lokidbadguy

[lokidbadguy]

so... currently im writing joel's angst hehehe

[lokidbadguy]

FUCKING HELL. I KNEW THIS RELATIONSHIP WAS WRONG BUT IM GOING TO CRY IF THEY DON'T GOT HAPPY ENDING.

Cupid's Chokehold — part five!

HER OR THE SUN

[prev/next]

summary: In the aftermath of the engagement, you and Uncle Tommy try to navigate uncertain terrain. The balance becomes skewed, and the push and pull begins to wear you both thin.

pairing: step uncle!Tommy Miller x f!Reader

warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI. stepcest, age gap, lots and lots of angst, including (but not limited to) grief, depression, codependency, isolation, and anxiety. yearning, tension, phone sex, dirty talk, soft and slow shower sex, unprotected piv, praise, size difference, another cliffhanger don't kill me, no outbreak au, no beta

note: I'm so sorry this has taken so long to finish, but here's part five in all her glory! thank you for sticking with this, we're down to only one chapter left! special thank you to all the sweet messages I've received about this fic and ofc all of my baby anons, I swear you guys keep me motivated. anyway love you MWAH

wc: 17.2k (she's long, get a snack and settle in!)

[series masterlist] [series playlist] [main masterlist] [AO3]

Tommy waits.

Falls into his bed sheets, fully clothed. Doesn’t even take off his boots. Just crawls onto the mattress and lays flat on his back. Stares at the popcorn-textured ceiling of his apartment.

Breathes in. Breathes out.

He waits. And waits. And waits.

He knows what’s coming. Wars with it, trying to find any and all excuses, trying to convince himself that he’s being dramatic. Overthinking it. But Tommy knows you, and he knows exactly what you’re going to tell him.

It’s just after eleven when he gets your text message. 

Come get me?

He’s already in his truck. Races across town with this sinking feeling stuck in his gut, each breath a little harder.

Normally, when he comes to get you in the dead of night for these little drives of yours, he waits on the sidestreet in front of Joel’s house. Sends a text message to let you know he’s arrived and lights up a Marlboro Red so it’s ready for you when you climb into the passenger seat.

Except, this time, he doesn’t need to. You’re already sitting on the concrete steps of the front porch when he pulls up. You’re in flannel pajama pants and one of his old hoodies he’d loaned to you months ago.

Tommy leans over and pushes the passenger door open for you. When you climb inside, you don’t meet his eyes. Don’t give him one of those sweet smiles or giggle excitedly in that soft way you sometimes do when you see him after a few hours apart.

It only makes that unease twist up his insides even further.

He sits there, truck idle. He knows what you’re going to say, but he’s afraid to speak. Afraid to provoke it.

You’re fidgeting. Nervous. Pulling at a stray piece of thread on the sleeve of his hoodie, shoulders slumped, curling into yourself.

And then you say, so timidly he can hardly hear it, “Tommy, I—”

“Wait.” He exhales slowly. It’s happening too fast, the tone in your voice is too sure. “Wait. Please. Let’s just—let’s go somewhere. Please just give me five more minutes.” 

You nod eagerly, as if it’s exactly what you need, too. And then you slide across the leather seat and lift his arm, draping it around your shoulders and nuzzling into his side.

He holds you close. Wraps both limbs around you and cradles your frame against his, squeezing tighter than he ever has. He kisses the top of your head and you let out this sound—a cry, almost. Full of longing and desperation and melancholy. It makes Tommy’s heart ache. 

Even while he drives, he keeps you close. Rubs soothing circles into the tender muscle of your shoulder. Breathes in the scent of your skin, of your shampoo, of the lingering ambery undertone of his cologne that mixes in.

Tommy drives aimlessly, no destination in mind, but settles on one of the botanical gardens downtown. The lot is empty, and he pulls into a random spot and puts the truck in park.

You move first. Pull away just enough to look at him with those sad eyes, but before you open your mouth to say what he dreads to hear, Tommy opens his door and climbs out of the truck. Stalling the inevitable. “Smoke?”

When you nod, he takes your hand in his, helping you out of the cab. You round the front of the truck and lean back against the bumper.

Cicadas sing their chirping songs in the darkness and the air smells heavily floral and earthy. The park is beautiful in the daytime, Tommy knows. But the sun has well and truly disappeared and the moon is nothing but a sliver of crescent shaped light tonight. Almost as empty as he feels.

He pulls the pack of cigarettes and the chrome Zippo out of the pocket of his jeans. Tries to light it but his hands shake too violently. He can’t keep still. 

“Here.” You take both from him, though your trembling isn’t much better. Still, you manage to light it and take the first drag. Inhaling deeply, letting the smoke drift through the air. 

“We can still tell them,” Tommy suggests. But the words sound pitchy as they leave his mouth, like even his lungs know he’s grasping for straws. “Do it now. Tonight, even. Before it’s too late.”

“It’s already too late,” you say, hopeless. “We both know it.”

“But we could still say something, right? I mean, we already knew they’d be pissed but—”

“We can’t—”

“We can, baby. We just need to—”

“Tommy—”

“It’s not just about them anymore. It’s about us, too.” His voice carries. Frustrated, growing louder with each word. “It’s not fair that we have to keep—”

“Please.”

Tommy stops. Hears your anguish in the word. You’re begging him, begging, and he feels something inside his chest crack wide open.

He curls in on himself. Head down, shoulders slumped, a newfound sorrow settling deep.

You pass him the cigarette and he takes it greedily from your fingers. Inhales the smoke until it reaches the bottom of his lungs. He lets it settle there, lets it burn, because Tommy can’t feel much else.

Your voice shakes when you say, “She’s picked out colors already. Plum and—” The word cracks in your mouth. “Plum and emerald.”

Tommy hates this. The sound in your voice, the emptiness in his chest. He’s long ago given up any idea of what’s right when it comes to the two of you but he knows with bone deep surety that it’s not fucking this.

He passes the cigarette back to you. 

“So, what, then? They get to be happy newlyweds while we’re left with nothing?” The words hold venom. But he’s not mad at you—not even at your decision. Tommy supposes he’s just angry at the world. 

At God, maybe. 

You scoff. “Don’t act like I’m the only one choosing this,” you say. “You’re saying you’d ruin their happiness? You’d walk into that house right now and tell Joel everything just so we could be happy instead? Risking the possibility that he would leave my mom to make things right, to fix it the way he always tries to, is that it?”

Tommy swallows hard.

“Yeah. Didn’t think so.” You take another drag from the cigarette, smoke billowing into the night air, swirling between you.

The silence hangs heavy. The two of you are so alike it frightens him sometimes. Both angry, both cowards. Tommy selfishly wishes he loved his brother a little less. Wishes you were capable of being a little cruel. Because all it would take for him is one look, one fucking look, and he’d do it.

Even if it meant losing his family. If it meant losing everything but you.

But this, like everything else in his life, Tommy could never do without you by his side. 

“I think…” You pause. Sigh heavily. “I think we need to try. For my mom and for Joel. Try to be…normal about this. We owe it to them.”

“Tried to do that those first couple of months,” Tommy admits. “It doesn’t work, and you know it.”

“It might if we’re on the same page about it, though. Right? I mean—I’ve always been a little too close. Too touchy. I can pull back, and maybe—”

“This is more than that.”

You run your hands down your face. “You’re not helping!”

“How am I supposed to help?” He throws his hands up in surrender. “What do you want me to say? That I’m fine with this? That I can go back to the way things were?” He huffs. “There’s no fucking chance. Not for me. With you is the only place in the whole fucking world where I’ve ever truly belonged. You don’t get to just come back from that.”

There it is, Tommy thinks. The harsh reality laid bare. Two roads to choose from and they both lead to suffering.

There are no words you offer in reply. No denial, no solution. And for a few moments the two of you just stare at each other, accepting what is, accepting what you can’t change. 

The cigarette burns to ash in your hands. Tommy lights up another.

Finally, you ask, “So, what, then? What do we do now?”

Tommy would give you anything. The world, if you’d let him. But he knows you. You could be offered everything you wanted on a silver platter, but if it hurt someone else in the process, you’d never take it. 

There still exists a part of him that hopes he can keep you. A part of him that’s convinced the only way forward is together. But Tommy knows you have to try. Try to be good, to do everything in your power to do the right thing before you do the honest thing.

Yet, still, the words burn in his mouth as he forces them out. “I guess we…we try.”

“Okay,” is your response. Flat. Empty.

He’s not sure how much time passes. Ten minutes, twenty. The space between you feels precarious. 

The only thing Tommy knows for certain now is that he doesn’t want to lose you. Would willingly spend the rest of his life drowning in longing if it meant you’d still be here—close enough to touch, just out of reach, but still here.

His lungs sting. There’s a weight that rests upon them like a stone. Crushing. Smothering.

By the time you move again, the only cigarette left in Tommy’s front pocket is the half-smoked one with cherry lipgloss stained on the filter he’s held onto since the warehouse party. You climb back into his truck and he follows you, driving a whole lot slower on the way back to Joel’s.

The ache is different now. Colder.

He puts the truck in park just beneath the street lamp in front of the house, but you don’t move. Just sit there, staring out of the passenger window, trying to stop your shaking hands.

You take a few moments. A few slow, steadying breaths.

He waits. 

Waits for you to speak, to say something—anything.

But you don’t. 

You push open the passenger door and climb right out, taking Tommy Miller’s heart with you. 

It feels unfinished. His chest pulls tight with the sensation, the need to find some semblance of closure. But there’s none to be had and he knows it.

Tommy sits in front of Joel’s house until you’re safely inside. 

And when he gets back to his apartment, he doesn’t sleep. Even knowing he should, even knowing he has a full work day ahead of him in 7 hours—he can’t shut off his brain. 

He lays in bed until the sun comes up, trying to figure out what his life will look like now. Trying to reimagine it without your sunshiney smiles or your starry eyes or the weight of your hand in his. 

It feels desolate now, his future. A far cry from the vibrancy he thought it would hold just yesterday.

The next morning, Joel climbs into the passenger seat of Tommy’s truck five minutes earlier than usual, and you’re nowhere to be found. 

Tommy’s brow furrows in a silent question when he looks at his brother. 

“Said she’s gonna work from home today,” he explains. “Not feelin’ good. Got a migraine—from the altitude changes, maybe.”

He doesn’t believe it. Not for a goddam second. 

The day feels slow. Out of focus. Tommy works hard the way he always does. Sweat gathers on his brow, the muscles in his shoulders pull tight beneath the cotton of his t-shirt.

But he’s not there. Not really. His mind is a million miles away. (Well, maybe just twenty. Maybe just somewhere in that spare room in Joel’s house, somewhere with you.)

He moves through the day as if he were underwater. Forces a laugh when Mike makes some joke about how hot it is that his wife is banging her new female secretary. But his amusement isn’t real. Doesn’t sink beneath his skin even an inch. 

When he gets home to that empty apartment, he knows he should eat. Orders himself a pizza and in the special instructions menu he says to leave it at the door. 

It never makes it inside.

Tommy picks it up and tosses it in the dumpster on his way to Joel’s the next morning. Hopes that seeing you with his own two eyes might calm the unbearable hollow feeling in his gut. 

And it does—just a little.

