acknowledge the way he’d lowered his voice just for her, the way he’d leaned in close enough for his breath to stir a few strands of her hair—

But she didn’t. She just turned back to her damn star chart, completely disregarded his sorry attempt at flirting, as if he was nothing more than a passing shadow.

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. The only thing worse than flirting with Leela was getting ignored by her.

The air had shifted before he had even noticed. Not by much—just enough that he could feel it. The barely-there stiffness in her shoulders, all the implicit everything sinking in the inches between them.

Because this was the first time he’d properly approached her in two days. He hadn't crossed past the courtesies or bare necessities, this time, he felt like it had soothed over.

The last time being her breakdown. And she was here now—outside, breathing, looking up at the sky like she hadn’t spent days holed up in that house, tangled in her own mind. Like she was okay.

But Joel knew better.

Leela clucked her tongue, rolling up the chart in frustration. “It’s like I’m wasting my potential.” A sigh, thin and frayed at the edges. “I can’t think straight. I can’t find the stupid… star. Something’s wrong with me.”

Joel nudged his shoulder into hers, trying to shake something loose. “There ain't nothin’ wrong with you. You just need to get out of the house a little more.”

She shook her head, already brushing him off. “I’m not teaching at the school, Joel. I told you, it's not for me.”

There was something automatic about the way she said it—premeditated. A flicker of irritation behind her eyes, like she’d already decided where this conversation was going before he even had the chance to take it there.

Joel just lifted a brow. “Not askin' you to.”

Leela blinked, lips parting slightly. Like maybe she’d expected an argument. But he wasn’t Tommy or Maria. He wasn’t anyone else. He wasn’t trying to fix her.

Leela ran a hand down her face, rubbing at her eyes. “I just… it’s so incomplete.” Her voice wavered slightly, barely above a whisper. “I know I’m done, I ran the numbers a hundred times, but I—” She bit her lip, frustration flickering across her face. "I can’t stand the fact that I don’t have anything else to work toward.”

Joel studied her for a long moment.

This wasn’t just about the damn star chart. She needed something. A goal, a project—something to occupy her hands, her mind, something to pour herself into. Because without it, she was stuck in her own head. Stuck waiting.

He reached out, sliding a hand to the back of her head. His fingers traced slow, absentminded strokes before his arm draped heavy around her shoulders, pulling her into his side.

“You need a break, darlin’.”

Leela let herself sink against him, nestling her nose against the worn fabric of his shirt. Her hands slipped against his sides, resting at his ribs, tentative, like she hadn’t touched him in a while and wasn’t sure if she still could.

“And do what?”

“Help me fix up that swing for Maya’s birthday.”

Joel felt the small hitch in her breath before she even lifted her head.

“Maya’s—” She gasped, cupping a hand over her mouth. “Oh my God, her birthday. I completely—” Her voice broke slightly. “How did you know?”

Joel shrugged. “Did some mental math. She was barely a month old when we first met. Figure it’s comin’ up soon.”

Leela closed her eyes. “Yes. Christmas.”

“Holly jolly Christmas baby,” he said, snickering. He didn’t know if it was hard-luck or fortuitous that their baby girl’s birthday overlapped with a holiday.

Leela groaned softly, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes. “I’m a terrible mother.”

Joel made a derisive noise, picking her hands off her eyes before cupping her cold cheek. “Nah, just a scatterbrained one.”

And when she finally laughed—light, breathy, warm—it was as if he’d struck gold.

He let himself look at her then. Her long hair was a mess, spilling around her face from the loose braid, wild and tangled from where she’d been tugging at it in frustration. The stars flecked in her big, dark eyes, dim and soft, like the whole night sky had been stitched there just for him.

Christ, he loved her. It hit him in strange moments like this. Not in the middle of some grand declaration, not when they were on the brink of tragedy. Just here. Just in the way she folded against him, breathing slow, in the way she trusted him enough to let her guard down.

Joel brushed his thumb against her temple. “You’re alright, you know that?”

Leela blinked. “What?”

“You,” he murmured. “You’re doin' okay. I've got you now.”

A breath. Then she smiled—small, almost imperceptible, but there. And Joel, stupid, old fool that he was—he fucking melted.

Because he’d said nothing special. Just a handful of words, low and gruff and barely above a whisper. And yet—there was something in her eyes now, reassurance, like she needed to hear it, and she hadn’t let herself believe it until now. Until he said it. Until it came from him.

She tiptoed, her forehead leaning into his, her fingers curling lightly into his shirt. He could feel the warmth of her breath, feel the way she hesitated for just a second, like maybe she was unsure—

But then she kissed him.

Slow, soft, uncertain, and God help him, but he could’ve crushed her right into his bones. “Right now?”

“Just a little one,” she whispered against his lips.

“Killin' me.”

Because it had been too fucking long since he had her like this—since she let him have her like this. And for weeks now, ever since that weed trip of hers, he’d been holding himself back, watching her from a distance, all while within their house, twenty-four by seven, just waiting for the right moment.

His large hand found the curve of her throat, his thumb pressing gently beneath her jaw as he tilted her into his smiling lips, deepening the kiss. She tasted of him, of her, a blend of them both, and Joel wanted to drown in it.

She made a soft noise against his lips, barely there, but felt, and he was already stretching for her ass, already—

“Mama!”

Joel flinched, eyes still half-lidded, mind heady with her, with them, but—Leela broke away immediately, her head snapping toward the deck.

And there stood Maya. The little menace herself, gripping the railing for balance, two entire garlic knots stuffed in her tiny fist.

Joel sighed sharply, tilting his head back toward the sky. Just on time, the peanut-butt cockblocker.

Maya’s attention wasn’t on them, though. No, she was too focused on her real struggle—getting herself down the stairs while holding onto both knots, because apparently, letting go was out of the question.

Joel huffed, already moving. “Hey-ey—now, who the heck gave you those?”

Because Maya didn’t just find food. No, that kid knew exactly who to ask and how to ask. A little manipulator before she even hit two years old.

Maya just grinned at him, all teeth and mischief, one cheek puffed out with the stolen bread, and Joel didn’t even have to guess which poor soul had caved under that wide-eyed, baby-faced con job.

He reached for Maya's hand. “Gimme that. Didn’t I tell you no snacks before dinner?”

And because she was, without a doubt, his worst nightmare—she twisted away from him with a high-pitched squeal, shoving another bite into her mouth as she waddled to the other side of the deck.

Joel sighed. “Goddamn it, trouble.”

Behind him, Leela laughed with her daughter, already climbing up onto the deck. “Alright. C’mere, baby.”

Maya didn’t fight her. Just beamed up at her mama, eyes bright and full of adoration. Leela crouched before her, brushing at the curls on her forehead.

“Can you feed Mama one?”

And just like that—without hesitation—Maya held one out. Anything her mother said, she followed. Anything at all. It was Joel she was coming to rebel against with her little cheekiness. And Joel being completely susceptible to her charms, fell for it constantly.

Leela leaned in, mouth open, and Maya giggled before pushing the knot between her lips.

Joel shook his head, arms crossed over his chest, watching them. Leela, the master Maya manipulator, struck once more.

She hummed in approval, chewing theatrically. “Mmm, so good. One more, please?”

And Maya, delighted, shoved the other half-eaten, slobbery garlic knot into her mother’s mouth.

Joel made a noise. “Jesus.”

Leela, struggling through a laugh, wiped her mouth, grinning. “Thank you, baby.”

Maya clapped her hands together, voice piping up—“No-mo.”

Leela licked some garlic butter from her thumb, grunting as lifted Maya onto her hip. “Let’s get something real to eat before your poor dad pops a vein on his head.”

Joel scoffed, following them up the stairs, feeling every damn step in his knees. “Pop a vein—psh, yeah, you wish.”

Dinner with the Millers' was always a big thing nowadays. Joel, finally, had found himself growing used to the way the table felt a little more complete now, moored closer to one of his own.

Back in the old days—hell, even when it was just him and Tess in Boston—meals were quiet, nothing but the clink of cutlery, the scrape of bowls, the occasional grunt of acknowledgement if someone asked for the last bite. Food had been something to get through, not something to enjoy.

But here? This? It was a whole damn production.

It seemed like Leela, Maria, and Tommy were trying to outdo each other on every dinner occasion. Joel never saw them outright say it, but the evidence was all right here—plates filled to the brim with roasted vegetables and some sort of braised meat that smelled damn near decadent. There was even fresh bread, sliced and golden, butter melting into the soft notches. Warmth, everywhere—lamplight spilling golden across the table, the faint crackle of the fireplace, boots nudging against each other under the table.

And noise. So much noise.

Jesse had ducked out early, leaving Dina to make herself at home beside Ellie, and it didn’t take long for them to get into it.

“Okay, but that is not how you use a fuckin' knife,” Ellie was saying, waving her fork in Dina’s face.

Maria sighed. “There's a talking toddler at the table.”

As if on cue, Maya smacked her little hand onto the table. Ellie showed her teeth at her, sheepish. “My bad.”

Dina rolled her eyes, all dramatic. “Well, excuse me for not being a serial killer, Miss ‘Lemme Show You The Proper Stabbing Technique.’”

Joel smirked at that one, chewing on a piece of trout.

It was a different kind of comfort. Something he still wasn’t used to—this abundance after a long time.

And then there was Leela, stealing his heart, piece by piece. The way she’d always scooted her chair a little closer to his. The way her knee brushed his under the table. The way she let him rest a hand over her thigh, stroke it when he was tense like it was all his. The way she’d laugh when someone cracked a joke at his expense—which was often—squeezing his shoulder like he was some goddamn kicked puppy before turning back to her plate.

Didn’t even take long for that to happen. Joel knew Tommy had that look in his eye—that look, the one that meant he was about to open his dumbass mouth. And sure enough...

“So,” Tommy started, all innocent-like. “How's shackin’ up in the big house treatin’ ya, Mensch Miller?”

Joel wanted to put his fork through his brother’s skull. Right between the eyes. So, he barely spared him a glance. “Go to hell.”

Tommy snorted. “C’mon now, ain't no shame in it. We're all real proud of you for finally gettin’ over your fear of commitment. Folks?”

A round of agreements circled the table—Maria, Dina, even Ellie with a smirk and a nod, like they’d all been waiting for this exact moment. Joel sighed through his nose, already regretting every life choice that led him to this.

Dina leaned in, grinning. “Oh my God. Joel, did you finally put a ring on it?”

Ellie snorted. “Yeah, ‘cause there’s so many jewellery stores open these days.”

Joel shot her a flat look. “Could always carve one outta bone.”

Dina sighed with literal heart eyes. “Aww. So metal.”

Ellie recoiled instead. "Dude—what the actual fuck?"

Tommy wheezed at that one. But Leela didn’t react much at all. Just blinked at them, her expression blank, like she had no idea why the hell they were making such a big deal out of it. Then, casually, like it was the most obvious thing in the world—

“We’re partners,” she said simply, reaching up to his jaw, nails scraping at his scruff. “Right, Joel?”

Joel damn near choked on his own tongue.

Because—what the hell? She wasn’t one for casual touches, wasn’t one for public anything, really. Wasn't some joke, not a passing comment—she just said it, plain as anything. Like it was a truth she’d already made peace with.

Partners. Not a maybe. Not a half-measure. A fact. Halves. Two mates. And it knocked the wind right out of him.

Because Joel had spent so damn long waiting—waiting for her to say something, to define this thing between them, to give him even the smallest indication that she saw him as more than just a man passing through her life.

And here she was, not making a big deal out of it. Not afraid of it, simply stating the obvious. Because fuck, she was right. They were partners now. He had a partner now.

A slow sip of his drink was the only thing that kept him from making an absolute fool of himself.

Dina cackled, slapping the table. “Look at his face. I frickin' love you, Leela.”

Ellie groaned, shoving a bite of food into her mouth. “Jesus, you two deserve each other.”

Maria smirked. “So when’s the big day?”

Dina hummed. “Mm-mm, she'll have to wait, Joel promised to make the ring out of bone.”

Ellie gagged. “Oh my God, Dina—could you please stop with the bone talk?”

Tommy snickered, elbowing him. “Never thought I’d see the day. Big brother all wrangled up.”

Joel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know I got a gun, right?”

Tommy waved a hand, still grinning. “Yeah, yeah. But you ain't shootin’ me ‘cause our baby girl would be real mad at you.”

And then, of course, there was his baby girl in the midst of all this. It had become second nature by now—the back-and-forth of it all, alternating between holding Maya, fending off his teasing family, and feeding her.

Not that it was much of a competition with her. Most of the time, she quietly ended up in his lap, legs dangling over his thigh, picking curiously at the old scar on his forearm as he spooned food into her mouth.

Leela swore she’d grow out of that habit, but Joel wasn’t so sure. He’d seen that girl study the mark like it held the secrets of the universe since she was a few months old. Tiny fingers tracing the jagged edges, soft and intent, like she was mapping him.

Didn’t matter what he put in front of her—if he ate it, she ate it.

Thank God she wasn’t a picky eater like her mama. He still remembered the first few months of trying to get Leela to eat like a normal person—always picking at her food, losing her appetite, always eating just enough and nothing more.

But Maya? Shit. She was his. His perfect little girl—but nothing like him. Loud, expressive, always moving, always talking. She loved to babble, loved to laugh, loved to feed him right from his own damn plate.

“Da-da, aah.”

He moved his head away. “Nuh-uh. Sit your little butt down.”

“Dinna, da-da.”

“I can eat my own dinner, thanks.”

When her adamant whine pierced through the noise on the table, he gave up. Joel barely glanced at her, already sighing as he opened his mouth.

Sure enough, Maya balanced her pudgy feet on his lap and shoved a forkful of fish into his mouth, giggling like she’d just accomplished something huge.

Joel chewed slowly, unimpressed. “Real nice.”

And then—just to add insult to injury—she reached up and patted his forehead, all delicate and reassuring, just like her mama did to her whenever she did something right.

Ellie snorted. “She's just teaching you manners, old man.”

Dina smirked. “Yeah, ever heard of ‘em?”

He shot them both a look but swallowed the bite anyway. Maya squealed like she knew she was being funny, then reached out for his plate again.

Joel sighed, nudging her grabby fingers away. “Alright, move it, baby girl. Ain’t no way you’re finishing my plate before I do.”

The conversation rolled on around him, blending into laughter and stories. Joel drifted in and out of it, shifting his focus between indulging Maya’s antics and half-listening to Tommy and Maria trade jabs about whose turn it was to cook next.

At some point, the conversation took a turn.

“So,” Tommy started, leaning back in his chair. “What’s next, Lee? The last big thing was that lightning harvester. Then you set up the new water filtration thing.” He gestured vaguely as if the list of things she’d accomplished was casual, nothing major. “You always got somethin’ cookin’. What’s next for Jackson?”

The table quieted just a fraction, all eyes shifting toward Leela with a familiar kind of expectation.

Joel felt her stiffen beside him. She didn’t answer right away, just glanced around at them—Dina, Ellie, Maria, Tommy—all waiting for some brilliant, world-changing answer.

But only Joel knew the sleepless nights, he’d seen her try to redo the math, rework the impossible, just to feel like she had something left to solve. So all he’d been able to do was let her at it, leave her to her circles and theories, and go back to bed, waiting for her to wear herself out. He knew that math of hers had wrecked her—driven her to the edge of exhaustion, of obsession.

And now, sitting here, she looked like she wanted to vanish.

So before the silence could stretch too long before they could push her for something she wasn’t ready to say—Joel spoke for her.

“She actually solved the Riemann hypothesis,” he said, casual as anything, like he was commenting on the weather. A little smug, too.

A beat.

Dina blinked. “The—what?”

Ellie narrowed her eyes. “You just made that up.”

Joel sighed, rubbing a hand over his beard. “Nah. It’s a real thing.” He reached for his water and took a slow sip. “Some math theory. Big deal, apparently. Heck if I knew.”

Tommy, to his credit, pretended like he was just hearing about it for the first time, looking between Joel and Leela with exaggerated surprise.

Dina scoffed. “You don’t know?”

Joel gave her a look. “Do I look like someone who spends his time thinkin’ about math?”

Ellie snorted. “Okay, but you can’t just say it’s a big deal and not even try to explain it.”

Joel sighed again, this time more dramatically, because this truly was exhausting him. “Alright. Uh… somethin’ ‘bout numbers. Division. Shit, I don’t fuckin’ know.” He absently stroked Maya's curls. “S’got a lotta squiggles and letters. But little miss genius figured it out.”

Ellie’s face twisted to a shit-eating grin. “Squiggles?”

Joel turned to Leela, mortified at himself, seeking some reprieve. “Tell ‘em.”

Leela, looking a little like she wanted to shrink into the floor, tucked her hair behind her ear and gave a small nod. “I um, did prove the theory. Took my family a really long time to complete.”

“Wait, actually. I've read about Riemann,” Dina went on, straightening in her seat. “That’s the whole—prime numbers thing—no one’s been able to solve that, right? And if you did, you get like a million dollars or something?”

Leela barely glanced up. “Yes, actually. Millenium Prize problem.”

Joel, watching her carefully, felt the way her fingers curled into the fabric of her pants under the table.

Ellie leaned in. “Okay, but like—now what? You can’t just—sit on that, right? Don’t you have to tell someone?”

Leela exhaled, slowly. “It’s… complicated. Our world isn't the way it was.”

Joel saw it—the way her shoulders went tight, the way her face shut down.

Dina wasn’t getting it. “How? This is, like, huge. You should—”

Maria, sensing the tension, jumped in smoothly. “What about you, honey? You got any idea on this?”

Tommy, still side-eyeing Joel, shrugged. “Nah. Not a clue.” He sipped his drink. “I was more into the rabble-rousin’ with the Fireflies. And these FEDRA shits wouldn't care about all that.”

Joel let out a tense breath.

Dina groaned dramatically, throwing herself back in her chair. “Man. Would’ve been so cool to have your name in a book. Or somewhere. Professor of Mathematics, Leela.”

Leela managed a small smile, but her gaze had gone distant.

And Joel hated it. Hated that look. That quiet, almost-accepting disappointment.

He hated that she knew this world didn’t have room for her name in a book. That she’d spent years solving a problem no one would ever see, ever care about. And that should’ve been fine, right? Should’ve been something she could accept. But it wasn’t, because despite everything, despite how much she pretended not to care, she did.

And Joel, he wished like hell there was something he could do about it. That tiny drop of hope snuffed out in her eyes. Like for half a second, she thought—maybe there was a world where what she’d done actually mattered.

And it did. Just not in a way that’d ever change a damn thing.

Joel clenched his jaw, staring down at his glass like it might hold an answer.

There weren’t any. Not for this.

Because he knew how he could help her. Knew there were people—out west, in LA—who might care, who might listen, who might actually do something with what she’d done. There were still Fireflies, still remnants of old-world thinkers, people scraping together the last bits of science that hadn’t been buried under blood and ruin.

And if he told her—if he let her know they existed—she might go.

Leave him. Leave their perfect baby girl. Leave home. And that—he couldn’t let happen.

He needed her here.

Call him selfish? Monomaniacal? Maybe. But he didn’t give a fuck.

Joel had lived his life losing. Lost Sarah, lost Tess, lost whatever scraps of himself made him good once. And now—now, he had her. Had Maya. Had a reason to come home at the end of the day that wasn’t just the routine of it. He had that little vestige of trust and faith back in him, even if the ghosts lingered. He slept knowing he was going to wake up with purpose that wasn't just behind the flare of a rifle or the scent of blood. He had love, a warm home, all this food, these people.

And if Leela left—No.

He wouldn’t think about that. Not ever. He'd give up his breath before she risked it like a fucking idiot.

So he’d keep his mouth shut. Play dumb. Let the world stay small for her, even when she was meant for something bigger. Even when he saw the ache of it in her eyes. Even when he hated himself for it. But that was fine, he'd grown used to his hate.

So he did the only thing he could do—he raised his damn glass.

“To Leela,” he said, confident, eyes warm when they landed on her. “For doin’ the impossible.”

Her head snapped toward him, eyes widening just a fraction. Under the table, her fingers curled tight around his knee, firm—don’t.

She wasn’t the type to bask in praise, wasn’t one to revel in attention. But Joel wasn’t gonna let her disappear into the silence. So instead of backing down, he just smirked, pried her hand off his knee, and brought it to his lips.

His mouth was rough, the scrape of his beard even rougher, but the way he kissed her knuckles—gentle, slow, promising. A prayer he wouldn’t say out loud.

She froze up, breath catching just enough for him to notice, just enough to make his heart slam against his ribs. This was good. She was okay.

The table had gone quiet.

Then Tommy grinned, lifting his glass. “To Lee.”

Maria followed, then Ellie and Dina, voices echoing the words, raising their drinks. “To Leela.”

And then—clap, clap, clap! Maya, grinning wide, smacked her little hands together, delighted by the sudden chorus of voices, as if she had any clue what was happening.

Joel huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “You like that, baby?”

Maya just kept clapping, giggling as she looked between Joel and Leela, as if she understood this was about her mama, and that meant it was something right.

And Leela—God, she was looking at him now, like he was impossible, like she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to kiss him or kill him. Joel just held her hand tight, letting his thumb trace slow circles into her skin.

“You deserve it,” he murmured in her ear, meant just for her.

Leela let out a soft breath, almost like a sigh. Then, with barely a beat between them, she squeezed his hand right back.

X

Joel knew he had it good because the thought of reality was the only thing keeping him awake. After all, it felt like his dreams had come true.

But of course, nowadays, when Joel slept, he closed his eyes and he fell deeply, just as he did in love and loss, displaced of his path back. When he did ultimately open his eyes once more to the old patterned ceiling, tucked up in a disgustingly comfortable bed, within a house you could hear the wind slide under the eaves, the soft creak of the old floors settling, Maya’s soft little snores down the hall, the occasional rustle of sheets when Leela moved on her bed, he wasn’t sure when life had slowed down like this, when the days stopped being about surviving and started being about living.

Whatever it was, it was all Leela. She had insisted he take the biggest room when he moved in, and she wouldn’t hear a word otherwise. Stubborn as a damn mule, she’d just stared him down when he tried to argue, and—hell. It wasn’t like he minded. The room was ridiculous, the bathroom even more, with more closet space than he’d ever need, but the real saving grace was the football-field-sized bed.

Probably a thousand silky white pillows, freshly washed and dusted, stacked against a plush leather headboard, spilling over a white duvet. Bed to end all beds. Big enough to sink in between. Lonely enough when it got dark. Close enough to Maya’s nursery that when she woke in the middle of the night, whimpering softly in the dark, he was already moving, already lifting her up before she got too lonely.

Outside, winter had crept in slowly. Mornings turned from golden to white, breaths corkscrewing in steam ribbons against the cold. The sky was that sharp, steel-grey that told you snow wasn’t far behind, and Joel had started waking up to a frost-lined world, rooftops silvered, trees edged in ice.

December now, and Jackson was easing into the Christmas season and spirit—garlands strung between shop corners, lights winking from one lamppost to the next, a huge tree going up in the square, handmade ornaments showing up on doors. He had his own big efforts for Maya's first birthday and Christmas.

And then—just like the night before—it hit him.

Maya was turning one soon. The thought still knocked something loose in him. This tiny thing, this impossibly small, impossibly bright piece of his world who barely reached his knee. Who stumbled around in her little boots like she had somewhere really important to be. Who giggled like it could undo every bad thing in the world, cutting straight through the cold, through the ache in his bones, like it was nothing.

His girl. God, that was still a hard thing to wrap his head around. That she belonged to him. That he belonged to her.

He lay back against the pillows, an arm resting behind his head, and let his fingers graze the stack of Polaroids and photographs scattered across his nightstand. He flipped through each one slowly like one of Maya's bedtime stories, but only this one was real.

One of him and Ellie, captured by Leela, sprawled out on the porch swing, their boots propped up against the rail. Ellie mid-laugh, a cup of iced lemonade dangling from her fingers, frozen in time. He could almost hear her voice, thick with dry humour, and see the way her nose scrunched when she got to the best part of whatever story she was telling.

Tommy, Maria and him, once again captured by Leela, arms slung around each other at the hoedown, cowboy hats tilted over their heads, two of them tipsy and flushed. A night of music and good beer and warmth—the kind of warmth that had been rare for too long. The kind they hadn’t thought they’d find again.

And then—his fingers slowed.

One of them. Pretty sure it was Ellie who took this one. Maya, wedged between him and Leela, four little teeth showing, curls and eyes shining, a fork clutched in her fist, attention stolen by something off-camera. Leela, so beautiful under the flash, one hand curled protectively at Maya’s back, the other resting lightly on the table. And Joel, beside them both, his smile unsure, caught between trying to look natural and trying not to think too much about how unnatural it still felt—being in a picture like this.

But when he looked at it now—it looked so real. The family aspect of it.

He held the photo at arm’s length, studying it, the three of them together.

Though he looked apart from them. Incohesive. Hell, anyone would say it. The rougher, older edges of him, the shade of his skin and theirs, the texture of his hair and their black locks, the way his eyes weren’t the same big, almond eyes. Maya had Leela’s delicate features, her wide dark gaze, and her gentle intensity. And him—well, he was just there. An outsider, a man slotted into the frame, but not quite of it.

Except… that wasn’t true, was it?

Because if he looked long enough, he could see it. The shape of familiarity, how lived-in he seemed.

The way Maya leaned toward him in the picture, just slightly, even distracted as she was. The way Leela’s fingers curled gently toward his wrist, even unconsciously. The way he fit there, in the space beside them, not because he forced it, but because—somehow, without realizing it—he belonged there.

It made sense. Anyone who looked at this—anyone who knew—they’d know exactly what they were to each other.

He swallowed thickly, staring at the picture like it might shift in his hands or it might tell him something new. He wanted to keep it that way, within this frame, the three of them, until the time was up. God, how long would that be? Another few years?

A knock at his door pulled him from it, and he blinked, turning his head.

Leela pushed the door open slightly, peering inside. “Sorry. Do you have some time?”

He had his whole life for her, even if it was overkill. Joel cleared his throat, setting the Polaroids aside. “Always.”

She stepped inside, and Christ.

She was barefoot, those thin gold-chain anklets winking at him in the low light. The soft curve of her calves disappeared beneath the loose folds of that goddamn pearl-button nightdress—the one that never failed to drive him insane. It was slipping off her shoulder just enough to make his life miserable, the bare silhouette of her body teasing at the edges of his vision, itching his palms with the worst kind of temptation.

Joel sat up, rubbing a slow hand down his face, across the scruff along his jaw, suddenly feeling a hell of a lot more awake.

She didn’t hesitate, swishing the fabric under her as she perched on the edge of his bed, legs dangling off.

“I was just on the swing set before it started to snow,” she told him, her voice all wistful. “I think I might love it more than Maya does.”

Joel chuckled, dragging a hand through his hair. “I don’t know how baby girl’s gonna feel about sharing.”

It hadn’t taken him long to put together the swing set that stood proudly in the front yard—just a hell of a lot of effort, some cursing under his breath, and more muscle than he cared to admit. Sturdy wood, painted deep green, with painted pink and yellow flowers curling along the edges. The seat hung from two thick ropes, knotted tight, built to last. All safe and ready for his little girl.

Leela had helped, like she promised—though if her irritated grumbling was anything to go by, woodworking sure as hell wasn’t her calling. She hadn’t complained once about the splinters, but he caught her wincing every time she flexed her fingers, scowling down at the stubborn bits of wood lodged in her skin.

Joel, now, watched the way her gaze flicked to the photographs near his pillow, her expression shifting—soft, thoughtful. He didn’t move, just waited, letting her take her time.

Her brows furrowed slightly, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “How are your feet?”

Joel smirked, sinking back onto one elbow. “They're toasty, thanks.”

She pulled one knee up to her chest, resting her chin on it, fingers absently picking at a loose thread on her nightdress. “Mine too.” A grin flickered across her face. “I feel like my parents around you nowadays.”

That had him raising an eyebrow. “How's that now?”

Leela hesitated, her fingers stilling. Then, almost cautiously, she said, “You know… a couple. Partners. Married.” That last word barely even made the breath.

Joel stayed quiet, processing that for a moment. Shit, he couldn't. He almost blacked out.

“They were so crazy in love, Joel. Even at eighty.” A fond laugh slipped from her. “Dad would have her coffee ready every morning, help her tie her shoelaces, and open doors for her. Dance with her every night before bed. Never let her raise a finger around the home, even after the whole world came crumbling down around us.”

She smiled to herself, the memory a gentle thing.

“I’m gonna make you the happiest, fattest, laziest wifey in Jackson, sweetheart,” she recited, voice taking on a deep, playful lilt, like she was echoing her father's exact words.

Joel huffed out a laugh. “Sounds like a stand-up fella'.”

Leela nodded, then faltered, her lips parting like there was something else—something she wasn’t sure she should say. Joel waited, his fingers twitching against the blanket, patient.

Then softly, quietly, “He would've liked you.”

Joel looked away, to itch at his temple, hiding a grin. The thought of this man—the man who had made Leela feel safe, loved—looking at him and thinking he’s good enough for my little girl? No, he would've given him a hard time. Especially since no one stood to compare to Leela, much less a man like Joel, hitting sixty and greying. Her father would've come at him with his expensive shotgun.

Leela’s gaze lifted to his, eyes foolproof. She took a breath. “I feel like that with you.”

Joel's throat worked tough. His body had already moved before his mind caught up, his hand reaching out, fingers trailing along her temple, dipping into the thick waves of her hair.

“Like a fat, lazy wifey?” he murmured.

Leela let out a tiny, breathless laugh and immediately covered her face with both hands, her shoulders curling in. “Yeah. Is that bad?”

Joel’s grin pulled at his mouth, satisfaction sitting right on his bones. His thumb brushed over the curve of her cheek, a little more deliberate now, a little more his. “That’s the goal, sweetheart.”

Leela peeked at him through her fingers, then, as if gathering herself, slowly reached out and took his hand from her face. She held it in her lap, turning it over, tracing the rough lines of his palm. The callouses, the broken skin, the deep grooves time had worn into him.

She ran her thumb along the ridge of a scar, a flash of quiet passing through her expression. Not pity—Leela never looked at him like that. Just knowing. Understanding.

“Do you remember what you told me?” she murmured, still studying his hand, watching the way her fingers disappeared against the breadth of his palm. “That night after the bar?”

Joel exhaled, a deep thing, pulse hammering up his veins. “Do you?”

She squinted, like she was trying to piece a puzzle together, like it lived just at the edges of her memory.

“I don’t remember much. It's hazy.” Her voice dipped even quieter. “You told me you love me.”

Joel swallowed. His fingers flexed against hers before curling, his palm pressing lightly to her own like she might slip away if he didn’t hold onto her properly.

“And I’ll say it again,” he assured.

Leela finally looked up, meeting his gaze fully. Her fingers curled tighter around his hand, holding him there.

“I want to feel you now, Joel,” she said, soft but sure, like it was something she had already decided. “Loving all of me.”

A deep and molten flame uncoiled in him at her words, cracked something wide open.

Because she remembered. And he remembered the way she had trembled under him that night, high and reckless and desperate for something he wouldn’t give her. And he had whispered the only inevitable promise that he had ever felt—

“One day, when I’m deep inside you, I am all you're gonna be thinkin' of. Just me, loving all of you.”

And now—now Leela was here, in front of him, sober and clear-eyed and asking him for the very thing he had promised her.

Joel didn’t rush. He just reached for her, wanting and calm, his fingers trailing from her wrist, up the length of her arm, to her chin. He tilted her face toward him, waiting. Giving her the space to change her mind.

Leela stared at him, eyes, lips, eyes, lips, and it had him in agony. A prolonged soon enough, she simply lifted her lips to his like an offering.

And he took.

He kissed her like a man who had gone without for too long, hands crushing her closer to him, like a man afraid to break the very thing he craved. Worshipping her was softer than before because now he knew she wanted this. He knew she was choosing this. Choosing him. Out of all the sick, sorry bastards in this world, she picked him. Him.

“Gonna make you feel good,” he promised between kisses, hungering forward for more. “I'll make you feel like a queen, baby. I'll give you everything.”

Her fingers trailed up, skimming the scruff at his neck before splaying over his chest. The warmth of her touch shot straight through him, and he exhaled against her mouth, pressing closer. Mad, so mad for this.

Then, gently, he guided her hands to his shirt buttons.

He wasn’t in any hurry. This wasn’t about taking—this was about letting. Letting her have control, letting her set the pace, letting her know she could stop whenever she wanted.

Leela pulled away just enough to glance down at his shirt, her breath catching.

“Go on then, help me out,” he urged.

That’s when he saw it—the hesitation. The clear-cut hysteria that hadn’t been there last time, numbed to the effects of weed. With her clarity came everything else. Every dread, every old wound, every aching recollection, every scar she carried in places he couldn’t see.

Joel stayed still, barely breathing, watching the way her fingers hovered over the buttons, how they trembled as she carefully popped the first one open. Then the next and next.

She pushed the fabric from his shoulders, her hands mapping him quietly, tracing it all. She touched everything—the pale scars left by unseen blades, the sealed bullet wounds, the old burns, the places where life had carved him up and forced him to heal around the damage. Her dark gaze lingered on the fine scruff dusting his chest, palms gliding lower, following the path where dark hair thinned down his stomach before vanishing beneath his waistband.

She wasn’t just looking. She was memorizing. Good, let her. This was all hers anyway.

“Ruined,” he mumbled.

“Survived,” she corrected.

He slid the sleeves off his arms, balling his shirt up in his hands before tossing it aside. Joel leaned back against the headboard like a king waiting on a feast, his legs spreading slightly, the muscles in his stomach flexing as he breathed. His gaze was heavy-lidded, thick, deep and everything unspoken.

Then, slowly, he stroked a palm over his thigh. “Come sit, darlin’.”

Leela hesitated. He could see it in the way her fingers curled and uncurled on the duvet, like she was feeling her way through the moment. But she followed, just like he knew she would, crawling over until she was straddling him, the seam of her legs spread over his zipper, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips.

Joel felt the warmth of her, the light press of her thighs against him, the way her breath hitched when her hands came to his shoulders, fingers curling lightly over muscle and scar.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “You're just perfect, aren't you?”

She nodded. Then blinked in realization, then shook her head, sighing. “Shut up.”

“Psh. Look at you. I ain't gonna.”

His own hands found her waist, steadying her, tracing slow circles over the fabric of her nightdress. This girl was made to be loved.

Then his fingers slid up, tracing her figure, until he was right over those goddamn pearl buttons.

He wanted to take them apart with his teeth, but that wasn’t the way to do this—not tonight. So he traced the cool surface of each one before carefully slipping them free, one by one, big fingers graceless over the little buttons.

The moment the last one came undone, he leaned forward, his eyes never leaving hers, watching every flicker of emotion cross her face. The anxiety, the confusion... the curiosity way beneath it. Observing him.

And then he sank his teeth into the delicate skin on her sternum.

Leela sucked in a sharp breath, her fingers tightening on his biceps.

Joel groaned against her, dragging his lips over the mark, spreading slow, open-mouthed kisses over the same spot, soothing it, claiming it.

He let the thin sleeves slide off her shoulders, watching the way the fabric slipped down her arms, pooling at her midriff.

Joel exhaled sharply, his grip tightening just a fraction before smoothing over her skin again like he couldn’t quite believe she was real.

Because Christ, how was she real? Where had that lonely, grey fart upstairs been hiding her all this time?

She was all honey-warm skin and soft, dusky curves. Her breasts rose and fell with each uneven breath, her ribs tautening, beneath the subtle dip of her waist. His gaze traced the gentle flare of her hips, the little softness at her love handles, the way her toned stomach tensed as she held herself still, waiting—watching him with those deep, knowing eyes.

“Joel?” she whispered.

“You're...” He blinked twice. “You're so beautiful.”

For a terrible lack of words, he wasn't exactly a fucking poet. He really wanted to tell her that she was the Powerball lottery in his life, that even her smartass brain was sexy, and that when she breathed, he was pretty sure a flower bloomed right under her damn feet.

But she managed a quiet laugh. “Oh-kay.”

And Joel had never believed in God much, but if there was one, he’d have to offer up a damn prayer of thanks. Only took thirty whole years.

He let his hands roam, rough fingertips skating over the curve of her waist, following the soft lines of her body. She was delicate, strong, warm, and hesitant, all at once, and beneath the tension in her shoulders, he could feel the slight tremble in her limbs.

She trusted him with this. With herself.

Joel wasn’t about to fuck that up. So he took his time.

He smoothed his palms over her ribs, feeling the way her bones flexed beneath his touch. His thumbs brushed over her perfect nipples, the peaks stiffening, drawing the softest sound from her throat—a breathy little whimper that damn near destroyed him.

His control hung by a thread as he ducked his head, finally taking her into his mouth.

His lips closed over her, hot and slow, his tongue flicking, tasting, teasing. He lavished her with attention, spreading kisses across the swell of one, then the other, loving them equally, thoroughly.

“Fuckin' don't deserve any of this,” he said through his teeth, clutched on a nipple.

“What are you...” she whispered.

He was surrounded by Leela, arching into him, encouraging his lips where she wanted him, and he didn't spare a thought to her instincts. If she wanted him, she'd have it. Her fingers trembled before they slid into his hair, sweeping back through the silver-streaked strands, holding him there like she was trying to commit the sight of him—eyes half-closed, mouth on her, glorifying her—to memory.

Then, without thinking, Joel bit down—just enough to pull a sound from her throat, her grip on his hair tightening, nails scraping against his scalp.

Didn’t think she’d like that. But she did. Nice.

“Joel,” she whispered.

His smirk was slow, lazy, drawn out against her flushed skin as he let his tongue wander over the reddening mark he’d left before sealing it with a leisurely, possessive suck.

“Shit, baby,” he muttered, voice gone husky. “If this is what you taste like here, can’t imagine what you taste like down there.”

Leela’s breath hitched hard. “Down what…?”

The way she said it—uncertain, like the thought had never fully occurred to her—lit a fire in his gut. Primal, claiming, wanting. Frantic.

She wouldn’t know. Of course, she wouldn’t.

It wasn’t like there had been time for teenage exploration when the world had gone to hell. No fumbling hands in the dark, no stolen kisses at parties, no whispered giggles between sheets. Sex was a free-for-all in QZs obviously, and he sure as hell doubted porn had been a practicality when she’d been at that wonderful age of curiosity.

Which meant this—the way she looked at him, the way her breaths stared back up when he so much as hinted at what he wanted to do—was something else entirely.

Yeah, Joel had never been more careful in his damn life.

“Christ,” he rasped, dragging his hands slowly down her back, fingers tracing the dip of her spine, the delicate lines of her body. "Well, at least a little touch. Lemme feel you.”

“Feel,” she murmured, confused.

He showed her his hand. Then two fingers. Then his thumb. Hoping that was enough for her to get the message across. “Feel.”

She hesitated for only a moment, but then—God help him—she nodded. That was all the permission he needed.

“Let's get this off you,” he muttered. “Wanna see you.”

He eased the night dress up and over her head, watching the fabric pool around her before slipping off completely. Her thick braid slapped softly against her back, and then—there she was.

All herself. Just Leela.

She sat before him in nothing but those little white linen panties, tied into thick knots at her hips—ruffled edges, sweet, soft, so goddamn cute—and his. Yeah, his. All mine.

And then his hands were on her again, slow, reverent, like he had the luxury of time. Because he did. Because this was about her, about her knowing she was safe, knowing she was loved, knowing he'd go wherever she liked him to.

His longest finger wandered closer and closer from her hips, and brushed beneath the edge of her panties, a featherlight bump against that warm, soft groove. Just to let her know.

His jaw clenched, muscles locking as he willed himself to go slow, to savour every second of this, to feel her breathe against his cheek as he did it.

Her eyes flickered up to his, eyes locking. Wide. Waiting. Knowing this wasn't over.

He held her gaze as he pushed further in between her folds, just enough to feel the heat of her, the damp silk of her against his fingertips—aching, perfect, warm.

Her lips parted. A little gasp, barely a sound.

And then her eyes fluttered shut.

He felt it the second she let go, the second she allowed herself to slip into it, to trust what he was doing to her.

His coarse fingers carefully traced, explored, and learned. A decade out of practice, but instincts were instincts. And he knew how to listen—how to really listen. The way her breaths stuttered when he circled just right with the pad of his thumb at the little bud of nerves, the way her body clenched when he curled deeper inside where he needed to. When his fingers worked her low and slow, in loving accuracy, how she completely arched into him, warm walls pressuring around his fingers.

Then, a tiny sound. Soft. Desperate. “Joel, please.”

Fuck. Every person needs to hear that once in their lifetime. Their whole other half just falling apart while clinging to your name.

His stomach tensed, heat surging through him so sudden and hard he had to close his eyes, had to bite down hard on his own restraint before he did something stupid—like buck against her like a goddamn teen and blow a load into his jeans.

Because of the way she moved into his palm, the way her hips found the rhythm like instinct, like something she’d always known but never had the chance to learn—Jesus Christ, his frail heart was going to fail him.

“I know,” he breathed, voice gruff. “I know. Goddamn it, you’re so beautiful. So perfect f'me.”

How unoriginal. Cliché as a bitch. But what the hell else was he supposed to say? Write haikus? Sing praises? He would, if he had any sanity left. She was carved from silent fire and untouchable grace, delicate and untamed, something that had no damn business ending up here, in his ruined hands.

Her fingers dug into his back, ravaged by sensation, nails sinking in, breaking the skin, drawing blood—maybe. Didn’t fucking matter. Even that was sexy. That pain was welcome, something he'd carry with him like a brand, a scar he’d look at in the mirror tomorrow with a lazy smirk and think, yeah, my girl did that.

And then—he felt it. That old familiar twitch against his fingers, the way her body tensed, breath shuddering, forehead dropping against his.

She was close.

And if she was going to come, it wasn’t going to be on his marred hands. No way in hell. He needed to feel her come on him everywhere. Needed it to hit him so deep he felt pinpricks behind his goddamn eyes.

“Baby, hang on. Fuck, honey, gimme a second,” he rasped, voice wrecked, dragging his fingers out from her, savouring the heat, the slick. He popped them into his mouth, groaning low at the taste, the perfection of her. Wasn’t about to waste a single drop.

Leela only watched him, unusual, confused. “So strange.”

He wiped his mouth. “Unreal, baby. Taste so good.”

Then, shifting back against the headboard, he pulled her closer onto his lap. His hands slid up her thighs, thumbs stroking slow circles, coaxing, calming.

He nodded at his pants. “Wanna help me out of this?”

She nodded, still flushed, and reached down. Soft, slender, long hands worked the button loose, nudged the zipper down, knuckles grazing his stomach, fingers tracing down the happy trail, lower, lower—

She sucked in a breath when she laid eyes on the good stuff that sprang free.

He saw the flicker in her eyes, and he prayed to whatever was looking over him that he was in all right proportions, that he was to her liking, that he was good enough for her. But the way she seemed to assess, hesitating... Curiosity? Oh, good—anything other than disgust.

Then she glanced up at him, brow pinched. “You’re not wearing...”

He blinked, momentarily lost in his own haze, until he realized. Oh, for fuck’s sake.

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. God bless America.”

The laugh that burst out of her was sudden, real, pure, like she hadn't expected it. She did a double-take, covering her mouth, her shoulders shaking.

“Omigod, Joel. You’ve been walking around without underwear this whole time?”

He smirked, gathering her back into his arms, hands already working at the ties of her little knotted panties. “Alright, get your judgy ass over here.”

Two tugs, and they were gone, joining the mess of discarded clothes on the floor. He gave her tight behind a nice squeeze. “Y'know, you've got the perkiest butt I've ever seen. All that lifting and stretching—you drive me crazy with those teeny little shorts.”

She twisted his ear playfully. “So that's why you're always messing up with the tools.”

“Oh, yeah. Prettiest pussy, too,” he whispered, winking.

“Joel!” she hissed.

And then—finally—she was straddling his lap, stripped, all soft thighs and tough calves, muscles flexing as she adjusted, aligned over him, and found her balance, fingers curled into the headboard for support.

A little smile tugged at her lips. And it killed him. “Hi.”

“Hi, honey,” he murmured.

She was stunning—lean, strong, effortless. A goddamn supermodel. That hair, those muscles, those striking eyes, she had him by the balls and he wasn't complaining.

He held her hips, warm, smooth skin beneath his rough palms, a thumb tracing the soft, wet seam at her legs. He pushed a testing finger in, and she shivered.

“You ready for me?” he murmured.

She exhaled softly, before her hand came down, sliding into his hair, down his ear, his cheek—thumb brushing over his lips like she was memorizing him like he was something sacred.

And then, so quiet, so sure—“I want to feel all of you.”

Jesus fucking Christ. Not fair. Not fucking fair. That should’ve given him a second, a moment to react, to curse, to do something—

But then she moved. And finally, finally, she took him inside her. Right where he’d been aching for her.

Heat. Tight. Unreal.

“Fuuuck.” A deep groan ripped out of his chest as she plunged down onto him, enveloping him in pressure so impossibly hot, impossibly incredible, that his head kicked back against the headboard.

Strain. Resistance. So much love.

Her body rebelled, not used to this stretch, this fullness, and when a sharp, quiet cry slipped from her, she buried it against his cheek. “Please.”

His breath stilled. Instinct flared hot in his veins—not desire, but protection, care, a tethered restraint that warred with the desperate need to move, to feel her completely.

His arms circled around her, strong. His lips found the edge of her eye, feeling the trail of tears, murmuring against her skin, “I'm right here, baby. You're doin’ so good. Take me so well.”

“It hurts,” she cried out sharply.

“I know, sweetheart, I know. You want to take a breath for me?”

And she did. A nice, long, deep one into his neck. The hot air ghosted around his nape. Then two more, until it felt like her breaths were finally stuttering back into her.

He kissed her eye. “That's a good girl. You got this. Eyes on me.”

She nodded shakily, holding his gaze.

“Only me, alright?”

He tightened his hold on her hips, not to force, not to move—just to be there, to keep her close as he raised up, his back protesting with a pricking ache, meeting her halfway, easing her down inch by inch, a motion as old as time, gentle, ready, his.

“Feel like a dream, darlin’,” he whispered against her skin, voice barely holding together.

A shiver. A squeeze around him, tight and sweet, like a pulse, a welcome. This was his home.

And he felt it—this wasn’t just physical, wasn’t just something done to her, wasn’t something she was just letting happen.

She wanted every inch of him. And Joel was going to move fucking mountains to give it to her.

Joel moved with her, for her, matching the slow, hesitant rhythm she set. Each slide into her was deep, measured—he wasn’t chasing anything except her, wasn’t losing himself in the feeling of her wrapped around him, not yet. No, this was about letting her take what she needed. About making sure she knew, in her bones, that this was hers. He was hers.

“Joel, is this okay?” she panted.

He looked up at her and sighed from numb lips, “Baby, how the hell are you real?”

Because Jesus, if she wasn’t the sexiest goddamn thing he’d ever seen—the way her brows pinched, the way her pretty mouth parted, the way her breath hitched when he hit that spot.

The way her body crashed above him, her hands clung to the headboard, his shoulders, nails gripping, grounding—she was giving him everything without even realizing it. A little gasp left her lips each time he lifted his hips, rocking against hers, pushing her just a little bit further, testing the limits of what she could take.

His fingers smoothed down her spine, following the curve of her back, his lips finding her throat, the little hollow just beneath her ear.

“That's my good girl,” he encouraged, voice rough, rasping into her ear. “Feels nice, don’t it? Feels real nice.”

She shuddered, a little whimper catching at the back of her throat. Her thighs tensed around him, gripping tight around his neck, but her movements faltered. A stutter. A hesitation.

Joel slowed. Just enough to feel her, to see her, to be sure.

And that’s when he knew. That she wasn’t quite there. No matter how wet she was, how ready and tight she was around him, something in her body held back.

But it wasn’t fear or pain or shyness or any of that bullshit. It was just unfamiliar. A wariness just under her skin, something holding her back, keeping her from letting go.

And Joel understood.

His gut tightened, hurt pulling at his chest, but this—this wasn’t just about fucking. It wasn’t just about getting her to some peak, some finish line, some goal he had to chase.

It was about unlearning. It was being with her. It was about replacing whatever fucked-up pain in her, whatever taking had come before, with something soft, small and theirs.

And if she didn’t come or if she didn’t even know what that felt like—hell, that didn’t change a goddamn thing. Didn’t change the way he was making love to her, how much he loved her, loved feeling her move on top of him, for him.

It also didn’t change the fact that he was already hanging by a thread, already wound too tight, already gritting his teeth to keep himself from losing it, because she felt too good, too right, like she was made to be wrapped around him, to take him this deep.

He wasn't going to last very long, he was pushing his limit here, his prime of life was to blame for that. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold onto the moment, hold onto her—but it was too much, too perfect, too fucking good.

His hands flexed at her hips, gripping, steadying her, his own control unravelling fast.

“Jesus—Leela, I'm—!”

“Joel?” she called, concerned almost.

He wanted to wait as long as he could. Wanted to hold off, wanted to take her there with him, to let her feel all of it, but this old fucking desperate body—

But then she moved, sinking down, rolling her hips against him in just the right way, and he broke.

“Oh, shit!”

A deep, guttural sound tore from his throat, his arms snapping tight around her waist, pulling her flush against him as he spilled deep inside her, every muscle in his body seizing up. His forehead dropped to her shoulder, breath ragged, fingers flexing against her slick skin.

He stayed like that for a moment, ears ringing, buried in her, completely wrung out, slumping into her, breathing her in, feeling her heartbeat pound against his own. Oh, but he was currently in orbit, in fucking space.

And then—when his thoughts returned back to planet Earth, back to Jackson, back to this home, when the haze started to clear—he pulled back, just enough to see her.

She looked… confused. Like she'd gone wrong somewhere. Lips parted, eyes hazy, looking between them, like she was waiting for something, like she wasn’t sure if this was it.

She blinked. “I...”

Joel watched her, studied the soft rise and fall of her chest, the way her body still trembled around him, the way her fingers curled gently against his throat.

She didn’t know, of course. Didn’t realize. That she hadn’t come.

And he didn’t feel bad about it—not in the way a man might, not in the way that turned it into some failure, something to gnaw on, to carry like a weight. Shit, she'd gone as far as to relive this for him.

But still—he wanted to give that to her. Wanted her to feel it, to know what it meant to be shattered and held together all at once.

“One more try, okay?” he rasped, barely breathing it into her skin. He kissed her shoulder, collar and throat. “Gimme one more. You can do it. Just hold onto me.”

A small smile came alive on her lips. “Okay.”

Joel bore down again, gripping her hips tighter, pulling her closer, pushing deeper—trying this time, rather than feeling.

His breath came wild, strained, body shaking with the force of it, sweat splashing lazily onto her breasts, in the effort of making her feel it. His heart was hammering, his arms flexing, his thighs burning as he surged up into her, chasing that high for her, something he needed to give her.

And still—still—Leela just watched him. Soft, quiet, moving with him, letting him take her, feeling his strength beneath her, stroking his cheek, his hair, her fingertips whisper-light against his damp skin.

No gasping desperation, no frantic, uncontrolled unravelling. Just… this.

And Joel—fuck—he didn’t know what to do with that. She wasn’t pretending. Would be nice if she did. She wouldn’t know how to fake it, would she? Wouldn’t know the right way to move, the right way to sound, the right way to let a man know he was making her come undone and get this over with.

And the realization punched him in the gut. Blindsided him completely.

It wasn't about to happen. He'd just have to let go.

But Joel couldn’t stop. Not now, not when he was this close. When he was teetering on the fucking edge. When his body was demanding release with an intensity he hadn’t felt in years.

“I'm sorry,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Sorry, I can't. I can't.”

“Joel, it's okay, it's okay,” she coaxed.

So he held her down, his grip firm, desperate. Feeling so fucking selfish as he pushed and pushed harder. Broke a sweat. Gave it everything he had left in him, one last time—until his muscles locked, until heat ripped through him once more, until he spilled deep inside her again with another ragged, shuddering groan.

And Leela—sweet, accepting Leela—just cradled him through it. Breathed against his cheek, kissed his ear, smoothed her hands over his hair, and ran her fingers along the tense lines of his back, comforting him.

Because Joel had never felt more fucking helpless in his life. He buried his face in her neck, his arms locking tight around her, his body wracked with aftershocks, his chest rising and falling hard against hers.

“Joel,” she said, a softness behind his name.

His throat was tight. He swallowed. “You have to—you haven't—”

“I feel really good,” she whispered. “Really good.”

Joel breathed in deep, exhaled slow. She meant it. She felt good. It wasn’t some half-truth, some lie to spare his feelings. Leela didn’t lie to him—she didn’t know how to, not in a way that mattered.

So he let it go. Let himself believe her. However difficult and excruciating it was.

“Do you wanna lie down?” he murmured, brushing the backs of his fingers over her jaw. “Lemme clean up and hurry back to you, alright?”

“Okay.”

She nodded, watching as he rolled out of bed, buckled up his pants, and stretched his sore back with a quiet grunt. That pleasant ache in his muscles, he could get used to this. He ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair, then disappeared into the bathroom.

The second he flicked on the light, he set both hands over the sink, bracing himself. His reflection stared back at him, every line on his face a little deeper, slick with sweat, his greying scruff a little rougher, hair a Leela-made mess. His body was still running hot, his ears still rung, still a little shaky in the aftermath.

But under all that? Confusion. Loathing. Every i had been dotted, every t crossed. So what the hell went wrong?

His fingers turned the tap on, ran cool water over his palms. He splashed some onto his face and neck and chest, let it dribble down to his throat, rinsed his mouth and took another breath.

“You goddamn dud,” he muttered to himself.

Maybe it was him. All those years of nothing. Years of his body belonging to no one but himself. Years of only touching for a release. A ferocious protector, sure, but it made him an incapable lover. He never knew a damn thing about the female body, how to work it, how to please her. Should've let her come on his hand when he had the chance. Stupid, greedy asshole.

With a final splash of water to his face, he scrubbed a wet hand through his hair and stepped back into the bedroom. Time to face the music.

Leela had already slipped her nightdress back on, the straps falling just slightly off her shoulder, her hair combed back a little neater. She was curled up against the pillows, drowsy, waiting for him.

Joel didn’t hesitate to slide into bed beside her, sinking into the warmth of her body like he belonged there. Like they’d been doing this forever.

She nestled in closer automatically, her breath soft against his cheek. His fingers trailed down her face with a slow, lazy kind of affection, committing the shape of her in this light to memory..

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured.

She smiled sleepily, amusement tugging at the corner of her lips. “You said that a lot.”

“Mean it every time,” he said, voice rough. “You’re my dreamgirl.”

She huffed a quiet laugh, low and teasing, but her fingers curled into his chest, holding onto him like she didn’t quite believe it.

“So I’m supposed to come, is that it?” she mused, drawing out the words.

Joel had spent most of his life keeping things simple. Straightforward. No fuss, no questions, no goddamn talking about it.

He let out a long, suffering sigh, pressing his forehead to hers. Jesus, he could just roll over and fix this. He would—happily. But for once, he didn’t want to rush, didn’t want to miss the quiet, golden stretch of time between basking in the afterglow and sleep.

“It amazes me that you don’t know that,” he muttered.

She shrugged, unbothered. “I did feel nice.”

He shook his head. “I'm sorry, I couldn't give it to you.”

Her eyes softened. She turned her face into his hand, pressing a deep, lingering kiss into his palm. He swallowed around it, around the way it made him feel—too big, too much, too good.

“Don't be. I had a lot of fun,” she admitted.

Fun. Sex had never been fun. Not for him, Not in his whole goddamn lifetime. It had been a release, a need, a way to forget or feel an ounce of freedom. But fun? Especially from someone who'd been through hell on this?

He looked at her like she’d just rewritten the entire world in front of him.

“I could get used to this with you. Just... slowly.”

His brain short-circuited. “Used to this with me?”

She nodded, pushing half her face shyly into the pillow, a single, shining brown eye peering up at him.

Jesus Christ. He really was about a pop a vein in his forehead. “Right back at you,” he managed.

Then she lifted onto her elbow, hovering over him, her fingers trailing slow, aimless patterns over the fuzz on his chest. Her touch wasn’t meant to start something—to tease or demand. It was just her, touching him because she wanted to. Because she could.

“Don’t look at me like that, darlin’,” he grumbled, already feeling the heat creep back into his body. “I can barely see straight anymore. There’s three of you in front of me.”

She grinned, leaning in so close her lips almost brushed his. “It’s usually the one in the middle.”

He let out a hoarse laugh, shaking his head. “I ain’t one of your damn machines either. If I am, well—I need big repairs. Gotta oil my gears, tighten some screws.”

She kissed his cheek with a soft giggle, once, twice—then a third time to his lips, slow and sweet. A silent promise. A quiet goodnight.

“I’ll take twenty years off you in no time,” she murmured, nuzzling her nose against his. “You’ll be living till you’re a hundred. Goodnight, Joel.”

She nestled back into the cold pillows, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, guiding him close until his face was tucked between her neck and the soft swell of her chest.

Joel breathed out, letting himself sink into her. His arms slung over her waist, pulling her close until there was nothing between them, his leg tangling with hers.

“Till I’m a hundred, my ass,” he muttered, already halfway asleep. “You keep ridin’ me like that, I’m kickin’ rocks at sixty.”

She gasped, appalled. “Joel!”

He grinned against her skin, pressing a kiss to her throat. “G'night.”

X

Joel felt that night in his bones for three days straight.

The delicious ache, the lingering burn, the way his body still hummed like it was catching up to itself—he felt every damn bit of it. Like walking about with a brand on his chest, her name in big, fat capitals, burned into his skin that wasn't ever going to fade. If he let his mind wander, he swore he could still feel the imprint of her nails on his shoulders, the scratch of her breathy moans against his throat.

It had been a long, long time since he'd felt this kind of soreness, since he'd let himself have anything that good. And now that he had—Christ, it was all he could think about.

Sure, his stamina wasn’t what it used to be. He wasn’t some young buck anymore, wasn’t out here trying to prove anything. That kind of energy belonged to a different lifetime. A life where survival meant running, fighting, bleeding, and losing.

But now?

Now, his life was slow. Lazy. Boring. And fuck, if it wasn’t the best goddamn thing in the world.

Every morning, he woke up in what he could only rightfully call the bed to end all beds—wrapped up in a too-soft duvet, which made it near impossible to leave. Sheets tangled around his legs, pillows propped just right. But the best part?

Leela. His girl. Partner. Whatever the fuck. Just call her his.

Sleeping right beside him, fingers still loosely twisted around his from sometime in the night.

He wasn’t a man prone to sentiment. But every single morning, without fail, he’d lie there for a minute, blinking slowly at the ceiling, feeling her warmth beside him, and he’d think: what the hell evil did I destroy to deserve this?

Because he didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve to wake up slow, wrapped in her warmth. Didn’t deserve the way she just let him have this—her body, her trust, her time. But she gave it anyway.

And if he was weak, if he was pathetic, well—he wasn’t strong enough to just lie there and not touch her.

So he’d roll onto his side, push his face into her shoulder, into her hair, breathe her in, feel the strength of her long legs beneath his palms. Because, deep down, some stupid, aching part of him needed to make sure she was still real. That she hadn’t just vanished into steam.

“Mornin’,” he’d murmur, voice gravelly with sleep, lips brushing over the soft skin of her neck.

And she’d hum, still mostly asleep, shifting closer without thinking, tucking herself against him like she knew. Like she knew she was his, and he was hers, and they had time—all the time in the world to wake up slow and warm in each other’s arms.

Joel didn’t know how to handle that. Didn’t know what the hell to do with the way it made him feel, all thick and too much in his chest.

So he did what he did know how to do. He kissed her. Once. Twice. Again. And again.

Unhurried and soft, against her shoulder, her arm, her cheek, wherever he could. Until she grumbled, barely audible, something along the lines of Joel, let me sleep, swatting at him half-heartedly.

He never listened. Not when he had her like this. Not when she was somewhat awake, turning over onto her back, peeking up at him with those bleary, half-lidded eyes.

“Last one before I get your coffee,” he’d lie, pressing a slow, lingering kiss behind her ear.

And it was never just one. Soon enough, Joel would drag himself up, forcing himself to leave the warmth of their bed, of her, if only for one thing.

His next favourite part of the morning.

His little girl. Maya.

The second Joel stepped into the nursery, flicking on the dim light, the world felt right. Scented in warm linens and baby powder, as the soft morning glow bled through the curtains, it painted everything in muted greens and pink.

And there she was. His baby girl curled in her little nest of blankets, fists rubbing at her groggy eyes, her dark curls sticking out every which way like she’d been fighting sleep all night.

Then she saw him. And the second she did—

“Da-da-da-da-da!”

Joel barely had time to brace before she shot straight up, balancing on the tips of her toes against the crib bars, hands clapping, a little bouncing bean of excitement.

And that damn sweetheart grin. All toothy and wide, like she’d been waiting her whole life to see him again. It got him every time, that overwhelming sense of sweet defeat. He'd take a knife in the heart for her.

He let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head at her, at the way her tiny face was all lit up with him simply showing up.

“There’s my baby girl,” he rumbled, stepping forward, and scooping her up into his arms in one smooth motion, raining kisses on her cheeks.

Maya let out a squealing little giggle, tiny hands immediately going for his face, his beard, her favourite thing to grab early in the morning. She clutched two greedy handfuls, tugging at the scruff like it was hers.

He brushed a hand down her curls. “Did you sleep well?”

“Sleeeepy,” she said around her fist.

She babbled against his shoulder—nonsense, tiny sounds he swore had some kind of meaning only she knew—her chubby little arms tightening around his neck in a hug that damn near melted him.

Then—of course—she went right back to attacking his beard, tugging with all her tiny might.

Joel winced, letting out a mock grumble, “Yeah, alright. You just want Daddy for the whiskers, huh?”

Maya let out a high-pitched giggle, and he felt her breath, warm against his neck, little fingers wandering up to pat his cheeks.

Joel, of course, pretended to eat her fingers instead, lips smacking, making exaggerated chomping sounds. Maya screeched, all wiggly and squirming, kicking in his arms with laughter so wild and free, it made his whole day before it even started.

He sighed, pressing his nose against her cheek, breathing her in. Baby powder. Warmth. His baby girl.

“Alright, trouble. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He carried her over to the little bathroom by the nursery, got her washed up, and changed into one of the tiny little sweaters that had once belonged to her mama. Maya, of course, made it an ordeal—wiggling, talking to him, playing with her own toes.

Joel took his time. Didn’t rush a damn thing.

A normal, mundane morning—waking up next to the woman he loved, starting the day with his baby girl. That was his whole rhythm now.

Some days their mornings went quick—too quick for his liking. Early in the morning, shovelling down his breakfast alone, yelling goodbye to his girls, and heading out for patrol, only to spend every second waiting until he could get back to them. Waiting for that first breath of home, that happy squeal he would hear from Maya ten yards out, that first kiss again.

The house was still half-asleep when Joel clattered his plate into the sink. Maya let out a soft whimper from her mother's arms, travelling across the kitchen, getting his attention first, and Leela—half-awake, hair mussed, sweater slipping off one shoulder—murmured, “You’re being loud.”

Joel grabbed his jacket off the chair, shoving an arm through one sleeve. “Ain’t got time to be quiet. Tommy's gonna blow a fuse.”

Leela huffed, rubbing a hand over her face. “You ever think about waking up ten minutes earlier?”

Joel snorted, already at the door. “You ever think about wakin’ up with me?”

That earned him a half-hearted glare over her shoulder. “I'm a night owl. I need the dark to think.”

Maya stirred, a tiny, bleary-eyed thing, her hands stretching toward him. Joel hesitated, foot already over the threshold.

Leela, catching the way his shoulders pulled tight, sighed. “Go, Joel.”

“Don't work yourself too hard while I'm gone,” he warned.

Leela just hummed in accord, adjusting Maya against her shoulder.

Joel hesitated. Then, before he could think twice, he ducked back in, pressing a long, deep kiss to her lips, holding her chin tight between his palm, just until he fought for breath.

She startled when he pulled away, blinking up at him. Then playfully shoved at his chest to get him out the door. “Go already.”

But some days—the best days—mornings were slow. Breakfast on the island or out on the porch, the intense scent of coffee thick in the cold air, his hand curled around the mug that curled out steaming ribbons into his face, while Leela sat beside him, legs tucked up under herself, grinning at him over the rim of her cup.

Joel tipped his mug toward his lips, letting the heat of the coffee melt into him. Watching her.

She tilted her head, nudging his thigh with her knee. “Are you always this quiet in the mornings? I never noticed.”

Joel glanced at her. “Ain’t got much to say with you around.”

She raised a brow, taking a small sip of her own coffee. “That so?”

Joel smirked, sipping slowly. “Just like listenin’ to you talk.”

Leela scoffed. “That’s funny. ‘Cause last time I checked, you like cutting me off halfway.”

Joel pursed his lips, considering. “Only when you’re talkin’ nonsense. Y'know, your little nerdspeak thing you do.”

Her mouth parted in excessive offence. “Oh, so my technicalities are nonsense?”

Joel blew into his coffee cup. “Mm.”

She gave him a slow, evaluating look, then nudged him hard enough that coffee nearly sloshed over the rim of his cup.

“Goddammit, girl.” He shot her a glare, but it was ruined by the way his lips were twitching.

The mornings when snow blanketed the whole town, and he’d bundle Maya up like a little marshmallow, watching her waddle out into the white, her excitement vibrating through every inch of her tiny body. He’d stand there on the porch, arms crossed, watching her vigilantly as she threw herself into the snow, chubby hands slapping the ground, kicking her little legs while Leela laughed beside him.

Sometimes, mornings like this used to feel like a chore. Errands. Town. A list scrawled on his palm, running through daily tasks that he used to do alone—back when it had just been him and Sarah, back when Saturday mornings meant grocery runs, when her tiny hands would have been in his, tugging him toward whatever caught her eye.

Now, it was Maya, and she was a whole different kind of trouble.

Leela had gone off to meet Maria at the dam—something about some loose wiring, an issue that she was insisting she could fix, even though Joel had very strong feelings about her doing anything that required standing near running water with electrical tools. But that left him here, alone with Maya, tackling grocery shopping.

Joel let her wander, let her explore at her own level, tiny squeaky boots padding against the wooden floorboards of the trading post, soft little oohs and ahs slipping from her lips whenever she spotted something that intrigued her. He kept one eye on the list, the other on her, reaching out every so often to keep her from knocking into someone’s knees or tugging on a coat that didn’t belong to her.

But the second she drifted too far—too quick, too small, lost too easy in the crowd—he was on her.

A sigh deep in his chest, scooping her up, tucking her under his arm while she squealed and huffed, little hands batting at him in protest. Little gremlin.

“Don't gimme that, baby girl,” he muttered, setting her down just long enough to grab the last thing on his list.

Potatoes. Should’ve been easy. Joel let go of her hand for two damn seconds to grab the bag from the shelf—and when he turned back, she was gone.

His stomach dropped.

“Christ, not again,” he muttered under his breath, shifting his basket to his hip. “Maya?”

No answer. Just the quiet squeak of her boots, quick little steps padding away.

“Maya!”

Joel pushed past people, scanning, breath already working too hard through his nose. It wasn’t panic—not exactly—but it was something close. He had to remind himself that she wasn't made of glass and this was Jackson, yet that was still his baby.

His eyes locked on her in an instant. “Fast fuckin' menace,” he muttered.

She was standing a few feet away, tiny and oblivious, playing with the tab of a can of beans, flicking it up and down with rapt fascination. Didn't even bother looking at him.

Someone was crouched in front of her, blocking her from view. “Where’s your mother, sweetheart?”

Joel already knew who it was before he even reached them.

“Eugene,” he called.

The man glanced up at him, eyes narrowing for a beat before recognition settled in, mouth stretching into a knowing grin. “Miller.” He stood with a grunt, rolling out his shoulders. “Hey, help me out here. This kid’s parent—”

“Is me,” Joel muttered, already reaching for Maya, plucking her up onto his hip like she belonged nowhere else. “C'mere, trouble,” and a firm kiss to the top of her head, his fingers pressing into her tiny back.