You’re dressed up today. A pretty, lilac colored sundress. Strappy and a little too short for the work site, but Tommy certainly doesn’t mind. You carry two coffees in hand, just like usual. As if nothing has changed, like nothing’s different. 

Except it is. And he can feel it in the way you avoid his eyes. In the way you don’t let his fingers linger against yours when he takes the coffee from your hand like you usually do. Your movements are cold. Clinical. 

You take part in the same routine you’d carved out months ago, but your heart’s not in it and somehow it’s worse than if you’d pretended he wasn’t there. 

He spends the day thinking about it. Drowning in it. 

Normally you take lunch together. Everyone disperses—calling their wives at home or watching videos on their phones or napping in the trailer after inhaling a sandwich. 

You, Tommy, and Joel typically pile back into Tommy’s truck with the air conditioning on full blast. He keeps a throw blanket in the back seat for you because you always get too cold. 

But not today. 

Today, you sit behind that desk for the entire thirty minutes. When Joel asks about it, you simply explain, “Just want to wrap up a couple emails, that’s all.”

But Tommy can hear the lie in your voice. Sees the way you suddenly need to retie the lace on your sneaker when he lingers inside the trailer a little too long, hoping you’ll look at him. 

You don’t.

The rest of the week is the same.

It’s not a dramatic change. Not enough for anyone else to notice, but Tommy does. Like a splinter that resides just beneath the surface of his skin. An ache that’s reduced to a dull throb when you’re near him, but if he moves the wrong way it stings.

You’re real good at putting on the front. At selling the lie.

You still laugh at Sarah’s jokes over Sunday dinner, but the smile doesn’t reach your eyes. You still pile your favorite foods onto your plate, but more than half gets scraped into the garbage bin at the end of the meal.

There are no more long-winded stories, just clipped responses. You don’t fill the silences by asking Sarah about school or your mom about her new book, you just pull out your phone and scroll through social media pages Tommy knows you don’t care about.

Small things. Minuscule, really. 

But Tommy knows you. 

He hopes with time that it won’t hurt as badly.

But by the second week of receiving your cold shoulder, he feels like he’s going crazy. Pent up, almost. Anxious and quick to anger and so fucking tired.

Sleep evades him every god forsaken night. He lays awake with his ringer turned on in case you call. He replays that weekend in Stratford in his head like a movie. He scrolls through old text message threads and listens to voice memos from months ago, eyes stinging every time they end with you saying, ‘So, yeah. Anyway loveyoubye!”

He tries to fill the silence in his apartment but he can’t watch a movie without hearing your commentary in his head. Can’t listen to his favorite songs without thinking of you.

He even tries white noise一the kind with ocean sounds and rain drops and the electric whirring of a fan.

But that’s somehow worse. It relaxes him enough to feel it all even clearer, sending his grief rushing to the surface. Stealing the air from his lungs, closing up his throat until his hands shake and he can’t fucking breathe.

He’s inches away from a panic attack Friday evening when Mike calls him. He insists they go out for drinks. Just the two of them. 

But Tommy knows precisely what that means. They’d done it countless times—played wingman for wingman, found a couple of pretty best friends and talked them up until they were eager to get in the backseat. 

Tommy declines at first. He feels like he’s scraping the dregs from the bottom of his soul just to have this conversation. He knows he doesn’t have the energy to actually go out. 

Mike doesn’t press. He never does.

But when he hangs up and Tommy’s left in that deafening silence again, he finds himself scrambling for his boots.

He picks Mike up from his little suburban home and before Tommy realizes, he’s sitting at the bar in Frank’s pub, three and a half beers in. 

Drowning his sorrows. A familiar act. 

Mike says, “Can I ask you somethin’ without gettin’ a right hook?”

Tommy snorts. “Guess it depends on the question.”

There’s a beat of silence. Hesitation, almost. And then, “What happened between you an’ that little girl?”

Tommy’s stomach sinks to his feet.

Mike’s an observant man, he knows. Quiet and direct. Not the kind of person to sugarcoat what he means. It’s part of the reason Joel’s let him stick around so long, despite his tendency to be late to the job site every morning.

And even though he knows there’s no point in it, Tommy still tries to feign innocence. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Thought she looked awful familiar, you know. That first day on the job, when Joel introduced her as his step daughter. Couldn’t quite place her face. Thought maybe I had taken her home or somethin’.”

His jaw ticks at the thought alone. 

Mike sees it. Says through a dry laugh, “Christ. You are so goddamn obvious, Tommy. You know that?” 

He doesn’t speak. Wants to defend himself but doesn’t have the words. And Mike’s voice isn’t accusatory, anyway. Just honest. True. 

So he sits there and picks at the peeling label on the brown bottle in his hands instead. 

Mike continues. “Anyway, it wasn’t ‘til I saw the two of you whisperin’ about somethin’ or other when I realized I had seen her with you at that warehouse party we went to forever ago. Was all a little clearer after that. Saw the way you looked at her when Joel wasn’t payin’ attention. Saw the way she looked at you.”

Tommy shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“Now, I ain’t one to pry. You know that. But it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see you’re barely hangin’ on by a thread these days. Not sleepin’, barely talkin’. When was the last time you had a decent meal?”

He’s not sure. Tommy doesn’t say that, though. Just stays silent, his eyes locked on a drop of condensation dripping down the neck of his bottle.

“Joel’s gonna marry that little girl’s momma,” Mike says, a tone of finality in his voice. “Think you know that as well as I do. But that ain’t gotta mean you lose something in the process.”

Tommy takes a long drink, letting the cool, hoppy flavor coat his sandpaper tongue. “Look, man,” he says. “I mean no offense by this, but I don’t really have any interest takin’ relationship advice from you.”

Mike laughs. “An’ why’s that? Cause I’m old?”

“Has less to do with you needin’ life insurance and more to do with all those girls you fool around with while your wife’s at home,” Tommy says. 

He’s never been so blunt before. Not like this. And it’s not that he judges Mike on his behaviors. He’s a grown man and Tommy has no business telling anyone what to do.

But that’s not the kind of life Tommy wants to lead. It’s never been. And he doesn’t have the energy to get his point across and soften his words around the edges.

Mike scoffs. “That woman would have my ass if I breathed without her permission. You really think I’m out here messin’ around on her?”

“Well, aren’t you?” The words are clipped. Filled with irritation.

“Hell fuckin’ no.” Mike waves down the bartender and orders another beer. One for him, one for Tommy. “She knows what I do with other women. She likes ‘em too. Maybe even more than me.”

It takes him by surprise, brows furrowing. “So, what? You fuck everyone but each other?”

“Ain’t like that. We just…got more love to give. S’all.” He shrugs. “And at the end of every night, we still got each other. That’s where I’m goin’ with this whole goddamn spiel. Just wanted to tell you that what happened between you two—whatever it was, it ain’t worth it. You gotta fix it, Tommy. ‘Fore it’s too late.”

“Wanna enlighten me on how I do that? Since it seems you’ve got all the answers.”

Mike raises a hand in surrender. “Not tryin’ to push your buttons—”

But it’s already too late. His grief has grown teeth and he can’t talk to anyone about this but you. You, who hasn’t looked him in the eye in two fucking weeks.

Mike already knows, so what’s the point in lying? In hiding?

“It’s not something I can fix, Mike,” Tommy spits out. “You think my brother would ever look at me the same? He’d cut me off. Fire my ass, toss me to the curb—and he’d have every fuckin’ right to. I mean, hell, I can’t say I’d do any different. And Sarah, too. Christ.” 

He shakes his head, pressure building behind his eyes. 

“That kid has been like my own since the day she was born. I’d probably lose her, too. I’d lose everything. And for what? So I could be selfish? So I could love a girl who deserves a thousand times more than anything I could ever give her?”

Tommy stares at Mike with tear filled eyes. Searching for an answer, begging for one.

But Mike doesn’t offer anything in reply. Just gives him this sad look and grips Tommy by the shoulder.

They just sit there for a while. Tommy squeezes his eyes shut and scrubs the moisture from his eyes with the pad of his thumb. He runs his fingers through his hair and tries to catch his breath, to find a semblance of calm in the dreariness that lives inside him now. 

Mike buys another round of beer and eventually, he asks, “You think you could ever move on? Meet someone else?”

Tommy laughs. Truly laughs, for the first time in what feels like forever. 

But it doesn’t last long. 

The sound dies out in his mouth and he’s left with the harsh reality of it all. “She’s the only person I’ve ever met who sees nothin’ but good in me.”

The heaviness sits there for a moment.

And then Mike says, “You know, half the time I don’t see what Kristy sticks around for, either. She’s fifteen years younger than me and a hell of a lot better lookin’. Could have any man she wants. But the older I get, the more I realize that lovin’ someone…it ain’t just a feeling. It’s a choice.”

Tommy’s brow furrows.

“You gotta choose each other, man. The world will throw every curveball it’s got at you. Circumstance an’ tragedy an’ everything else. Five, ten years go by and you realize you’re two completely different people. Your looks fade, life flies by, and you change. But you still gotta choose it. To love the new version of each other. An’ as long as you’re both making that choice…well, I think you can make it through anything.”

He rolls Mike’s words over in his head. Sees the sense in them and knows without a shadow of a doubt that Tommy would choose every last version of you to love for the rest of his life. “It wouldn’t be fair of me to ask that of her,” he says, shaking his head. “They’re her family now, too. Joel an’ Sarah. It’s not just me who’d lose something.”

“That choice ain’t up to you,” Mike says. “Can’t make that decision for her. All you get to do is make your choice and make sure she knows it.”

The words stick with him. Even long after they share a basket of fries and sober up. Even after he drops Mike off at home, where his wife waits on the front porch with a wide smile on her face.

On Monday, the new hire starts. Erin works ten times as hard as Noah ever did. Even though she’s got long, pointy fingernails painted barbie pink and fake eyelashes and glittery eyeshadow, she clearly has contracting experience. She laughs at all the filthy jokes the guys toss out and retorts with something even worse.

She talks about her three year old son at home and asks Tommy if he has any of his own. When he says no, she then asks if he plans on having any in the future, and the only reply he’s able to give her is, “Maybe. I don’t know.”

A part of him feels guilty for not at least trying to be responsive. She’s nice enough, and Tommy knows that Erin’s just trying to know everyone. But he doesn’t have much patience for small talk these days. 

Wednesday morning, Joel makes the announcement about Stratford. Tells everyone they’re welcome to come, explains that it’ll be an all hands on deck sort of situation. That they’ll be leaving their homes for quite some time, but the pay will compensate.

You stand at Joel’s side and answer everyone’s questions. Ask that decisions be made by the end of day Friday so you can begin preparations for the hotel and travel expenses.

Tommy watches you speak, his bones filled with longing. You still don’t meet his eyes.

The days begin to blur together.

It sort of feels like being stuck. Standing stagnant while the rest of the world turns around him, scenery changing, unclear images bleeding into one another. So much so that he gets up for work on Saturday and makes it halfway to Joel’s house before he realizes it’s the weekend.

He sits in his truck for hours that morning. Watches the sun rise over the horizon through the dirty windshield.

Tommy does nothing now but miss you.

The sound of your voice, the warmth of your hand, the softness of your skin, your thigh pressed against his while you sit on the front porch steps.

It’s about more than just the physical, though. It’s the connection he misses the most. The ease. The closeness. The way he’d speak and you’d finish his thought before he could get the words out of his mouth. The knowing look you’d give him from across the room when someone said something that had even the faintest chance to be interpreted as a dirty joke.