“You?” Eugene questioned, thrown off balance.

What, had he been living under a rock? Maya had been the talk of the town since she'd been born. Who speaking off, squealed, giggling, smacking a hand against his cheek—some little game she’d apparently decided was hilarious.

“Me,” Joel confirmed, levelling Eugene with a look. “We got a problem?”

Eugene made a low sound in his throat, eyes flicking between them, like he was sizing up a damn prize mule. Then his mouth curled up once more.

“Oh yeah, I see it,” he said, nodding. “She’s got your big-ass nose.”

“Fuck off.”

“Calmeth thy tits,” Eugene grinned, “I’m tryna be polite.”

“Don’t need it.”

Eugene raised his hands in mock surrender, chuckling under his breath. “So this is why you’ve been copping out of patrol a lot lately. Got Tommy's panties in a twist.”

He nodded toward Maya, who had now taken to tugging on Joel’s beard, testing its durability like she had every right in the world to grab at her old man’s face.

Joel sighed, prying her fingers free one by one. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “Guess it is.”

“Yeah, by the looks of it, she's a handful. Cute as shit, though.”

And Eugene—he just stood there a second. Looking at Joel, smelling strongly of weed, basket in his grip, a box of food from the canteen and a bottle of whiskey sitting inside.

Joel saw it then. The difference between them. An old ghost of himself.

Eugene—the kind of man he might’ve been had it not been his instinct to quiet a baby's cries from next door. A year ago, maybe even less, he would’ve been the one with the bottle of whiskey in his cart, the one picking up meals from the canteen instead of making them. The one going home alone.

Eugene exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Huh,” he muttered. Then, a nod, a flash of grudging pride behind his eyes. “You came through. Good for you, Miller.”

Joel didn’t have the words for it. Didn’t know how to put into words what this was, what it felt like to have this, to have them—after years of nothing.

So he just cleared his throat and adjusted Maya in his arms. Eugene just chuckled, slapping a hand on his shoulder before stepping past him, humming under his breath.

Eugene didn’t walk off right away.

Joel could feel him there—still standing at his side, still weighing the words on his tongue. It set his teeth on edge, the way Eugene hesitated. Like he was debating whether to say what was already burning behind his lips.

Then, finally—

“You wanna tell me why Ellie and Dina are so interested in the Fireflies all of a sudden?”

Joel went winded. The Maya's little weight in his arms was suddenly the only thing keeping him upright, keeping him tethered. He barely blinked. Barely breathed.

His voice bit out dangerously low. “The hell are you talkin’ about?”

Eugene tightened the basket in his grip. Shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. But his eyes were sharp when they cut to Joel, measuring.

“She’s been askin’ these ex-Firefly folks like me and Tommy,” he told him. “Came to me couple nights back—askin’ if I knew anything. If I’d heard anything about ‘em regrouping.”

Joel swallowed, throat dry as dust.

His grip on Maya didn’t tighten—he made sure of that. Kept his hands gentle, careful, even as the rest of him braced. But inside—inside, he clenched up like a fist.

Ellie. Asking about the Fireflies.

It wasn’t panic curling up his spine. Worse.

Because she’d known. She’d gone back to that hospital. She’d walked through the bloodstains, the echoes of gunfire, the remnants of what he’d done. She’d seen the truth laid bare, stripped of all the justifications he’d tried to wrap around it. And she’d spent months—years—dragging herself through the wreckage, trying to make sense of it.

Trying to make peace with him.

He’d watched her try. Seen it in the way she forced herself to stay, even when the silence stretched too long between them. In the way she looked at him sometimes, like she was still searching for something, still waiting for an answer he could never give. He thought—he hoped—that with time, she’d let it rest. That the scars would settle, and they could leave that part of their lives buried where it belonged.

But now—now they were here again.

And Joel didn’t know if they could come back from it this time.

The walls of the room felt like they were creeping in closer, like if he stood still too long, he’d get swallowed whole, but Joel forced his breath steady. In. Out. In. Out. Kept his shoulders loose even as something behind his ribs coiled tight, wound like a spring.

“And?” He made his voice even, ironing out the edges. “You tell her anythin’?”

Eugene huffed, shaking his head. “Nothin’ worth tellin’. Just old stories, y’know? Old bases, old rumours, old movement. And about that research base over at Caltech. I don’t know what she’s lookin’ for, but maybe keep an eye out for your other little girl, too, yeah?”

Joel stared at nothing. His heart pounded heavy, like a fist banging against a locked door. Ellie had stopped asking a long time ago. Or at least, he’d thought she had. Maybe she’d just stopped asking him.

But why now? After all this time?

Not unless—

His mind snagged on the past few weeks. The time Ellie had been spending across the way. The quiet conversations, the way she lingered at their porch, shifting her weight like she was waiting on something. He hadn’t thought much of it at first. Leela kept to herself, and Ellie wasn’t exactly a social butterfly. Two closed-off people drifting toward each other, not expecting much in return.

But that wasn’t it.

Ellie was digging.

And Leela had handed her the shovel.

Of course she had.

Joel’s stomach twisted, that sourness settling deep. He should’ve seen it sooner. Should’ve recognized the signs.

Leela—the girl with something ripped from her before she ever had the chance to claim it. A name that couldn’t be rooted in history. A life that had been rewritten for her before she could write it herself.

Ellie had always been drawn to ghosts. The lost, the forgotten, the ones who didn’t get a choice. She saw herself in them. Clung to them. And Leela—she was another reflection in the glass.

Another kid who could’ve been something more.

Another wasted potential.

Another shot at redemption.

Joel clenched his teeth. He should’ve seen this coming. Should’ve stopped it before it got this far. Because this wasn’t just curiosity—not for Ellie. It never was. She was always looking for meaning in the wreckage. Always chasing the answers that would rip her open in the end.

And now she was looking again.

For the Fireflies. For Leela. For something she thought she’d lost. For something Joel had taken from her. Taken from them.

His chest tightened, breath coming sharp through his nose. He hadn’t just lied to Ellie all those years ago. He’d tried to close the door. To bury it, deep enough that she’d never claw it back to the surface. But maybe that was never the way it was going to go. Maybe it had just been a matter of time.

Eugene must’ve caught something in his expression, because he turned fully then, brows knitting together.

“You alright, Miller?”

Joel blinked. Swallowed. Got a hold of himself

“Yeah.” His voice was rough, scraped raw. “M’fine.”

Eugene didn’t look convinced. “You take care now.”

And maybe—for the first time in a long time—Joel wasn’t either.

But Eugene didn’t push. Just cleared his throat, nodded once, winked at Maya, and finally stepped away, boots heavy against the floorboards.

Joel stood there a second longer, the world shifting around him. It was a feeling he despised. The sensation of something slipping just beyond his grasp.

Then he looked down at Maya, small and soft in his arms, her tiny hand curled into the fabric of his coat, trusting. “Da-da, go. Go.”

The only part of his world that still made sense. He focused on that. On her warmth.

He pressed a kiss to her temple, breathing her in. “Yeah, baby. Let's go.”

Then turned, stepping toward the door, already knowing—

He needed to find Ellie. Now.

X

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[favorite-fan-fic]

BE MY GUEST

No outbreak Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: working as a hotel housekeeper, you meet a handsome guest under quite unexpected circumstances. An awkward conversation leads to a friendly relationship that grows into something none of you expects.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, lots of fluff, a bit of angst, age gap (the size is up to you, Joel is in his late 30s-early 40s, reader is younger), Sarah is alive (7 y.o), pining, strangers to friends to lovers, soft Joel, insecure reader, accidental flashing, praise kink, f!oral, unprotected piv, creampie, m/f masturbation, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, aftercare, phone/video sex, pet names, swearing. Joel can lift reader. Reader wears a uniform dress.

Word count: 12k

A/n: I’m finally posting this story and I’m sooo excited. It took me a lot of time, I love these two very much and I hope you all will like them, too. It’s written for @yxtkiwiyxt ‘s Never Have I Ever Challenge. My prompt was ’never have i ever booked a hotel room just to go have sex‘. Thank you for the fun event, Kiwi!💞 Kisses to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing and supporting me through the journey aka writing this fic lol ILY❤️ Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

MASTERLIST

“Housekeeping!” you announced yourself loudly when you came up to room 605. Following the protocol, you’d knocked three times before that, waited for two minutes and the silence was your invitation to enter. You rolled your housekeeping cart closer to the door and opened it with your master key.

When you walked through a short hall and into the living area, you expected to find anything. Having worked as a hotel housekeeper for only a year, you’d already seen your fair share of messy beds, spilled drinks, broken furniture, completely trashed rooms, so nothing could surprise you.

Nothing except for a man lying naked in bed with his cock out. Even a glance was enough to realize that he was busy stroking himself, a mobile phone in hand.

Everything happened lightning fast— you gasped, hands clasped over your mouth — the man cursed and hastily covered himself with a sheet — you squeaked a timid ’sorry’ and ran out of the room.

A string of curses was leaving your mouth as you were hurrying away from room 605, pushing the heavy cart in front of you.

***

Minutes later you were in the staff locker room, panting, sweaty palms pressed to your chest, your heart racing.

‘Why?’ You were asking yourself, ’why didn’t he hear you announce yourself and knock?’‘ First, you thought that he wanted you to see him— during your time working in the hotel you’d met a few creeps, but that man seemed genuinely shocked, when you appeared in his room, and embarrassed when your eyes landed on his exposed member.

He must have been wearing headphones. Probably. Hopefully. For some reason you didn’t want him to be a perv. He was too handsome, too hot. And his cock was… ahhh it was amazing— long and thick, fat tip angry red and glistening in the bright light of the sun. He must have been close to coming.

Your eyes were still widened, hands shaking, but your lips curved into a little smile, thinking about him, a heat rising in your belly. You started bringing any detail you could to mind - his dark disheveled hair - he’d probably just woken up, his naked chest, broad and strong, a happy trail on his tummy, the big hand, wrapped around his —

”Hey, babe!”

You jumped, scared to death, your heart, that was slowing down after the incident, was pounding again.

“Hi, Max,” you breathed out, greeting your colleague and friend who’d just entered the room. She was your age, funny, kind and extremely nosy.

You turned to the lockers, away from her, embarrassed by the tingling between your legs, but also worried that she’d notice your flustered face.

”What’s wrong?”

Fuck!

“Nothing,” you lied, trying to calm down. Silence filled the room. When you glanced back at Max, she was staring at you, her eyes narrowed. Obviously, she wasn’t buying it.

“Ok. I’ll tell you,” you sighed, reluctant to talk about it at first, but Max was always reliable and loyal so you thought ‘why the hell not’ and started talking, “Something happened.”

“Yeah?” She immediately lit up, anticipating something juicy.

“I was working on the 6th floor and I entered this room and — shit— I saw a man, you know, naked and —“

Max opened her mouth exaggeratingly wide and was waiting for you to go on.

“That man — he was ehm— watching something on his phone and —you know?”

You were trying to find the right words, but Max was not the one to beat around the bush.

“Jacking off?!”

“Shhh, Max!” you hissed, raising your hands, begging her to speak quieter with your pleading eyes. “What if Ms Hewitt hears?!”

“Ms Hewitt hears what?”

You wanted to drop dead at that moment. Your heart plummeted into your stomach when the housekeeping supervisor, a tall blond middle aged woman, appeared behind you.

“Ehm, nothing,” you replied with a fake smile.

Ms Hewitt looked you up and down as she always did, checking if everything was perfect in her staff’s attire, then her eyes focused on your face. Her piercing gaze was enough for you to crumble, especially when she said,

“Doesn’t sound like ‘nothing’.”

You had never been a good liar so you took a deep breath and decided to come clean. You were sure that you’d done nothing wrong but anxiety was still churning your stomach.

You cleared your throat and started talking a mile a minute as if it would make it sound less bad.

“I was on the 6th, was about to clean the 605, and I knocked three times, waited for two minutes. No one answered so I opened the door. I announced myself! I did everything by the book, I swear, but somehow the guest didn’t hear me and he was naked in bed and… and…”

Max’s high pitched ‘jacking off’ almost flew out of your mouth but you shut it just in time.

Miss Hewitt's poker face didn’t reveal anything for a few long seconds until she pushed,

”And?”

You shifted on your feet nervously, cleared your throat and exhaled,

“He was pleasuring himself.”

Max burst into giggles, you flinched and quickly made big eyes at her. She clamped her palm over her mouth and shook her head, apologising with her eyes.

Ms Hewitt was less entertained by your story. She kept looking at you with the same expression and you felt like time had stopped.

“Ms Harmon, don’t you have the 3rd floor today?“ the woman asked Max sternly.

Your friend mumbled a disappointed ‘yes, ma’am’ and dragged herself out of the room.

When you two were left alone, Ms Hewitt’s face softened, and she asked you with her voice lowered. “Was he inappropriate with you, honey?”

“Oh, no-no-no! No!” you hurried to assure her, “he was embarrassed— said sorry. I apologised too and ran out. It was just an accident. Maybe he was wearing headphones or something,” you added fumbling with your fingers. “I’m sure he didn’t want it to happen.”

The supervisor was slowly nodding, listening to you.

For a few moments she was standing there in thought until she spoke.

“I suppose you should talk to him and apologise.”

Your jaw hit the floor.

“What? Talk to him? Why? I did nothing wrong!”

“Yes, probably, but if he feels like you did, he might go to the manager and tell him that you committed an invasion of privacy. And what does Mr Stewart always say? ‘A guest is always right.’ You’d be fired in a second.”

You shook your head.

“I don’t think he’ll complain.”

“Why?” Ms Hewitt’s brows shot up. “Has seeing his penis given you an understanding of his whole personality? We don’t know that person. I don’t want you to lose your job over an accident. If you want I’ll go with you.”

Now you were completely terrified.

“Oh no, no, it’ll be even more awkward.”

“Ok, but tell me how it goes,” the woman said on her way to the door, then stopped and added. “Do it today.”

When she left, you plopped on the bench and stared at your palms. How could you talk to him? After what you’d seen. After what you’d felt. You hoped that he was the man you thought him to be and prayed he wouldn’t make it hard for you. Hard, you murmured and hid your smiling face behind your hands.

You knocked on Joel Miller’s hotel door a few hours later, making sure that the sound was loud enough. Your throat dried up and you cursed under your breath, praying that you wouldn’t have to talk for too long.

To prepare for the conversation l, you had asked for the guest’s name at the reception and learnt that he had booked the room for a week.

Mr Miller opened the door fully clothed this time. He was wearing a white tee and a pair of grey sweatpants. You noticed that he swallowed loudly when he saw you and his expression showed

that he definitely recognised you.

“Mr Miller, can we talk? It’ll take a few minutes.”

“Oh, of course, come in.” He gave you a little smile and stepped aside, letting you enter. You walked into the room and he followed you.

He stopped a few steps away, giving you enough personal space, and you were grateful— it was easier to talk that way.

You dropped your eyes to the floor at his bare feet and said the speech you’d rehearsed a hundred times by now.

”I’d like to apologise for what happened earlier. I assure you, it won’t happen again. I’ll knock harder and announce myself louder next time.”

“Oh no, no, it was my fault,” he said hurriedly and you looked up at the man. He was rubbing the back of his neck, his cheeks blushed. It seemed that he was embarrassed just like you and it made you feel better.

“I had an earbud in my right ear,” Mr Miller began explaining. “Noise cancelling.. damnit,” he mumbled under his breath. ”And my left ear is really bad…a work accident. That’s why I didn’t hear you.”

You were glad that your theory turned out to be right and sighed with relief.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. It must’ve been horrible to see…damn, I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s ok.”

That ‘sweetheart’ made you tingle all over and you smiled to yourself, thinking that it wasn’t a horrible sight at all.

“It was an accident. I’m glad that you’re not angry at me, sir.”

“Angry? Of course, not. I’m embarrassed and very sorry for what you had to see and — wait, please.”

Mr Miller walked to the nightstand and bent over to grab something. Your eyes immediately slid from his broad muscular back, straining his tee, to his ass, looking absolutely sinful in those sweatpants. His body made you feel hot all over again. You quickly snapped your eyes back to his face when he turned to you.

"Oh no, Mr Miller, you don't have to—.”

You shook your head, having noticed a wallet in his hands.

"I insist.”

He walked up to you and pulled a few bills out. He stopped in front of you, leaned closer, took your hand and placed the cash into your palm.

"I'm really sorry."

You felt the warmth of his skin against yours, his smile was warm and timid, and it was a fleeting moment, but the time seemed to feeeze for you. You drowned in his honey eyes, his gruff voice reached the deepest parts of you and a scorching fire licked at your core. Your chest swelled with a feeling so overwhelming and strong that it almost knocked you off your feet.

Trying to hide the tornado inside you, you lowered your eyes and glanced at his hand, so big in comparison to yours. Suddenly, an image of Mr Miller's palm wrapped around his cock flashed in your mind. Your breath hitched, you pulled your hand away, squeaked "Thank you, sir” and rushed to the door on shaky legs.

“No, thank you for your work. And call me Joel. Please. If it’s ok with you,” he added, following you.

”Yes, of course, Mr M—- Joel.”

He smiled widely, when you called him that, and trying not to scream at how handsome he was, you opened the door.

“Oh,” you stopped and turned to him again. “I’ll ask them not to assign me to this floor anymore. So you don’t feel uncomfortable.”

“Hey, no, please.” Joel raised his hands and shook his head. “I don’t mind seeing you again. I— I’d love to, actually. And I promise to be clothed next time we meet.”

You laughed with him gleefully and said ‘goodbye’. Walking through the hallway with a giddy smile on your face, you thought that you’d love to see him again, too. Clothed or not.

You told Ms Hewitt about your conversation with Mr Miller and she seemed satisfied with the way you handled the situation.

All day you couldn’t stop thinking about Joel — he had been so charming, so apologetic and kind to you, that the awkwardness of the morning incident faded out of your heart, and all that remained was a bright, exciting feeling of meeting someone wonderful, someone you wished to get to know better.

Yet not only your heart and mind were occupied by your accidental acquaintance. You felt tingling between your legs every time you remembered Joel’s body, a scorching fire igniting your core.

***

When you came home in the evening and went to take a shower to wash the tiring day off, you found yourself fantasising about the guest in room 605. In your mind the rivulets of water turned into Joel’s strong arms, snaking around your body. You closed your eyes and imagined him standing behind you, naked and gorgeous, just like you’d seen him in the morning. The vision was bright and vivid behind your eyelids, and a needy moan escaped your parted lips.

You could finally quench your thirst. Your hand slid from your neck to your chest, down to your belly and when it reached your mound, you gently massaged your wet folds, envisioning that it was Joel touching you, his fingers were tracing your seam and then pushing inside. In your mind his pads began rubbing your hardened clit, he was the one twitching and pulling your pebbled nipples, and your needy whimpers and moans reverberated in the small bathroom. Joel praised you for your lustful serenade, whispering into your ear,

“Yes, sweetheart, need you to be loud for me. Show me how much you’re enjoying it.”

You were imagining his hard cock push and slide between your thighs, slippery and hot, hotter than the water running down your body.

“Ahhh, Joel,” you whined, as an upcoming climax was licking at your body. Edged by your memories of Joel during the day, it was craving a release. You heard Joel’s gruff ‘sweetheart’ in your ears and came hard, shaking on your trembling legs, holding onto the cold tile wall, trying not to collapse.

Before going to bed you thought of the handsome guest again, wishing to see him in your dreams, to talk to him, to touch him, but your mind didn’t give you that chance, and you fell into a dreamless sleep.

Without any effort on your part, you began seeing Joel often. When you two ran into each other in the hallway, he always gave you a warm smile and your heart skipped a beat every time you heard his ‘Mornin’, sweetheart.”

You were good at your job, but when you worked in Joel’s room, you tried to do everything perfectly. You wanted to make his stay as pleasant as possible and dreamed that he would think fondly of you. Every day you left him more shampoo and conditioner bottles than one man could need in a week and put a little flower on top of his fresh towels.

He seemingly felt your care because every day he would leave you a tip. It was nice but you never needed any money from him - the fact that he thought about you was enough.

You had never snooped around guests’ belongings, it was going against your principles, as well as a big no-no in any hotel, but whenever Joel left anything in the open - on the nightstand or on the desk, you meticulously studied ‘the thing’, not touching it but simply looking, eager to get any information about the man.

Once on his desk you saw a flyer that said ‘Small Business Contracting Expo’. He must be a contractor, you thought. You sighed dreamily, standing in the middle of his room with a turned on vacuum in hand. You found his job incredibly sexy.

But not all the discoveries were pleasant. One day you noticed something that upset you. It was a photo, lying on the nightstand - a Polaroid of him with a 6 or 7 year old girl. She was very pretty and had a beautiful smile. His smile.

‘He has a daughter. He’s married,’ you thought and your heart dropped. Of course. How could such a handsome and sweet man be single? That moment you shared… He was just friendly and your head was full of stupid fantasies.

All the rules and regulations forgotten, you plopped on his bed and tears flowed down your cheeks as you were staring at the photo of the happy family man.

The next day you were in the hallway, rummaging your cart for the right cleaning detergent, when you saw Joel exiting his room. He was wearing a leather jacket and a pair of dark blue jeans. At first, your eyes feasted on the sight of his strong back, straining the shiny leather, and you bit your lip, admiring his broad frame, but then you remembered the photo you’d seen on his nightstand - happy Joel with his little daughter. You hastily averted your eyes from the guest — you’d never be a homewrecker.

Not that you had any plans to win his heart but in your mind Joel had been single and it was fine to daydream about him, yet after seeing the Polaroid, your dreams had been crushed by reality like a glass butterfly by a hammer.

Avoiding Joel, you quickly crouched behind your cart, hoping he wouldn’t see you and his warm ‘sweetheart‘ wouldn’t cut your heart like a blade.

You were cleaning off a non-existent spot on your shoe when you heard a soft ’Hey there’ over your head.

“Are you hiding from me?” Joel chuckled as you sprung up on your feet, your heart racing in your chest.

“No,” you lied with a nervous giggle. “I was just looking for —ehm.” You shoved your hand into the cart and retreated the first thing you touched— a roll of toilet paper. “This. For the room.”

“Yeah, ok.” Joel was standing in front of you with his hands shoved in his jeans pocket, and his lopsided smile and a twinkle in his eye told you that he wasn’t buying it.

Then he raised his hands a little, palms towards you.

“I hope I don’t weird you out. You know? Because of… the way we met.”

Your breath hitched when he said that but you tried to keep your cool.

“No. I was really just looking for the paper.”

“Ok,” he mumbled, rubbing his scruffy beard. ”I’m heading out and I need help.”

“Yeah?” You were lost in beautiful eyes for a second and then your gaze slid down to his thick neck, his strong arms, covered by the leather. You locked eyes with him again - beautiful and deep they seemed to stare right into your soul, bringing you comfort and torment at the same time.

“What do you think?”

Fuck! You got completely mesmerized by Joel while he was talking and asked you for help. Help with what?! You had no damn idea.

“I’m sorry, could you say it again? I got lost in thought for a second.”

“Yeah, I see”, Joel smirked, a playful joy glinting in his irises, but kindly repeated himself.

“I need a gift for my daughter. I promised her a souvenir from the trip. Do you know any nice stores nearby? I don’t think she’d like a magnet from the hotel shop.”

“Yes, daughter,” you uttered, your face falling at the reminder of your discovery. Trying to hide sadness in your quiet voice, you asked,

“How old is she?”

“7.”

You thought for a few seconds and smiled when an idea came to you.

“There’s a store on the opposite side of the street. It’s next to a bank, you’ll see it right away. They sell these super cute handmade plushies. They’re adorable!”

Joel’s eyebrows shot up as he nodded.

“Yes! She loves plushies.”

“Oh, and they have all kinds of pretty stationery there too. Kids love that, right?” you asked with a little smile.

Joel took a step closer to you and put his warm palm over your hand, which was resting on the cart.

“Thank you so much, sweetheart. I’m sure I’ll be the world’s best dad when I get home.”

“I’m sure you already are,” you said quietly and dropped your head, your heart heavy.

“Are you ok?” You heard Joel’s lowered voice.

You looked up at him and lied.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

***

The next day you hoped not to see him at all. Your feelings were cruelly scratching at your chest, making your smile fake, your work day longer. Every minute felt like hours, and to make matters worse you started plucking at your own soul. You were single and lonely, saving up for college and dreaming of a career you probably would never achieve. Why would you want something if all you got at the end was disappointment?

Usually cleaning helped you to put your mind and heart at ease, to organize the thoughts swirling in your head like a bunch of stinging bees, but not that day. That day you wanted to dump all your hopes and dreams in one giant pile and set the useless trash on fire.

***

You decided to skip Joel’s room that day and was on your way to the neighbouring one when his head popped out of the door and he called for you.

”I thought I heard your cart. Sorry, can we talk, sweetheart?”

You smiled weakly at the pet name, and walked up to his room.

Joel motioned for you to step inside and you followed him. He was wearing a white Henley and jeans and you couldn’t help but ogle him. So stupid of you to think that a man like that was available. Especially for you.

Involuntarily you took a deep breath of his scent that was filling the room, piney and fresh with something so him. You felt at ease right away. He was almost a stranger and an emptiness inside was swallowing you bit by bit but his presence made you calm and relaxed.

“Look what I got for Sarah.”

Joel grabbed a toy sitting on his pillow - a cute fluffy bunny, wearing blue overalls, and brought it to you.

“I think she’ll like him.”

“I’m sure she will,” you assured him, petting the plushie, before giving it back to him. It was soft and pretty.

“And I bought her a bunch of pens and stickers and stuff. Thank you so much for your advice. Oh, and..”

Joel walked to the drawer and pulled something out.

“This one’s for you. A little thank you gift for your help.”

He was handing you a cute plushie cat, fluffy just like the bunny. “Had to hide it in case you’d come to my room.”

“You didn’t have to,” you said, accepting the present with a smile.

“I wanted to. Thought about you when I saw it.”

“Why?” you giggled.

“I don’t know. It’s beautiful and you’re—.” A slight blush appeared on Joel’s cheeks and he cleared his throat before adding, “Jus’ thought you might like it.”

“I love it.”

You didn’t lie. His gesture was so sweet that you had to take a deep breath, fighting an urge to cry.

“You’re a great father, Joel,” you said with a shaky voice, your eyes set on the toy, and then added,

“And I’m sure a wonderful husband.”

The words escaped your mouth before you could stop them. It seemed that the despair you’d been carrying in your soul made you bolder, more numb. It was easier to talk to him when all your feelings for the man lost a taste of sweet hope, leaving only bitterness.

“Thank you,” Joel uttered, placing the bunny back on the bed, ”but it’s just me and Sarah.”

Your eyes snapped back at him, and you stared at him in surprise. Your chest swelled with hope and joy. That man was single, but now it sounded almost impossible in your head. How could he be single?

Joel was completely oblivious to a whirlwind of thoughts inside your mind and kept talking,

“Well… there’s also my younger brother, Tommy. She’s staying with him now. Frankly, I’m not sure who’s looking after who,” he chuckled, shaking his head.

You laughed, maybe a little too loudly and too happily, but it was hard to keep your emotions contained.

“I'm sure they’ll be fine,” you assured him.

“Yeah. I call them every day and they haven’t burnt the house down yet — so — it’s great.”

You giggled and Joel seemed to notice your sudden mood uplift. His eyes narrowed as he asked,

“What about you? Husband, boyfriend?”

You bit your lower lip, hiding a smile that would be too revealing of your feelings - his interest flattered you greatly.

“No, none of those.”

Joel hummed and unlike you, didn’t hide his smile.

Your eyes connected and something electric appeared between you two. It started hard to breathe and the tingling warmth spread all over your body. Joel’s gaze slid from your eyes to your lips and you took a sharp breath, scared of the strength of your feelings. Panicking, you blurted out the first thing that came to your mind,

“Where are you from?”

As if having forgotten where he was, Joel looked around the hotel room and cleared his throat before replying,

“Austin, Texas.”

You felt flustered by the moment you two had shared, your legs felt like they were made of cotton.

Joel noticed you shifting on your feet and offered you to sit down. You chose to take a chair at his desk, as sitting next to him on the bed could be inappropriate.

“Are you on business here?” you asked, trying not to think about the last time you had seen him on that bed.

“That’s right, ma’am,” Joel bowed his head with a smile and the gesture made your heart flutter. “Tommy and I are starting our own company,” he continued. “Contracting. Very small for now. There's a big expo here this week so we thought it’d be useful to meet people, do some networkin’.” Joel pinched the bridge of his nose and gruffed, “if that’s what it’s called. I’m still learning all the business lingo.”

In spite of the visible self-doubt, Joel’s eyes were glinting with excitement when he was talking about their plans. Then he leaned forward, placed his elbows on the knees, and asked,

“What about you? Do you like working here?”

His soft baritone was caressing your ears and sending heat to your core. His piercing eyes set on you weren’t helping either so you took a deep breath to calm down and replied,

“Yeah, it’s fine. I’m saving up to go to a law school. Next year I hope.”

As you were sharing your plans with him, Joel was listening to you attentively, nodding and asking questions from time to time. It was easy to open up to him and the conversation flowed smoothly until you heard someone talk in the hallway and remembered that you were supposed to be working.

“Oh my God, Joel, I’m sorry I need to go.”

You got up, pressing the plushie cat close to your chest, and headed to the door.

“I hope you're not gonna get in trouble because of me,” Joel said, following you. “Some old man lured you into his room…”

You opened the door and walked to your cart, giggling, and then turned to him, smiling widely.

“You’re not old. And you can lure me anywhere anytime.”

Joel scratched his bearded chin, a mischievous smile dancing on his lips.

“Goodbye, Joel,” you purred, and feeling bold, gave him a playful wink.

“See you, sweetheart.”

You felt his eyes on your back and - hopefully - on your ass as you sauntered to another room as gracefully as you could, pushing your cart forward with the cutest plushie cat, sitting on top of it.

***

It was difficult for you to fall asleep that night. You were tossing and turning, hugging the kitty Joel had gifted you and thinking about his smile, his eyes, his hands, his body, his voice. You kept replaying your conversation over and over, your face aching after smiling so much. You were used to the constant tingling between your legs when Joel was on your mind and it wasn’t surprising - he was a handsome man, big and strong, but what stole your sleep that night was the feeling in your stomach. Something warm filled your belly, it was pushing up against your lungs, stealing your breaths away again and again. The sensation was so encapsulating, so pleasant and exciting that you had no doubt what it was. You fell in love with Joel. You fell in love with a guest.

***

The next day you were assigned to a different floor, but your head was full of Joel Miller. You were yawning because of the lack of sleep the previous night and yearning for the culprit of your insomnia. You wondered if he thought about you, too, if he liked you, if he wanted you. An idea to visit him popped into your head but you brushed it off, not wanting to impose and still feeling a little insecure. What if the spark you felt was one sided? What if it all was only in your head?

You were scheduled to work on the sixth floor the next day, so you were looking forward to seeing him soon.

That day everything went wrong. You overslept, probably because you managed to close your eyes only at 4 am, love-induced insomnia to blame again. On top of that, the traffic was horrible, so you missed the morning briefing.

Ms Hewitt looked at you sternly when you came to her office to get your assignments for the day but your genuine apologies and sorry puppy eyes softened her and she gave you all the info you needed.

“Oh, and it’s final cleaning for the 605.”

“What?!” Your heart plummeted into your stomach when you heard the number of the room. Joel’s room.

Trying but absolutely failing to hide your shock you squeaked,

“He—they‘re checking out today?”

“Yes,” Ms Hewitt's puzzled expression told you that the panic in your eyes was evident. She put her hand on your shoulder and asked,

“Are you ok, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart

Sweetheart

Sweetheart

The pet name was ringing in your ears but it sounded like Joel. A scary thought flashed in your mind, ‘Will I ever hear it again?‘

”What time is it?” You exclaimed.

Ms Hewitt’s brows shot up, before she glanced at her watch.

“Ehm. 10:45.”

“Oh god! I need to go— to clean!”

You excused yourself hurriedly and ran to the elevator.

***

A minute later you were at room 605, knocking loudly. No reply. You didn’t stop, remembering Joel’s hearing problem, but there were no heavy footsteps of the man you so foolishly fell in love with. The realization pierced your heart - he was gone, he was gone forever.

Breaking all the rules you opened the door with your card and went inside.

“Joel!” you called, desperation loud in your voice.

He didn’t reply.

It felt empty, lifeless. Just another standard hotel room. The biggest sign that he had even been there was his scent, still lingering in the air.

You took a deep breath of him and tears welled up in your eyes. Your loud sob shuttered the deafening silence.

“Joel,” you mewled helplessly.

There was something on the bed. You walked there and saw a note with your name on it. You lifted it with shaky hands and started reading.

Sweetheart, I hope you’ll get this note. I couldn’t find you but I’d like to thank you for everything. Meeting you was a highlight of my trip. I hope all your dreams come true. And sorry again for the way we met. Joel

On the bed there was also a big tip and a bouquet of red roses.

Your chest swelled with a myriad of different emotions - it was nice of him to leave you a message and the flowers but it was a goodbye. A farewell forever.

A tear fell on the note in your hands. You wiped it off and smudged the writing, leaving a blue streak.

He wrote it not so long ago. What if you could still catch him?

You dropped the note and ran out of the room. Pressing the elevator button several times with a rushed hand, wiping your tears with the other, you were praying to all the gods to let you see him at least one more time, to hear his husky voice, to feel his warm eyes on you.

Joel—Joel—Joel

His name was booming in your head and your heart on your way downstairs.

On the first floor, not wanting to alarm the guests and other personnel, you walked fast to the reception.

“Birtie, hi, could you tell me when Joel Miller checked out? Please,” you asked the receptionist who furrowed his brows at you, having noticed your teary eyes.

You didn’t care about his concern, your gaze was glued to the entrance. Through the glass door you saw him.

Joel was standing outside, his back to you, his suitcase at his feet.

“Is everything ok?” You barely heard Bertie, your heart was making somersaults in your chest. He’s still here!

You took a deep breath, trying to calm down, but a wide smile wouldn’t leave your face as you hurried to your most precious guest.

***

“Joel?” you called softly, standing behind him.

He turned to you and his face lit up. All of a sudden he hugged you and you stopped breathing altogether. Feeling his body so close to yours made your head spin. To your dismay, Joel pulled away in a moment and took a step back.

“Fuck. Sorry. I thought you weren’t here today. But you’re and … I’m glad to see you.”

“I’m happy to see you, too,” you smiled at Joel, still feeling his strong arms around you. “I’ve just found your note and came here to say goodbye and— .”

“Yes?” Joel’s puppy eyes were darting between yours as you paused with your mouth open.

What now? Are you going to shake his hand and let him disappear from your life? The thought made you feel sick.

“There’s a problem. With your room. I’m afraid you have to go back up with me.”

Joel furrowed his brows, looking confused.

“What problem?”

Yeah, what problem?

“Ehm.. Can we talk in your room, sir?”

You added ’sir‘ to sound more formal so he wouldn’t think that you were making shit up.

“Of course. No problem. I have lots of time.”

Joel grabbed his suitcase and followed you inside.

You felt Bertie’s eyes on you as you were walking past the reception with the guest who had already checked out but you didn’t care.

When you stepped into the elevator, Joel turned to you.

“What’s wrong with the room, sweetheart? Tell me you didn’t get in trouble because of my note or the roses.”

“Oh, no,” you replied, nervously fumbling with your sleeve. “It’s— ehm—-it’s the hangers. Some are missing.”

“The hangers?”

“Yep.” You averted your eyes, feeling your heart in your throat. You could feel Joel’s confusion. Then you heard a low chuckle. Was he laughing at your stupid lie? You wouldn’t blame him.

“I didn’t steal the hangers, sweetheart,” he snickered, as you were walking to the room. “I promise.”

You felt bad about lying, but when you glanced at his smiley face, you couldn’t help but giggle along. Your excuse was ridiculous, but it was the first thing that came to your mind and, what was more important, it worked.

You opened the door and Joel and you entered the room. The room where you met. The room where you saw more than you were supposed to. Felt more than you were supposed to.

Joel left the suitcase at the door, followed you to the living area and stopped a few steps from you, as always giving you personal space. You didn’t want that space now. A few minutes ago you’d thought that you had lost him forever so you took a step closer to him, basking in the warmth his smile was giving you, his honey eyes mesmerizing you.

Joel followed your lead and inched closer, too. Now one tiny step was separating you two. He lowered his voice and asked, almost whispering,

“It’s not about the hangers, is it?”

You looked down at your hands and shook your head, nerves, excitement, love churning your stomach. You opened your mouth to talk but didn’t find any words. Why have you brought him here? What do you want? What do you want?

The answer to that question came like a flash. You were seeing it clearly then, fears and worries pushed into the corners of your mind, only your desire in the spotlight.

You took the final step towards him and pressed your lips to his. It was a soft little peck, timid and fleeting, but the feel of him flush to you, his warm lips, his heady scent drew you to kiss him again. Joel didn’t pull back but instead put his hands on your waist. His touch was gentle, careful but it set your whole body on fire. Feeling overwhelmed you broke the kiss and looked into his eyes.

You had just kissed Joel Miller. Your brain switched off completely as you were ogling his handsome face up close, his hot breath fanning your lips, the heat of his body seeping through your clothes.

“I wanted to say ‘goodbye’,” you lied, looking into Joel’s darkening eyes. You’d never want to say goodbye to that man.

“Do all the guests get a goodbye like that from you?” he asked as his lips curled into a smile.

You dropped your head and whispered ‘no’. Joel’s chest rose and fell heavily and his sigh tickled your nose.

“Am I special then?”

A shiver ran down your spine when you heard his question. You looked him right in the eye and your voice didn’t waver when you replied,

“Yes.”

Your boldness seemed to touch him deeply, his face lit up as if he’d just gotten the best compliment in his life. His reaction warmed your heart but your eyes still were puffy from the tears, the pain was still fresh in your chest.

“I was afraid you’d left forever. Thank you for the note but, frankly, I hoped you’d leave your number,” you said, sadness coating your words. Joel sighed again and his puppy eyes made your heart flutter.

“I did. In the first note. But then I threw it in the trash.”

“Why?” you mumbled, blinking at him in confusion.

Joel inched closer and took your face into his big warm hands.

“Because you’re young and beautiful,” he whispered, leaning down, and planted a soft kiss on your cheek.

“You have your whole life ahead of you.” – he kissed the corner of your eye,

“I’m a single dad.” — He kissed your nose, your other cheek, until his lips grazed yours for a fleeting moment.

Then he pulled away, his eyes glossy.

“And I live in another state. I didn’t have a right to leave you my number.”

Joel was still holding your face and it was heavenly but his words squeezed your throat with a tight grip.

“Why are you kissing me then?” you murmured, searching for the answer in his sparkling eyes.

Joel sighed again and croaked,

“’cause I can’t help it.”

That was when he kissed you. If your first kiss was like a soft breeze, a gentle caress to the skin, his was like an ocean, heady, overwhelming, you both drowning in it in seconds.

Joel’s arms bound you to him, your bodies flush against each other, and when he licked into your mouth, the taste of him made you dizzy, the ache between your legs grew and you bucked your hips against his thigh.

Joel growled, feeling your need, and your wet arousal leaked into your panties when you heard that he craved you, too. You broke the kiss and panted,

“When’s your flight?”

“In six hours.” Joel’s blown out eyes were darting between yours as he offered, “Can I spend this time with you?”

“Yes,” you replied immediately, having never been more sure about anything in your life.

Joel was beaming at you, his grin wide and happy. His hands were running up and down your arms as he mused,

“We can have a walk. Or we can stay here. What do you prefer?”

You dropped your head, contemplating your answer, and in a second you knew exactly what you wanted to do. You had about three hours to spend with the man of your dreams and you decided to use them to the fullest. There was no time to be shy.

“Can we stay here?” you asked quietly and Joel eagerly nodded.

“Yeah, sure, sweetheart. I’ll call the reception, see if I can have this room for today. Ok?”

“Yes! If it’s not booked, it shouldn't be a problem.”

Your belly was full of butterflies, your core was on fire, and it was hard to think straight, but suddenly you remembered that you had work to do.

While Joel was talking to Bertie, you pulled your phone out of your dress pocket and quickly texted Max.

Need to leave. Cover for me pls. I’ll explain later.

She sent you back an ‘ok’ just as Joel hung up.

Judging by his wide smile, the room was available.

“We can stay here.” He took your hand in his and you whispered a breathy ‘good’, already under the spell of his dark eyes.

He pulled you into his embrace and kissed you. His lips were moving gently against yours until they travelled lower to your neck, his moustache and beard deliciously tickling your skin. The sensation was intoxicating, your whole body was buzzing, craving him, your heart was beating fast.

You couldn’t wait any longer, your poor pussy was crying and begging for him, so you took his hand and led him to the bed.

“Thank you for the roses,” you purred, looking at the flowers, their crimson colour a bright contrast to the whiteness of the sheets. “They’re very beautiful.”

Joel barely glanced at the bouquet, he had eyes only for you.

“You’re beautiful, baby.”

***

A few kisses later you were making out, sitting on the edge of the bed, you’re on Joel’s lap, straddling his thighs, your arms wrapped around his thick neck. Joel’s hand was gently cupping the back of your head, the other, pressed to your lower back, keeping you close. You were softly whimpering into his mouth, your tongues tangled in a passionate dance.

“Ahh, Joel,” you moaned and began grinding your burning pussy against the big bulge in his jeans. Timidly at first, but the growing desire gave you courage to take what you wanted.

“I’m here,” Joel breathed out. “My needy girl.”

He broke the kiss and dropped his head down to watch your hips move, the hem of your uniform dress inching higher, exposing more and more of your tights-covered thighs.

“I need you too, sweetheart,” he confessed but then his hands left your hips and flew up to your face. He searched for your eyes and asked,

“You sure you want this? We can just kiss, baby. You don’t have to—“

“No, please, I want you,” you panted, surprising even yourself. You weren’t hiding your feelings anymore, you were begging him to give you more, to put down the fire burning you on the inside.

“Ok,” he nodded, his lips in a lopsided smile. “I needed to make sure.”

“I’ve never done this,” you mumbled, nervously chewing your lower lip. “Never been with a guest— like this.”

Joel brought his hand to your mouth and glided his thumb over your lip to stop you from hurting yourself.

“Me too, sweetheart. Never got a hotel room to —. He paused and you noticed a light blush painting his cheeks. Joel ran his hands down your neck and traced your neckline with his knuckles, lightly grazing your skin and sending chills down your spine.

“Can I undress you, baby?”

His voice was low and raspy, gorgeous and alluring, and you swallowed a moan when you heard his question. You replied with a sultry ‘yes’ and got off his lap.

Joel’s hands were gentle and slow. Standing behind you he unzipped your dress on your back, pulled it off your shoulders and helped you to step out of it. He slid the tights down and off your legs.

His fingers were gliding up and down your arms, his breath fanning your shoulder before he pressed his lips to the crease of your neck. You moaned, melting in his arms, turning into a puddle when his hand slid down your neck to your chest. You looked down and just then remembered what you were wearing that day- a simple flowery bra and unmatching black panties.

“Shit—,” you mumbled, your cheeks heating up. “Wish I was wearing something sexy. Lace or something…”

Your voice was small, your head downcast. Joel walked around you, took your chin between his fingers and gently lifted your face. A pair of dark-as-night eyes met you, there was a bright fire in them, a desire that echoed deeply in your own body.

”I don’t want ‘lacy’. I want you.”

He cupped your covered breast with his big hand and began kneading it. Even through the padding the sensation sent lightning of pleasure to your core, and you moaned shamelessly watching him caress your other breast.

Then his hands snaked behind you.

“Can I…?”

You uttered a needy ‘yeah’ and Joel unclasped your bra, letting it fall on the floor.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, looking at your naked breasts, and you smiled, taking it as a compliment. ”You’re gorgeous.”

You were standing in front of him topless while he was still dressed. It was turning you on but you couldn’t wait to see him naked. Again.

“My turn,” you purred and grabbed the hem of his tee. You took it off him and ogled his golden skin, his toned shoulders, his muscular arms and a happy train on his soft tummy. Your hand impatiently flew to feel his broad chest, but having dreamed of it all week, you feared that he would disappear like a mirage.

“Joel,” you whispered his name like a spell, binding him to you at that moment, making it real in your mind, you and him there, exposed to each other, needing each other desperately, ready to dive into something beautiful and exciting.

You pressed your thighs together and a lustful shiver ran down your spine.

“C’mere, baby.” Joel probably thought that you were cold and caged you in his warm embrace. Your nose found its home in the crease of his neck, your heart close to his heart, your arms around his torso. It felt like his body was meant for you- to bring you comfort, to warm you up, to caress you, to make love to you.

You kissed his collar bone and Joel pressed his lips to the top of your head.

You two stood like that for a few moments, simply relishing the feel of each other's skin, sharing warmth of your bodies.

Then Joel’s hand slowly slithered down your back, covering your skin with a new set of goosebumps, and cupped your asscheek. He squeezed it gently and you moaned.

“Get on the bed, baby.”

He knew what you wanted, there was no uncertainty in his words, it sounded like a command, and you were happy to follow it.

You put the roses on the nightstand and climbed onto the soft bed. Your back against the pillows, you were watching Joel discard his jeans.

When he was only in his boxers, your jaw involuntarily dropped at the sight of his huge bulge. Apparently your memory wasn’t kind to him, because in your mind his cock was smaller. In reality he was hung like a god, and as handsome as one. A part of you got scared that he would split you in two, but the heady mixture of desire and love erased any doubts in your heart and head. You desperately needed him. Starved to have him inside you.

Joel lay down next to you and dived into your arms right away. As you were kissing, his hands were exploring your body, caressing your soft skin, gently squeezing your breasts, twitching your hardened nipples. You were hungrily feeling him too— with a soft drag of your nails down his arms and his back, with your fingers running through his silky curls. Your legs intertwined, you began rubbing your covered pussy against his hairy thigh.

“Joel— please,” you begged and with a fast hand he pulled your panties down. Now he could see all of you and you’d have probably got shy, but Joel’s eyes full of hunger and need, gave you the courage to throw your legs apart, to invite him to the most sacred place of your body.

”Jesus, sweetheart, you’re so wet,” Joel growled as his fingers were tracing your slicked up seam before pushing inside. With the pads of his two digits he drew a circle around your clit and you almost came, shuddering against the crispy sheets and his body. Joel noticed your reaction.

“Been needing it for some time, baby?”

“Yes, Joel, since the moment I saw you. Here, on this bed.”

You paused, scared that the memory of the incident would embarrass him, but Joel smirked, brought his lips to your ear and whispered,

“Did you like what you saw?”

You opened your mouth to reply but Joel made you gasp, when he slowly inserted his middle finger into your soft hole. He began thrusting it in and out, and you quickly turned into a moaning, dripping mess.

“I take it as a ’yes’”. His voice was strained with lust as his lips brushed against your cheek. “Did you think about me after that? About my hard cock?”

His soft husky voice, his words, his finger caressing something delicious inside you - everything at once was overwhelming and your eyes fluttered shut, your mind begging for any respite.

“Yeah, Joel, so— so much,” you slurred, unable to speak clearly.

“That’s my girl.”

Joel lightly nibbled on your earlobe, a satisfied growl rumbling in his chest, and then added another finger to penetrate your sopping heat.

Your moan was loud and shameless and Joel echoed you with a groan. His lips drew a path from your cheek, down your neck and soon he kissed your pebbled nipple. Your hand flew to his curls, legs opened up wider and your eyes rolled back, when he began sucking on your bud, while his fingers were opening your cunt up for his thick cock. Joel hummed at the taste of your skin and his low grunts made your pussy drool more around his digits. He parted from your tit and asked, breathing heavily with arousal,

“Tell me what you wanted me to do to you. When you thought about me, baby.”

“Wanted you —to fuck me.”

“Oh, baby. I thought about you, too. Fuck.. non stop, all these days.”

“Really?“ You panted, searching for his eyes.

“Yes, sweetheart. I thought— what if you’d stayed— would you wanna watch me?”

You bit your lip and purred,

“I would.”

Joel licked his smiling lips, his eyes blown out, and gave you a wink before saying,

“Anything for you, sweetheart.”.

Carefully, so as not to hurt your pussy with his fingers, he sat up and kneeled next to you on the bed, then using his free hand, the hand that wasn’t fucking you, he pulled down his boxers and let his stiff cock spring free. It was as gorgeous as you remembered, thick and long, curved up at the top, glistening in the sunlight, leaking rivers of precum.

“Now you can watch, sweetheart,” Joel groaned, wrapping his palm around his member with a sigh and beginning to jerk it.

You were watching him fuck his fist, while his fingers were fingering your wet pussy, until your plea interrupted your moaning.

“Can I do it? Please.”

“Yes, baby.”

Joel let go off his cock and your little hand immediately replaced his. You could barely circle your fingers around his girth but you applied all of yourself and began pumping his fat cock. Joel’s grunts were making your head spin. His pleasure was giving yours an ecstatic, exquisite, divine taste. You were revelling in the feeling of bringing ecstasy to him, your hand pulling up and down the soft skin stretched over the hot steel of his cock.

“Joel…what else did you think about? Tell me,” you moaned, tilting your hips up to give him more access to your crying pussy. His fingers were curling inside you and an upcoming climax overshadowed your shiness.

”Everyday I dreamed about pulling you close and kissing you, baby.”

“Just kissing?” you teased.

“Hngg, ‘course not. Wanted to tear your cute dress off, throw you on the bed and lick your little pussy.”

“Oh my god, Joel.”

“Then fuck you on every surface in here.”

His confession drew a needy whine out of your mouth and you began squeezing his fingers with your pulsating cunt. A hard orgasm was shaking your body, your pussy bursting with pleasure and wetness against his hand. You stopped jerking Joel off and just held his cock in your hand, too focused on the waves of euphoria rippling through you.

“Yeah, like that, baby,” Joel growled, watching you explode on his fingers. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you. So sweet and beautiful. I’d give anything to bounce you on my cock, to kiss your pretty tits.”

His mouth latched onto your breast, his tongue swirling around your nipple, his fingers were still massaging your g-spot, prolonging your orgasm.

When you relaxed and your hand fell off his cock onto the bed, Joel carefully pulled his drenched fingers out of your stretched hole.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” he whispered, taking you in his arms, and kissed you again, slowly and sensually, letting you rest in the warm ocean of his caress.

You were in heaven. Basking in the afterglow of the climax, relishing Joel’s embrace and his soft kisses, you couldn’t be happier.

He pulled away and looked into your hazy eyes.

“You ok?”

“Yes,” you murmured with a smile, tracing his handsome features with your gaze, mesmerized by him once again. Then you averted your eyes and bit your lip.

“What is it, baby?” Joel furrowed his brows and you heard a trace of worry in his tone.

You cupped his cheek and he melted against your touch.

“I want more, Joel. I need you inside me.”

Joel’s body shuddered at your words, his cock twitched, and you had no doubt that he desperately wanted it, too.

“I’ll give you anything you want, sweetheart. But— I don’t have condoms. Do you?”

You shook your head and hid your face in his neck, too shy to look at him, as you whispered.

“Can we do it without them? I’m clean, I promise.”

Joel stroked your head and kissed your temple.

“Me too, I haven’t had—, " he cleared his throat and continued, “had anyone for a while.”

“Ok.” You smiled, raising your eyes at him.

“Ok,” he echoed you.

***

You sat up and carefully straddled Joel’s thick thighs. His cock was engorged, crying and ready for you. But were you ready for it?

You swallowed loudly, fear noticeable in your expression, and Joel rubbed your thighs with his palms.

“We’ll go slowly, sweetheart. And.. if you’re not ready — I can kiss your pretty pussy instead.”

His words made you gush more, your head spun at the image of Joel’s lips on your cunt, but you shook your head with determination.

“No. I want you— want you to bounce me on your cock,” you quoted him with a timid smile and Joel half chuckled-half groaned. His cock twitched and you saw a drop of prefuck juice bead on the reddish slit.

“Baby, if you keep talking like this… I’m afraid I’ll come too soon.“

You playfully bit your lower lip, his words giving you much needed confidence. You felt desired, sexy and beautiful.

You got up on your knees and moved forward until you were hovering over his cock. It brushed against your folds and you impatiently gripped it at the base and glided his tip over your seam, before teasing your puffy clit with the bulbous head.

Your lustful whimper rang loudly in the room, fusing with Joel’s moan. Your palm planted on his hairy chest, you slid his tip down, and when it notched the source of your wetness, you began lowering your hips, slowly sinking on it. The sounds you both were making seemed like an epitome of pleasure, a beautiful melody of two bodies becoming one. They weren’t lewd, they were pure and sincere.

You seemed to lose an ability to talk or think, your whole being was overtaken by the feeling of Joel filling your core. The stretch sent shivers down your spine, but the dull pain got overshadowed by the bliss in your body. Joel’s palm was gripping your hip when the other slid up from your lower belly to your sternum, then to your chest until he surely could feel your heart, beating loudly in unison with your pussy, that was hungrily swallowing his length.

”Oh, baby, oh, yes,” was everything that Joel could muster when you took all of him. His eyes were dark with desire but the affection and warmth within them pulled you to him. You leaned down, lay down on his chest, uniting your heartbeats, and your lips met. Your eager tongues tangled with passion, your fingers ran through his curls, damp with sweat, his palms were exploring your body.

When Joel squeezed your asscheeks and gently lifted your hips up, you mewled, realizing what he wanted. Making out with him, you began slowly moving your hips up and down, your walls massaging his shaft, your mouth drinking his growls, that inevitably turned into moans. You smiled against his lips, happy to be giving Joel so much pleasure, but also getting an immense amount of it as well.

No one had ever made you feel so sexy in your life and the elation in your heart gave you the courage to break the kiss and sit up proudly on Joel’s cock, letting him see all of you again. With his mouth slightly open Joel looked completely drunk on you. His gaze slid over your body and he panted,

”Look at you, baby. Wish you could ride me like that every day till I die.”

You smiled and took his hand, that was kneading your breast, and kissed his palm. The next moment Joel sat up and you moaned at the position shift, feeling his cock even deeper inside you like that. He cupped the back of your head, and holding you close, kissed you hard. Your legs wrapped around his hips and you stilled, pierced by his member, melting in his arms.

His cock was thumping in your heat, your pussy was crying more and more around it, begging for a release.

“Joel,” you whined and, as if having read your mind, he grabbed your asscheeks in his strong hands and started lifting you up and down on his cock, moving your body easily, bringing you both closer to your peaks.

Your sensitive clit was deliciously rubbing against Joel’s hairy lower belly and soon you felt heat rise in your tightening core and your pussy started fluttering around Joel’s length.

“I’m coming,” you mewled and dug your nails into his broad shoulders, grounding yourself to him.

“That’s my girl,” Joel praised you, his eyes focused on your face, and then groaned through his teeth,

“Gonna come, too. Where d’you want me, baby?”

“Inside, please,” you begged, still trembling with the second orgasm.

“Yeah?” Joel grunted, “wanna be full of my hot cum?”

“Yes—yes—yes,” you chanted, bouncing on his cock, prolonging your pleasure.

“Yeah, sweetheart, I want it, too. Want your pussy wet with me for days.”

Pushed over the edge by the image and your walls gripping his member, Joel roared and began filling you up. You greedily milked him of every drop, pressing your body to his, burying your nose in his neck, relishing the scent of his heated skin.

Joel was jerking with every squirt of his load, holding you so tight that it was hard to breathe, but you’d have rather suffocated than left his arms at that moment.

***

“Thank you,” Joel murmured as you two were lying covered by the white sheets, face to face. Your legs were tangled, arms wrapped around each other, your nose against his neck. When you heard his soft voice, you raised your eyes at him.

“What for?”

“For being here with me. For letting me kiss you, touch you…”

His fingers glided over your arm and your skin erupted with goosebumps.

“You’ve done more than touching, sir,” you smirked and he groaned, pushing you over and pinning you to the bed with his body.

”Keep calling me ‘sir‘ and I’ll do it all again.“

“Promise?” you purred, feeling helpless, caged between the bed and his broad torso and your clit twitched again.

“Bad girl.”

Joel’s words reignited fire in your belly, but you felt like behind the playful banter there was something else that he wanted to tell you.

You cupped his cheek, your eyes darting between his, and whispered,

“I’m happy to be here with you.”

Joel sighed with a smile and leaned in to kiss you gently. Then he pressed his forehead to yours, his hot breath kissing your lips.

“What I wrote— in the note. You being the highlight of my trip— I meant it.”

A happy smile shone on your face, when you heard sincerity in his voice, warmth spreading inside your body. Joel lay down next to you and continued, his arm wrapped around your waist.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you all these days— wanted you the moment I saw you but that’s not all. You’ve been so kind to me. So sweet. I haven’t felt cared for like that in a long time.”

“I was simply doing my job,” you uttered, drawing patterns on his hairy forearm.

“No, I mean, yes, but — every time I thought of you, I felt something — “

He paused, searching for words. You felt emotions in his voice and you took his hand and pressed it to your lips before whispering,

“I know, Joel. I felt it too.”

”Oh, baby,” Joel pulled you into his chest and you pecked his lips before your eyes locked and you said everything to each other without words, your hearts speaking for you. His warm gaze glossed over and your vision got blurry with your own feelings.

“Joel,” you mumbled, opening your eyes. You woke up from a wonderful dream, where you fell for a handsome guest, who later kissed you, made you see the brightest stars with his lips, his fingers and his cock, and then you fell asleep, cuddling with him.

Fortunately, it wasn’t a dream.

“I’m right here,“ you heard a soft baritone of the man next to you. You wrapped your arms around Joel and he gave you a gentle kiss.

“Had a bad dream, sweetheart?”

A tsunami of emotions flooded your heart - excitement, affection, joy stole your breath away. He was really there. He was really yours. At least for now.

“No,” you croaked, sleep heavy in your voice. “It was the best dream.” You crashed your lips against his, hunger for his caress waking up with you, but a sudden memory flashed in your mind - you had been given just a few hours to be together.

“How long have I been asleep?” Panic was loud in your voice.

“About an hour.”

“Oh no! You should’ve woken me up. We don’t have much time.”

Joel hugged you tightly.

“Shh, we have time, baby. You were sleeping like a little kitten next to me. I couldn’t miss the opportunity to stare at you like a creep.” You two laughed, your nerves seeping you out of your heart.

Joel kissed you and then began leaving open-mouth kisses over your neck, your exposed breasts and a few moments later you were dripping your juices onto the white sheets while he was licking and sucking on your sensitive nipples.

“Sweet thing,” he mumbled against your tits. “Can I have a real treat now?”

“What?” you slurred, already drunk on him.

“You pussy, baby, can I taste her?”

“Oh,” you moaned and nodded with a timid smile.

You had never been eaten out that well before. Joel’s hands were pinning your hips to the bed, holding you open for him as he was feasting on your blooming flower, his hot tongue lapping at your folds and your clit tirelessly. His mouth was gentle but he gave you enough pressure to make your pussy pulsate and explode on his tongue in a few minutes.

You were practically crying with euphoria when he climbed up the bed to let you lick your own nectar off his lips.

***

The rest of the time together you spent naked in bed, talking, laughing, eating the food you ordered to the room, kissing and cuddling. At the back of your mind you kept thinking about how lucky you were - to have met someone you clicked with spiritually, sexually and emotionally. There was no doubt in your heart that Joel was your person and he looked at you like you were his.

Inevitably the precious time ran out and Joel needed to leave for the airport. It took everything from you not to burst into tears, when you imagined saying ’goodbye’ to him, but the day you had shared, the pleasure he had given you, eased the pain in your soul.

When you two were talking and sharing your past, Joel kept mentioning your future. Your future together. He promised to introduce you to Tommy and Sarah, to take you to his favourite places in Austin, and in your dreams you saw yourself forever by his side, getting to hug and kiss him every single day for the rest of your life. It seemed like the most amazing fairy tale, and although you knew by now that life was far from perfect, his enamoured eyes, his gentle hands, his kind words gave you strength to let him go, because your heart was full of hope.

***

You covertly changed out of your uniform in the staff room and sneaked out of the hotel to take Joel to the airport in your car.

When you two arrived, you couldn’t hold your tears back anymore. Joel gently wiped them away with his thumbs but his own eyes were glossy and reddish.

“I’ll call you as soon as I land, sweetheart,” he promised, holding your face in his warm hands, then wrapped his arms around you and kissed you like no one else before, passionately, sensually, claiming you as his, and you stored the memory of his body against yours deep inside your mind.

Many phone and video calls later

The next time you saw Joel again, not on the screen of your phone or your laptop, not in your dreams or fantasies, but in person, in real life, was at the airport as well. Now in Texas.

You spotted Joel first. His honey eyes were searching for you in a sea of people, his expression serious and concentrated. You wanted to run and kiss that deep crease between his brows, wanted to drop your bags and scream with happiness, but then you saw what he had in his hands and your eyes welled up with tears.

He was holding a sign with your name on it. It was sweet, but what made you cry were glittery hearts and flowers, decorating it. Joel definitely wasn’t the type to use glitter and draw pretty hearts and you realized right away. that they were made by Sarah’s hand.

***

Joel introduced you to Sarah a week after he’d flown back to Austin. You fell in love with his daughter right away, she was a lively and funny girl, excellent at trolling her dad, the talent of hers which always made you giggle.

Quickly she became a usual participant of your daily video calls with Joel. You never minded it, falling deeper in love with Joel, when you witnessed what a great father he was. Sarah often told you about her day, asked about yours, and when she shared only with you who she liked at school, you were touched by her trust. Soon you three had breakfasts and dinners together, Joel and Sarah joining you on the screen of your laptop, and it felt like you were a little family.

At night when Sarah was asleep in her bedroom, Joel and you had other types of calls. You quickly realized that the man was a menace. He loved making you needy and desperate with his husky voice whispering filth into your ear. He would tell you in great detail how exactly he would fuck you if he was there in your bedroom. Like a good girl you would be spread for him on the bed, your legs open widely, your fingers thrusting in and out of your sopping hole. You whispered his name again and again, your hazy eyes glued to the screen, where Joel was stroking himself, deep in the pit of desire just like you.

You lost count how many times he came watching you fuck yourself, how many times you unraveled in front of his hungry eyes. It was enough for you two. For the time being.

But your feelings grew and soon you felt like you were suffocating without being able to touch him, kiss him. Joel tentatively asked if you wanted to visit them in Austin and you happily agreed. One night you two were planning your trip, when Joel admitted. that he didn’t want you just to visit.

“Sweetheart... what if we lived together?”

“It would be amazing,” you sighed, smiling at him through your phone screen.

“So why don’t we?”

You were staring at him in disbelief for a few seconds, your heart in your throat, before you asked,

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Joel replied and added, ”I love you, baby.”

His watery eyes told you that he wasn’t joking.

“I love you, too, Joel. So much,” you mumbled, already sobbing with happy tears.

***

It took you a month to quit your housekeeping job, sell the things you didn’t need anymore, pack the stuff you did, say ‘goodbye’ to your friends and family and take a big step towards your future. Future with the man you loved, the man who loved you.

***

Not being able to contain your excitement any longer, you dropped your baggage and ran to Joel, waiting for you at the airport. You were quietly squealing, trying not to alert the people around you, but when Joel noticed you and his face lit up with a widest grin, you finally screamed. He opened his big arms to you and you dived into his warm embrace. Your lips met in a fiery, long awaited kiss, and you didn’t care that people were staring at you two, making out like two horny teenagers, holding each other close. Joel was yours and you were his. Once your guest, now he was your home.

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic! Your feedback means the world💞

MASTERLIST

Tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk @pascaltesaye @fruityreads @itwasntimethatdidit40 @meetmeatyourworst @callmebyyournick-name

People who were interested in the wip posts (no pressure to read, bbs) @604to647 @tateypots @thundermartini @sawymredfox

[favorite-fan-fic]

The Payout (clint x f!reader)

18+ account - minors do not interact

clint x chef f!reader Rating: E

Summary: Clint, a retired “tough guy” for hire, gets lured back into the game with a lucrative job offer: one last job for a life-changing payout. $5 million dollars. However, his plans take a twist when he meets you—his new neighbor who makes him question… everything.

Warnings: Smut (18+MDNI), clint is a widower (implied that his wife died at childbirth), mentions of grief and guilt, angst, language, alcohol use, mutual pining, sexual tension, flirting, feelings, slow burn, family dysfunction (readers parents suck – especially her father), pet names, some violence, any additional warning will be listed in each chapter

A/N: Okay, I have been writing this slowly since the trailer dropped and challenged myself to wait until I watched the movie to put a bow on this. However, I guess I’m impatient and have decided to drop this two parter *PERHAPS* before I watch the movie. I will be writing more Clint once I watch the movie, but it’s sort fun writing a version of a Pedro character where I truly have very limited information on him. I originally wasn’t going to make Clint a daddy but y’all told me to make dat man a single father with a dead baby mama.

Part 1 - TBD

Part 2 - TBD

Epilogue - TBD

Don’t hate me if I wait until the movie actually drops to release this… but like your girl keeps going back and forth cause I don’t want his characterization to be like SUPER OFF.

[favorite-fan-fic]

BE MY GUEST

No outbreak Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: working as a hotel housekeeper, you meet a handsome guest under quite unexpected circumstances. An awkward conversation leads to a friendly relationship that grows into something none of you expects.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, lots of fluff, a bit of angst, age gap (the size is up to you, Joel is in his late 30s-early 40s, reader is younger), Sarah is alive (7 y.o), pining, strangers to friends to lovers, soft Joel, insecure reader, accidental flashing, praise kink, f!oral, unprotected piv, creampie, m/f masturbation, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, aftercare, phone/video sex, pet names, swearing. Joel can lift reader. Reader wears a uniform dress.

Word count: 12k

A/n: I’m finally posting this story and I’m sooo excited. It took me a lot of time, I love these two very much and I hope you all will like them, too. It’s written for @yxtkiwiyxt ‘s Never Have I Ever Challenge. My prompt was ’never have i ever booked a hotel room just to go have sex‘. Thank you for the fun event, Kiwi!💞 Kisses to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing and supporting me through the journey aka writing this fic lol ILY❤️ Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

MASTERLIST

“Housekeeping!” you announced yourself loudly when you came up to room 605. Following the protocol, you’d knocked three times before that, waited for two minutes and the silence was your invitation to enter. You rolled your housekeeping cart closer to the door and opened it with your master key.

When you walked through a short hall and into the living area, you expected to find anything. Having worked as a hotel housekeeper for only a year, you’d already seen your fair share of messy beds, spilled drinks, broken furniture, completely trashed rooms, so nothing could surprise you.

Nothing except for a man lying naked in bed with his cock out. Even a glance was enough to realize that he was busy stroking himself, a mobile phone in hand.

Everything happened lightning fast— you gasped, hands clasped over your mouth — the man cursed and hastily covered himself with a sheet — you squeaked a timid ’sorry’ and ran out of the room.

A string of curses was leaving your mouth as you were hurrying away from room 605, pushing the heavy cart in front of you.

***

Minutes later you were in the staff locker room, panting, sweaty palms pressed to your chest, your heart racing.

‘Why?’ You were asking yourself, ’why didn’t he hear you announce yourself and knock?’‘ First, you thought that he wanted you to see him— during your time working in the hotel you’d met a few creeps, but that man seemed genuinely shocked, when you appeared in his room, and embarrassed when your eyes landed on his exposed member.

He must have been wearing headphones. Probably. Hopefully. For some reason you didn’t want him to be a perv. He was too handsome, too hot. And his cock was… ahhh it was amazing— long and thick, fat tip angry red and glistening in the bright light of the sun. He must have been close to coming.

Your eyes were still widened, hands shaking, but your lips curved into a little smile, thinking about him, a heat rising in your belly. You started bringing any detail you could to mind - his dark disheveled hair - he’d probably just woken up, his naked chest, broad and strong, a happy trail on his tummy, the big hand, wrapped around his —

”Hey, babe!”

You jumped, scared to death, your heart, that was slowing down after the incident, was pounding again.