He misses sharing every single one of his drinks with you, even if it’s only a sip from a straw so you could taste the bubbly soda from his glass. He misses the silly pictures you’d text him with the words, this is us. Not only does he miss laughing until a stitch forms in his side, but he misses the stillness right after the amusement settles. Misses that small, fraction of a moment in time where you just sit there and stare at each other with big smiles and it feels like he’s never been happier.

Sunday dinner is the same song and dance. You’re distant; not only from him, but from everyone. Quiet. Speaking just enough to keep from raising suspicion. The entire dynamic is different.

Not only between you and Tommy, but between everyone. As if you and your sunshine alone had been the steady base supporting the cultivated harmony.

He’s laying in bed late that night when your text comes through. 

Are you awake?

Tommy sits up in bed, his response immediate.

Yes. What’s wrong?

He watches with bated breath as you type. And then—

Can we please talk? 

The worst part, Tommy thinks, is that you even ask. You never would have before—you’d just say it. You’d tell him what you needed without shame or hesitation because you know he’d give it to you.

He pulls on a pair of jeans and his boots and is out the door with a t-shirt in one hand and his keys in the other. While he hastily pulls his shirt over his head, Tommy tries to type out a quick reply to let you know he’s on his way, but he never gets the chance to hit send.

Because when he steps out of his apartment building and looks up, he sees you.

And you finally, finally see him.

A long held breath, one that’s been stuck at the bottom of his lungs for weeks, slowly unfurls its claws from inside him. And in its place forms a flicker of heat. Of warmth. Of hope.

You’re standing there in your high top sneakers, pajama shorts, and his hoodie. The very same one you’d worn when you’d walked away with his heart in your hands.

Tommy feels frozen in place and time. Is terrified of moving closer, but feels like he might die if he moves further away.

He swallows, breath uneven. “Did you walk here?”

You hesitate, leaving his question unanswered. But Tommy knows you.

“It’s the middle of the night,” he says, trying to keep the displeasure from his tone.

“I needed you.”

Not wanted. Needed.

He doesn’t know what changes. What tips you over the edge. 

All Tommy knows is that he watches your pretty bottom lip wobble and your eyes get all glassy and he’s moving before he can think better of it.

Your hands are desperate, clutching the back of his t-shirt, pulling him impossibly close. 

Tommy lets you. Wraps his broad arms around your shoulders and squeezes tight, the relief he feels damn near blinding. You tremble in his embrace and he can feel the moisture of your tears against his chest. 

He places one hand on the back of your head and the other against the curve of your spine, the tension in his bones fading just at the feel of you alone. “You’re alright,” he promises. “Shh, it’s alright, sweetheart. M’right here, I got you. Talk to me.”

“I can’t do this,” you tell him, words muffled. “I can’t sleep, I can’t eat. All I ever do is think about you. It’s too much, I feel like—like I can’t even breathe. I thought it’d be easier, I thought…” You shake your head. “I didn’t just lose the person I love the most. You’re my best friend, Uncle Tommy. You’re my best friend.”

The words shatter what remains of Tommy’s heart.

“And you probably, god—you probably hate me now and I don’t blame you.”

He holds you closer, tighter. Afraid that if he lets go for even a second he’d fall apart right here in front of you. He cradles your face in his hands and they tremble when he sees the sadness in your pretty eyes. “Hey,” he says. “I’m—I’m yours, baby. Okay? Nothing you could ever do would change that. Nothing.”

“But I iced you out! I’ve been awful, I—!”

“Look at me,” he demands, speaking over the flow of self inflicting thoughts pouring out of your mouth. He takes your hand and uncurls your clenched fingers, flattening your palm against the solid expanse of his chest. “I need you to take a breath. Can you do that for me, darlin’? C’mon. Together.”

You stare up at him, embracing his soul, intertwining all your warmth with his longing, filling him with sunshine and the kind of love that’s grown desperate and hungry.

Tommy inhales deep through his nose and exhales a long breath through his mouth. “There you go,” he says. “Another. One more.”

Even though your hand still trembles over his heart, he can see the hysterics slowly begin to fade. Sees the fear leave your face, replaced with a pensive sort of look instead. 

And then he says, “We’re okay, you know. Even if everything around us is changing, we’ll still be us. You and I.”

You nod slowly, hanging onto his every word. You take another deep breath, and then you’re looping your arms around his neck. 

Tommy just holds you for a while. Breathes in the scent of your skin, cherishes the weight of your head on his chest, drinking up all your affection like he’s starved for it because he is.

It feels good. Feels like coming home. 

Eventually, you sniffle and lift your head to say, “What if we went back? To the way things were before the warehouse party. Before that first night. Before everything got…”

You search for the right word, and Tommy finds himself terrified to hear what you’re going to say. Wonders if you regret everything since, if you regret him. 

He expects you to say the words messed up or wrong or bad. 

But you don’t. Instead, you say, “…complicated.”

It’s true, Tommy thinks. It’s gotten tricky. Moving around everyone who knows the two of you the best, all while holding on to this intense secret. The engagement, the distance, the battle between what’s right and what’s honest. 

Complicated, yes. But not worthless.

“We can do whatever you want,” he says, trying not to think about how true the words are. You lead the direction of his life now. Calling all the shots, making every bet. It’s all up to you. 

“But what do you want, Tommy? That matters, too.” 

The question stalls him. Because he doesn’t think anyone has ever said such words in that particular succession, and it makes him feel loved and cared for and important. He swallows. Wants to tell the truth, but doesn’t want to hurt you even more. “You know what I want,” he finally says, voice barely above a whisper. “But it can’t be just me, baby. I need you to want it, too. And I know you can’t do that freely without trying to be…to be good first.”

Your eyes get all watery again, but this time you’re smiling up at him. “How do you always do that?”

Tommy chuckles. “Do what?”

“Sometimes, my thoughts get all jumbled together. Like the wires get crossed and I can’t make any sense of what’s going on inside my head. But I swear you speak and it’s like they get uncrossed. Does that make sense?” 

Perfect sense, Tommy thinks. Because he can relate to it. Feels as if you’re able to read his mind most days. 

You say, "You're the only person I've ever met who really understands me.”

And the words heal something inside of him. Because while he’s known you love him, known you care for him, it’s this he’s always vaguely wondered if you felt, too. The sameness, the connection, the cosmic yearning to be with you always. 

Tommy kisses your forehead and asks if you want to come upstairs. Promises you’ll just talk or watch a movie or listen to that record you love, and he means it.

But you shake your head and admit that it’s probably not a good idea, even though Tommy can see the temptation in your glassy eyes.

And even though the thought crosses his mind to get on his hands and knees and beg like a fucking dog—he doesn’t. Keeps his self respect intact at least for tonight. 

He drives you home and when he crawls back into bed that night, you send another text message. His favorite one to receive. One he’s been dying to hear but hadn’t realized just how much until the words flash across his screen.

Miss you <3

And his perpetual response, more true now than ever before;

Miss you more sweetheart. 

And then—Tommy sleeps. For the first time in weeks. 

He wakes up feeling refreshed and well rested and peaceful. And you do too, Tommy can tell. You waltz out of Joel’s with a smile on your face and laughter on your lips as you say some dirty joke.

Even Joel notices the change. Saying from the passenger seat during lunch, “You two are awfully happy today.”

And you can’t say anything or explain it to him, so you and Tommy just exchange a knowing glance and hold back your laughter.

Joel just shakes his head and rolls his eyes like he always does when you two obviously share a secret you have no intent on telling.

The week flies by. And your mom goes all out for Sunday dinner because it’s the last one before Joel and Tommy leave for Stratford in the morning. 

She makes a little taco bar that she spreads out on the kitchen counters. Complete with chorizo and carne asada and al pastor. She slices limes and puts out a big bowl of mango salsa and homemade guacamole and everyone eats together on the back porch. 

The sun is shining. 

Before Tommy leaves that night, he sits in on a conversation between you and Joel. He leaves you the keys to his truck and explains that you’re in charge of the crew that’s staying behind. Says to call if they give you any trouble, to call if there’s a leak in the house or if there’s any confrontation.

“If you so much as get a bad feeling about something, then you—”

“Call, I know,” you interrupt. ”It’ll be fine, Joel. I promise.”

He nods, but Tommy can feel the unease radiating from his brother and understands it, too. Because they’ve never been gone this far for this long, and even though they both have full faith in you and Sarah and your mom, it’s still terrifying. 

When Tommy leaves, he no sooner pulls open the door of his truck before you’re sprinting outside. Barefoot, hair still wet from your shower, wearing only a big t-shirt and a pair of athletic shorts. 

Tommy knows what’s coming and his arms are spread wide before you throw yourself into them. 

He holds you close, savors your sweet giggles and the feel of them against the curve of his shoulder. You wrap your legs around his waist and he experiences a wave of deja vu. Remembers the last time you’d said goodbye like this, moments after he’d patched up a hole in the wall of Joel’s kitchen. Remembers the first time you’d called him Uncle Tommy and how it had altered the course of everything. 

You lift your head to look at him and say, “You’ll call, right? Like you promised?”

Tommy nods. “Every night.”

“And text too? When you can.”

“Soon as I’ve got free hands,” he answers.

“And…” You pause.

He gives you space. Gives you silence to fill when you’re ready.

You look away as you timidly ask, “And you won’t find any cute girls to…get to know.”

The thought is astonishing to him. Truly. Because Tommy thinks he’s always been obvious about his affections for you. Thinks there’s no way you can look into his eyes and think for even a fucking second that there would ever be anyone else for him. 

Still, he sees your need for reassurance and is happy to oblige. Will tell you as many times as you need to hear it.

“I’m yours, darlin’.” 

That familiar grin stretches across your face and your giggles return when he peppers soft kisses against both of your cheeks. 

You begin to slowly uncoil your limbs from around him and your face falls as you take a careful step back, the realization dawning that this might be too affectionate, too raw, too real. “Sorry, I…I know that’s not fair of me to ask. And I know I shouldn’t…”

Tommy grabs your hand. Wants to pull you in but knows better. Knows the moment has passed and you’re backtracking, trying to find a new balance between too much and not enough. “Don’t sweat it,” he says. “Won’t ever hear me complainin’ anyway.”

With a snort, you roll your eyes. But that smile of yours returns, although a little softer. Less intense.

Tommy packs up half his closet and still wonders if it’s enough. He’s never left for this long before. For a job, for a vacation, for anything. 

And when he picks Joel up in the morning, address already typed into his phone, you bring out two travel mugs filled with coffee the way you do every morning. 

But this time you hand both to Tommy and say, “One for Joel, too.”

Tommy can’t fight off his grin as you fold your arms over one another on top of the frame of the driver's side door. 

You rest your chin on your forearms and glance up at him through your thick lashes, a look that feels too intimate, too submissive, too hot to be giving him while Joel buckles his seatbelt three feet away.

He chuckles and taps the tip of your nose affectionately. “Be good, now,” he says. 

“Never,” you whisper back. And then, a little louder, “Be careful. Text me when you get there so I know you’re safe.”

Tommy promises he will. And right before you go, he hands you the keys to his apartment to hold onto while he’s gone. Says, “Got that little cactus in the kitchen. Will you water it when I’m gone? Just once should be fine.” 