“Hi, Max,” you breathed out, greeting your colleague and friend who’d just entered the room. She was your age, funny, kind and extremely nosy.

You turned to the lockers, away from her, embarrassed by the tingling between your legs, but also worried that she’d notice your flustered face.

”What’s wrong?”

Fuck!

“Nothing,” you lied, trying to calm down. Silence filled the room. When you glanced back at Max, she was staring at you, her eyes narrowed. Obviously, she wasn’t buying it.

“Ok. I’ll tell you,” you sighed, reluctant to talk about it at first, but Max was always reliable and loyal so you thought ‘why the hell not’ and started talking, “Something happened.”

“Yeah?” She immediately lit up, anticipating something juicy.

“I was working on the 6th floor and I entered this room and — shit— I saw a man, you know, naked and —“

Max opened her mouth exaggeratingly wide and was waiting for you to go on.

“That man — he was ehm— watching something on his phone and —you know?”

You were trying to find the right words, but Max was not the one to beat around the bush.

“Jacking off?!”

“Shhh, Max!” you hissed, raising your hands, begging her to speak quieter with your pleading eyes. “What if Ms Hewitt hears?!”

“Ms Hewitt hears what?”

You wanted to drop dead at that moment. Your heart plummeted into your stomach when the housekeeping supervisor, a tall blond middle aged woman, appeared behind you.

“Ehm, nothing,” you replied with a fake smile.

Ms Hewitt looked you up and down as she always did, checking if everything was perfect in her staff’s attire, then her eyes focused on your face. Her piercing gaze was enough for you to crumble, especially when she said,

“Doesn’t sound like ‘nothing’.”

You had never been a good liar so you took a deep breath and decided to come clean. You were sure that you’d done nothing wrong but anxiety was still churning your stomach.

You cleared your throat and started talking a mile a minute as if it would make it sound less bad.

“I was on the 6th, was about to clean the 605, and I knocked three times, waited for two minutes. No one answered so I opened the door. I announced myself! I did everything by the book, I swear, but somehow the guest didn’t hear me and he was naked in bed and… and…”

Max’s high pitched ‘jacking off’ almost flew out of your mouth but you shut it just in time.

Miss Hewitt's poker face didn’t reveal anything for a few long seconds until she pushed,

”And?”

You shifted on your feet nervously, cleared your throat and exhaled,

“He was pleasuring himself.”

Max burst into giggles, you flinched and quickly made big eyes at her. She clamped her palm over her mouth and shook her head, apologising with her eyes.

Ms Hewitt was less entertained by your story. She kept looking at you with the same expression and you felt like time had stopped.

“Ms Harmon, don’t you have the 3rd floor today?“ the woman asked Max sternly.

Your friend mumbled a disappointed ‘yes, ma’am’ and dragged herself out of the room.

When you two were left alone, Ms Hewitt’s face softened, and she asked you with her voice lowered. “Was he inappropriate with you, honey?”

“Oh, no-no-no! No!” you hurried to assure her, “he was embarrassed— said sorry. I apologised too and ran out. It was just an accident. Maybe he was wearing headphones or something,” you added fumbling with your fingers. “I’m sure he didn’t want it to happen.”

The supervisor was slowly nodding, listening to you.

For a few moments she was standing there in thought until she spoke.

“I suppose you should talk to him and apologise.”

Your jaw hit the floor.

“What? Talk to him? Why? I did nothing wrong!”

“Yes, probably, but if he feels like you did, he might go to the manager and tell him that you committed an invasion of privacy. And what does Mr Stewart always say? ‘A guest is always right.’ You’d be fired in a second.”

You shook your head.

“I don’t think he’ll complain.”

“Why?” Ms Hewitt’s brows shot up. “Has seeing his penis given you an understanding of his whole personality? We don’t know that person. I don’t want you to lose your job over an accident. If you want I’ll go with you.”

Now you were completely terrified.

“Oh no, no, it’ll be even more awkward.”

“Ok, but tell me how it goes,” the woman said on her way to the door, then stopped and added. “Do it today.”

When she left, you plopped on the bench and stared at your palms. How could you talk to him? After what you’d seen. After what you’d felt. You hoped that he was the man you thought him to be and prayed he wouldn’t make it hard for you. Hard, you murmured and hid your smiling face behind your hands.

You knocked on Joel Miller’s hotel door a few hours later, making sure that the sound was loud enough. Your throat dried up and you cursed under your breath, praying that you wouldn’t have to talk for too long.

To prepare for the conversation l, you had asked for the guest’s name at the reception and learnt that he had booked the room for a week.

Mr Miller opened the door fully clothed this time. He was wearing a white tee and a pair of grey sweatpants. You noticed that he swallowed loudly when he saw you and his expression showed

that he definitely recognised you.

“Mr Miller, can we talk? It’ll take a few minutes.”

“Oh, of course, come in.” He gave you a little smile and stepped aside, letting you enter. You walked into the room and he followed you.

He stopped a few steps away, giving you enough personal space, and you were grateful— it was easier to talk that way.

You dropped your eyes to the floor at his bare feet and said the speech you’d rehearsed a hundred times by now.

”I’d like to apologise for what happened earlier. I assure you, it won’t happen again. I’ll knock harder and announce myself louder next time.”

“Oh no, no, it was my fault,” he said hurriedly and you looked up at the man. He was rubbing the back of his neck, his cheeks blushed. It seemed that he was embarrassed just like you and it made you feel better.

“I had an earbud in my right ear,” Mr Miller began explaining. “Noise cancelling.. damnit,” he mumbled under his breath. ”And my left ear is really bad…a work accident. That’s why I didn’t hear you.”

You were glad that your theory turned out to be right and sighed with relief.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. It must’ve been horrible to see…damn, I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s ok.”

That ‘sweetheart’ made you tingle all over and you smiled to yourself, thinking that it wasn’t a horrible sight at all.

“It was an accident. I’m glad that you’re not angry at me, sir.”

“Angry? Of course, not. I’m embarrassed and very sorry for what you had to see and — wait, please.”

Mr Miller walked to the nightstand and bent over to grab something. Your eyes immediately slid from his broad muscular back, straining his tee, to his ass, looking absolutely sinful in those sweatpants. His body made you feel hot all over again. You quickly snapped your eyes back to his face when he turned to you.

"Oh no, Mr Miller, you don't have to—.”

You shook your head, having noticed a wallet in his hands.

"I insist.”

He walked up to you and pulled a few bills out. He stopped in front of you, leaned closer, took your hand and placed the cash into your palm.

"I'm really sorry."

You felt the warmth of his skin against yours, his smile was warm and timid, and it was a fleeting moment, but the time seemed to feeeze for you. You drowned in his honey eyes, his gruff voice reached the deepest parts of you and a scorching fire licked at your core. Your chest swelled with a feeling so overwhelming and strong that it almost knocked you off your feet.

Trying to hide the tornado inside you, you lowered your eyes and glanced at his hand, so big in comparison to yours. Suddenly, an image of Mr Miller's palm wrapped around his cock flashed in your mind. Your breath hitched, you pulled your hand away, squeaked "Thank you, sir” and rushed to the door on shaky legs.

“No, thank you for your work. And call me Joel. Please. If it’s ok with you,” he added, following you.

”Yes, of course, Mr M—- Joel.”

He smiled widely, when you called him that, and trying not to scream at how handsome he was, you opened the door.

“Oh,” you stopped and turned to him again. “I’ll ask them not to assign me to this floor anymore. So you don’t feel uncomfortable.”

“Hey, no, please.” Joel raised his hands and shook his head. “I don’t mind seeing you again. I— I’d love to, actually. And I promise to be clothed next time we meet.”

You laughed with him gleefully and said ‘goodbye’. Walking through the hallway with a giddy smile on your face, you thought that you’d love to see him again, too. Clothed or not.

You told Ms Hewitt about your conversation with Mr Miller and she seemed satisfied with the way you handled the situation.

All day you couldn’t stop thinking about Joel — he had been so charming, so apologetic and kind to you, that the awkwardness of the morning incident faded out of your heart, and all that remained was a bright, exciting feeling of meeting someone wonderful, someone you wished to get to know better.

Yet not only your heart and mind were occupied by your accidental acquaintance. You felt tingling between your legs every time you remembered Joel’s body, a scorching fire igniting your core.

***

When you came home in the evening and went to take a shower to wash the tiring day off, you found yourself fantasising about the guest in room 605. In your mind the rivulets of water turned into Joel’s strong arms, snaking around your body. You closed your eyes and imagined him standing behind you, naked and gorgeous, just like you’d seen him in the morning. The vision was bright and vivid behind your eyelids, and a needy moan escaped your parted lips.

You could finally quench your thirst. Your hand slid from your neck to your chest, down to your belly and when it reached your mound, you gently massaged your wet folds, envisioning that it was Joel touching you, his fingers were tracing your seam and then pushing inside. In your mind his pads began rubbing your hardened clit, he was the one twitching and pulling your pebbled nipples, and your needy whimpers and moans reverberated in the small bathroom. Joel praised you for your lustful serenade, whispering into your ear,

“Yes, sweetheart, need you to be loud for me. Show me how much you’re enjoying it.”

You were imagining his hard cock push and slide between your thighs, slippery and hot, hotter than the water running down your body.

“Ahhh, Joel,” you whined, as an upcoming climax was licking at your body. Edged by your memories of Joel during the day, it was craving a release. You heard Joel’s gruff ‘sweetheart’ in your ears and came hard, shaking on your trembling legs, holding onto the cold tile wall, trying not to collapse.

Before going to bed you thought of the handsome guest again, wishing to see him in your dreams, to talk to him, to touch him, but your mind didn’t give you that chance, and you fell into a dreamless sleep.

Without any effort on your part, you began seeing Joel often. When you two ran into each other in the hallway, he always gave you a warm smile and your heart skipped a beat every time you heard his ‘Mornin’, sweetheart.”

You were good at your job, but when you worked in Joel’s room, you tried to do everything perfectly. You wanted to make his stay as pleasant as possible and dreamed that he would think fondly of you. Every day you left him more shampoo and conditioner bottles than one man could need in a week and put a little flower on top of his fresh towels.

He seemingly felt your care because every day he would leave you a tip. It was nice but you never needed any money from him - the fact that he thought about you was enough.

You had never snooped around guests’ belongings, it was going against your principles, as well as a big no-no in any hotel, but whenever Joel left anything in the open - on the nightstand or on the desk, you meticulously studied ‘the thing’, not touching it but simply looking, eager to get any information about the man.

Once on his desk you saw a flyer that said ‘Small Business Contracting Expo’. He must be a contractor, you thought. You sighed dreamily, standing in the middle of his room with a turned on vacuum in hand. You found his job incredibly sexy.

But not all the discoveries were pleasant. One day you noticed something that upset you. It was a photo, lying on the nightstand - a Polaroid of him with a 6 or 7 year old girl. She was very pretty and had a beautiful smile. His smile.

‘He has a daughter. He’s married,’ you thought and your heart dropped. Of course. How could such a handsome and sweet man be single? That moment you shared… He was just friendly and your head was full of stupid fantasies.

All the rules and regulations forgotten, you plopped on his bed and tears flowed down your cheeks as you were staring at the photo of the happy family man.

The next day you were in the hallway, rummaging your cart for the right cleaning detergent, when you saw Joel exiting his room. He was wearing a leather jacket and a pair of dark blue jeans. At first, your eyes feasted on the sight of his strong back, straining the shiny leather, and you bit your lip, admiring his broad frame, but then you remembered the photo you’d seen on his nightstand - happy Joel with his little daughter. You hastily averted your eyes from the guest — you’d never be a homewrecker.

Not that you had any plans to win his heart but in your mind Joel had been single and it was fine to daydream about him, yet after seeing the Polaroid, your dreams had been crushed by reality like a glass butterfly by a hammer.

Avoiding Joel, you quickly crouched behind your cart, hoping he wouldn’t see you and his warm ‘sweetheart‘ wouldn’t cut your heart like a blade.

You were cleaning off a non-existent spot on your shoe when you heard a soft ’Hey there’ over your head.

“Are you hiding from me?” Joel chuckled as you sprung up on your feet, your heart racing in your chest.

“No,” you lied with a nervous giggle. “I was just looking for —ehm.” You shoved your hand into the cart and retreated the first thing you touched— a roll of toilet paper. “This. For the room.”

“Yeah, ok.” Joel was standing in front of you with his hands shoved in his jeans pocket, and his lopsided smile and a twinkle in his eye told you that he wasn’t buying it.

Then he raised his hands a little, palms towards you.

“I hope I don’t weird you out. You know? Because of… the way we met.”

Your breath hitched when he said that but you tried to keep your cool.

“No. I was really just looking for the paper.”

“Ok,” he mumbled, rubbing his scruffy beard. ”I’m heading out and I need help.”

“Yeah?” You were lost in beautiful eyes for a second and then your gaze slid down to his thick neck, his strong arms, covered by the leather. You locked eyes with him again - beautiful and deep they seemed to stare right into your soul, bringing you comfort and torment at the same time.

“What do you think?”

Fuck! You got completely mesmerized by Joel while he was talking and asked you for help. Help with what?! You had no damn idea.

“I’m sorry, could you say it again? I got lost in thought for a second.”

“Yeah, I see”, Joel smirked, a playful joy glinting in his irises, but kindly repeated himself.

“I need a gift for my daughter. I promised her a souvenir from the trip. Do you know any nice stores nearby? I don’t think she’d like a magnet from the hotel shop.”

“Yes, daughter,” you uttered, your face falling at the reminder of your discovery. Trying to hide sadness in your quiet voice, you asked,

“How old is she?”

“7.”

You thought for a few seconds and smiled when an idea came to you.

“There’s a store on the opposite side of the street. It’s next to a bank, you’ll see it right away. They sell these super cute handmade plushies. They’re adorable!”

Joel’s eyebrows shot up as he nodded.

“Yes! She loves plushies.”

“Oh, and they have all kinds of pretty stationery there too. Kids love that, right?” you asked with a little smile.

Joel took a step closer to you and put his warm palm over your hand, which was resting on the cart.

“Thank you so much, sweetheart. I’m sure I’ll be the world’s best dad when I get home.”

“I’m sure you already are,” you said quietly and dropped your head, your heart heavy.

“Are you ok?” You heard Joel’s lowered voice.

You looked up at him and lied.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

***

The next day you hoped not to see him at all. Your feelings were cruelly scratching at your chest, making your smile fake, your work day longer. Every minute felt like hours, and to make matters worse you started plucking at your own soul. You were single and lonely, saving up for college and dreaming of a career you probably would never achieve. Why would you want something if all you got at the end was disappointment?

Usually cleaning helped you to put your mind and heart at ease, to organize the thoughts swirling in your head like a bunch of stinging bees, but not that day. That day you wanted to dump all your hopes and dreams in one giant pile and set the useless trash on fire.

***

You decided to skip Joel’s room that day and was on your way to the neighbouring one when his head popped out of the door and he called for you.

”I thought I heard your cart. Sorry, can we talk, sweetheart?”

You smiled weakly at the pet name, and walked up to his room.

Joel motioned for you to step inside and you followed him. He was wearing a white Henley and jeans and you couldn’t help but ogle him. So stupid of you to think that a man like that was available. Especially for you.

Involuntarily you took a deep breath of his scent that was filling the room, piney and fresh with something so him. You felt at ease right away. He was almost a stranger and an emptiness inside was swallowing you bit by bit but his presence made you calm and relaxed.

“Look what I got for Sarah.”

Joel grabbed a toy sitting on his pillow - a cute fluffy bunny, wearing blue overalls, and brought it to you.

“I think she’ll like him.”

“I’m sure she will,” you assured him, petting the plushie, before giving it back to him. It was soft and pretty.

“And I bought her a bunch of pens and stickers and stuff. Thank you so much for your advice. Oh, and..”

Joel walked to the drawer and pulled something out.

“This one’s for you. A little thank you gift for your help.”

He was handing you a cute plushie cat, fluffy just like the bunny. “Had to hide it in case you’d come to my room.”

“You didn’t have to,” you said, accepting the present with a smile.

“I wanted to. Thought about you when I saw it.”

“Why?” you giggled.

“I don’t know. It’s beautiful and you’re—.” A slight blush appeared on Joel’s cheeks and he cleared his throat before adding, “Jus’ thought you might like it.”

“I love it.”

You didn’t lie. His gesture was so sweet that you had to take a deep breath, fighting an urge to cry.

“You’re a great father, Joel,” you said with a shaky voice, your eyes set on the toy, and then added,

“And I’m sure a wonderful husband.”

The words escaped your mouth before you could stop them. It seemed that the despair you’d been carrying in your soul made you bolder, more numb. It was easier to talk to him when all your feelings for the man lost a taste of sweet hope, leaving only bitterness.

“Thank you,” Joel uttered, placing the bunny back on the bed, ”but it’s just me and Sarah.”

Your eyes snapped back at him, and you stared at him in surprise. Your chest swelled with hope and joy. That man was single, but now it sounded almost impossible in your head. How could he be single?

Joel was completely oblivious to a whirlwind of thoughts inside your mind and kept talking,

“Well… there’s also my younger brother, Tommy. She’s staying with him now. Frankly, I’m not sure who’s looking after who,” he chuckled, shaking his head.

You laughed, maybe a little too loudly and too happily, but it was hard to keep your emotions contained.

“I'm sure they’ll be fine,” you assured him.

“Yeah. I call them every day and they haven’t burnt the house down yet — so — it’s great.”

You giggled and Joel seemed to notice your sudden mood uplift. His eyes narrowed as he asked,

“What about you? Husband, boyfriend?”

You bit your lower lip, hiding a smile that would be too revealing of your feelings - his interest flattered you greatly.

“No, none of those.”

Joel hummed and unlike you, didn’t hide his smile.

Your eyes connected and something electric appeared between you two. It started hard to breathe and the tingling warmth spread all over your body. Joel’s gaze slid from your eyes to your lips and you took a sharp breath, scared of the strength of your feelings. Panicking, you blurted out the first thing that came to your mind,

“Where are you from?”

As if having forgotten where he was, Joel looked around the hotel room and cleared his throat before replying,

“Austin, Texas.”

You felt flustered by the moment you two had shared, your legs felt like they were made of cotton.

Joel noticed you shifting on your feet and offered you to sit down. You chose to take a chair at his desk, as sitting next to him on the bed could be inappropriate.

“Are you on business here?” you asked, trying not to think about the last time you had seen him on that bed.

“That’s right, ma’am,” Joel bowed his head with a smile and the gesture made your heart flutter. “Tommy and I are starting our own company,” he continued. “Contracting. Very small for now. There's a big expo here this week so we thought it’d be useful to meet people, do some networkin’.” Joel pinched the bridge of his nose and gruffed, “if that’s what it’s called. I’m still learning all the business lingo.”

In spite of the visible self-doubt, Joel’s eyes were glinting with excitement when he was talking about their plans. Then he leaned forward, placed his elbows on the knees, and asked,

“What about you? Do you like working here?”

His soft baritone was caressing your ears and sending heat to your core. His piercing eyes set on you weren’t helping either so you took a deep breath to calm down and replied,

“Yeah, it’s fine. I’m saving up to go to a law school. Next year I hope.”

As you were sharing your plans with him, Joel was listening to you attentively, nodding and asking questions from time to time. It was easy to open up to him and the conversation flowed smoothly until you heard someone talk in the hallway and remembered that you were supposed to be working.

“Oh my God, Joel, I’m sorry I need to go.”

You got up, pressing the plushie cat close to your chest, and headed to the door.

“I hope you're not gonna get in trouble because of me,” Joel said, following you. “Some old man lured you into his room…”

You opened the door and walked to your cart, giggling, and then turned to him, smiling widely.

“You’re not old. And you can lure me anywhere anytime.”

Joel scratched his bearded chin, a mischievous smile dancing on his lips.

“Goodbye, Joel,” you purred, and feeling bold, gave him a playful wink.

“See you, sweetheart.”

You felt his eyes on your back and - hopefully - on your ass as you sauntered to another room as gracefully as you could, pushing your cart forward with the cutest plushie cat, sitting on top of it.

***

It was difficult for you to fall asleep that night. You were tossing and turning, hugging the kitty Joel had gifted you and thinking about his smile, his eyes, his hands, his body, his voice. You kept replaying your conversation over and over, your face aching after smiling so much. You were used to the constant tingling between your legs when Joel was on your mind and it wasn’t surprising - he was a handsome man, big and strong, but what stole your sleep that night was the feeling in your stomach. Something warm filled your belly, it was pushing up against your lungs, stealing your breaths away again and again. The sensation was so encapsulating, so pleasant and exciting that you had no doubt what it was. You fell in love with Joel. You fell in love with a guest.

***

The next day you were assigned to a different floor, but your head was full of Joel Miller. You were yawning because of the lack of sleep the previous night and yearning for the culprit of your insomnia. You wondered if he thought about you, too, if he liked you, if he wanted you. An idea to visit him popped into your head but you brushed it off, not wanting to impose and still feeling a little insecure. What if the spark you felt was one sided? What if it all was only in your head?

You were scheduled to work on the sixth floor the next day, so you were looking forward to seeing him soon.

That day everything went wrong. You overslept, probably because you managed to close your eyes only at 4 am, love-induced insomnia to blame again. On top of that, the traffic was horrible, so you missed the morning briefing.

Ms Hewitt looked at you sternly when you came to her office to get your assignments for the day but your genuine apologies and sorry puppy eyes softened her and she gave you all the info you needed.

“Oh, and it’s final cleaning for the 605.”

“What?!” Your heart plummeted into your stomach when you heard the number of the room. Joel’s room.

Trying but absolutely failing to hide your shock you squeaked,

“He—they‘re checking out today?”

“Yes,” Ms Hewitt's puzzled expression told you that the panic in your eyes was evident. She put her hand on your shoulder and asked,

“Are you ok, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart

Sweetheart

Sweetheart

The pet name was ringing in your ears but it sounded like Joel. A scary thought flashed in your mind, ‘Will I ever hear it again?‘

”What time is it?” You exclaimed.

Ms Hewitt’s brows shot up, before she glanced at her watch.

“Ehm. 10:45.”

“Oh god! I need to go— to clean!”

You excused yourself hurriedly and ran to the elevator.

***

A minute later you were at room 605, knocking loudly. No reply. You didn’t stop, remembering Joel’s hearing problem, but there were no heavy footsteps of the man you so foolishly fell in love with. The realization pierced your heart - he was gone, he was gone forever.

Breaking all the rules you opened the door with your card and went inside.

“Joel!” you called, desperation loud in your voice.

He didn’t reply.

It felt empty, lifeless. Just another standard hotel room. The biggest sign that he had even been there was his scent, still lingering in the air.

You took a deep breath of him and tears welled up in your eyes. Your loud sob shuttered the deafening silence.

“Joel,” you mewled helplessly.

There was something on the bed. You walked there and saw a note with your name on it. You lifted it with shaky hands and started reading.

Sweetheart, I hope you’ll get this note. I couldn’t find you but I’d like to thank you for everything. Meeting you was a highlight of my trip. I hope all your dreams come true. And sorry again for the way we met. Joel

On the bed there was also a big tip and a bouquet of red roses.

Your chest swelled with a myriad of different emotions - it was nice of him to leave you a message and the flowers but it was a goodbye. A farewell forever.

A tear fell on the note in your hands. You wiped it off and smudged the writing, leaving a blue streak.

He wrote it not so long ago. What if you could still catch him?

You dropped the note and ran out of the room. Pressing the elevator button several times with a rushed hand, wiping your tears with the other, you were praying to all the gods to let you see him at least one more time, to hear his husky voice, to feel his warm eyes on you.

Joel—Joel—Joel

His name was booming in your head and your heart on your way downstairs.

On the first floor, not wanting to alarm the guests and other personnel, you walked fast to the reception.

“Birtie, hi, could you tell me when Joel Miller checked out? Please,” you asked the receptionist who furrowed his brows at you, having noticed your teary eyes.

You didn’t care about his concern, your gaze was glued to the entrance. Through the glass door you saw him.

Joel was standing outside, his back to you, his suitcase at his feet.

“Is everything ok?” You barely heard Bertie, your heart was making somersaults in your chest. He’s still here!

You took a deep breath, trying to calm down, but a wide smile wouldn’t leave your face as you hurried to your most precious guest.

***

“Joel?” you called softly, standing behind him.

He turned to you and his face lit up. All of a sudden he hugged you and you stopped breathing altogether. Feeling his body so close to yours made your head spin. To your dismay, Joel pulled away in a moment and took a step back.

“Fuck. Sorry. I thought you weren’t here today. But you’re and … I’m glad to see you.”

“I’m happy to see you, too,” you smiled at Joel, still feeling his strong arms around you. “I’ve just found your note and came here to say goodbye and— .”

“Yes?” Joel’s puppy eyes were darting between yours as you paused with your mouth open.

What now? Are you going to shake his hand and let him disappear from your life? The thought made you feel sick.

“There’s a problem. With your room. I’m afraid you have to go back up with me.”

Joel furrowed his brows, looking confused.

“What problem?”

Yeah, what problem?

“Ehm.. Can we talk in your room, sir?”

You added ’sir‘ to sound more formal so he wouldn’t think that you were making shit up.

“Of course. No problem. I have lots of time.”

Joel grabbed his suitcase and followed you inside.

You felt Bertie’s eyes on you as you were walking past the reception with the guest who had already checked out but you didn’t care.

When you stepped into the elevator, Joel turned to you.

“What’s wrong with the room, sweetheart? Tell me you didn’t get in trouble because of my note or the roses.”

“Oh, no,” you replied, nervously fumbling with your sleeve. “It’s— ehm—-it’s the hangers. Some are missing.”

“The hangers?”

“Yep.” You averted your eyes, feeling your heart in your throat. You could feel Joel’s confusion. Then you heard a low chuckle. Was he laughing at your stupid lie? You wouldn’t blame him.

“I didn’t steal the hangers, sweetheart,” he snickered, as you were walking to the room. “I promise.”

You felt bad about lying, but when you glanced at his smiley face, you couldn’t help but giggle along. Your excuse was ridiculous, but it was the first thing that came to your mind and, what was more important, it worked.

You opened the door and Joel and you entered the room. The room where you met. The room where you saw more than you were supposed to. Felt more than you were supposed to.

Joel left the suitcase at the door, followed you to the living area and stopped a few steps from you, as always giving you personal space. You didn’t want that space now. A few minutes ago you’d thought that you had lost him forever so you took a step closer to him, basking in the warmth his smile was giving you, his honey eyes mesmerizing you.

Joel followed your lead and inched closer, too. Now one tiny step was separating you two. He lowered his voice and asked, almost whispering,

“It’s not about the hangers, is it?”

You looked down at your hands and shook your head, nerves, excitement, love churning your stomach. You opened your mouth to talk but didn’t find any words. Why have you brought him here? What do you want? What do you want?

The answer to that question came like a flash. You were seeing it clearly then, fears and worries pushed into the corners of your mind, only your desire in the spotlight.

You took the final step towards him and pressed your lips to his. It was a soft little peck, timid and fleeting, but the feel of him flush to you, his warm lips, his heady scent drew you to kiss him again. Joel didn’t pull back but instead put his hands on your waist. His touch was gentle, careful but it set your whole body on fire. Feeling overwhelmed you broke the kiss and looked into his eyes.

You had just kissed Joel Miller. Your brain switched off completely as you were ogling his handsome face up close, his hot breath fanning your lips, the heat of his body seeping through your clothes.

“I wanted to say ‘goodbye’,” you lied, looking into Joel’s darkening eyes. You’d never want to say goodbye to that man.

“Do all the guests get a goodbye like that from you?” he asked as his lips curled into a smile.

You dropped your head and whispered ‘no’. Joel’s chest rose and fell heavily and his sigh tickled your nose.

“Am I special then?”

A shiver ran down your spine when you heard his question. You looked him right in the eye and your voice didn’t waver when you replied,

“Yes.”

Your boldness seemed to touch him deeply, his face lit up as if he’d just gotten the best compliment in his life. His reaction warmed your heart but your eyes still were puffy from the tears, the pain was still fresh in your chest.

“I was afraid you’d left forever. Thank you for the note but, frankly, I hoped you’d leave your number,” you said, sadness coating your words. Joel sighed again and his puppy eyes made your heart flutter.

“I did. In the first note. But then I threw it in the trash.”

“Why?” you mumbled, blinking at him in confusion.

Joel inched closer and took your face into his big warm hands.

“Because you’re young and beautiful,” he whispered, leaning down, and planted a soft kiss on your cheek.

“You have your whole life ahead of you.” – he kissed the corner of your eye,

“I’m a single dad.” — He kissed your nose, your other cheek, until his lips grazed yours for a fleeting moment.

Then he pulled away, his eyes glossy.

“And I live in another state. I didn’t have a right to leave you my number.”

Joel was still holding your face and it was heavenly but his words squeezed your throat with a tight grip.

“Why are you kissing me then?” you murmured, searching for the answer in his sparkling eyes.

Joel sighed again and croaked,

“’cause I can’t help it.”

That was when he kissed you. If your first kiss was like a soft breeze, a gentle caress to the skin, his was like an ocean, heady, overwhelming, you both drowning in it in seconds.

Joel’s arms bound you to him, your bodies flush against each other, and when he licked into your mouth, the taste of him made you dizzy, the ache between your legs grew and you bucked your hips against his thigh.

Joel growled, feeling your need, and your wet arousal leaked into your panties when you heard that he craved you, too. You broke the kiss and panted,

“When’s your flight?”

“In six hours.” Joel’s blown out eyes were darting between yours as he offered, “Can I spend this time with you?”

“Yes,” you replied immediately, having never been more sure about anything in your life.

Joel was beaming at you, his grin wide and happy. His hands were running up and down your arms as he mused,

“We can have a walk. Or we can stay here. What do you prefer?”

You dropped your head, contemplating your answer, and in a second you knew exactly what you wanted to do. You had about three hours to spend with the man of your dreams and you decided to use them to the fullest. There was no time to be shy.

“Can we stay here?” you asked quietly and Joel eagerly nodded.

“Yeah, sure, sweetheart. I’ll call the reception, see if I can have this room for today. Ok?”

“Yes! If it’s not booked, it shouldn't be a problem.”

Your belly was full of butterflies, your core was on fire, and it was hard to think straight, but suddenly you remembered that you had work to do.

While Joel was talking to Bertie, you pulled your phone out of your dress pocket and quickly texted Max.

Need to leave. Cover for me pls. I’ll explain later.

She sent you back an ‘ok’ just as Joel hung up.

Judging by his wide smile, the room was available.

“We can stay here.” He took your hand in his and you whispered a breathy ‘good’, already under the spell of his dark eyes.

He pulled you into his embrace and kissed you. His lips were moving gently against yours until they travelled lower to your neck, his moustache and beard deliciously tickling your skin. The sensation was intoxicating, your whole body was buzzing, craving him, your heart was beating fast.

You couldn’t wait any longer, your poor pussy was crying and begging for him, so you took his hand and led him to the bed.

“Thank you for the roses,” you purred, looking at the flowers, their crimson colour a bright contrast to the whiteness of the sheets. “They’re very beautiful.”

Joel barely glanced at the bouquet, he had eyes only for you.

“You’re beautiful, baby.”

***

A few kisses later you were making out, sitting on the edge of the bed, you’re on Joel’s lap, straddling his thighs, your arms wrapped around his thick neck. Joel’s hand was gently cupping the back of your head, the other, pressed to your lower back, keeping you close. You were softly whimpering into his mouth, your tongues tangled in a passionate dance.

“Ahh, Joel,” you moaned and began grinding your burning pussy against the big bulge in his jeans. Timidly at first, but the growing desire gave you courage to take what you wanted.

“I’m here,” Joel breathed out. “My needy girl.”

He broke the kiss and dropped his head down to watch your hips move, the hem of your uniform dress inching higher, exposing more and more of your tights-covered thighs.

“I need you too, sweetheart,” he confessed but then his hands left your hips and flew up to your face. He searched for your eyes and asked,

“You sure you want this? We can just kiss, baby. You don’t have to—“

“No, please, I want you,” you panted, surprising even yourself. You weren’t hiding your feelings anymore, you were begging him to give you more, to put down the fire burning you on the inside.

“Ok,” he nodded, his lips in a lopsided smile. “I needed to make sure.”

“I’ve never done this,” you mumbled, nervously chewing your lower lip. “Never been with a guest— like this.”

Joel brought his hand to your mouth and glided his thumb over your lip to stop you from hurting yourself.

“Me too, sweetheart. Never got a hotel room to —. He paused and you noticed a light blush painting his cheeks. Joel ran his hands down your neck and traced your neckline with his knuckles, lightly grazing your skin and sending chills down your spine.

“Can I undress you, baby?”

His voice was low and raspy, gorgeous and alluring, and you swallowed a moan when you heard his question. You replied with a sultry ‘yes’ and got off his lap.

Joel’s hands were gentle and slow. Standing behind you he unzipped your dress on your back, pulled it off your shoulders and helped you to step out of it. He slid the tights down and off your legs.

His fingers were gliding up and down your arms, his breath fanning your shoulder before he pressed his lips to the crease of your neck. You moaned, melting in his arms, turning into a puddle when his hand slid down your neck to your chest. You looked down and just then remembered what you were wearing that day- a simple flowery bra and unmatching black panties.

“Shit—,” you mumbled, your cheeks heating up. “Wish I was wearing something sexy. Lace or something…”

Your voice was small, your head downcast. Joel walked around you, took your chin between his fingers and gently lifted your face. A pair of dark-as-night eyes met you, there was a bright fire in them, a desire that echoed deeply in your own body.

”I don’t want ‘lacy’. I want you.”

He cupped your covered breast with his big hand and began kneading it. Even through the padding the sensation sent lightning of pleasure to your core, and you moaned shamelessly watching him caress your other breast.

Then his hands snaked behind you.

“Can I…?”

You uttered a needy ‘yeah’ and Joel unclasped your bra, letting it fall on the floor.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, looking at your naked breasts, and you smiled, taking it as a compliment. ”You’re gorgeous.”

You were standing in front of him topless while he was still dressed. It was turning you on but you couldn’t wait to see him naked. Again.

“My turn,” you purred and grabbed the hem of his tee. You took it off him and ogled his golden skin, his toned shoulders, his muscular arms and a happy train on his soft tummy. Your hand impatiently flew to feel his broad chest, but having dreamed of it all week, you feared that he would disappear like a mirage.

“Joel,” you whispered his name like a spell, binding him to you at that moment, making it real in your mind, you and him there, exposed to each other, needing each other desperately, ready to dive into something beautiful and exciting.

You pressed your thighs together and a lustful shiver ran down your spine.

“C’mere, baby.” Joel probably thought that you were cold and caged you in his warm embrace. Your nose found its home in the crease of his neck, your heart close to his heart, your arms around his torso. It felt like his body was meant for you- to bring you comfort, to warm you up, to caress you, to make love to you.

You kissed his collar bone and Joel pressed his lips to the top of your head.

You two stood like that for a few moments, simply relishing the feel of each other's skin, sharing warmth of your bodies.

Then Joel’s hand slowly slithered down your back, covering your skin with a new set of goosebumps, and cupped your asscheek. He squeezed it gently and you moaned.

“Get on the bed, baby.”

He knew what you wanted, there was no uncertainty in his words, it sounded like a command, and you were happy to follow it.

You put the roses on the nightstand and climbed onto the soft bed. Your back against the pillows, you were watching Joel discard his jeans.

When he was only in his boxers, your jaw involuntarily dropped at the sight of his huge bulge. Apparently your memory wasn’t kind to him, because in your mind his cock was smaller. In reality he was hung like a god, and as handsome as one. A part of you got scared that he would split you in two, but the heady mixture of desire and love erased any doubts in your heart and head. You desperately needed him. Starved to have him inside you.

Joel lay down next to you and dived into your arms right away. As you were kissing, his hands were exploring your body, caressing your soft skin, gently squeezing your breasts, twitching your hardened nipples. You were hungrily feeling him too— with a soft drag of your nails down his arms and his back, with your fingers running through his silky curls. Your legs intertwined, you began rubbing your covered pussy against his hairy thigh.

“Joel— please,” you begged and with a fast hand he pulled your panties down. Now he could see all of you and you’d have probably got shy, but Joel’s eyes full of hunger and need, gave you the courage to throw your legs apart, to invite him to the most sacred place of your body.

”Jesus, sweetheart, you’re so wet,” Joel growled as his fingers were tracing your slicked up seam before pushing inside. With the pads of his two digits he drew a circle around your clit and you almost came, shuddering against the crispy sheets and his body. Joel noticed your reaction.

“Been needing it for some time, baby?”

“Yes, Joel, since the moment I saw you. Here, on this bed.”

You paused, scared that the memory of the incident would embarrass him, but Joel smirked, brought his lips to your ear and whispered,

“Did you like what you saw?”

You opened your mouth to reply but Joel made you gasp, when he slowly inserted his middle finger into your soft hole. He began thrusting it in and out, and you quickly turned into a moaning, dripping mess.

“I take it as a ’yes’”. His voice was strained with lust as his lips brushed against your cheek. “Did you think about me after that? About my hard cock?”

His soft husky voice, his words, his finger caressing something delicious inside you - everything at once was overwhelming and your eyes fluttered shut, your mind begging for any respite.

“Yeah, Joel, so— so much,” you slurred, unable to speak clearly.

“That’s my girl.”

Joel lightly nibbled on your earlobe, a satisfied growl rumbling in his chest, and then added another finger to penetrate your sopping heat.

Your moan was loud and shameless and Joel echoed you with a groan. His lips drew a path from your cheek, down your neck and soon he kissed your pebbled nipple. Your hand flew to his curls, legs opened up wider and your eyes rolled back, when he began sucking on your bud, while his fingers were opening your cunt up for his thick cock. Joel hummed at the taste of your skin and his low grunts made your pussy drool more around his digits. He parted from your tit and asked, breathing heavily with arousal,

“Tell me what you wanted me to do to you. When you thought about me, baby.”

“Wanted you —to fuck me.”

“Oh, baby. I thought about you, too. Fuck.. non stop, all these days.”

“Really?“ You panted, searching for his eyes.

“Yes, sweetheart. I thought— what if you’d stayed— would you wanna watch me?”

You bit your lip and purred,

“I would.”

Joel licked his smiling lips, his eyes blown out, and gave you a wink before saying,

“Anything for you, sweetheart.”.

Carefully, so as not to hurt your pussy with his fingers, he sat up and kneeled next to you on the bed, then using his free hand, the hand that wasn’t fucking you, he pulled down his boxers and let his stiff cock spring free. It was as gorgeous as you remembered, thick and long, curved up at the top, glistening in the sunlight, leaking rivers of precum.

“Now you can watch, sweetheart,” Joel groaned, wrapping his palm around his member with a sigh and beginning to jerk it.

You were watching him fuck his fist, while his fingers were fingering your wet pussy, until your plea interrupted your moaning.

“Can I do it? Please.”

“Yes, baby.”

Joel let go off his cock and your little hand immediately replaced his. You could barely circle your fingers around his girth but you applied all of yourself and began pumping his fat cock. Joel’s grunts were making your head spin. His pleasure was giving yours an ecstatic, exquisite, divine taste. You were revelling in the feeling of bringing ecstasy to him, your hand pulling up and down the soft skin stretched over the hot steel of his cock.

“Joel…what else did you think about? Tell me,” you moaned, tilting your hips up to give him more access to your crying pussy. His fingers were curling inside you and an upcoming climax overshadowed your shiness.

”Everyday I dreamed about pulling you close and kissing you, baby.”

“Just kissing?” you teased.

“Hngg, ‘course not. Wanted to tear your cute dress off, throw you on the bed and lick your little pussy.”

“Oh my god, Joel.”

“Then fuck you on every surface in here.”

His confession drew a needy whine out of your mouth and you began squeezing his fingers with your pulsating cunt. A hard orgasm was shaking your body, your pussy bursting with pleasure and wetness against his hand. You stopped jerking Joel off and just held his cock in your hand, too focused on the waves of euphoria rippling through you.

“Yeah, like that, baby,” Joel growled, watching you explode on his fingers. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you. So sweet and beautiful. I’d give anything to bounce you on my cock, to kiss your pretty tits.”

His mouth latched onto your breast, his tongue swirling around your nipple, his fingers were still massaging your g-spot, prolonging your orgasm.

When you relaxed and your hand fell off his cock onto the bed, Joel carefully pulled his drenched fingers out of your stretched hole.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” he whispered, taking you in his arms, and kissed you again, slowly and sensually, letting you rest in the warm ocean of his caress.

You were in heaven. Basking in the afterglow of the climax, relishing Joel’s embrace and his soft kisses, you couldn’t be happier.

He pulled away and looked into your hazy eyes.

“You ok?”

“Yes,” you murmured with a smile, tracing his handsome features with your gaze, mesmerized by him once again. Then you averted your eyes and bit your lip.

“What is it, baby?” Joel furrowed his brows and you heard a trace of worry in his tone.

You cupped his cheek and he melted against your touch.

“I want more, Joel. I need you inside me.”

Joel’s body shuddered at your words, his cock twitched, and you had no doubt that he desperately wanted it, too.

“I’ll give you anything you want, sweetheart. But— I don’t have condoms. Do you?”

You shook your head and hid your face in his neck, too shy to look at him, as you whispered.

“Can we do it without them? I’m clean, I promise.”

Joel stroked your head and kissed your temple.

“Me too, I haven’t had—, " he cleared his throat and continued, “had anyone for a while.”

“Ok.” You smiled, raising your eyes at him.

“Ok,” he echoed you.

***

You sat up and carefully straddled Joel’s thick thighs. His cock was engorged, crying and ready for you. But were you ready for it?

You swallowed loudly, fear noticeable in your expression, and Joel rubbed your thighs with his palms.

“We’ll go slowly, sweetheart. And.. if you’re not ready — I can kiss your pretty pussy instead.”

His words made you gush more, your head spun at the image of Joel’s lips on your cunt, but you shook your head with determination.

“No. I want you— want you to bounce me on your cock,” you quoted him with a timid smile and Joel half chuckled-half groaned. His cock twitched and you saw a drop of prefuck juice bead on the reddish slit.

“Baby, if you keep talking like this… I’m afraid I’ll come too soon.“

You playfully bit your lower lip, his words giving you much needed confidence. You felt desired, sexy and beautiful.

You got up on your knees and moved forward until you were hovering over his cock. It brushed against your folds and you impatiently gripped it at the base and glided his tip over your seam, before teasing your puffy clit with the bulbous head.

Your lustful whimper rang loudly in the room, fusing with Joel’s moan. Your palm planted on his hairy chest, you slid his tip down, and when it notched the source of your wetness, you began lowering your hips, slowly sinking on it. The sounds you both were making seemed like an epitome of pleasure, a beautiful melody of two bodies becoming one. They weren’t lewd, they were pure and sincere.

You seemed to lose an ability to talk or think, your whole being was overtaken by the feeling of Joel filling your core. The stretch sent shivers down your spine, but the dull pain got overshadowed by the bliss in your body. Joel’s palm was gripping your hip when the other slid up from your lower belly to your sternum, then to your chest until he surely could feel your heart, beating loudly in unison with your pussy, that was hungrily swallowing his length.

”Oh, baby, oh, yes,” was everything that Joel could muster when you took all of him. His eyes were dark with desire but the affection and warmth within them pulled you to him. You leaned down, lay down on his chest, uniting your heartbeats, and your lips met. Your eager tongues tangled with passion, your fingers ran through his curls, damp with sweat, his palms were exploring your body.

When Joel squeezed your asscheeks and gently lifted your hips up, you mewled, realizing what he wanted. Making out with him, you began slowly moving your hips up and down, your walls massaging his shaft, your mouth drinking his growls, that inevitably turned into moans. You smiled against his lips, happy to be giving Joel so much pleasure, but also getting an immense amount of it as well.

No one had ever made you feel so sexy in your life and the elation in your heart gave you the courage to break the kiss and sit up proudly on Joel’s cock, letting him see all of you again. With his mouth slightly open Joel looked completely drunk on you. His gaze slid over your body and he panted,

”Look at you, baby. Wish you could ride me like that every day till I die.”

You smiled and took his hand, that was kneading your breast, and kissed his palm. The next moment Joel sat up and you moaned at the position shift, feeling his cock even deeper inside you like that. He cupped the back of your head, and holding you close, kissed you hard. Your legs wrapped around his hips and you stilled, pierced by his member, melting in his arms.

His cock was thumping in your heat, your pussy was crying more and more around it, begging for a release.

“Joel,” you whined and, as if having read your mind, he grabbed your asscheeks in his strong hands and started lifting you up and down on his cock, moving your body easily, bringing you both closer to your peaks.

Your sensitive clit was deliciously rubbing against Joel’s hairy lower belly and soon you felt heat rise in your tightening core and your pussy started fluttering around Joel’s length.

“I’m coming,” you mewled and dug your nails into his broad shoulders, grounding yourself to him.

“That’s my girl,” Joel praised you, his eyes focused on your face, and then groaned through his teeth,

“Gonna come, too. Where d’you want me, baby?”

“Inside, please,” you begged, still trembling with the second orgasm.

“Yeah?” Joel grunted, “wanna be full of my hot cum?”

“Yes—yes—yes,” you chanted, bouncing on his cock, prolonging your pleasure.

“Yeah, sweetheart, I want it, too. Want your pussy wet with me for days.”

Pushed over the edge by the image and your walls gripping his member, Joel roared and began filling you up. You greedily milked him of every drop, pressing your body to his, burying your nose in his neck, relishing the scent of his heated skin.

Joel was jerking with every squirt of his load, holding you so tight that it was hard to breathe, but you’d have rather suffocated than left his arms at that moment.

***

“Thank you,” Joel murmured as you two were lying covered by the white sheets, face to face. Your legs were tangled, arms wrapped around each other, your nose against his neck. When you heard his soft voice, you raised your eyes at him.

“What for?”

“For being here with me. For letting me kiss you, touch you…”

His fingers glided over your arm and your skin erupted with goosebumps.

“You’ve done more than touching, sir,” you smirked and he groaned, pushing you over and pinning you to the bed with his body.

”Keep calling me ‘sir‘ and I’ll do it all again.“

“Promise?” you purred, feeling helpless, caged between the bed and his broad torso and your clit twitched again.

“Bad girl.”

Joel’s words reignited fire in your belly, but you felt like behind the playful banter there was something else that he wanted to tell you.

You cupped his cheek, your eyes darting between his, and whispered,

“I’m happy to be here with you.”

Joel sighed with a smile and leaned in to kiss you gently. Then he pressed his forehead to yours, his hot breath kissing your lips.

“What I wrote— in the note. You being the highlight of my trip— I meant it.”

A happy smile shone on your face, when you heard sincerity in his voice, warmth spreading inside your body. Joel lay down next to you and continued, his arm wrapped around your waist.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you all these days— wanted you the moment I saw you but that’s not all. You’ve been so kind to me. So sweet. I haven’t felt cared for like that in a long time.”

“I was simply doing my job,” you uttered, drawing patterns on his hairy forearm.

“No, I mean, yes, but — every time I thought of you, I felt something — “

He paused, searching for words. You felt emotions in his voice and you took his hand and pressed it to your lips before whispering,

“I know, Joel. I felt it too.”

”Oh, baby,” Joel pulled you into his chest and you pecked his lips before your eyes locked and you said everything to each other without words, your hearts speaking for you. His warm gaze glossed over and your vision got blurry with your own feelings.

“Joel,” you mumbled, opening your eyes. You woke up from a wonderful dream, where you fell for a handsome guest, who later kissed you, made you see the brightest stars with his lips, his fingers and his cock, and then you fell asleep, cuddling with him.

Fortunately, it wasn’t a dream.

“I’m right here,“ you heard a soft baritone of the man next to you. You wrapped your arms around Joel and he gave you a gentle kiss.

“Had a bad dream, sweetheart?”

A tsunami of emotions flooded your heart - excitement, affection, joy stole your breath away. He was really there. He was really yours. At least for now.

“No,” you croaked, sleep heavy in your voice. “It was the best dream.” You crashed your lips against his, hunger for his caress waking up with you, but a sudden memory flashed in your mind - you had been given just a few hours to be together.

“How long have I been asleep?” Panic was loud in your voice.

“About an hour.”

“Oh no! You should’ve woken me up. We don’t have much time.”

Joel hugged you tightly.

“Shh, we have time, baby. You were sleeping like a little kitten next to me. I couldn’t miss the opportunity to stare at you like a creep.” You two laughed, your nerves seeping you out of your heart.

Joel kissed you and then began leaving open-mouth kisses over your neck, your exposed breasts and a few moments later you were dripping your juices onto the white sheets while he was licking and sucking on your sensitive nipples.

“Sweet thing,” he mumbled against your tits. “Can I have a real treat now?”

“What?” you slurred, already drunk on him.

“You pussy, baby, can I taste her?”

“Oh,” you moaned and nodded with a timid smile.

You had never been eaten out that well before. Joel’s hands were pinning your hips to the bed, holding you open for him as he was feasting on your blooming flower, his hot tongue lapping at your folds and your clit tirelessly. His mouth was gentle but he gave you enough pressure to make your pussy pulsate and explode on his tongue in a few minutes.

You were practically crying with euphoria when he climbed up the bed to let you lick your own nectar off his lips.

***

The rest of the time together you spent naked in bed, talking, laughing, eating the food you ordered to the room, kissing and cuddling. At the back of your mind you kept thinking about how lucky you were - to have met someone you clicked with spiritually, sexually and emotionally. There was no doubt in your heart that Joel was your person and he looked at you like you were his.

Inevitably the precious time ran out and Joel needed to leave for the airport. It took everything from you not to burst into tears, when you imagined saying ’goodbye’ to him, but the day you had shared, the pleasure he had given you, eased the pain in your soul.

When you two were talking and sharing your past, Joel kept mentioning your future. Your future together. He promised to introduce you to Tommy and Sarah, to take you to his favourite places in Austin, and in your dreams you saw yourself forever by his side, getting to hug and kiss him every single day for the rest of your life. It seemed like the most amazing fairy tale, and although you knew by now that life was far from perfect, his enamoured eyes, his gentle hands, his kind words gave you strength to let him go, because your heart was full of hope.

***

You covertly changed out of your uniform in the staff room and sneaked out of the hotel to take Joel to the airport in your car.

When you two arrived, you couldn’t hold your tears back anymore. Joel gently wiped them away with his thumbs but his own eyes were glossy and reddish.

“I’ll call you as soon as I land, sweetheart,” he promised, holding your face in his warm hands, then wrapped his arms around you and kissed you like no one else before, passionately, sensually, claiming you as his, and you stored the memory of his body against yours deep inside your mind.

Many phone and video calls later

The next time you saw Joel again, not on the screen of your phone or your laptop, not in your dreams or fantasies, but in person, in real life, was at the airport as well. Now in Texas.

You spotted Joel first. His honey eyes were searching for you in a sea of people, his expression serious and concentrated. You wanted to run and kiss that deep crease between his brows, wanted to drop your bags and scream with happiness, but then you saw what he had in his hands and your eyes welled up with tears.

He was holding a sign with your name on it. It was sweet, but what made you cry were glittery hearts and flowers, decorating it. Joel definitely wasn’t the type to use glitter and draw pretty hearts and you realized right away. that they were made by Sarah’s hand.

***

Joel introduced you to Sarah a week after he’d flown back to Austin. You fell in love with his daughter right away, she was a lively and funny girl, excellent at trolling her dad, the talent of hers which always made you giggle.

Quickly she became a usual participant of your daily video calls with Joel. You never minded it, falling deeper in love with Joel, when you witnessed what a great father he was. Sarah often told you about her day, asked about yours, and when she shared only with you who she liked at school, you were touched by her trust. Soon you three had breakfasts and dinners together, Joel and Sarah joining you on the screen of your laptop, and it felt like you were a little family.

At night when Sarah was asleep in her bedroom, Joel and you had other types of calls. You quickly realized that the man was a menace. He loved making you needy and desperate with his husky voice whispering filth into your ear. He would tell you in great detail how exactly he would fuck you if he was there in your bedroom. Like a good girl you would be spread for him on the bed, your legs open widely, your fingers thrusting in and out of your sopping hole. You whispered his name again and again, your hazy eyes glued to the screen, where Joel was stroking himself, deep in the pit of desire just like you.

You lost count how many times he came watching you fuck yourself, how many times you unraveled in front of his hungry eyes. It was enough for you two. For the time being.

But your feelings grew and soon you felt like you were suffocating without being able to touch him, kiss him. Joel tentatively asked if you wanted to visit them in Austin and you happily agreed. One night you two were planning your trip, when Joel admitted. that he didn’t want you just to visit.

“Sweetheart... what if we lived together?”

“It would be amazing,” you sighed, smiling at him through your phone screen.

“So why don’t we?”

You were staring at him in disbelief for a few seconds, your heart in your throat, before you asked,

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Joel replied and added, ”I love you, baby.”

His watery eyes told you that he wasn’t joking.

“I love you, too, Joel. So much,” you mumbled, already sobbing with happy tears.

***

It took you a month to quit your housekeeping job, sell the things you didn’t need anymore, pack the stuff you did, say ‘goodbye’ to your friends and family and take a big step towards your future. Future with the man you loved, the man who loved you.

***

Not being able to contain your excitement any longer, you dropped your baggage and ran to Joel, waiting for you at the airport. You were quietly squealing, trying not to alert the people around you, but when Joel noticed you and his face lit up with a widest grin, you finally screamed. He opened his big arms to you and you dived into his warm embrace. Your lips met in a fiery, long awaited kiss, and you didn’t care that people were staring at you two, making out like two horny teenagers, holding each other close. Joel was yours and you were his. Once your guest, now he was your home.

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic! Your feedback means the world💞

MASTERLIST

Tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk @pascaltesaye @fruityreads @itwasntimethatdidit40 @meetmeatyourworst @callmebyyournick-name

People who were interested in the wip posts (no pressure to read, bbs) @604to647 @tateypots @thundermartini @sawymredfox

[favorite-fan-fic]

can you write something angst like joel miller and reader having bad argument and joel lost his cool and feels bad and trying to fix it, something like that

your fics are amazing btw❤️❤️

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐣𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

pairing joel miller x female reader summary after a tough patrol, joel grapples to accept the one thing he craves but fears the most—love [angst, happy ending, 2k] a/n you're more amazing, anon ♡

⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂

Today’s patrol doesn’t follow Joel home. It fastens itself to his shoulders, forcing him to carry it. Each labored step is a reminder of the long hours spent postured on horseback, rifle slung over his shoulder. If he was twenty years younger, he reckons his body wouldn’t protest against him as often as it does. Unfortunately, there’s no way to chase those years back down. They belong to the past alone, loaned only through memories. 

How he feels at the end of a patrol is a wildcard these days, but he fares better on the mornings he remembers to stretch and when he's man enough to take adequate breaks throughout the shift. 

On days like this, when Joel was paired with fresher, younger guys like Caleb, so many of those wellness practices were disregarded. Being as sharp as possible ensured there were no slower moments that could be taken for weakness. All it took was one second of a lowered guard to be blindsighted. 

Even if Joel wanted to summon a fraction of his youth, he wouldn’t be able to after today. Shouting orders had reduced his voice to a graveled rumble. 

A little past five-o-clock, he and Caleb spotted a group of infected lingering near a fallen body in the distance—a nameless, faceless man sheeted from the most recent snowfall. There was no more breath in his lungs, but it appeared as if he were merely lying there asleep. His puffy blue coat was a pop of color amidst stark white and rogue twigs. 

Caleb insisted on burning the body so the poor man wouldn’t resurrect as the undead. But Joel had witnessed his fair share of courtesies gone wrong. If he didn’t do anything else today, he refused to add the boy to the list of casualties in his consciousness. So he demanded they leave it be. All that mattered was two of them making it back to the commune alive. The man was a stranger after all. And there was no such thing as helping the dead. Not really. 

Even as the Clickers picked up on the trodding of their horses’ hooves, Caleb’s gaze stayed on Joel like he was the monster.

“So we’re just gonna leave him?” Caleb asked. 

Joel dismounted his horse and wrestled his rifle into position. In a quick series of echoing shots, he took down all six infected, their bodies thudding to the snow. A couple ravens fluttered from the treetops, jet black against the pale sky.

“One match, man. It’ll only take a second.” 

“No!” Joel asserted. “We gotta get out of here. Probably just attracted more.” 

So they left him there, face down in the snow. 

By the time Joel crawls up the creaky steps of his front porch, he’s ready to collapse onto the couch, his bed, or any surface willing to catch him. But he won’t sleep because of his buzzing nerves. By some miracle, he sees himself inside, shrugging his backpack to the ground with a weighted thump. 

As drained as he is, the soft shuffling in the kitchen sets him right back on alert. He knew Ellie was at Dina’s tonight, and there was nobody else he’d been expecting over. If he weren’t so on guard, he’d notice the savory scent of garlic and onion in the air. 

The heavy sound of his boots precedes him as he strides into the kitchen. Upon seeing your frame standing at the stove, clad in an oversized knit sweater, Joel freezes in place. The furrow between his brows disappears as if it were never there. You peek over your shoulder with the sweetest smile, and for a moment, he forgets the ache in his muscles. The weariness that feels bone-deep. 

Slowly, however, the crueler side of reality creeps back in despite his efforts to cling to the good. At the very same time, you realize it hadn’t been just another day of patrol for him. There’s a slouch to his shoulders, and slightly bloodshot eyes take inventory of everything around the room while refusing to meet yours. Sympathy is quick to take root. 

You’ve made dinner. He gathers that much, noting a pot bubbling on the stove behind you. His stomach rumbles lowly at the prospect of food. 

“Hi,” you say with a dampened smile. You try again when he doesn’t meet your gaze. “Joel?” 

There’s nowhere to hide since you’re here. He’d anticipated coming back to an empty house where he didn’t have to be perceived. To be seen so intimately. 

A mix of frustration, embarrassment, and unworthiness rise within him to the point where he’s certain he’ll burst. The last person he wants to suffer from the fallout is you. Yet here you are, a selfless presentation that makes him wish he didn’t destroy every ounce of good he touched. 

His attention is intense when it falls on you. An underlying softness tries to prove itself true, only to be engulfed every time it takes a chance. 

“Never asked for all this.” Dinner, Joel means. 

“I know,” you say. “Just figured you’d appreciate it.” There’s a slight waver in your voice as your confidence wanes. 

More of an edge works its way into his. “Didn’t tell me beforehand.”

You attempt to swallow the lump in your throat as it grows in real-time. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

There’s a matter-of-factness to your tone that makes it sound like you’re reading off a script. Like you’ll break through the ice if you misstep. It’s nothing like your usual friendly, laid-back cadence. You’re trying to convince yourself you’re not a stranger. 

“You gave me a key, so I thought I’d use it to do something nice for you.” 

“I gave it to you for emergencies. If something ever goes wrong.” 

A small huff of humorless laughter escapes you. “Why does everything always have to go wrong with you?” 

His sharp, stubbled jaw clenches at the question. 

“Would you rather me be here because I got robbed or because I think I’m being followed?” Your words are soft and steady and all the more piercing for it. “Do we only get to be in each other’s lives when something’s falling apart?” 

Joel takes a step forward. “You’re puttin’ words in my mouth.” 

“Am I Joel?” 

“You are.” 

Your hands fall helplessly by your sides. “Let me be here for you. I want to be here for you.” 

His voice raises before he can check himself, “What about what I want?” 

It’s a question with an answer Joel’s not ready to face. Because it’s you. There was nothing else. He exhales as his gaze flicks to the floor. 

Tears prick in your eyes despite your attempt to to steel yourself against them. “Do you want me to leave?”

Joel’s never heard your voice sound so small. It tears him apart, but all he can say is, “I’m going to take a shower.” 

•••

Fear is a cold, consuming thing. People fear the boogeyman, monsters under their bed—all manner of creatures that lurk when the sun is tucked away. Since the end of the world, few things scared Joel. Tonight, it isn’t the notion of what lurks that scares him. It’s the possibility that when he goes downstairs, you’ll be gone. 

It’s quiet as Joel stands behind his bedroom door retying the drawstring of his pajama pants for the umpteeth time. His thick fingers tremble as much as they had when he was out in the cold. The longer he stalls, the sicker he feels. 

Tommy’s teasing words from a week ago play on a loop in his head. You wouldn’t recognize a good thing if it slapped you ‘cross the face. 

But Joel had recognized you. 

Long before he had a name to put to your unforgettable smile. Before you mosied into his world and made him long to fall into your orbit. Before he ever admitted to himself that this might be love—messy as it is, constantly changing shape and slipping between his fingers. 

Courage eventually finds him by some miracle.

As Joel pads down the stairs, he tries to ignore the lingering silence. All he has are his creaky footsteps as he enters an empty kitchen dotted with signs of life. The table is set, two bowls on either end with the food organized in the middle. But you’re nowhere to be found. Regret sinks like a millstone into his gut, and takes his heart with it. His appetite vanishes along with any hope enduring within him. 

Before he can continue sinking, the back door flings open and you scramble in along with a chill. There’s a saucer in your grip that appears to have food scrapped off of it. No doubt for Juneau, the neighbor’s husky who often wandered by for scraps. 

Joel’s heart doesn’t know whether to quicken in surprise of slow with relief. There’s no question what yours does as you startle and grip your chest. Like you’re not the visitor in his home. As if he’s the intruder. 

“You scared me,” you breathe, eyes softening as you take him in. 

The way he’s standing suggests he’s trying to make himself look smaller. An air of apology hangs around him. There’s so much he wants to say: I don’t deserve this, I’m sorry, I love you.

Only a few gruff words come out, “Gonna catch a cold going outside like that.” 

“Guess it’ll be you cooking for me then.” Your lips twitch with a ghost-like hint of a smile. It’s an invitation into levity that lets him know he hadn’t severed any major branches. 

A stretch of silence passes before Joel says, “Had no right speaking to you the way I did.” 

Then he sighs into a deeper admission, “I’m not used to this.” He swallows thickly as he awaits a response.

“I know,” you finally say.

“But I wanna be. I want this—” 

You cross the distance to wrap your arms around him. He doesn’t move for a fraction of a second. He’s steady as an oak. As certain as the tide. When he does wrap his arms around you, it feels like another chance. A new beginning. Like a home both of you could get to know.  

•••

The two of you share a quiet meal of sourdough and steak and potato stew, sharing soft glances between bites. Joel goes for seconds, then thirds. Seconds because he was modest with his portions the first go round, and thirds because he can’t remember the last time someone labored over such good food for him. It nourishes him past the bone and to the soul, the warm broth soothing his throat as it runs down. Not once do you ask him to talk about his day, and he’s grateful.

Later, Joel helps you clean even though you insist that he sits down and relaxes. Conversion remains light as the two of you stand shoulder to shoulder at the sink, you washing and him drying. It’s a process much like forgiveness: the staining of oneself only to be made clean as if the offense never occurred. Which isn’t lost on Joel. The fog surrounding his conscious lifts as if his own slate is being renewed.

As the two of you finish and dry your hands, Joel peers over at you with a weighted look. You offer a small, tired smile that makes his chest expand with fondness. 

“Reckon I don’t deserve your kindness.” He clears his throat. “Ya keep giving it to me anyway.” 

“I always will,” you promise. 

Joel nods through the wave of gratitude that nearly sweeps him away. 

“I really am trying, honey.” He can’t remember the last time that nickname rolled off his tongue. Tonight, with you, it flows naturally. 

“I know.” 

Anything worth having can’t be gained without a fight. One against the voices of the past that seek to bind everything to the unmoving, unchanging familiarity of the way things have been for so long. Luckily, Joel Miller wasn’t one to back down. He would tear down every wall he built around himself, brick by brick, if it meant reaching you. 

-

Thank you so much for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I promise I see them all. 

JOEL MASTERLIST 

ALL MASTERLISTS

[favorite-fan-fic]

Every First Felon executive order is illegal.

Judges are merely pointing this out.

[favorite-fan-fic]

late night video

Clint x f!reader

summary: Clint needs to relax after a very, very difficult week. His plans to get some porn and jerk off his stress away change when he sees a pretty young thing at the counter. warnings: PWP; sex for money so dub-con(ish) but both parties realy want that; explicit sexual content (manhandling, dry humping, denied orgasm, unprotected PinV, dirty talk) ; unedited word count: 3,6k a/n: tomorrow is my birthday so here's a gift from me to me and also you <3 thanks to my dear friend @toxicanonymity for letting me blab about it and giving her wonderful comments!

Clint had a long week. A very long week. A week that left another deep scar on his body and a black eye under his left eye. His hand was still hurting after punching in the face of someone who maybe even deserved it. Clint hissed as he opened the door to the store he visited sometimes. He should’ve taken more painkillers.

He noticed you with his peripheral vision the moment he walked in. A pretty young thing – he hadn’t seen you here before – popping bubblegum with a bored look on her face. There was no need to look around, the section he preferred was always separated from the main space. Without an ounce of shame, he confidently walked towards the tacky red lights to a little space hidden behind heavy velvet curtains. 

The sound of the bell above the front door interrupted your mindless flipping through a magazine. The glossy pages changed one by one in front of your eyes, filling your brain with unnecessary knowledge about new hairstyle trends, colors of the season, and which Hollywood star had the biggest house. 

Before you raised your head and gave the person who came in a polite greeting, your gaze, out of habit, darted to the small desk clock. Two more hours until the end of the shift, and it already felt like a load of sand had been poured into your eyes. You sighed wearily and blinked with your painted eyelids, feeling the weight of the makeup that had been heavy on your skin all day. 

You didn't even try to put a fake smile on your lips, barely covered in cherry lip gloss on the edges where you haven’t licked it off yet. The man who came in wasn't looking at you, but as soon as you saw him, you couldn't look away. Tall, broad, with an impenetrable face and still fresh scars that clearly wouldn't heal on their own. His steps were heavy, as, apparently, his whole life was.

Criminals, bandits rarely visited the video store, perhaps it was due to something distracting them from enjoying the art of cinematography, so you watched with interest as he strolled along the rows of films of different genres. Until he stopped, you were pondering what his choice would be. Usually, men like him were found between the blockbuster shelves. He resembled a man who knew the lines of ‘Die Hard’ by heart. 

You saw the confidence with which he strode towards the heavy corduroy curtains and grinned to yourself. Right, Bruce Willis wouldn’t be the man’s companion for the night. Stubbornly, you continued staring at his leather-clad back, and as if sensing this, he paused for a second before disappearing behind the partition and looked back at you for the first time, fixing a sullen gaze on your frozen face.

It was like you were being held hostage by those deep, dark eyes. The deep red color of the dried blood on the split skin under his eye added even more breathtaking cruelty to his stern face. You blinked, and when you looked at him again, all you could see were the fluttering red curtains.

In a shameless erotic parade, film after film was lined up. The covers were full of semi-naked women and men in various poses, inviting anyone who’d enter to grab them and run into the secluded darkness of their own room. Clint took his time, he didn't know what he was looking for, but he was sure he would feel it as soon as he saw it.

A blonde with huge breasts wrapped in thick ropes with a fake expression of pleasure on her face. Pass. 

An illegally young-looking brunette kneeling in front of a man in a suit. He cringed at the tasteless name, “Teacher’s Pet”. Pass.

Redheads, gray-haired, bald, women, men. Damn, why the hell was it so hard to choose porn?

Exhaling, he grabbed “The Art of Submission". The man in the black suit barely stood out against the dark background, his hand was hiding the nakedness of a woman's pussy, and the girl on the cover was bent like a stretched bowstring, her eyes tightly closed. That'd do.

“Great choice.” You tried to sound unbothered, even though what started with a tingling heat in your lower belly now felt like a wildfire. “It’s very popular among men. And women.”

The man didn't take his eyes off you, which made you squirm nervously. He shamelessly studied your body, scarcely hidden behind a self-cropped graphic T-shirt and low-rise jeans. The bare skin of your tummy was covered with goosebumps from his attention and he grinned, addressing you for the first time.