You make a crude joke about taking good care of his succulent that makes Joel laugh, and the entire way to Stratford Tommy can think of nothing but the way you’d looked at him.

He tries not to read too far into it. Tries not to convince himself he’d seen that too familiar look of desire in your starry eyes. And even if he had, even if that’s what it was, it didn’t matter. Not really.

Not until you said the words.

Everyone meets up at the hotel in Stratford that first night. Joel buys dinner with the company card and sets some ground rules. Says he’s not here to police anyone, but that the sooner this project is done, the bigger the paycheck.

Which means early mornings and late nights. Sundays off, but Saturdays on. Promises that once the hard work is done that everyone gets a week off if they’d like. Time to spend with their families after too long away.

Throws in that bar nights and bail money would come completely out of personal pockets, but Tommy knows that if a bad situation does arise that Joel doesn’t actually mean it. Knows that he’d take care of the crew no matter what.

It’s hot the first week. Blistering. And everyone’s patience is worn thin by the heat, so each day ends with apologies and pats on the shoulders and the words, “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean to be a dick,” get said more times than he can count.

But Tommy returns to the hotel every night with a light heart, because he knows what’s coming.

That blessed facetime call.

The one where he and Joel sit around his propped up cell phone and eat their takeout in their hotel room with you and your mom and Sarah on the other end. You all catch up, talk about the highlights of your days and Joel complains about fast food fries and how much he misses a home cooked meal.

And Tommy’s just happy to see your smiling face. To hear your voice.

He looks forward to it every single night.

By the second week, he realizes that those facetime calls and your sporadic text messages are what he’s doing this for. Why he’s got sweat on his brow and calloused hands and dirt on his boots. 

He does it for you.

Because if Mike is right, if love is not just a feeling but a choice, well…Tommy’s made up his mind.

During the third week, the hotel staff provide them with different rooms in order to deep clean the ones they’ve been staying in. It just so happens that Tommy ends up in a room alone.

A complete coincidence, but it somehow feels like fate.

Because after the group facetime over dinner, you make no effort to hang up once Joel retreats to the double room he’s temporarily sharing with Mike. You start to show him the cute articles of clothing you’d picked up from the mall with Sarah, but Tommy stops you before you get too far. 

Playfully says, “What? No fashion show?”

And it makes you smile wide and giggle as you set your phone up against the mirror above your dresser.

You’ve got your shirt off and your jeans halfway down your thighs before you suddenly stop and look up at your phone again. “Wait, sorry. Is this weird? Should I, like…step out of frame?”

A chuckle rumbles through Tommy’s chest. He folds one arm behind his head, settling into the plush hotel pillows, and shakes his head. “It’s fine, darlin’,” he says. Even though it’s not, and he knows it, and he can already feel his cock hardening behind his zipper. “Ain’t gotta worry about Uncle Tommy.”

You hesitate, and he can see the way your breathing quickens, but then you keep going. Slide your jeans the rest of the way off and kick them beneath your bed. 

He watches, a soft smile on his face, as you show him your new tops and your new denim shorts. And Tommy tries not to look too hard between outfits. Tries not to look at the valley between your breasts or the way your bra sits against your chest or the soft curve of your hips and the lace that rests against them. Really, he does一but you’re just so fucking pretty. 

It’s the only thought he can form while you show him everything. And once, while you turn in a circle and show off a maroon colored sundress, it slips out. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Tommy murmurs.

The words stop you. You come a little closer to the camera on your phone and mumble, “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

But the words aren’t inherently wrong. Tommy notices the lingering looks you get every time you step out of the house, even if you don’t. Hears the low whistles from the guys on the days you dress up before coming to the job site. “Why not? It’s true,” Tommy tells you.

You roll your eyes and say, “Shut up.” But your mouth turns up at the corners, and it feels like a victory.

The call is still going when you finally crawl into bed that night. He puts a comedy skit on the hotel tv, and falls asleep to the soft sound of your snores.

He hates hanging up a few hours later when his alarm goes off, but finds comfort in knowing after the day’s work is done, you’ll be waiting for the next call.

Except Joel tells him, halfway through the day, that there won’t be one. Your mom’s going out with friends and Sarah’s tutoring someone on campus, so Joel uses the free night to treat everyone on the work crew to a decent restaurant.

Tommy eats the best steak dinner he’s ever had. Complete with garlic roasted potatoes and sauteed mushrooms and an icy draft beer to wash it all down. 

All of the guys laugh together and talk about how their wives are doing at home, and it’s a good night. A really good night. 

Yet, still, Tommy itches to get back to the temporary privacy of his hotel room. And the moment the door clicks shut behind him, he’s pulling out his phone and clicking that familiar button.

When you answer, the first thing he notices is the flush on your cheeks. Persistent, glaringly obvious, and familiar. The second is the way you’re panting. The smallest bit, but he notices. And the third is the change in background.

You’re in bed, hair splayed out on the pillow behind you. But gone are your lilac sheets and white duvet, replaced with navy blue and grey and a wooden bedframe.

Tommy’s brows furrow and he doesn’t even try to keep the big ass smirk from his face. “Are you in my bed?”

Your lips part as if to speak, but then you close them again. And then quietly, you admit, “...Yes.”

He chuckles. “Why?”

“I had to water your cactus,” you say. But Tommy knows you like the back of his fucking hand and he can hear the lie from a mile away.

That’s when it slots together in his brain.

The shortness of breath. The flush on your face. The embarrassment. 

“My cactus is in the kitchen,” he says, trying not to laugh. Trying not to be too mean.

But, god, does he want to be. Wants to tease you. To make you laugh and hide your face and demand you admit the truth to him. He wants to see you squirm. You always look so cute like that.

“Uhm…yeah. I got…tired.”

Tommy kicks off his boots and lays his phone on the hotel mattress long enough to pull his t-shirt over his head. “Tired,” he muses. “Right.”

He shucks off his jeans and tosses them in the corner before climbing beneath the cold, crisp sheets in nothing but his boxers.

“If you’re so tired, then I’ll let you sleep. Someone oughta get some use out of my bed,” he says. Adds on a troublesome smirk of his own and a, “Night, sweetheart.”

Tommy clicks the lamp on his bedside table, leaving the hotel room dark and silent save for the faint blue glow emitting from his cell phone.

And your breathing.

Slow. Steady. Purposeful.

It doesn’t take long. Forty seconds, maybe.

“Uncle Tommy?”

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“I wasn’t…I wasn’t tired.” Another breath. “I was…”

“Touching yourself,” he finishes for you, amusement bleeding through his voice. “I know, baby. S’alright.”

A sound leaves you at that, the very one he’d been searching for. A whine of shame, bordering on a whimper of need.

Tommy understands. He really, really does. Just the idea of it alone makes his cock throb painfully beneath the sheets. You, in his bed, fingers slick between your thighs. He palms his bulge to alleviate the ache, but the relief is temporary.

He licks his lips. Knows he shouldn’t, but opens his mouth anyway. “No one said you had to stop on my account.”

“We shouldn’t,” you whisper into the dark of his room.

“We’re five hundred miles away from each other,” Tommy says. “How bad could it be?”

He watches you put your phone on his nightstand, propped up. He can see you a little clearer now, face illuminated by the moonlight leaking in through the window. Blue and silver hues over your pretty skin. The image cuts off at your chest. He can’t see any lower, but his mind runs wild with possibilities.

“If it makes you feel better, I won’t…I won’t say anything. Okay? I’ll just…I’ll just be here,” he says.

A dramatic groan leaves you, and he watches you cover your face with your hands. “God,” you mutter against your palms. And then, “Fuck, okay. Okay.”

With rapt attention, Tommy watches your hands sink lower and lower until they’re out of frame. Watches your eyelids flutter closed and the subtle arch of your spine as your fingers find your clit, and his mouth goes dry.

Tommy Miller never would have guessed that shutting the fuck up was the hardest thing in the world to do.

But Christ. You’re touching yourself in his bed and moaning softly and all he wants is to tell you how hard he is. Wants to tell you how pretty you look. Wants to tell you how much better you’d feel around his cock than his hand does.

He wants to know if you’re circling your clit in the most perfect, delicious way, or if you’re sinking your fingers in deep, pressing hard against that spot that makes you writhe. Wants to hear you cry out his name, wants to tell you how fucking perfect you are. His favorite fucking girl.

Your moans are so pretty. Music to his ears.

Tommy doesn’t break the rules. 

You do.

“Oh God,” you whimper. He thinks it’s just a slip up at first. Lost in the haze of it, not intentional. But then you say, “I’m so一fuck一I’m so close but I can’t…I can’t. Please, Uncle Tommy, please.”

His name in your mouth nearly does him in. Perverted, depraved, perfect. “Tell me what you need, baby.”

“Just一just talk to me. Say that I’m一hmmm一say that I’m yours.”

Tommy doesn’t wait for you to change your mind.

“‘Course you’re mine,” he says. “My dirty fuckin’ girl. Touchin’ your pretty pussy in my bed.” He clicks his tongue. “Could never be anyone else’s, hm? Too filthy. S’why Uncle Tommy’s gotta take care of you. ‘Cause he’s the only one who can, baby.”

“God, yes一”

He kicks off the sheets, cock pulsing in the tight grip of his fist. He’s too pent up, too starved for you, and knows he’s going to finish sooner rather than later. “You gonna cum for me, pretty girl? Gonna make my bed all messy? Hm? S’why you’re there, ain’t it?”

Your spine bends and your breath halts, and Tommy knows you’re there before the salacious moans spill off your saccharine tongue.

“That’s it,” he mutters. “Good fuckin’ girl. Oh, it’s good, isn’t it? Look so pretty when you’re cumming for me.”

He pumps his cock once, twice, three more times一and then sticky ropes of cum splatter across his abdomen, leaking down his fingers, over his thick knuckles.

You both take a couple of minutes to catch your breath, and when you finally turn to look at him through your phone screen, you both erupt into lighthearted laughter at the same time. 

The moment feels good. Light and airy and so authentically yours.

Tommy leaves the bed only long enough to clean himself up, and when he returns he sees you standing in front of his closet, wearing nothing but your lace panties, the smooth, seductive expanse of your spine on full display.

You pull a t-shirt off a hanger, tug it over your head, and climb right back beneath his sheets.

Mutter a sleepy, “Night, Uncle Tommy,” and claim the right side of his bed.

Tommy thinks it might have been made specifically for you.

The two of you don’t talk about it again. As if that one incident hadn’t happened. Like it didn’t count, because you’re so far apart and it was late and dark and there was no weight to it. Just a simple, carnal need. Nothing more, nothing less.

He loses the privacy of his own room shortly after. Goes back to listening to Joel snore in the second queen bed in their shared hotel room.

The remainder of the job goes smoothly. They run into a couple of material issues, but all it takes is for Joel to call and let you know before you’re working your magic and finding another company to deliver concrete cement within an hour. 

On the last day, Tommy is craving silence. Has grown tired of the constant whirring of drills and hammering of nails. 

He’s ready for a week off and time with you and that fucking paycheck.

When he finally pulls into Joel’s driveway, you’re waiting for them on the front porch looking beautiful as ever. Wearing that maroon sundress you’d shown him over facetime, hair pulled back, pretty smile on your face. 

You hug Joel first. Tell him your mom’s in the kitchen and she’s making breakfast for dinner, a favorite of both of yours. 

Joel steps inside, leaving you and Tommy alone on the front porch. You look up at him through your lashes and say shyly, “Hi.”

He laughs. Can’t help it. “Hey, baby. You doin’ alright?”

“Better now,” is your answer. And then you're reaching up and wrapping your arms around his neck, pressing yourself tight against him.

Tommy winds his arms around your waist and breathes in the sweet scent of you deep into his lungs. Feels finally at peace, at home in your embrace.

He wants to kiss you. to press his lips to yours and drink you in. And when you pull away, just enough to face him, he knows you want it, too. Just as badly.

But you resist.

Stay good.

Sit in the heavy tension until it passes.

And it does so for no reason other than the sound of Sarah’s car tires pulling in the driveway.

Tommy eats his fill that night. Laughs over too many pancakes and too many slices of bacon. Joel puts on an old western movie and you lay your head in Tommy’s lap on the loveseat and he threads his fingers through your hair.

It feels like old times.

Your mom and Joel decide that, instead of bachelor or bachelorette parties, to do a family lake day instead. 

During their week off, Tommy and Joel are sent to the store for ice to put in the cooler and sunscreen to put on their cheeks.

It’s during this errand run that Joel says, “With all this wedding stuff goin’ on…it’s got me thinking.”

Tommy hates it when he does this. Alludes to something but doesn’t outright say it. And with the secret of his love for you buried deep, it makes Tommy anxious every fucking time. “Thinking about what?”

“When’s it gonna be you standin’ at the altar?“

He scoffs. “Be fuckin’ serious, Joel.”

His brother shrugs. Raises his hand in surrender and leans over to pluck the specific brand of sunscreen your mother had asked for off the shelf. “Not trying to rush you. Lord knows I waited long enough. Just saying that you deserve someone. That’s all.”

Tommy tries not to let the bitter taste in his mouth from that conversation linger. He wants to enjoy the day with you and with his brother. 

And he does. Turns out to be one of the happiest days of his life. 

You’re wearing that lime colored bikini again. The one he loves. It rests against your skin so beautifully, plastered to wet curves like an oil painting.

Joel and Tommy grill burgers and your mom sunbathes on a beach towel and you and Sarah scream and giggle and play mermaids in the middle of the lake.

Jimi Hendrix plays softly from the radio in Tommy’s truck, and after dinner you and Sarah convince everyone to get in the water. Tommy doesn’t play nice, not on a day like this. 

He dunks you and Sarah both and picks you up out of the water just to toss you back in. Sarah climbs onto Joel’s shoulders and you climb onto Tommy’s to play several rounds of chicken—all of which end with accusations of cheating and sore losers.

There’s so much joy and laughter in the day, he feels like he’s swimming in it.

Once, you and Sarah have to get reeled back in. Too excited, too high strung and hyper. You dare each other to swim across the lake, and while it’s not too far out and Tommy can see the shore on the other side, it’s still at least a mile away.

When Joel says no in that firm dad voice, you and Sarah both whine about it. 

Sarah says, “What? You think I’m not a strong swimmer?”

“Less about being a strong swimmer and more about the fact that I said no.” 

You both grumble to each other about it and then go real quiet.

Joel and your mom and Tommy all get out before the sun begins to set. Dry off with beach towels and change clothes behind a propped open truck door. 

They start a fire and start to pack up the things they no longer need, leaving out only marshmallows and chocolate bars and the box of graham crackers.

You and Sarah are a quarter of the way across the expanse of the lake before Joel realizes the two of you have been slowly creeping further and further away the entire time. 

He calls you both back, shouting across the open space and shaking his head. And while he does find humor in your defiance, Tommy sees the same danger in it that Joel sees. 

Joel’s pissed by the time you and Sarah make it back to shore. The sun is beginning to set and you’re both shivering and panting hard, but you’re laughing together and falling into each other and it reminds Tommy of the way he and Joel used to be when they were kids. 

And he knows his brother sees it, too. Because his anger doesn’t last long. 

You forget to pack a change of clothes, but Sarah loans you a pair of shorts and Tommy gives you his flannel to get you out of your swimsuit. 

Everyone roasts s’mores over the fire with marshmallows pierced on sharpened sticks, and no one bats an eye when you sit in Tommy’s lap to eat yours. He cradles you close, one hand on the small of your back, the other pressed firmly to the side of your thigh.

It’s moments like this where he lets his brain run rampant with fantasies bordering on prayer. He lets himself imagine that he doesn’t have to hide the truth, that he doesn’t have to pull back. Lets himself imagine that he could rest his palm on the inside of your thigh and press his lips beneath your ear and no one would see any wrongness in it. 

Lets himself imagine that when it’s all over and the fire burns to cinders, you’ll climb into the passenger side of his truck and then into the right side of his bed once you get home.

But you can’t, so you don’t. And melancholy twists up his insides when he returns to his apartment. Empty bed, empty hands, empty heart. 

Soon after, every day is centered around the wedding. Joel and your mom pick a date and Sarah works towards getting ordained when the idea comes up that she could officiate the wedding. 

Your mom asks you to be her maid of honor and Joel asks Tommy to be his best man. Both of you say yes, of course—though you share a secret look of longing from across the room after the conversation.

Once, Tommy comes over to see you on Saturday morning and the kitchen is filled to the brim with plum colored flowers. Roses and lilacs and lilies and hydrangeas. The entire house smells floral. 

You’re sitting at the dining room table, hair messy, still in your pajamas, legs folded beneath you. 

Tommy stands behind you, leans on the back of your chair and you tilt your head back to look up at him. A smile stretches across your face and you say, “Welcome to the party,” in this sarcastic tone that lets him know you’re very much not enjoying yourself. 

Your mom and Joel are bickering back and forth. A lighthearted argument about tulips and orchids.

They don’t even notice the slight distance between your mouth and Tommy’s. Don’t notice the way he can taste your minty breath on the tip of his tongue. He chuckles quietly and says, “Stop lookin’ at me like that.”

You give him that troublesome smirk he loves so much and even though he knows you’re fully aware of what he means, you ask, “Like what?”

“Like you’re beggin’ for a Spiderman kiss with your momma standin’ right there,” Tommy answers. 

“Maybe I am.”

He laughs and shakes his head and runs a playful hand down your face. “You’re bad, girl.”

Tommy thinks you’ve woken up this morning with rebellion thick in your veins. “Would you do it if I asked?”

His heart rate ticks up, but not with unease. Nervousness, maybe. Excitement. “Are you askin’?”

“Don’t evade the question, Uncle Tommy,” you chastise. “Mine first.”

He drags his teeth across his bottom lip, trying to fight the grin that threatens. Glances at your mouth, then your eyes, then your mouth again. Parted just slightly. Lips lush and pillowy and soft. 

Would be a funny way of telling the truth, Tommy thinks.

“‘Course,” he whispers. “I’d do it right now if that’s what you wanted.”

He nearly does it. Wants to, even. All it would take is a few inches, the sweetest taste of your tongue.

But then an incessant beeping from the kitchen sounds, breaking the moment, ending the brief chance. 

You giggle softly and stand to your feet. “Coffee’s ready,” you say. “Want some?”

It’s the closest the two of you come to overstepping. To crossing the invisible line. 

Tommy spends the next few days wishing you would have. 

You don’t come close again.

Well, not until a week before the wedding, anyway.

The building manager of Tommy’s apartment lets him know that they’ll be changing out plumbing on the second floor. Says it’ll only take three days, but that during those days he won’t be able to stay in his apartment. 

Joel doesn’t blink before offering up his couch. And Tommy doesn’t think anything of it. Packs a bag and settles in the way he used to in his twenties. Doesn’t immediately recognize the danger of sleeping under the same roof as you.

Friday is fine. Normal, even. Considering the circumstances. It helps that you and your mom spend most of the evening gluing plum colored candles and greenery to little silver trays that will act as centerpieces during the wedding reception. 

Tommy passes out early, tired from the late work day, a rerun of Pawn Stars on the tv.

No sooner than he cracks open his eyes Saturday morning, you're presenting him with one of those fancy lattes from the coffee shop you used to work at. You kneel beside the couch and thread your fingers through his sleep-mussed hair. Kiss his cheek and say, “Hope you slept good, cause I’m putting you to work today.”

He laughs and twists his body on the brown leather, stretching the tight muscles in his back. Presses his grin into the pillow beneath his head. “Thank you, good morning, I’ll follow every one of your orders in ten minutes. But for now,  I need you to go far away from me, sweetheart.”

Your brows furrow and that cute crease forms between them. “What? Why?”

“Because wakin’ up to you has got my dick hard as a fuckin’ rock,” Tommy explains, smile so wide his cheeks hurt.

It makes you giggle, and he’s happy that you can find amusement in his temporary discomfort. You fold your arms on the edge of the couch, lean in close, and whisper, “Think of me.”

When you move to pull away, to run from the wicked and perverse thoughts you love to evoke in him, Tommy stops you with a firm grip on the back of your neck, calloused palm spread wide. Looks you dead in the eye, lips brushing yours as he speaks, and says lowly, “I always do.”

You linger in his space, even after he pulls his hand away. Eyes alight with mischief and trouble and painful yearning. So much of it that it begins to spill out, a soft, barely-there whine at the back of your throat. 

Tommy wishes he could taste the sound. Wishes he could taste your tongue.

But you resist. 

And within half an hour, he’s taken care of the stiff problem in his boxers and is standing over the sawtable in Joel’s garage, building the frame of a wedding arch with nothing but a single pinterest photo you text him as direction.

It takes him longer than he expects, but he does it. And when he receives the approval from you and Sarah, he helps you drape it in plum colored fabric and secure fake greenery on top of it. You direct, and Tommy moves. Doesn’t complain even once, even when he has to redo half of the greenery strand just to place it two inches to the left.

He tries not to let his fantasies get too far. Tries not to think about how he’d do the same for your wedding, but the problem is that he would.

Build you an arch, build you the whole damn chapel. Build a garden so you could have hand picked flowers for your bouquet. He’d learn to sew if you wanted him to hand stitch your dress.

He wants to give you everything.

Wants to give you more than these half assed affections.

You deserve better than this. Better than hiding, better than suppression, better than lying. 

It’s all he can think about that night, tossing and turning on Joel’s couch.

A little after midnight, he’s just about to give up completely. Thinks it would be more productive to shower and start his day early than to sit here alone in his misery.

But then he recognizes the creak of your feet on the wooden stairs.

You don’t speak right away, and neither does he. Tommy just opens up his arms and you crawl right into them, right where you belong. He presses his forehead to yours and savors the warmth of your skin and the weight of your thigh as you rest it across his hip.

“It’s starting to feel real,” you mutter, and he doesn’t need clarification. Knows that you mean the wedding, the finality of it all. Knows that everything is about to change in a devastating way. “I’m starting to get scared.”

Tommy feels emotion well up in his throat. Tries to hold it back, but he can hear the anguish in your voice, twin to the feeling in his chest, and it chokes him. “Me too.”

He wishes he had something better to say. Wishes he had words of comfort. But nothing comes. 

Tears do, instead.

Pressure behind his eyes, building and building until he feels like he can’t breathe.