“Think tellin’ me how many people exactly jacked off to this will make my night more exciting?” His eyebrows jerked upwards, giving you a better view of his long eyelashes. His face was impossible to read, but a spark of mischief seemed to glint in his eyes at the sight of your face distorted into an awkward smile.

“No, it’s not what I meant…” You stuttered for a second before getting yourself together and challenging him by not averting your eyes. “Although if that’s your thing it’s totally cool, trust me, I’m not judging. You know, to each their –”

“I’m not into cuckolding, or sharing, or whatever it is you mean.” The words out of his mouth sounded so mundane, that you were taken aback. Even though you were far from being a prude – quite the opposite, actually, you were enthusiastically pro sex in all its forms – it was unusual for a person buying porn to be so loud and unbothered.

“And what is your thing?” Someone obviously poured a gallon of audacity in your morning coffee because you didn't understand what else could have prompted you to ask such questions to a customer. Someone you were 99% sure was also a bandit. 

As if he was talking about his favorite beverage, the man replied to you. “Owning people.”

A nervous laugh escaped your throat and you didn't have time to swallow it. A minute-long pause interrupted your conversation, and his serious face hinted that he wasn't joking. Unwilling to let the conversation end on such a note, you tried to lighten the mood by offering the stranger a light smile and a chuckle.

“That doesn’t sound very legal.”

“Most of the things I do aren’t.” He just shrugged his shoulders. Your twitching lower lip tore the smile off your face and you bit the tender flesh, trying to keep your composure. “But I don’t want to scare you, so let’s just say sex for money. It is owning of sorts.”

He placed his palms on the counter and you directed your gaze to where his thick thumbs mindlessly scratched the lacquered wood. You clung to a small tattoo between his thumb and forefinger. A simple bullseye that turned blue with time. You wondered if that was because he always hit the target.

“Still not sure how legal it is.” You answered slowly, now lacking the nervous grin. This man's directness belied his danger, and both facts attracted you almost as much as his rough and rigid beauty. Saliva pooled in your mouth and you swallowed thickly, still staring at his fingers. You wanted to feel them in your mouth, the way imperious digits would press on your tongue, making you drool, and a slight grin would dance on the lips of a brown-eyed man while you helplessly moaned through your lips.

“Well, you won’t tell anyone, will you little lamb?” He bent his head and locked his eyes on yours. It seemed to you that his pupils were dilated, darkening his deep brown even further. “Plus, if both parties are consenting and having fun, what harm can be in that?”

You felt a lump in your throat, and the collar of your T-shirt became unbearably tight around your neck and you pulled it slightly. After taking another look at the upside-down picture on the cover of his VHS, you shook your head and tapped the plastic box with a nail painted in already cracked black polish.

“If that’s your thing, I don’t think this movie’s for you. It doesn’t really fit your criteria.” 

“Well, sometimes you gotta compromise.”

You took a deep breath, and blurted out as quickly as the air left your lungs,“maybe you don’t have to today.”

The silence was broken only by the sound of a music program coming from an old radio. You watched in silence as his hand reached into the inside pocket of his leather jacket. He had a resemblance of a smile on his face, a bit patronizing, but you liked the way his plump lips stretched and the scar cutting through one of them became lighter. You thought he was going to throw ten bucks on the table and walk away, or laugh in your face after recognizing your clumsy attempts at seduction, but instead he took out a folded stack of hundred-dollar bills squeezed by a gold holder. He took off the accessory and counted out five bills without looking, casually throwing them on the counter between you. Then, without saying another word, he turned around and crossed the room with a few confident steps, disappearing behind the red curtains for the second time that day.

You didn't have to ponder about what was going to happen for a long time, he left the tape on the counter next to the money. With a speed that you would be ashamed to admit to your friends, you rushed to the front door, flipping the sign to “Closed" and turning the latch. Just in case, you yanked the door a couple of times to make sure that no one would be able to enter. Checking your reflection in the glass window, you ran your hands over your hair trying to tame it a bit and pinched your nipples, forcing the tensed beads to stretch the thin fabric of your T-shirt.

He was sprawled out on a small two-seater sofa in the same fussy red color as the curtains. His legs were spread wide, practically extending from one armrest to the other, and your eyes immediately went to the bulge of his hard cock, still hidden under the stretched denim.

Consumed by a sudden wave of shyness, you walked deeper into the room. The man followed your every move with his hawk-like gaze, while you did not know where to put your hands and hoped that you would not stumble on air. A squeaky voice in your head mocked the inept seductress you turned out to be.

“So, little lamb, are you here to throw money in my face and tell me to get out?” His eyes traced the column of your neck, settling their attention on the stiff peaks of your nipples that gave him all the answers he needed. “Or are you here to let me own you for a while? Rent me your pussy, your mouth… Those pretty tits?” The silence was heavy with tension and you weren’t sure if he wanted you to reply or if it was a part of a game that had already begun. “I need you to tell me what you want. Otherwise it’s no fun.”

“Second, Sir.” You had no idea how the porny-sounding title came out of your mouth. You wanted to address him in some way so that he would know for sure that you were talking to him. That you wanted him. But since you didn't know his name, there wasn't much of a choice.

“Clint,” he offered you his name, and with how easily he’d done it you weren’t sure it was his real one. “My name’s Clint, but I like your manners.”

You quickly learned that Clint’s aura wasn’t the only big thing about him.Like an obedient doll to your puppet master, you straddled one of his wide-spread legs as soon as he beckoned you with his finger. The muscles in his thigh tensed and you felt the long awaited friction where your pussy was begging for it.

“Such a pretty thing,” he hummed low, watching how the light plays on your skin. “And so responsive.” He flexed his muscles eliciting a moan out of you. “Are you needy enough to fuck my thigh, little lamb? I didn’t even take my dick out and you’re halfway done.”

Your lower body worked on its own accord, too close to getting what it’s desired to stop. It was as if you were watching from the sidelines as your hips slowly moved, agitating every cell in your needy cunt. Your short pleated skirt hid the full depravity of your action, but you could feel your wetness seeping through the gusset of your panties, undoubtedly creating a mess on Clint’s jeans. 

He didn't take his eyes off your face: your lower lip was painfully trapped between your teeth, eyes were squeezed shut in anticipation of an orgasm that was about to come… Suddenly, your body became still. In a daze of the approaching release you didn't understand what was happening at first. You tried to move your hips again, but they were trapped in Clint's hands. You groaned in frustration, almost crying.

“I know, you want to cum so bad, don’t you?” Instead of sympathy, there was a note of mockery in his voice, and you tried to pull away from his grip to finally get the desired relief, but his hands held you painfully tightly by the hips, not allowing you to move. “I think you forgot something, little lamb. I’m here to use you, not the other way around.”

His words hit you like an ice bucket, but instead of cooling you down, it ignited a new desire in you. The tension between you was so palpable it almost bit you with electricity. Tuning with the reaction your body had to his words, you learned something new about yourself that day. Apparently, you were not at all against the idea of being used. You wondered if it was just reaction him, or if you’d just discovered a new kink of yours. 

Lost in your own thoughts, you didn't notice Clint releasing your hips and quickly unzipping his pants.

“Up,” he nodded to you and you obeyed reluctantly. Losing contact with his warm, solid thigh almost made you cry, but you quickly changed your attitude when you saw him lift his hips and pull down his pants enough to take out his cock. 

It was easy to understand from his knowing chuckle that you weren't the first to react to his manhood this way. And there was a lot to react to. Heavy-looking, his dick stood proudly, already hard after your little show. 8 inches, thick and entwined with bulging veins, you almost fell to your knees to get a taste. His deep pink head was glistening your precum and you licked your lips as if you’d be able to feel his salt on your tongue. A nice set of balls was intimidatingly proportionate to his dick and you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d be able to get even one in your mouth. His hair was neatly trimmed, which came as a pleasant surprise for you. You wanted to bury your nose in that thatch of hair as you swallowed him down your throat, but you knew that was not in the cards today.

“Come here, little lamb, it’s impolite to stare.” His voice was like a tiger's purring. It was such a falsely harmless, enticing sound, but it came from a ruthless killing machine. 

You pulled off your panties, letting them dangle on your left ankle, and wanted to return to your place on his lap, but Clint clicked his tongue in disapproval.“Lose the skirt, I wanna see your pretty pussy struggling to take me.”

You swallowed thickly, but your fingers were already working on the buttons on the side. The dark garment fell around your feet like a puddle, but you just stepped over it.

Clint was staring at your pussy. His face lost its cheeky playfulness for a moment, and his jaw clenched tightly. “Even prettier than I imagined,” he said to himself, but the little porn nook was quiet enough for you to hear his whisper. 

Impatiently, you climbed onto his lap, wrapping your hand around his tense cock. He was so hot against your skin, like Clint had a fever. You both hissed in unison as you ran the weeping head from your clit to your eagerly throbbing hole. You leaned on his shoulder with one hand, trying to keep your balance before you would finally let him cross the last barrier.

You felt a little scared, now knowing how big Clint's dick was. Despite the fact that you were long gone being a virgin, and even had a decent amount of partners, you had never met someone so blessed. In an attempt to calm your nerves, you caressed yourself with the spongy head a few more times, painfully teasing both of you.

Clint's hand found your face, and he squeezed your cheeks, forcing you to look him straight in the eye.

“Sit on it.”

You bit your lip, slowly taking the cock inside you. Instead of pain, you felt only a slightly burning tension while your pussy was molded and stretched to accommodate his girth and length. The amount of your arousal was enough to make all 8 inches of him squeeze inside you in one long slide. 

When you felt his coarse pubic hair with your skin you let yourself breathe out, the smell of your bubblegum landing on his lips.

“What a good girl,” he almost sounded proud. You shared the notion. 

Neither of you moved for several long moments. Your eyes were interlocked, which seemed inappropriately intimate.You studied every ridge and vein of his cock with your walls, as he was learning your softness, your pliability. 

Clint’s hands ended on your hips again. As authoritative as before. But this time, instead of making you stop, he forced you to move. 

Strong arms flexed under his leather jacket and you saw his neck strain as he slowly lifted you on his cock before pushing you back on it. The stretch felt impossible, yet it didn’t sting anymore. It was just there, reminding you where you were. Whispering to you that you’d never have that with anyone else. 

“Come on, baby, I can’t do all the work.” You nodded dumbly, placing both your hands on his shoulders for leverage and giving him a few bounces. “Fuck, that’s right. Good little lamb, bounce on my dick.”

He leaned back, releasing your hips and giving you a false sense of control. Towering over him, you felt like the most powerful being on earth. After all, the most dangerous beast was growling with pleasure under you. His hands lazily crawled under your T-shirt, possessively squeezing the soft flesh of your breasts. Rough fingers played with your sensitive nipples, squeezing and pulling, then gently soothing, as if in an attempt to apologize for the pain. 

Emboldened, you impaled yourself on his cock in a frenzied rhythm. What you were afraid of at first no longer was enough for you. His cock, which seemed to grow even bigger with growing need, awakened in you a feeling of greed, selfish possessiveness. With each thrust, he kissed a sacred part inside you, which made you close your eyes and moan louder.

Like a suicidal moth you flew to his flame the brighter it burned. Your hips moved in small circles, making him hiss in pleasure. You squeezed your cunt around him, and Clint practically choked on air, abandoning your tits in favor of latching his lips to your neck. 

The closer you both came to your orgasms, the more animalistic were the sounds that you made. His teeth left bite marks on your jaw and neck, one hand gripped your hips viciously while the other squeezed between your body and blindly found your pulsating clit.

It took a few rough movements of his thumb and a rumbling “give me what I came here for” in your ear. You threw your head back, shaking on top of him as if possessed, while your pussy pulsated around Clint's cock as you reached your high. Exhausted and unable to move, you went limp as his hips started to thrust into you as he chased after his own pleasure.

“Where?”

You didn’t even ask him for a condom, so there was no actual reason to deny yourself the pleasure of being filled to the brim with that man, you thought. Yet the only thing you mewled in his neck was a shaky “in me, please.”

Maybe he wouldn’t even have been able to pull out in time, as he exploded inside you the second you said the words.

Hot cum rope after rope painted your abused walls, and his hips kept jerking pushing it deeper inside you. 

Clint bumped his back against the soft back of the couch, taking your powerless body with him. You didn't even have the strength to speak, let alone move. Evening your own breathing, you nuzzled his neck covered with a thin layer of sweat, it was slightly salty and smelled of generic cologne for men and his leather jacket. His chest heaved under you with each heavy breath he took, and you sat in an unburdened silence for several minutes. Your pussy was still warming his cock when Clint spoke.

“Do you have cameras here?” His voice came to its previous calmness. He bit your earlobe gently. “I’d like to buy today’s tape.”

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📷 Jack Champion

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quick everyone look at pedro’s side profile

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PEDRO PASCAL with Natalia Dominguez on the set of ‘FREAKY TALES’

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sunlight & sawdust masterlist

summary: For two years, Joel Miller has done nothing but scowl at you from across the room, barely tolerating your warmth, your kindness, and your ever-present sunshine. And for two years, you’ve told yourself his gruffness doesn’t bother you—that his clipped words and cold stares don’t matter.But then, out of nowhere, he offers to fix the damaged floor in your flower shop.For free.Suddenly, the man who could barely stand to look at you is showing up every day, fixing things that don’t need fixing, sharing quiet lunches, and—most shocking of all—getting along with Ellie, your daughter, who has never warmed up to anyone as quickly as she has to him.

pairing: joel miller x fem!single mom reader - no outbreak/au

content warnings: slight reader description, no y/n used, grumpy joel, grumpy x sunshine trope, ellie is reader's daughter, reader is a single mom, tommy being a meddler, reader is friends with tommy, au setting in Austin, joel is a carpenter, reader owns a flower shop, fluff, angst and eventual smut, joel is bad at feelings, sarah mentioned

a/n: divider by @saradika-graphics.

chapter one: marigolds & measuring tapes chapter two: tulips & testers chapter three: roses & rasps chapter four: sunflowers & saws chapter five: hydrangeas & hammers chapter six: lavenders & levers chapter seven: hyacinths & hacksaws chapter eight: carnations & chisels chapter nine: daffodils & drills chapter ten: peonies & pilers epilogue

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See The Road You're On

Elks Chapter 1

Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Female Reader Chapter Rating: T. (Nothing explicit for the first few chapters.) Chapter Summary: The man you've had a crush on since he showed up to Jackson just so happens to be your favorite student's caretaker... and he just saw you do a brutal face plant in front of his home. Chapter Warnings: FIX IT FIC ALERT, pov switching (joel is in bold), soft jackson joel, pining, yearning, outbreak and quarantine zone memories, ellie has a smart mouth, anxious reader, mentions of blood and an injury from falling, everyone lives happily ever after, joel and ellie don’t leave jackson (no hospital, no revenge, no bad things happen), early 2000’s indie rock, reader has a backstory Words: 6,565

A/N: Well folks, I did it... another Elks rewrite, as mentioned in this lengthy post. Today marks a year since I posted my first fic. There's a lot of cliche "wow, what a year it's been" feelings, but just know how grateful I am to you for reading my words. I wouldn't be here without @forspringcleaning, I'm forever grateful for her and our shared delulu🪿. Thank you to @mothandpidgeon, @schnarfer, @secretelephanttattoo, and @devineconjuring for being my writing and grammar hand holders. I can't imagine my life now without the five of you, so y'all are stuck with me. (Also, an extra shout out to Mothy for calling Joel a slut in my Google Docs.)

Elks Masterlist Masterlist Playlist Chapter Song: “Myth" by Beach House

The world ended the day after you bought your first homecoming dress. You had begged your mom for it—a beautiful deep forest green sequined gown with a sweetheart neckline that perfectly framed your prized gold daisy pendant. You twirled in the mirror of the dressing room, feeling like a princess, sparkling under the fluorescent lights of the department store. Life seemed perfect.

On the morning of September 26, 2003, your alarm blared you awake, pulling you from the dream of dancing under glittering chandeliers with a handsome prince. The only concern floating around your teenage brain was the grade you’d receive for your AP English essay.

You survived yet another monotonous day at high school. On your way home, your essay with a bold red A+ was safely stored in your messenger bag. With your guitar strapped to your back and headphones on, you listened to what would be the last lyrics before everything changed:

Hold your glass up, hold it in Never betray the way you’ve always known it is One day, I’ll be wondering how I got so old, just wondering how

Twenty years later, hardened by life in the Denver Quarantine Zone and gently softened by your now-comfortable life in Jackson, you’re still waiting for your first dance.

—-

Art and music have always been at the forefront of your life; you’ve never allowed anything to take away your creativity, continuing to create despite the pain of losing everyone you’ve loved to the plague roaming the earth. You create for yourself, using art as a way to soothe your thoughts and anxieties. You create for the Settlement of Jackson, to give back to the town that has given you a good life for the past five years. Most importantly, you create for your students at the school you’ve taught at since your arrival. 

The fifteen years spent in the Denver QZ tried to steal your colors and mute your songs. Joy became more difficult to find as each year behind the imposing iron gates passed. The only sources of happiness were your small group of friends and your students in the desolate school you taught at. You never graduated high school; there was no pomp and circumstance, just a teaching job assigned to you because you were young and still remembered most of your high school education. That’s how your career was decided. It's funny how an apocalypse job search happens.

You tried to carve out as much of a life as you could under the overbearing and always watchful eyes of FEDRA soldiers, but it never felt whole. When the opportunity to leave Denver arrived, thanks to your kind neighbor’s sister, you grabbed the few items you could and ran away from the only state you’d ever called home. 

Now, five years after your escape through the wasteland of the world to a better existence in Jackson, your life is filled with art, music, and purpose. Art supplied by the jars of paints you learned to make, and what the patrollers bring you back. Music from the CD player in your house and the guitar you strum. Purpose from the weekdays spent teaching your impressionable students, who have actual well-rounded futures, no longer doomed to become FEDRA fodder, along with the Saturdays spent working at the library you run out of your classroom. 

It's a good and comfortable life here, even if the nights are lonely and the only company in your small cottage are your cats Ripley and Penny. Some extra lonely nights, when the moon sits high atop the mountains, you can’t silence the thoughts that there’s nobody in your life who creates beautiful things for you. Too many nights you find yourself thinking about the man that lives down the street from you.

Joel Miller. 

He’s so intimidating. Handsome and caged off, like he’s your own little museum piece you keep to yourself now that museums are obsolete. You’ve never seen anybody more gorgeous, not even in the faded celebrity magazines you cut up to make collages. Soft, full lips always hidden under a frowning mustache that rests below a large hooked nose. His dark brown eyes often focused forward, always appearing in thought underneath furrowed brows. Dark, wavy hair that matches his eye color, with soft silver streaks painted throughout. His body is strong and broad, often hidden underneath a tan flannel-lined jacket.  His hands are large, matching the rest of his features, with thick fingers that seem capable and dexterous; you can tell they’re efficient for any task you ask of them. His skin is golden, born that way and bronzed by years spent outdoors. He’s tall and big–so big. Somebody who has always been a protector. The precious pages of your notebook quickly deplete when you try to sketch and master the lines of his face. Maybe you could get the minute details if only you could stop being so afraid of the feelings he stirs inside you.  

You’ve been enamored with him since he first showed up in Jackson. Your life, and all of those feelings you’ve tried to avoid for years, upended by his presence. 

It was a normal day, like any other, when you walked into the Tipsy Bison to drop off some extra shoelaces and push pins for the community swap basket. Your eyes paused on the long communal table where your friends Maria and Tommy sat with two strangers. 

A small teenage girl with a tight ponytail and a tattered sweatshirt was talking animatedly with her mouth full. You know kids well after all your years of teaching, and you could already spot her tenacity across the room. Sitting next to her, bent over a plate of food and clutching a fork in an untamed way, was a man with a mess of graying hair and a permanent scowl plastered on his handsome face, his eyes staring straight forward, void of kindness. You wondered when the last time somebody created something beautiful for him was. 

You quickly flitted over to the corner where the communal basket sat and deposited your items, and as you turned around to head to the exit, you noticed the handsome stranger looking right at you. His eyes darted away right as yours widened at his attention before you made your hasty retreat out of the room.

That night you wrote a song about a once warm and inviting cabin sitting in the woods, now cold and desolate with tattered floor boards and a cracked window.

—-

The girl you saw at the Bison with the handsome stranger shows up in your class the following week. Ellie quickly becomes your favorite student thanks to her love of art and smart mouth. She’s always so eager to learn in the mornings before heading out with the other older kids for patrol and community training. 

She doesn’t shut up about your handsome stranger. Joel. You’re able to parse together a few facts you hold close to your heart:  he’s Tommy Miller’s older brother, Texas born-and-raised, grumpier than everyone else, and loves coffee. Everything she tells you makes you think about him more. 

Sometimes you’ll see him walking down the road headed right towards you, but a quick tuck of your head or dash around the nearest corner helps alleviate the panic of being near him. One night you see him at the Tipsy Bison, drinking whiskey with Tommy in the corner. Your eyes staring unblinking before you realized how anyone could look over and see the way you’re ogling; you quickly created an excuse, telling your friends why you needed to head home, too overwhelmed by his presence just a couple of tables down. Seeing him stirs up so many foreign emotions inside you, but you like the rush. You like having your little crush, as long as you can keep your distance from him.

—-

“Jeez, what were they thinking when they named these bands? The Shins? The Strokes? The Yeah Yeah Yeahs? Did every band just pick a random word and put The in front of it?” Ellie questions as she peruses your CD collection while you grade papers. With training for the older students canceled due to the winter snow outside, Ellie had decided that you needed company in your classroom after school.

“Seems like it, doesn’t it?” you answer. “I’ll have to play them for you one day, those were some of my favorite bands when I was your age.”

“Really? Wicked! I’d love that!” She looks up from your CD book with an enthusiastic smile. You return her smile, happy for the bond the two of you share. “Joel loves music too. Wonder if he’d like any of these.” Your pen pauses and your heart races at the mention of his name. You feel foolish for the crush you have on your student’s “father.” 

“I’m sure there’s something in there for everyone,” you say, stacking your papers and capping your pen. “I think we should get going before the sun sets, El. I’ll lock up.” 

“Aw man, there’s nothing to do at home,” she sighs. 

“Sorry, kid,” you shrug. “I’m helping at the Bison tonight.” 

“Fiiiiiine,” she sighs as she grabs her backpack and jacket. “Bye, Teach!”

Watching her leave, the thought plants in your head that she’s only a couple years younger than you were when the outbreak happened. You vow to be there for her in any way you can. 

—-

The world thaws as winter turns to spring, the sun stays up longer in the Wyoming sky each day. With clear roads and longer days, patrollers are able to venture farther from the gates, giving them a better chance to scavenge and bring their finds back. The wish list posted above the communal basket in the Tipsy Bison is filled with requests. 

Residents ask for a broom, a TV input cable, a glue gun, crayons, and other utilitarian items to help make life easier. You think about writing down the one thing you wish for the most: a new CD player. Your prized possession finally spun its last song a couple of days ago, making your home fall silent without your constant companion of music. The irony isn’t lost on you; your just-as-ancient guitar now lies silent against the wall, the crack on the neck finally broken from overuse. You don’t write down your main wish, instead choosing to note that the school needs chalk and you need a new oven mitt. 

That’s how life goes now, you’ve learned to live with much less before, and you’ll learn to do it again.

—-

When Joel Miller arrived in Jackson, he doubted he would ever feel at home. But now, as he approaches the white house with the mailbox labeled MILLER, he feels that feeling he hasn’t felt in almost two decades… a sense of peace.

Hell, he and Ellie have called Jackson home for six months now. He has a job, he’s met a couple people he can stand to be around, and he has a warm bed to sleep in every night. He has a home, even though he still feels like he’s a lost man.

His back aches when he bends over to remove his mud-caked boots by the door, a testament to the hard day’s work he put in helping Tommy haul bricks to repair one of the buildings on the main street. He welcomes the discomfort, it’s just like old times, the Miller brothers working together again.

He’s already thinking about the scalding hot shower he’ll take to soothe his muscles when he opens the front door.

His backpack almost slips out of his hand when he sees you in his living room, sitting cross-legged on the floor. He quietly closes the door, trying to stay as silent as he can. It’s you… Ellie’s teacher—the one she won’t shut up about. The pretty girl he saw at the Tipsy Bison all those months ago, the same pretty girl he sometimes watches when he thinks nobody is looking, the same pretty girl who he catches darting away each time he thinks their paths might just cross.

You're bent over a large sketchpad, pencil in hand, with Ellie beside you.

Both of you are so focused on whatever you're creating, the music coming from the stereo is loud enough that neither of you notice his entrance. He stands frozen in the doorway, taking in the sight of you in his home.

"The perspective is all wrong," Ellie groans. "I can't get it right."

"Here," you say, angling the paper. "Try looking at the paper like this, and imagine you're standing, looking at the tree."

“Ohhhh, shit,” Ellie happily exclaims.

“Language,” Joel reprimands, surprising himself. “And I thought I told you not to touch my stereo, kid.”

—-

The deep timbre of a Texas-accented voice shocks you. Your heart begins to thud against your chest, goosebumps spreading along your body; you’re frozen on the floor while you attempt to hide your internal panic.

Joel is home.

Of course he’s home. This is HIS home, and you’re in it breaking HIS rules by listening to your favorite mixed CD on HIS stereo system, which is much grander than your pitiful broken CD player. Why did you think letting YOUR STUDENT, who’s half your age, convince you this was a good idea?

He gives you a half smile when you turn to him, mouth slightly agape at the sight of him. Joel Miller is in Joel Miller’s house with you. 

“I know, relax!” Ellie’s response drips with her unshakeable sarcasm as she turns the stereo off. “This is the teacher I told you about. Her stereo broke and I invited her over so she could play me some of her stuff,” Ellie reasons. The kid is never not convincing. “I’m being active in the community like you asked me to,”

You quickly stuff your CD case into your backpack and stand, trying to escape the anxiety of being in the cozy Miller household with the not-so-cozy-looking Mr. Miller. 

“Mm,” Joel grunts out before turning to you and reaching his hand out. “I‘m Joel.” His big hand envelops yours when you softly grab it to say hello. 

You nervously give him your name, trying to calm your panicked heart. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep any boundaries. My stereo broke a couple days ago and she knew it upset me.” You nervously stammer feeling like a thirteen year old in trouble again as you begin to fiddle with the gold daisy chain around your neck.

“Don’t worry about it,” he insists, glancing at Ellie. “I can look past this if it means you’re getting out of that damn garage.” 

“She has way better music taste than you. None of that twangy sad music you try to get me to listen to,” Ellie replies, rolling her eyes. You wonder if every conversation they have is Joel putting a rule down and Ellie defying it.

“I-I need to go, I promised Helen I’d help at the Tipsy Bison tonight.” You’re not due for another hour but you can’t fathom the idea of being around Joel Miller for any longer.

“Well, you’re welcome back whenever you want… right Joel?” Ellie looks at him, angling her eyebrow, knowing she’s going to get the answer she wants from him. 

You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks, the rapid rise and fall of your chest. It’s almost too much… and then Joel looks at you with warmth in his eyes.

“Of course. S’pose any friend of Ellie’s is welcome here,” Joel hesitates with a smile, his deep brown eyes crinkle in the corners. He’s ridiculously handsome this close, it’s staggering. 

“Thank you again Ellie, I’ll see you tomorrow, make sure you bring your notebook.”

Joel opens the door for you and steps aside, as you pass him, your shoulder brushes his chest. You pray he doesn’t hear the way your breath hitches.

You hope the distinct woodsy smell of Joel’s house on your jacket will linger for a while. You almost trip when you realize you’ve left your favorite mixed CD in Joel’s stereo.

—-

Joel knows you’ll never be able to tell how many times he’s listened to your CD, and yet every time he plays it a pang of guilt sits within him. Funny that this is what he feels guilty about after all of his years.

The truth is, he doesn’t recognize any of the songs, and about half of the CD doesn’t appeal that much to him, but damn, he would love to hear you explain why you chose each song.

He hasn’t even taken your CD out of the player, too afraid to hurt a relic of yours. He really likes track 8. There’s a haunting guitar, a slightly whiny voice telling him to “cheer up honey, I hope you can.” He can feel the lyrics in his soul, he likes the way the static sounds, the strumming of the guitar, the hopelessness in the singer’s voice.

He often plays it on repeat, imagining you listening and humming along with your sweet voice.

He wonders how old you were when everything happened, where you’re from, how you got here… why he’s so drawn to you.

The song begins again, he closes his eyes and thinks of you.

—-

Weeks pass. Spring arrives, the ground softens, trees adorned with bright green leaves sway in the gentle breeze rolling off the mountains, and the flowers bloom along the vast gardens of fruits and vegetables. Everyone’s days turn longer with more tasks to accomplish. A sense of hope and rejuvenation fills the air for everyone, no longer bunkered down and locked away by the snowy weather. 

Your favorite mixed CD has fallen victim to your inability to be anywhere near Joel. Strangely, it brings a sense of nostalgia to you, kind of like when you'd forget a CD in your friend's car or in your locker over winter break. It's not like you have anything to play it on, your house still sits silent, your stereo and guitar still sit broken and unusable.

Though, during the early days of spring, you’re hardly ever home. You've been filling your time with extra work: assisting with spring planting in the community gardens, organizing the supply room at the schoolhouse, and taking more shifts at the Bison. Jackson is your home and you love making it better.

Today’s a warmer day than usual, the sun shines bright and hot in the clear, blue Wyoming sky; all you can think about is getting home and taking a long bath after helping out at the community garden.

Your quick footsteps pitter patter against the warm asphalt in front of Joel’s house. Your heart always starts to beat faster when it comes into view.

This sweltering afternoon you’ve certainly lucked out, he’s in his yard working on repairing a broken fence post. Your steps begin to slow as you see him set the hammer down, wipe the back of his hand across his sweaty brow, and stretch his back.

Panic sets in at the realization he could look right over and see you in the state you’re currently in. You’ve been up to your knees in soil since school ended, watering and deadheading plants while letting the dirt on your skin bake in the warm sun.

Your anxious steps pick up pace, failing to hop over the divot in the road you always remember to avoid. A trip and a fall ends with you landing hard on your stomach knocking the wind out of you. You can just make out the fall of heavy boot steps on the ground over the sound of your lungs gasping for air as you turn over.

“Whoa whoa whoa, you okay darlin’?” Joel asks. His broad body eclipses the bright sun when he bends over your body splayed out on the pavement. “S’alright, s’alright, breathe.” 

You lose even more breath at the sight of him. The sheen of sweat against his skin makes it glow bright. This is the first time you’ve seen him without a jacket or flannel, you can’t help but stare at the constellation of freckles on his neck that you’ve never noticed. His biceps strain the fabric of his short sleeves when he reaches to put a comforting hand on your shoulder. 

You can’t tell if you’re still panicking from your fall or the stress of Joel seeing you as pathetic as you think you look. He called you darling and you feel like a fool. 

"I'm alright—I-I'm sorry... I'm alright," you manage to say between breaths. A whimper of as you attempt to stand but it hurts far too much. 

“Hold on, hold on, there’s no need to rush, you took a mighty fall. Ya’ got a big cut on your knee, let me help you,” Joel says, his eyes scanning you, worry etching his furrowed brows. 

“No, no, I’m okay really, I-I’m really okay.”

“S’alright now, I have some peroxide and bandages in my house. Ellie’d kill me if she knew I left you here hurt ‘n alone,” he implores reaching his hand out. "I want to help you, come here."

“I– okay,” you grab his hand, his strong fingers wrap around yours, oh god he’s so warm. “I-I don’t want to bother you.”

“Now, I’ll have none ‘a that, come on,” he helps you stand steadying you with an arm around your waist, the adrenaline of being this close to him makes a bit of the pain fade, though the humiliation remains. 

He slowly leads you up his walkway, his hand firmly splayed against your hip. Your head rests against him, close enough to feel the dampness of his sweaty shirt on your cheek.

You’re back in Joel Miller’s house, the realization isn’t lost on you that you’ve felt like an idiot both times you've been here. What is your luck?

Joel gently helps you settle on his couch, placing a pillow behind your back for support. "You alright?” he asks, his voice drags heavily with concern.

You nod, keeping your eyes focused on your bare legs, marred by dirt and gravel mixed with blood.

“Just relax for a second, I’ll go grab everything." He retreats, his loud boot steps get fainter allowing you to take a deep breath, trying to regain your composure. 

Your solitude now allows a chance to look closely at Joel’s living room. The last time you were in his house you were far too anxious to focus on anything. But now you can look around, and realize that despite his reputation for being gruff and irritable, his home is quite warm and inviting.

Wood carvings sit on shelves, a couple of tattered sports magazines lay on the coffee table, a chipped owl mug sits atop a book on the side table next to a chair. All of it presents quite domestic and comfortable for a single man and an adopted daughter in the apocalypse.

Your eyes roam along the beige walls and pause when you spot a familiar painting hung near the front window. An elk stands alone, amongst a field of flowers, large antlers reach into the light blue sky. You painted it just a few months ago, using your favorite water colors. You gave it to Tommy for Christmas, as a thank you for always making sure you have first dibs of paints that patrollers bring in. Why does Joel have it?

“Don’t have any large bandages but I got a gauze roll,” Joel startles you when he takes a seat atop the coffee table across from you. 

“That’s my painting? I painted that… for Tommy,” your inner thoughts escape your mouth, surprising you.

He turns and follows your eyes to the small piece of paper pinned on his wall. “You painted that? S’good. Saw it on my brother’s wall and asked him if I could have it. He was kinda reluctant but I told him how it reminds me of the painting I used to have over my bed before… everything.” The last word comes out as a huff, like he still doesn't know what word to use for these last twenty years.

“I love elks, they remind me of where I’m from… I’ve always liked painting the wildlife I grew up around the most,” your eyes remain focused on your painting. “Herds of elk used to live near my Dad’s home in the mountains, I used to hear their calls during the mating season.” 

“S’nice to remember those small moments, I guess your painting helps me,” he gently muses. 

“I’m glad,” you whisper.

He clears his throat as he begins to prepare the supplies. "Let me clean up those knees," he lowly says.

You nod, grateful, but still embarrassed.