Gently, so gently it’s barely there, you press your mouth to his. The softest, lightest kiss that steals what breath remains in his lungs. “I love you,” you say, and it feels heavier than normal. Weighted. Less like an emotion and more like a promise. “You know that, don’t you?”

He does. Has never felt this loved by anyone else in all his life. Tommy nods and swallows down his grief. Tilts his head and presses a kiss to the small pearl pendant around your neck. Says, “You know, when we first got back from Stratford…after we decided to try an’ be good, this was the only thing that kept me from losing all hope.”

You give him room to explain, to speak. The pad of your thumb caressing his cheekbone.

“I was miserable then. Just movin’ through the days like a zombie. I kept on waitin’ for the day I’d pick you up for work and it’d be gone. But you never took it off. Not even once. Stupid, I know, but…I like knowing there’s a part of me always with you. No matter what happens,” he says.

Tommy smiles when you take his hand in yours and kiss the matching ring on his finger. Finds peace in your forced smile and your words when you say, “We’ll still be us. You and I. Two peas in a pod.”

He falls asleep with his arms wrapped tightly around you, holding on to the single thing that has ever felt solid and immovable in his entire life, terrified to feel it cracking beneath his fingers.

You’re gone when Tommy wakes. And the house is quiet.

He finds a text message from Joel he’d received half an hour ago. Says he took your mom out for breakfast and last minute wedding shopping. Sarah’s tutoring again, which leaves you and Tommy alone.

It feels like second nature when he lifts his tired limbs to seek you out.

Tommy checks your room first, but is quickly rerouted when he hears the sound of the shower from down the hall.

And he knows he shouldn’t. He knows it. 

But he strips off his boxers and t-shirt anyway. Slides the curtain over, metal rungs screeching against the rod, only finding small amusement in your startled reaction. 

“Tommy, what are you—?”

“Shh, s’okay,” he comforts. “No one else home. Just us.”

You turn beneath the warm spray, shoulders relaxing, naked in more than just the physical. The space between you is heavy. Tender. Raw. Filled with a quiet sense of impending doom and the desperate need to hold on to the moments you have left. 

When you move out from beneath the water, giving it to him freely, Tommy wets his hair and body with rehearsed movements. Lets the heat of the stream melt the sleep from his bones. 

He can hear you moving behind him, uncapping a bottle of soap and squeezing some into your hand. He turns to face you. Watches you slide the shampoo into the roots of your hair for only a moment before he pulls your hands away. 

Says, “Let me. Please.” And the words come out soft. Not quite sweet, more like desolate.

And though the sadness in your eyes only deepens, you let him. Tommy pulls you close and threads his fingers through the soapy strands. He massages gently, working the suds through, lips pulling up at the corners when he sees your eyes close and hears the quietest sigh fall from your mouth.

When he’s satisfied, he brings you beneath the water and cradles the back of your head in one big palm and tilts your chin up with the other, careful not to let the soapy water stream down your face.

Once the soap is gone and the water runs clear, he picks up the bottle of conditioner and does the same. Works it into the ends of your hair, fingers gentle. He savors the moment. Savors the feel of you in his hands. The quiet. The closeness.

He remembers once, when you and Sarah were trying to explain what an everything shower was to him, that you had a specific routine. Shampoo first, then you’d let the conditioner sit in your hair while you washed your body. 

A silly, passing conversation that had happened months ago when Sarah had put on some YouTube video on the TV in the living room. A bodyscrub review, maybe. But Tommy had remembered every word you said. Because it was you. 

And you’re everything.

Everything.

And he knows he’s going to lose you.

Can feel it in his fucking bones.

He takes the bar of soap sitting on the corner of the tub and lathers it in between his hands. Creating suds between his fingers. When he touches his hand to your smooth, wet skin, he starts at your neck.

Flattens his palm against your throat, feeling the strong, thudding pulse of your heart. Moves slowly over the curve of your shoulders, down your forearms. Massaging the muscles, trying not to think too hard about how you relax in his touch.

His hands work their way back up. Over your collarbones, your chest, your breasts. It’s not a sexual caress. Just…intimate. Close. Real.

He commits the shape of you to memory. The divet between each rib, the curve of your hips, the slope at the back of your knee. He washes you clean with heavy, memorizing hands. And you just stand there, watching him with those starry eyes of yours, not looking at him but seeing him.

Tommy rinses the conditioner from your hair first. And then the soap from your skin. And when he’s done, he presses a breath of a kiss to your forehead. Afraid if he moves too fast, pushes too hard, that he’ll ruin the moment. That the minutes will bleed away from him and disappear down the drain.

You move past him, movements just as careful, switching places with him beneath the water.

He expects you to reach for your towel just outside the tub and step out. Except you don’t. 

You pick up the bottle of shampoo again and whisper, “Your turn.”

Tommy isn’t quite sure what to do with himself at first.

He’s older than you. Has had more experience. This isn’t his first time showering with someone else, and it’s not his first time washing a woman’s hair.

But it is his first time on the receiving end.

You touch him and he almost flinches at the gentleness. 

Even though you stand on the tips of your toes, Tommy still has to tilt his head down so you can reach the top of it. Your fingernails are sharp against his scalp in the most blissful way. Scrubbing away sweat and oil, working the suds through his dark curls.

When you rinse him, you press your body to his, and he flattens his hand against the base of your spine. Tells himself it’s to keep you stable, to keep you from slipping on the porcelain floor. 

Truthfully, it’s because he wishes he could get impossibly closer to you. Wishes he could merge your two souls into one. Intricate and tangled. Wishes you’d never have to part, if only he could hold you tight enough.

When you wash his body, your hands move slowly over his skin. Tiny in comparison to his. Sliding over his broad shoulders and the strong expanse of his chest with reverent fingers. Gentler than he deserves.

You seem so small at this moment. Quiet and careful, struggling to move his heavy limbs. Sometimes, Tommy forgets you’re so much younger than he is. Nearly fifteen years apart. He’s approaching forty, experiencing love for the first time with you.

He swallows hard. Feels guilt, shame well up in his throat as he looks down at you. As he feels the adoration in your fingertips, seeping into his skin, making him feel important and cared for and so fucking loved.

“You don’t…you don’t know,” he whispers, shaking his head. “What’s out there for you. You’re so kind. So warm and so—so fucking good. Could do anything you wanted. Could have anyone you wanted. You don’t have to…” Tommy squeezes his eyes shut. Tries to ground himself on the feeling of your slow moving hands. “Don’t have to waste so much time on me. I don’t want you to feel like this, baby. You can let yourself be happy. You don’t have to be with—with…”

With me. 

He can’t say it. It feels like an omission. Like intentionally cutting off a limb. He tries to force the words out but they don’t come. They get stuck in his throat like a stone.

Still, you hear him. See him. Read his mind in that way you always do. 

“You think this is a lesson for me, I know,” you murmur. “That you’re just…a stepping stone in my journey of life. That I could ever somehow see anyone else’s face and feel a fraction of what I do for you.”

Tommy’s heart beats faster at your words. Pulling out of him the fears he’s never spoken aloud. 

“But you’re wrong, Uncle Tommy,” you say, softer now, yet somehow more final. More certain. “About me. About us.”

His heart pinches tight. You sound so certain, and he knows he doesn’t deserve it. The light of your love. The innocence of it.

“About yourself, too,” you continue. Quiet. “You know, I think about what you said in the pool at the hotel in Stratford all the time. How you think you’re just some disappointment.” You sigh. “But you don’t see it. It’s like you’re…like you’re blind. You make everything better. And not just for me. For Sarah, for Joel. Even for my mom. Always there, always steady.” 

Tommy struggles to breathe. Feels lost in it; your voice, your words, your love.

No one else has ever come so close to his heart. No one else has ever tried.

No one else but you.

You sniffle, and it’s only then that Tommy realizes your eyes have filled with unshed tears. “It’s okay if you don’t see it,” you mutter. “Because I do. I do, and I promise that I love you enough for the both of us. There’s…God, there’s so fucking much of it. I don’t think there’s a molecule of my DNA that doesn’t know your name.”

He stands there beneath the water stream as you rinse him clean. Of the soap, of what remains of his resolve. Tommy reaches up and holds your face with trembling hands.

All you get to do is make your choice, and make sure she knows it. 

It’s selfish and wrong and wicked and perverse and every other bad thing under the sun. But staring at you now, Tommy decides he doesn’t care. 

He wants to kiss you on the front porch and he wants to fill his fridge with your favorite food and he wants to wake up to your smiles and fall asleep to your snores. He wants you, all of you, forever—and he wants to make sure you know it.

The words come out breathless but feel weighted. “I want to tell them,” he says. Voice shaking. “I want…I’m choosing you.”

Your lips part, and then close again. You want to say something but can’t quite form the words, and Tommy understands. 

But you don’t have to say anything. Because he knows you. 

“Kiss me,” Tommy begs. And then, gentler, “Please.”

It’s the first time he’s ever asked. 

The first time he waits for you.

You take him by the back of the neck, press your mouth eagerly to his, and Tommy Miller feels like something holy. Would swear with his hand on the bible in the house of God that no one in the world has ever felt safer than he does in your embrace.

He wraps his long arms around your middle and pulls you close, holds you, clutching your curves with a bruising grip. Desperate and hungry and so undeniably yours.

You taste like sleep and sweetness, like the cure to every ailment he’s ever had. When you let out the smallest whimper, Tommy slides his tongue against yours and drinks you in like a fine wine. Savors notes of ambrosia and laughter and sunlight.

Slowly, carefully—almost as if you’re nervous, you slide your hand between your water-slick bodies and palm the growing hardness between his legs. 

Tommy pulls away, just for a moment. Says, “We don’t have to, baby. It’s okay. M’sorry. You’re just so pretty.”

You look up at him with pleading, watery eyes. “I want to,” you say. “I want to feel you, to be—to be close. Please, Uncle Tommy.”

He presses his forehead to yours, kisses your temple and whispers, “S’okay. Ain’t gotta beg, sweetheart. Already have all of me.”

Tommy pulls your thigh up and hooks it over his hip. Anchors your arms around his neck, lines himself up with your entrance, and pushes in slow. Deep. Swallows up the saccharine moans that fall from your lips. 

When he begins to move, he sets a slow rhythm. There’s no rush to it. It’s devoted, reverent, soft. Two souls completely bared to one another.

He doesn’t speak in words. Doesn’t have to, because he knows you understand. Tommy just looks you in the eye and cradles your jaw in his hand and kisses you hard.

Here, he can be yours. In the safety of this room, in the privacy, in the loneliness. Here he can be the most authentic version of himself—bare all those jagged and twisted parts of himself to you, and you’ll piece him back together. You’ll see what’s broken and kiss it better.

Tommy circles your clit with slow, gentle fingers. Kisses your chin and your cupid's bow and the tip of your nose and the arch of your brow. Feels your walls pulse around him and mutters the words I love you into your hair as you reach the summit together. 

Simultaneous, unintentional, binding. 

You don’t leave the shower until the water goes cold.

Time runs out too quickly. The way it always does.

You, Tommy and Joel only work three days that week. Thursday is spent in preparation for the wedding. 

The weather is all clear blue skies and rays of sunshine. A stark contrast to the empty dreariness in his chest.

He helps Joel set up the back yard. Positions the archway he’d built in the center. Lines up the rented wooden benches in front of it. Drapes plum tulle and strands of greenery over the privacy fence that closes off the rest of the world. 

They weed the gardens and mow the lawn and clean the grill. 

You and Sarah set up round, plastic tables in the back yard and decorate them with white linen table cloths and set the centerpieces out that you and your mother built.

Once, when Tommy and Joel are moving one of the heavy benches—he can hear your voice. Shaky, uneven. He turns his head to look just in time to see Sarah swiping your tears away with her thumbs and pulling you into a tight embrace. 

It breaks his heart.

Joel’s eyes are dark when he speaks. Guarded in that way he always is. Protective. “You know what all that’s about?”

Of course he does, but Tommy just shrugs.

Sarah takes you by the shoulders and speaks slowly, gently—as if you were a startled animal. And then you sniffle and nod and say something that makes her laugh.

Joel lets it go. Sighs and admits quietly, “I’m worried about her. Been actin’ different for a while. Thought it was the wedding. I asked one night, an’ she insisted it wasn’t.“

Tommy sets the bench down, a little closer to the altar the way your mom requested. He moves to pick up the other in silence, giving his brother room to speak. 

“But she’s…I don’t know. Something’s changed. Right? Or am I crazy?”

He shakes his head. “Nah, man. You’re not,” Tommy answers. “I see it, too.”

Joel doesn’t say much more. Has never been good at this sort of thing, even with Sarah. Just buys pizza for everyone in thanks that night and orders one with pepperoni and black olives and extra cheese, your favorite.

Showing you he cares in the only way he knows how.

The day before the wedding, Tommy picks up his suit from the dry cleaners. It’s the same one he’s had for the last ten years. Not flashy, not extravagant. Just simple. Cool toned black with a new emerald colored tie. A little tight on his shoulders now, but not noticeably.

He finds his dress shoes at the back of his closet and cleans the shiny leather. Picks up the cake from the bakery he’d recommended to Joel. The same place he’d bought that cupcake for your birthday.

The one you’d shared in the early morning hours in the quiet of your room.

Tommy thinks he would give anything now, just to go back to that day. To linger a little longer at the side of your bed. He’d eat slower. Kiss you harder. Tell you he loves you, because he did even back then.

Joel crashes on the couch to appease your mom’s superstitious fears, but Tommy doesn’t sleep that night. 

Can’t find any comfort, because the only place it exists for him is twenty miles away tucked safely beneath his brother’s roof.

Saturday morning is hectic. Tommy wakes up to two missed phone calls from Sarah and a text message from you that reads;

Need help moving the arch again. Call when you can pleeeeeeeasseeee

Joel and Tommy get ready in his bathroom. Slicked back hair and the warm scent of Stetson aftershave and expensive cologne thick in the small space. Tommy has to loop his brother's tie, because Joel’s hands tremble too much.

When Tommy asks if he’s nervous, Joel shakes his head. Says, “Nah. I’m sure about her. It’s everything else I don’t wanna deal with. The people. The clean up. Standin’ in front of everyone. Christ.”

Tommy laughs. “You’ll do great,” he promises. “Just pretend they’re not there. Just focus on you an’ her.”

Joel swallows and nods stiffly. He hesitates, just for a moment, and then says, “I’m proud of you, Tommy. Come a long way since we were kids.”

It hits him like a gut punch. Fills his lungs with equal parts joy and shame.

He has no words, so all he can do is throw his arms around his big brother and squeeze him tight.

Joel doesn’t pull away first.

They carefully take out the two tiered cake from Tommy’s fridge and call on the way over.

Your mom is already upstairs getting ready, so they’re allowed inside to move the arch with ease. The guests begin arriving shortly after.

There’s not many. Mike and all the guys from the crew, including Erin. The girls in your mom’s book club, Mr. and Mrs. Denver from down the street and their two twin girls. A couple of your cousins and the guy who owns the guitar shop downtown that Joel always goes to.

There’s a photographer lingering around, snapping sneaky photos of the guests and closeups of the decor.

Joel’s talking to one of the guests near the altar, never straying far, getting showered in compliments about his beautiful home. 

You text him ten minutes before your mom is supposed to walk down the aisle. 

Tommy weaves soundlessly through the crowd and slips into the kitchen through the sliding glass doors. The kitchen is a mess of makeup and clothes and hair pins on the counter. He can hear Sarah and your mom laughing in the living room. A happy, jubilant sound.

But the air changes when he steps into your room. 

Feels heavier. Darker.

Yet still, he can’t help but pause when he sees you.

You’re standing in front of the mirror above your dresser, wearing an emerald colored satin dress. Long and flowing, the straps thin and the neckline elegantly low. Your hair is pulled back with a gold, pearl encrusted barrette. Small and soft curls framing your pretty face, lashes dark and lips glossy.

A sad sort of smile tugs at the corners of Tommy’s mouth when he notices the pearl necklace that sits delicately against your throat. 

When you turn to look at him, your shoulders drop just slightly. More at ease with him here. And then you turn, exposing the bare expanse of your back to him. “Can you zip up my dress?”

Tommy nods. “‘Course I can, darlin’.” 

You smell like warmth and vanilla and home. Tommy breathes the scent in deep and for himself, just for himself—he drags his knuckles gently down your spine. Feels each vertebrae, committing the structure to memory. 

He pinches the bottom of the seam of your dress with one hand and begins to pull the zipper with the other, his heart beating fast. “You’re so beautiful,” Tommy murmurs.

When your zipper is pulled tight, dress fitting perfectly, he leans down and presses a chaste kiss to the back of your neck. You reach your hand back, fingers finding his instinctually and holding tight. 

He gazes at you through the reflection of the mirror and feels the knife in his stomach twist when he sees those starry eyes of yours filled with tears.

“I’m supposed to be happy today.” Your voice is so small. Timid. “I promised myself I would be. For my mom, and for Joel. But I can’t. I don’t know how. Does that…does that make me selfish?”

Tommy shakes his head. “You’re not selfish,” he promises. “Not at all.” He presses his calloused palm to the smooth curve of your shoulder, and the touch feels dizzying.

You turn to face him fully and a tear slips down your cheek.

He hates this. Hates seeing you cry, hates knowing you’re suffering, hates even more that there’s nothing he can do about it. 

Tommy swallows down his own despair and holds your head in his hands, thumbs swiping across your cheekbones. “You can’t keep livin’ like this, baby,” he whispers, defeated.

If he were the only one shouldering this burden, it would be a different story, Tommy thinks. But it’s not just him that feels tormented by this. And he can’t—won’t—stand idly by and watch you suffer.

“I can…I can leave. If it makes things easier on you,” Tommy suggests. Has only thought about it once before, that first week after coming home from the consultation. You’d refused to look at him and packed a lunch you didn’t eat and Tommy had never felt so torn apart in his life.

Your eyes widen as he says the words, filling with fear. 

“Not far, it doesn’t have to be far,” he soothes. “Just…just away. A town over. I can’t keep watchin’ you fall apart, darlin’,” he admits sadly, pressure building behind his eyes. “I don’t have it in me.”

You shake your head, frantic. “No, Tommy—no. Please, I can’t—”

“It would be hard at first but it’d get easier after some time,” he says. Not for him, never for him. But for you. That’s what matters. That’s all that matters. “And if that’s what you need—”

Your tears fall freely now, smudging your mascara. “You’re wrong,” you insist. “Please, please, don’t do that. Don’t leave me here. Don’t leave me, don’t—”

“Hey, hey—shh. Don’t cry,” He pulls you close. Wraps his strong arms around your shoulders and squeezes tight, wrinkling your dress. Forces you to look up at him and says, “I will always be wherever you want me to be. So if you want me here, then I’ll be here.” 

With a nod, you take a long, steadying breath. “Don’t say things like that,” you tell him, voice firm. Resolute. “Don’t ever say that to me.” 

Tommy presses his hand to your chest, right over your racing heart. “Okay, okay—m’sorry, baby. I won’t, alright? Never again. I swear it.”

Swears on your heart—not his, because nothing has ever been more dear to him than you.

A soft knock cuts through the deafening silence. 

Sarah stands in the doorway, wearing a dress that matches yours except it’s a dark purple instead of emerald. “Sorry to interrupt,” she says. “But we go out in five minutes and I still have to do some final touches. Mind if I steal her for a minute?”

Tommy steps away. Knows you’ve likely been caught, yet somehow it doesn’t frighten him. “Course,” he says. “I’ll see you two out there.”

You call his name, just before he disappears down the hallway. 

He pokes his head back in your room and sees that something’s changed in your eyes. Doesn’t know what exactly, but he can feel it.

Tommy has to fight the hope that threatens to form around the edges of his mind.

And then you say, “After all this. The wedding and the reception. We tell them.”

His stomach flips.

Not at the words alone but at the way you speak them. Certain. Unwavering.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, something lovely begins to bloom between his ribs.

Tommy looks at you, and then at Sarah, who’s staring at the side of your face with this easy smile, the kind that comes with relief.

And he knows right then and there that it won’t be her you have to tell. 

Laughter bubbles out of him—joyful and boyish. “Yeah,” he says. And then again. “Yeah, alright. After.”

The wedding is beautiful. 

You walk your mom down the aisle and she wears this intricate lace dress and a sparkling white veil. Joel’s eyes water and an instrumental version of Tennessee Whiskey plays low through the ceremony.

Sarah officiates—holds out rings and has them recite their vows. She looks so grown, standing up there between your mom and her dad. The years feel like they’ve flashed by in an instant. Tommy swears just yesterday she was eight years old, tugging on his hands to get him off the porch swing and into the backyard where she’d set up a makeshift soccer field with old, broken fishing nets. 

Tommy tries to stay  focused while he stands up there beside his brother. Tries to remember he’s here for him. 

But he can’t stop looking at you. 

Standing across the aisle, that pearl necklace glinting in the sun, a bouquet of dark roses clutched between your fingers.

You’re so breathtaking. The kind of woman the poets write about. 

His favorite fucking girl.

During the reception, Tommy sheds his suit jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his pressed linen shirt to fire up the grill. Makes burgers and steaks and lemon pepper chicken breasts. Your mom brings out fire roasted corn and meats and cheeses that she’d prepared the night before, clad in her fancy dress. 

You and Sarah pass out drinks, acting as sweet little bartenders for the night. She brings Joel a bourbon and you bring Tommy a whiskey with a secret smile on your face. 

He wants to kiss you so badly it hurts. 

But he resists. Just for one more day. 

By nightfall, the party’s in full swing. Sarah plays music from a bluetooth speaker that’s connected to her phone, and they move the tables aside to form a makeshift dance floor in the middle of the backyard.

You make easy friends with Mike’s wife, Kristy, and concoct two frozen margaritas in the kitchen to drink while you dance.

Tommy sits on the back porch, your heels in his lap, and watches you spin round and round, singing off key lyrics from Kiss and No Doubt and Maroon 5. 

When the music slows a little, Tommy stands to his feet. Extends his hand and delights in the flush of exertion on your cheeks and the smudge of lipgloss on the corner of your lips.

You take his hand and lead him away from the center of the yard. Still close enough to be involved in the merriment, but far enough away that you’re able to have a conversation free from prying ears. 

Tommy puts his hands on your hips and you twist the curls at the nape of his neck soothingly between your fingers. You look up at him, stars reflected in your eyes, and say, “Could be us one day, you know.”