Joel delicately lifts your leg and places it on his lap, resting it against the soft strength of his thighs. Your heart feels like it’s going to burst out of your chest when you look down at this intimate moment with your dream man. Your breaths escape your mouth in rapid succession, your only hope is Joel blames your panic on the threat of the peroxide and not his close proximity. 

“S’gonna sting,” he warns before pouring the clear liquid onto your knee. Your breath catches in your throat when it hits your sensitive skin and burns. You suppress a whimper and feel slightly dizzy at the sight of him bending forward and delicately blowing on your wound. His breath cools the heat of your burning skin but lights a fire inside of your body you haven’t felt in years.  He glances up, his dark brown eyes stay focused on your face. “Doin’ alright?” 

You nervously chew on your bottom lip and nod. “Y-yes, yeah,” you mumble, “I-I’m okay it just hurts a lot to move.” Heaven forbid you tell him the truth, that you’re acting this way because he’s the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen, and now his hands are on you.

"I know, that gravel is a sucker," he gently reassures, picking up your other leg and placing it on top of his lap. “S’bouta sting again,” he warns. 

You try to focus on the burn of the peroxide and not on Joel’s fingertips resting against the back of your knee. He blows on the peroxide as it bubbles again, your heart skips a beat when his deep brown eyes meet yours again. You get the sense that he knows exactly why you’re responding the way you are. 

He lifts a faded gray wash cloth up and wipes both of your knees with the utmost tenderness. He picks up the fabric bandage, and lifts your knee higher to rest your foot against his broad chest. 

“Place a finger here so I can wrap you,” Joel directs just as gently as his touch. “Tell me if it feels too tight.” His hand tightens around your knee while he slowly winds the gauze around your leg and bandages your wound. “How’s that?” 

You bend your leg back and forth and place it on the floor. “Feels good, thanks.”

“Course,” he says, lifting your other leg higher to start. He smirks when you place your finger on top of the bandage without him asking, and begins to wrap the gauze around your other leg. 

“I’d try to take it easy the next few days, give you a chance to heal,” Joel utters, tucking the bandage in and smoothing it down. 

“I will. Thanks for all your help… you really didn’t have to,” your voice breaking with embarrassment. 

“You don’t have to thank me, Ellie’d kill me if she found out I left you hurt in front of my home,” he cracks a smile at the mention of her name. “She talks about you a lot, I should be thanking you for giving her a reason to love goin’ to school.”

“She’s one of the best parts of my day,” your smile matches his when you think about her and her smart mouth, “I love having her around, she’s always so eager to learn… and give her opinion."

“She's always showing me some new art way she learned from you or talking about a band she wants to hear that you told her about. You mean a lot to her.”

“She’s a special kid.”

“She is,” he says, his deep brown eyes looking into yours. You’ve never noticed just how much his dark eyes glisten. Like the perfect color of black coffee. 

The sweet shared moment turns more awkward as you both maintain eye contact and nod over your shared adoration of Ellie. It feels like he’s looking at you under a microscope.

“Well, I should get going,” you say cutting the tension before scooting forward on the couch.

Joel rises, reaching out his hand to help you. The warmth of his hand sends a shiver across your body as you stand, trying to hide the wince of pain when you put weight on your scraped knees.

"You sure you're alright to walk home?"

“Yeah, I think so,” you respond. “I’ve already taken up enough of your time. Thank you for everything.”

“S’no problem at all,” he says, placing a hand on your back as you walk towards the door. "I'd feel better walking you home… just to make sure."

“Oh, um—” you stammer, caught off guard by his offer. “I’ll be okay, I don’t live far at all. Plus, it’ll be good for me to get used to walking with the bandages on.”

“If you insist, at least take it slow.”

He helps you down the few steps, you spy his tools laying abandoned on the lawn. “I hope I didn’t keep you from finishing your fence,” you apologize.

“I’ll manage… take care of yourself,” his hand retreats from your back when he opens the gate for you. 

“Thanks Joel, you too.”

You really shouldn’t have looked back at him to get one last glimpse, he’s beautiful, especially now lit by the slowly setting sun. 

Walking away from him as confidently as you can, you feel his eyes follow you the whole way. You’ve never been so thankful to see your little cottage, escaping behind the protection of your front door before you grin and grab your paints and brushes. You sit at your kitchen table and paint a picture of an elk, this time with golden toned fur and deep brown eyes. 

—-

His heart beats with an unfamiliar feeling as he watches you hobble down the road, too proud to glance back, obviously too embarrassed for your own good. If only you knew how often he thinks about you, how closely he listens to Ellie when she talks about you, how many times he’s replayed that old mixed CD of yours with your name and the pretty faded flowers drawn on it… maybe then you’d look back at him. 

You fell in front of his home like an angel falling from the sky. He picked you up and bandaged your wounds.

Today, you gave him a purpose, he loves having a purpose. Some days he feels that purpose dwindling behind the protective gates of Jackson. Ellie’s comfortable here, she doesn’t need him as much, what with all of her friends and teenage responsibilities. She’s thriving here, and he’s left feeling adrift. He’d never admit it, not even to Tommy. At least there’s always patrol and the freedom that provides him.

Maybe he just needs more of a purpose, more of a reason here, maybe then he’d be satisfied. 

He steps back into his home, glancing at the couch you were just sitting on, before retreating to his studio. He unwraps his tools and picks up the perfect block of wood. Running his fingers over the smooth surface, he envisions the intricate lines he’ll carve for the fur, he feels a whisper of intimidation at the thought of shaping the delicate antlers.

Woodworking has been a new discovery for him, he’s always been better at settling his thoughts when his hands are occupied. He thinks of the first time he saw you all those months ago when he makes his first deliberate cut.

—-

Saturday mornings are always busy, running your library never allows you the luxury to eat breakfast at the hall like everyone else does on the weekends. You’re always turning to the left rushing towards the schoolhouse while everyone takes a right heading to eggs, pancakes, and coffee. This particular Saturday you’re moving slower thanks to your injured knees and the large box of books that patrol brought you from their runs. 

“Mornin’," Joel shouts, quickly striding towards you from the hall exit. “Lemme take those for you.” 

“Oh, hi,” you say as you pause in your tracks. You’re a little flustered to see him, completely thrown off when he stops in front of you, reaching out and taking the box out of your hands. “You really don’t have to take–"

“None ‘a that,” he shushes, effortlessly lifting the box of books higher. "Where are we going with these?"

"Just over to the school house for the library," you nod your head towards the little brick building.

“How are the knees doing?” he asks, slowing his gait to match your slower pace.

“A lot better, thanks.”

“Glad to hear.” 

You fish the key out of your pocket, unlock the door, and let Joel follow you down the hallway to your classroom. You flick the lights on, fluorescent bulbs buzz illuminating your second home. 

The thought of Joel seeing your second home, filled with your’s and your student’s art makes you nervous. The walls are covered with colorful drawings and paintings, shelves lined with worn books, and various art supplies organized in labeled containers.

You sit in your chair to rest your already aching knees, you’d still be halfway to the schoolhouse if it wasn’t for Joel’s kind assistance. 

“You can put the box on my desk,” you direct, rubbing your sore knee. 

He places the box on your desk, before his eyes shift to the bright mural on the wall behind your desk. “Wow, I haven’t seen something like this in a long time. S’beautiful,” he murmurs in awe. 

A grin lifts your tired face before you swivel in your chair to look at the mural. “Goodness, thank you. I just finished it a few weeks ago. I really wanted to make sure the kids had something fun and colorful to focus on while in class. It was hard for me to work in this plain, white room for so long. It took a long time to save up enough paint.” 

He slowly walks over and places his hand on the cinder block wall. “Bluebells. The flower of Texas,” he faintly whispers.

His large fingers trace the lines of your painted indigo petals, it feels almost forbidden to see such soft tenderness from hands that are usually so tough and strong. He had touched you with the same gentleness when he bandaged your scraped knees. There was once softness surrounding all of Joel, the permanent grimace and rough reputation for him brought on by the harshness of existing in this world. 

He turns to you, keeping his hand on your mural. “Where you from?” he asks, curiously gazing into your eyes.

“I was in the Denver QZ.”

“No, where were you from before everything?”

“Oh, sorry. Still Colorado, just more in the mountains,” you say, concentrating on the columbine flower painted next to the bluebell. “Florissant to be exact. It’s a little town famous for dinosaurs. I was very lucky to be where I was when everything happened—just far enough to escape.”

“Nice state, I went skiing there once as a teen, had plans to go again before… everything,” he turns to look back at the bluebells again.

“Big of a Texan to compliment Colorado,” you jest, as you stand up, picking up your library supplies from the desk. A smile tugs at your lips as you move around the desk.

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Good one.”

You start placting down your hand-painted placards on the tables, each card illustrated with a different genre. 

He walks over and picks one of the cards up and admires it. “These are real nice,” Joel says picking up one labeled ‘Science Fiction’ with a painting of stars, and a rocket. “Can I help you?”

“If you want, just pick up a pile of books and put them on their respective tables. Children’s, Mystery, Romance, Non-Fiction, Sci-Fi, Miscellaneous.” 

He dutifully picks up a stack of books. “You do this by yourself?”

“Usually. I’ll sometimes have help, but I think everyone here works so hard during the week that they like their slow Saturdays. I wouldn’t want to ask them to give up sleeping in.” 

He holds up a thick paperback with yellowed pages and a burgundy cover. On the cover, a muscular, orange-toned man with flowing blonde hair cradles a wispy brunette damsel. “I take it with a title like ‘Burning Tenderness’ it goes in romance?” Joel winks. You’d never imagine you would ever see someone like him joke, let alone wink.

“Well, I’d fire you on the spot if you placed it in non-fiction.”

His bellowing laugh echoes across your classroom. You like hearing him laugh. 

—-

The library is set up in record time, a half hour before opening, thanks to Joel’s help.

You take a seat on the edge of your desk to rest your knees. “I’ve never gotten done this early before. Between your help with my knees and today I feel like I owe you something. Is there any way I could repay you for your kindness?” 

He sighs, glancing back at your mural. His brows furrow as his eyes move over the painted wall. “Those bluebells you painted,” he inhales a deep breath, “do you think you could paint some of those for me in my house?” 

You’re stunned by his request, his words taking a moment to register. Paint for Joel Miller? In his home? “You… want me to paint for you?”

“If you’d be willing,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

“Oh my, I’d love to,” your face lights with a smile. “I can start it anytime.”

“D’you want to come over Monday after you’re done at the school? I already told Ellie I’d spend the day with her tomorrow.” 

“That sounds great,” you reply, not believing your luck that Joel Miller is inviting you over to his house.

“Alright, Monday it is. Should probably get going ‘n start my day,” he says, raising a book in his hand. “Taking this as payment for my work today.”

“‘As I Lay Dying?’ Didn’t pin you as a Faulkner fan,” you muse, opening your logbook to note the title down.

“Liked the horse on the cover.” 

“So Texas,” you chuckle, shaking your head. “It’s a good book. Enjoy it Joel.”

“See you Monday. Good luck today.” 

“Yes, Monday,” you respond, trying not to smile too hard. “Thanks again for all your help.”

“Course,” he nods before walking out the door. 

Today’s going to be a great day, it already started out better than you ever could have hoped.

—-

Back home after a busy day you sit in your favorite chair with your cats on your lap and sketch bluebells until you fall asleep with your pencil in hand.

Divider courtesy of @/saradika-graphics

perma tags: @forspringcleaning, @schnarfer, @mothandpidgeon

Tagging some mutuals and those who requested. (As always, let me know if you'd like to be put on or taken off.) @secretelephanttattoo, @sawymredfox, @moonlitbirdie, @arcanefox207, @almostfoxglove, @pascalssbabyy, @toomanytookas

@jolapeno, @goodwithcheese, @msjarvis, @itwasntimethatdidit40, @burntheedges, @magpiepills, @maggiemayhemnj

@ace-turned-confused, @lorettafudge, @jennaispunk, @lotusbxtch

@sunnytuliptime, @sizzlingcloudmentality, @cheekychaos28, @ashleyfilm

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Pedro Pascal | "Freaky Tales" Premiere in Oakland, California | March 19, 2025

[favorite-fan-fic]

𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 | Harry Castillo x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | Five years of being his assistant and five years of failed attempts at finding love with your help, but maybe the obvious answer has been there the entire time. Alternatively, you fucked your boss? Uh-oh.

author's note | harry...randy...who knows. i'll change it if needed but given the name tag, this is what i'm sticking with for now. skip the lecture about not writing until the movie is out, this isn't hurting anyone so don't bother me about it, xo. the horny demons always win. i listened to this song i repeat while i wrote, felt fitting.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, power imbalance (boss/assistant), work wife/work husband type beat, mentions of failed dating, being superficial, mentions of sugar daddy things, expensive gifts, reader is a godly assistant with a will stronger than mine, he smokes, they drink, sex while inebriated, he's down so bad, also oral!, tense morning after, open-ended

word count — 4.5k

You knew him better than anyone.

From his breakfast order down to his specific choice of underwear, like you weren’t making the weekly purchases and filling up his rarely used fridge in the apartment that was way out your price range, arranging his schedule down to the minute, booking his flights, packing his bag.

Really, Harry should just marry you.

…it was more of a joke, but you’ve teased him about it once or twice.

He called you his work wife anyways, but in reality, you were just his assistant.

He did trust you with his life, though.

More importantly, his love life.

“Kim flaked,” he tells you over coffee, perched at his kitchen island as you typed away on your laptop, looking up briefly with eyes that begged for him to explain, he does and makes a show about, mimicking a more feminine voice as he relays the message she gave him, “same song and dance—you’re great and fun but I can’t do anything serious right now,”

“Were you nice?” you ask curiously.

Harry rolls his eyes at that, like it was a stupid question to ask. But, eventually he nods.

“Did you ask questions?” you continue, fingers folding over the screen of your laptop to close it.

“Plenty, she works in finance, loves the color blue, wants to travel,” he could go on and on, throwing his hands up in defeat before they slump to his side, “maybe I should try out a real matchmaker—not that you’re bad at it—”

“You think I’m bad at it,” you smile knowingly, “don’t you?”

“No,” you’re unconvinced, “besides—you’re my assistant, I never meant for that type of responsibility to fall on you, you know?”

“I’m doing both of us a favor,” you remind him, “I think…it just takes time.”

And fortunately, all you had was time.

It felt pointless for Harry to spend a chunk of cash to have someone pair him up with the supposed love of his life, though you knew that money wasn’t a problem, you felt a weird responsibility to protect him, unsure how quickly someone would take advantage of his kindness.

“There’s a gala,” you tell him offhandedly, “next week. I already cleared your schedule for it. I think…maybe you should just peruse this time.”

“Peruse?” he chuckles, eyes creasing in amusement, his crow’s feet deepening with the emotion, “You’re a control freak, you sure about that?”

“That’s just mean,” you retort, “you’re paying me anyways—if you didn’t like it you’d fire me.”

He knew you were right, sipping quietly at his coffee in response.

He was frustrating, predictable, and painfully superficial. 

Every date was an exercise in appearances—perfectly tailored suits, dinner at the most exclusive places, charm turned up to eleven. And yet, none of it ever stuck. He was overcompensating and you weren’t sure why.

He was a good guy, down to his core, and in the five years you had worked with him there was never a moment you thought he didn’t deserve love, he was perfect. Too perfect.

That was the problem.

“You know, you’re like prime age to be a sugar daddy,” you tease him, knowing how he felt about the topic, “there’s plenty of apps that I can—”

“You’re relentless,” he grumbles, “if you ever did that, I’m firing you on the spot.”

“You wouldn’t,” it was a gentle challenge, smirk flashing across your face as he returned it with fondness, “without me you would crash and burn, Mr. Castillo.”

And he knows it.

–

The gala is a bust.

So, as a bandaid to his wounded ego, you order takeout and keep him company in his big, lavish apartment—it wasn’t the first time, it wouldn’t be the last.

You knew what the issue was, but there was a sinking feeling in your stomach that told you he wouldn’t receive the information well.

It was after every failed date, every expensive dinner.

They saw him at the surface, the charming man with an easy, warm smile.

You saw the man who kicked his shoes off and stripped himself of his suit jacket the second he walked through the door, who couldn’t resist a late-night binge of his newest streaming obsession, someone who insisted on stirring his coffee counterclockwise because it made it taste better, a man would text you pictures of squirrels in the park that he would feed on his way home.

It wasn’t that you were pining over him. You just knew him better than anyone.

“Why are you so dead set on marriage?” you ask him over dinner, turned toward him on the couch as he reaches for the remote to pause the show on screen.

He’s had this conversation before, but he’s never asked you any questions on the matter.

“What’s your opinion on it?” he’s avoiding, clearly, but you’ll bite.

“I don’t date, I’m not interested, signing a piece of paper isn’t going to signify my feelings toward someone if it came down to that,” you admit, “I’m not cynical, marriage is fine, but this stuff takes time,”

“Well, I’m not getting any younger,” Harry gripes, arms reaching over the back of the couch as he mirrors your position.

“Oh, please,” you scoff, “you’re forty-nine.”

“Almost fifty,” he corrects, “I’m ancient.”

“O-kay,” you sigh, “do you want honesty?”

“I’d hope you were being honest with me all the time.”

“No,” you laugh softly, “like…brutal fucking honesty?”

He’s silent, but attentive. 

“You keep choosing women who treat you like they’re next getaway vacation and you fall for it every time,” his forehead creases at the words, looking hurt by your words, “I see your bank payments every month, the activity—”

“It’s not like money is an issue,” he defends, causing you to sigh dramatically and fall back against the arm of the couch in faux distress.

“This is impossible,” you groan, staring up at the ceiling before you feel his hand circle around your wrist, tugging gently,

“Okay, I’m listening,” Harry says softly, pulling you upright, “I’m sorry—I am.”

“You want it to work so bad,” you tell him, “I see it—every time you approach someone you put on that smile and it works, but you’re giving so much and yeah, maybe some of them like that, but I’m sure a few would just enjoy a nice dinner here, or something simple. I think you forget to realize that someone can just be interested in you, for you, not for what you are or have,”

It’s profound, the way his face softens at your words, his touch still lingering around your wrist.

You’ve never even considered or entertained the idea that you might find Harry attractive or even attainable—for one, you had signed a contract that agreed to a professional work relationship, as a benefit for both of you, not that he ever had any intention to begin with.

You’ve been with him for so long, it feels, a fresh and young mind to help keep him active and busy, constantly refreshing ideas and helping him not feel like he was stuck, and you were damn good at taking care of him when he’s often tended to neglect himself.

The only thing you know is that he’s never looked at you like that.

Like you could see straight through him, all his flaws on display.

But, that was because you knew all of them.

You knew everything about him, even the worse bits.

His bad habits, his self-inflicting ones, everything that he refused to bring to the surface.

Harry’s fingers still lingered around your wrist, the weight of your words sinking in. 

But then, just like he always did, he broke the tension with a huff of laughter and frowns as he brushed you off.

“You just think I’m a sucker, don’t you?”

You shook your head with a faint smile, returning your arm to your lap.

“No—I think you like to see the good in people. So much good that you’re willing to ignore red flags.”

“Jeez,” he chuckled, clutching his stomach like you had physically wounded him, “that hurt.”

You shrugged and reached for the remote to resume the picture on screen, “You’ll survive.”

–

It was your day off—Sunday, the one day.

“Have you seen my cufflinks laying around?” he asked over the video call, “Shit—my tie, too. I can’t find it anywhere. I thought you said you laid it out for me.”

“No, I said I had it hung up and for you to lay it out before you showered,” you correct him, laying tiredly on your couch as you watched him search around frantically, hair damp and his bare shoulders on display, only catching the briefest glimpses of the towel around his waist as he turned the camera around, “Waitwait—go back!”

“There’s no fucking way you saw it,” Harry argues, “I’ve been looking for the last ten minutes—”

“In the pocket of your suit, the tie is there,” you tell him, “and given that you probably tossed the suit on the bed like you always do, the cufflinks are probably somewhere hiding under the blanket,”

He tosses you against the mattress, your screen succumbing to darkness as you wait, some shifting of the sheets before you hear him make a sound before he appears again, cufflinks pinched between his fingers and a look of defeat on his face.

“What would you do without me?” you ask with a cocky grin, finger hovering over the end call button as he shakes his head.

“What was this for again?” Harry asks curiously, laying you down upright as you caught a glimpse of his bare chest as he shrugged the crisp, white button down over his shoulders.

“It’s a charity auction, your favorite,” you chirp, “and you’re flying solo, so—don’t do anything stupid or…crass,”

“If I paid you double a day of work would you go?” Harry asks after a long pause, glancing down at the screen, “Triple?”

“Triple?!” you gawk, “see—you’re insane, this is what I’m talking about,”

He chuckles despite your response, “You’re good at keeping the sharks away,”

There were particular hawking businessmen who made it their mission to hunt Harry down at events and keep him occupied, eager to do business, whatever it may be—you were the unspoken master of redirection, as much as he refused to admit it.

“Can we grab dinner on the way?” 

“Burgers?” Harry asks, perking up slightly.

It was a constant go-to for you and him.

You nod through the screen, “Don’t even bother with the tie either, I’ll do it.”

–

“I can’t believe you roped me into this on my day off,” you whisper at his side, earning a half-smirk from him.

The charity auction was as lavish as you’d expected.

Crystal chandeliers, gold accents, and far too much champagne and hors d'oeuvres. 

Harry’s hand found the small of your back the moment you arrived, steering you through a sea of designer gowns and tuxedos, feeling uncomfortable in the tight dress and stilettos that you only wore on rare occasions, biting at your heels.

“You’ll survive,” he grins, grabbing you both a glass of champagne and pressing it into your waiting fingers, “I’m gonna…peruse, alright?”

“Don’t say it—that just makes you sound like a creep,” your face scrunches up in disgust as you sip at the alcohol, “just go—go, I’ll…handle everything else.”

The evening passed in a blur of small talk and polite smiles, but somewhere between the endless speeches and bidding wars, you found yourself on the balcony, the cool night air a welcome relief in the stuffy ballroom.

You smell him before you see him, the thick and rich scent of his cologne so familiar you swear you could find him on that alone, turning over your shoulder to see him closing the door quietly, cigarette pack tucked in his palm as he approached with a neutral expression.

“You okay?” you ask, leaning against the railing of the balcony.

Harry sighed, rubbing the back of his neck and then plucking a single cigarette from the box, “Honestly? I’m just tired of it.”

“The auctions? Charity?” you inquire, a small smile tugging at your face.

“All of it.” He looked at you, his gaze lingering as he lit the tobacco, “The events, the dates, searching for—I don’t even fucking know at this point,”

“The offer stands…” you say jokingly, though he knows exactly where this is heading.

“If I wanted a sugar baby I’d find one.”

Your eyes roam over his figure as he puffs at the cigarette, pulling a deep laugh from his chest before you’re pushing him away playfully.

“Let’s go,” he tells you with a deep sigh, stubbing out the end of the cigarette and tucking it away for later, tossing his arm over your shoulder as he readied to guide you through the crowd, always protective in spaces like this, another thing that was special to him.

–

The ride home is quiet, like it always is, both of you sitting in the backseat with the partition up, watching as he looked through his phone with a scowl, occasional typing and sending a message.

Eventually, he looks at you.

“Thank you,” He says with a soft tone, “I know this isn’t your favorite thing to do.”

You tilted your head into the headrest and smiled, crossing one thigh over the other as you worked at your heels to remove them, “Oh, it wasn’t that bad—the free alcohol is always a plus.”

He chuckled at that, silently helping you remove your shoes with a soft squeeze to your foot.

That was normal—but, it forces you to pause.

His natural instinct to help, to touch, to comfort you.

Your brow furrows at the gesture before you shake it away, blaming it on the buzz of alcohol in your system, watching as he continues the gesture with the other foot.

“Having you there makes it bearable, is all,” he explains, looking up at you briefly as he undid the tie around your ankle, “you…calm me, I guess.”

You swallowed. Hard.

The warmth of his words lingering in your chest, in his touch against your ankle, “You’d do the same for me.”

And he would—if you ever needed anything, anything, Harry was there.

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly, “without question.”

The sincerity caught you off guard. 

You turned to study him, the familiar slope of his nose, the line of his jaw. There was something about the way he looked tonight—tired, maybe, but softer. 

And he keeps looking at you, checking.

The car moved smoothly through the dimly lit streets, the city blurring past in streaks of gold and blues and reds. The hum of the engine was steady, the faint sound of music barely audible from the front, through the glass, the back lit up dimly by the trim of lights on the roof and door.

Harry leaned back, one hand moved against the seat, his other hand dragging slowly over his thigh—restless. 

Instinctually, without thinking, you reached for his hand.

It wasn’t purposeful. Just a simple act of absentmindedness.

You’ve done it a hundred times before. 

Tugged at his sleeves to fix his cufflinks, brushed lint from his lapel or pants, adjusted the collar of his shirts. Constantly fixed his hair, touching him wasn’t new.

His skin was warm. Not hot, not cold.

You felt the slight twitch of his hand, like he was debating whether to move. Instead, his fingers shifted, just a fraction, enough that the edge of his thumbnail brushed over the inside of your wrist.

The contact was thoughtless, nothing.

But, in the same moment, it felt like everything.

The way his eyes watched the movement, roamed your body like they had before but with a different implication, his eyes half-lidded and relaxed, wondering how much alcohol he had consumed himself—this wasn’t friendly.

And it definitely wasn’t professional.

Harry’s gaze was on you now, your face, as you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his hand.

Then his thumb moved. 

Up. 

Barely. 

A soft drag along your pulse.

It was half a decade of avoidance, defeat in his heart and mind, and fear in your own.

Broken, by the car rolling to a stop outside of Harry’s apartment building.

“We’re here, Mr. Castillo,” the voice of the driver came from the front, a nod of acknowledgement as his hand slipped from yours.

“Oh, hold on,” you were scooting aside to let him out, readied for the next stop as he cocks his head toward the building, “I’ve got something for you—I’ll drive you home, don’t worry,”

“Harry,” you stress, looking down at his hand that waves you toward him, extending out for you to grab, insistently as his fingers wiggle in wait.

Turns out, he wasn’t totally lying.

That something was accompanied by a seven thousand dollar bottle of Leroz Aux Brulees—you knew that because you had purchased it during his trip to France, the supposed city of love.

“I’m going to murder you,” you tell him as he places the bottle on the counter and keeps the closed case of mystery at his side, “hide your body, flee country—I hate surprises, you know that.”

“I think you’ll like this one,” he grins, popping the cork on the bottle and pouring two hefty glasses, eyeing the deep red as it glugged into the glass.

“You know, if you wanted company you could have just asked,” you tell him, “I get it, you’re lonely,”

He knows you’re only teasing but it stings nonetheless, both of you taking a long and heavy sip as his fingers swirl over the velvet casing before he’s pushing it over quickly, tapping it with his fingers, “Open it,” he encourages, eyeing you over the rim.

You place your glass down and pry it open slowly, carefully, like you were deconstructing a bomb, but as the piece inside comes into view you find yourself at a loss for words or thoughts.

Your eyes are wide, staring up at him with parted lips that tingled from the lingering alcohol, knowing you should have cut yourself off at one glass of champagne and refused to come inside, that you should have just went home and enjoyed what little bit of the day you had left to yourself.

Now, you were looking back at a necklace so delicate you were afraid to stare at it too long, embedded with a cluster of diamonds and nearly two years of your rent if you were doing the math correctly in your mind.

Always about the numbers, Harry constantly teased.

“I saw how you looked at it the other day,” he admits, “and I owe you a hell of a lot more, but it…I’m trying to say thank you for…being you,”

“I’m not taking that,” you refuse with a laugh of disbelief, sliding back over to him gently, downing the rest of your wine in one go to forget how fast your heart was beating in your chest.

“You are,” Harry insists, “consider it a bonus—Christmas is in a couple months, too.”

“You know…this is exactly that kind of stuff a sugar da—”

Harry makes a noise, shaking his head.

You bite your lip in thought, ignoring his subtle annoyance at your comment.

It was fucking beautiful, really.

You sigh, using one finger to turn the case back toward you, examining it closely.

Quietly, Harry presses his glass into the counter and rounds the edge toward you, his chest at your shoulder as he reaches for the jewelry, working carefully at the clasp before he’s motioning for you to relax your shoulders.

It wasn’t the stillness of the moment, but his touch, again.

He’s methodical in the way he touches you, dragging his hand around your neck as he fits the necklace into place, his fingertips pressing against the column of your throat in a way that tickles slightly, shifting uncomfortably until you hear the faint click and he breathes behind you, hands resting at your shoulders.

You’re not sure why he hasn’t moved, but you find yourself turning to speak.

“I’m just going to call an uber,” you tell him, “probably shouldn’t drive since we’ve both been drinking,”

“Yeah,” he agrees, but it sounds hollow, his eyes not following you as you move.

You hop from the chair and bend down to grab your shoes, but his hand is curling around your bicep and pulling you up and he’s staring again, the charge of his touch sending a jolt through your body as freeze,

“Come here,” he beckons, too natural.

And you listen.

He’s soft, every part of him. Skin, clothes, hair, lips.

He’s kissing you gently, like you might break, but you can tell he wants more.

Needs more.

“Are you going to regret this tomorrow?” you find yourself asking as he parts from you, licking at his lips as you both take a breath, letting the moment settle.

He shakes his head, “Are you?”

“Maybe,” you answer honestly, “maybe…not—fuck, I don’t know,”

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” he promises, but you knew that was a lie.

Still, you nod in understanding.

–

He’s so tender with his touch, slipping you out of the dress in the dim light of his room.

Even softer as he guides you to your back and spreads himself on his belly between your legs, fingers interlocked with his at your hips as he buries his nose between your folds, his tongue splitting your cunt open in a sharp gasp that has you throwing your head back. His lips traced a slow, deliberate path down your body, igniting sparks along every inch of your skin. 

He kissed along the curve of your thighs, teasing, tasting, until the tension was unbearable and with each flick of his tongue, each gentle suck, it pulled you deeper into a haze of heady desire. 

This was reckless, dangerous, but neither of you found the moment to pause and think.

You wonder if things had been building to this for a while—if it was always supposed to happen this way or if he was acting off of greed; lust and companionship, even if just for a night.

You know you can ask him to stop at any point and he would, but even as his tongue brings you to your first orgasm of the night and he’s guiding you to your stomach, reaching blindly into his bedside table for a foil wrapping the crinkles loudly in the silence, you want this.

It was embarrassing how badly you wanted this.

He fucks you slow, too. 

It was torturous, his chest flat against your back as he palms his cock and feeds it into you.

You don’t talk, neither does he.

But, his low moans and stuttering breaths speak for him.

If you could see him, you’d know how furrowed his brow would be, a hand sliding over the curve of your ass until he can reach your thigh, beckoning for you to raise it without speaking.

You oblige, the angle of his thrusts changing on a dime.

“I can’t believe you’re real sometimes,” he admits like he’s confessing a sin.

“Please,” you plead—please stop talking, please keep going, please fuck me.

You couldn’t decide.

You feel him nod where his forehead is pressed between your shoulder blades as his fist curls into the sheet beside your head.

“Another, gimme another,” he pleads, the fingers on his other hand curling under your neck to life your chin, not expecting to meet his eyes as he leans over you.

The expression on his face so raw it makes you flutter around him, his lips parting in a deep, guttural groan, “I know you can,” he nods hurriedly.

And damn, does the praise work.

Your whimper breaks him, breathing out shakily as you locked eyes when he comes, slow and forceful thrusts until you’re nothing but an exhausted pile of tangled limbs.

“Greedy girl,” he comments through the haze, a weak giggle bubbling from your chest.

He pulls out slowly, a low grunt as he does so.

You’re not sure when you fall asleep, but you wake to a startling amount of weight over your stomach, an arm splayed possessively, the faint outline of a ring as you drag your hand over the limb.

It’s only as your eyes pry open that reality hits you, stumbling out of bed quickly.

No…nononono, where the fuck were your clothes? Jesus.

You stumble around half awake, searching for the silk dress on the floor, feeling accomplished when you find it and hastily redressing yourself as Harry stirs in bed, encouraging you to hurry, to slip out before he can say anything.

Your shoes are already on and you’re reaching for the doorknob when the voice comes, the weight of the necklace that still remained on your neck, two empty glasses of wine on the counter, a night of hasty choices and urgency laid out like a crime scene as his voice rings out from behind you, pleading.

“Don’t—don’t go,” Harry begs, “You don’t have to go,”

So much of this was wrong—it complicated everything.

Your life, your job, your relationship with him.

He can see you slipping, fingers inching toward the knob as he approaches you in a hurry, barefoot and shirtless, the kind of scene you shouldn’t be comforted with, like this was all normal to the both of you.

You’ve seen him like this a thousand times, but not when he’s looking at you so vulnerable, heart tore open and stapled to his chest, beating against your own as his hands splayed out over your cheeks.

“I don’t regret it,” he assures you again, “so please—stay, okay?”

“What changed?” you ask, voice trembling, “Five years, Harry. Five.”

“I’ve been running in circles this entire time,” he admits, “you know it—I know it.”

You had been there the entire time, learning every part of him without judgement, cataloging his flaws and skills, learning how he ticked and what motivated him. You had never quite settled on the ideal person to fit in his life as his partner, it surely wasn’t you.

It couldn’t be you.

“Please, don’t go,” Harry echoed once more.

The sick, cruel joke of it all was that this was your job. 

You had nowhere to go. If it was any other morning, you would just be arriving, leaving his breakfast in the kitchen and starting your day.

You nod solemnly, “Of course, Mr. Castillo.”

It was painstaking, forcing the mask back on.

But, you couldn’t deal with this now.

Or ever, even.

Harry looks at you with a confused sadness, thumbs rubbing at your cheekbones before his hands fall to his side.

You’d figure this out, you always did.

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📷 Apple

[favorite-fan-fic]

you in my eyes l Javier Peña

Summary:  you weren't friends and you certainly weren't planning anything more together

warnings: each chapter has its own warnings; +18, smut, angst, enemies to lovers; alcohol, cigarettes, weapons, swearing, misogyny, sexism at work, unprotected sex (don't do that!), double standards, drugs, violence

masterlist

chapter [1]

chapter [2]

chapter [3]

chapter [4]

chapter [5]

chapter [6]

chapter [7]