It makes him laugh. Not because it’s amusing, but because he feels giddy with excitement just imagining it. “That what you want? Marriage, kids, the whole nine yards?”

A wide grin stretches across your face. “I’ll start signing my emails as Mrs. Tommy Miller,” you say, giggling. “We’ve gotta get a house with at least three bedrooms, by the way.”

“Three?”

You shrug as if it’s obvious. “For the kids, duh,” you explain. “We can’t stop at just one because they’ll need a sibling. If Sarah has taught me anything, it’s that everyone deserves a sister.”

Tommy’s heart stutters behind his sternum. He’s so happy you’ve come into his life, into their lives, altering its course in the most undeniable and benevolent way.

You continue speaking, unaware of the way he’s falling impossibly more in love with you between each word you say.

“We’ll throw them themed birthday parties at the park downtown and you can teach them to fish and I’ll pack their lunches every morning before school and wake them up with banana pancakes. And when they get older, we’ll go out for a weekend so they can throw a party at the house and Sunday night we’ll pretend not to see the confetti underneath the kitchen table.”

The apples of his cheeks ache from smiling so hard. The image you paint in his head has him feeling weightless and dizzy. “Sounds like they’re gonna be troublemakers,” Tommy says. “Just like their momma.”

You laugh and your lips part in mock surprise. “Yeah, right. More like their dad.”

He tightens his hold on your hips. “You know, I…I never really thought much about all this stuff. Not really sure if I’ll be any good at it. Bein’ a husband or…or a dad. But you make me wanna try. You make me wanna do it all, long as it’s with you.”

The space between you narrows as you lean your head against his chest. “You’ll be good at it,” you say, sure of yourself.

Tommy presses his cheek to the crown of your head. “How do you know that?”

“Because I know you,” is the only answer you provide.

It’s more than enough.

Everyone begins to filter out shortly after. Joel insists on making to go plates for everyone with all the extra food and sweets left over, and the moment it’s just the five of you there, you and Sarah are upstairs helping your mom out of her dress.

Tommy and Joel start early on the clean up. Fill trash bags with empty plates and half full cups, separating the recycling from everything else. They tuck the altar back in the garage and line the benches up near the edge of the fence for easy transport in the morning when the renting company comes to pick them up.

The backyard feels like a breeze compared to the inside.

Everyone helps with the mountain of dishes. You and Sarah separate makeup products into their respective bags and return them to your rooms. The leftovers get packaged up and tucked into the back of the fridge, and Tommy sweeps up the remaining debris on the floor.

Before Tommy leaves, Joel thanks him for all his help and hugs him tight. Reminds him that tomorrow afternoon, he and your mom are driving up to that cabin they rented for the week, and asks if he’ll keep an eye on you and Sarah while they’re gone.

Tommy promises he will.

Joel locks the front door once he leaves, but it doesn’t matter much.

Because before Tommy even climbs behind the wheel of his truck, you’re racing off the front porch. Your fingers find him first一clutching tight to the wrinkled lapels of his suit. And then your lips are on his, hungry and desperate the way they always are, but somehow sweeter. Slower, honeyed.

Tommy laughs into your mouth, and you pull away only long enough to say between kisses, “Tomorrow morning, before they go. I’ll be up early. Okay? Don’t be late.”

“Wouldn’t fuckin’ dream of it,” Tommy tells you.

And he means it. 

Has showered and put on a fresh pair of blue jeans and cleaned out half his closet all before eight.

He thought he’d be nervous, but on the way to Joel’s there’s not a tremble in Tommy’s hands to be found. He’s sure of this, of you.

So, he’s not nervous.

Not until he pulls into the driveway to see Joel already standing there, leaning against the front of his old pickup with the keys in hand. 

Tommy cuts the engine with a furrow in his brow. “What’s wrong?”

Joel’s jaw feathers. “Get in,” he says. “We’re gonna go for a drive.”

note: not me dangling a happy ending in front of you guys just to rip it away AGAIN omg I'm so sorry

[check out @feelherlove who has made beautiful gorgeous incredible edits of this fic over on tiktok!]

taglist; @theretrofuturista @chuutu @gabymalikk @nana90azevedo @alidiggory92 @marisemonteiroo @ivyinthesun @hollowgracie @moyavsemoya @feliciahardysgf @polkadotsocks1993 @malewifejoelmiller @mmmunson @ssssc0m @skye-44 @tateypots @joelscowgirl69 @dbs5647 @cuntyhunty22 @thaliagracesgf @whossbunny @jamespotterismydaddy @whatdoyoumeanhesnapped @rainydayathogwarts @urfavhanna @subconsciouscollapse @worhols @joyridinginzombieland @emmaaas-posts @millers-girl @strawberrytreecake @atjlovverr @magicxmiller @reidswifeyyyyyy @avaluna @joelsslutt @krystal---meth @bbhfilms @virginesquee @njdluvr @royaltyinlife @bunniacula @gojosanna @streamermattsgf @emmasveinyahhdih @yslgreen @dissentientss @rubyscooby @thisisajdesing @millersdoll @pattwtf @zoeyjadetice2010

[dividers by @/bernardsbendystraws]

[lokidbadguy]

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[lokidbadguy]

I LOVEEEEEEEE ANGST AND FLUFF IN JOEL!!! YOU'RE SUCCESSFULLY MAKE ME FEEL THINGS ESPECIALLY THE ANGST

“POKE THE BEAR” part 1

Grumpy!Joel Miller x Sunshine!Reader

Summary: You’re too bubbly, too chatty, too cheerful for Joel’s liking. Always rambling about dreams or tossing out random facts no one asked for. And sometimes… Joel just wants a little silence.

Joel’s Masterlist Join the tag list

WC: 11.4k

Warning/Tags: Angst, eventual smut (not in this part), kind of slowburn, undisclosed age gap, f!reader, Joel is a grumpy and mean old man, and ofc he sucks at feelings.

“Hey partner, you’re late.” Joel heard you call out, your voice far too bright for this early in the morning, too damn cheerful for seven a.m. “Looks like it’s you and me from now on, huh?”

Joel didn’t answer right away. He just gave a grunt, adjusted the rifle on his shoulder, and kept walking toward the stables.

He liked patrol, always had. It kept him sharp, reminded him of what still lingered beyond the gates of Jackson, reminded him of the shit people were too comfortable forgetting. The warm beds and hot meals were nice, but it was comfort that made people soft, and being soft gets you killed. He also liked patrolling with Tommy, it had always made the hours go easier. They understood each other without needing to say much, they knew when to speak, when to let the silence stretch between them, and when to crack a joke. But last week Tommy had come to Joel, said he needed to cut patrol for a while. "Just a few weeks," he promised. Said he needed his mornings free to supervice some work being done on the hydric plant. "Don´t worry, I'll reassign someone with you."

And now here you were, bright-eyed, full of questions, talking like you were hosting a radio show. You always had something to say, too much to say. You never knew when to shut up, it was like you didn’t realize how loud your voice could get, how damn annoying it was for the people who had to listen to you, as if the words “shut the hell up” had never been directed your way in your entire life. And maybe it’d be easier for Joel if you were just useless. If you couldn’t shoot for shit or kept forgetting to check your blind spots, then he’d have a reason to complain, a reason to go to Tommy and say, “Take this girl off patrol. She can’t do a damn thing right.” But that wasn’t the case, you were sharp and you knew how to handle yourself. You were a survivor just like him.

And that pissed him off even more, he didn’t like you not because you were loud, or bright, or talked too much, sure, those things annoyed the shit out of him, but it was because somehow, despite everything this broken world had thrown at you, you still looked around and saw something good, you still looked at him and saw something good. And he didn’t know what the hell to do with that.

Joel didn’t say out loud how annoying he found you, but he thought it constantly, every time he got saddled with you on patrol. You, with your sunshine voice and those eyes full of stupid, stubborn hope, like you hadn’t noticed the world ended twenty years ago, like you still thought it could be fixed somehow, or that beautiful things still existed. He’d sit through entire shifts in stiff, seething silence, grunting when you spoke, or straight-up ignoring you altogether, hoping you’d eventually catch the drift. That maybe, just maybe, you’d realize he didn’t give a damn about whatever weird dream you had last night, or your favorite color growing up, or some useless fact about bees, or whales, or whatever the hell it was today.

It was a cold morning. Joel pulled his coat tighter as he trudged through the morning snow, boots crunching over the frozen ground. You were just behind him, your constant stream of chatter following him.

“…and did you know lizards can drop their tails when they’re in danger? Like, it just… boom, falls off, to distract predators. Imagine if we could do that, being chased by a runner and suddenly your ass just drops off behind you like ‘see ya!’ Of course, we wouldn’t be able to grow it back like lizards, but still. I think that’d be kinda cool, right?”

Joel didn’t answer, he never did, but that never stopped you. “I read that in a book, I mean, it was a children’s book, but it was still really interesting. Did you know that female goats don’t live with the male goats—”

“Bucks and does,” Joel cut in. You blinked, surprised, because that was the first thing he’d said to you all morning.

“Huh?”

“Female goats are called does. Males are bucks.”

“Oh. Right.” You nodded thoughtfully. “Well, when the female goats—does—have babies, if the babies turn out to be male, once they grow up, the moms kick them out. Make them go live with the other mal— bucks. I think goats are smart. We should raise some here at Jackson, and we could even make some goat cheese with their milk. Oh, I’ve never tried goat cheese, but I’m guessing it’s probably really good. Have you ever tried it, Joel?”

Joel only grunted, a gruff sound that you couldn’t even tell if it was a yes or a no.

You told him next about the deer you’d seen near the river, about the weird dream you had three nights ago where the moon exploded but it turned out the moon was made of cheese, so everyone at Jackson was happy and celebrated by eating moon-cheese pizzas.

“Hey, Joel,” you called again, as if you were clueless about how much you were annoying him, your voice muffled behind your scarf. “Can I ask you something?”

“No.”

You snorted. “Okay, well, I’m gonna ask anyway.” He rolled his eyes where you couldn’t see. “If you could be an animal, what would you choose?”

He didn’t turn around. “You’re gonna get yourself killed someday, talkin’ ‘stead of payin’ attention.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He sighed heavily, like your words were physically weighing him down. Still, he said nothing, the crunch of snow under your boots filled the silence.

“I think I’d be a butterfly,” you said, your voice light as the snow crunched beneath your boots. “It’d be nice to fly, go wherever I wanted. Plus, they’re cute. People like butterflies, they get the pretty treatment, you know? Everyone’s like, ‘aww, look at that butterfly, it’s so pretty!’ But if you’re, like, a moth or something? People just wanna kill you. Instantly. Life’s so unfair, don’t you think?”

Joel blinked. What the hell were you even on about? He didn’t get how your brain worked, how you even got to these thoughts. Butterflies and moths? Did you just think things and say them out loud with no filter, no sense of direction? He didn’t say a word, just kept walking, praying internally that you’d finally run out of things to say, that the endless stream of chatter would dry up, that you’d burn through every thought in that strange little head of yours and, God willing, just shut the fuck up already.

“Or maybe I’d wanna be a chicken,” you mused, your voice louder than necessary, resonating through the woods. “They always look so clueless, right? Like, what’s going on in their heads? Are they secretly scheming some evil plan, or is it just… static in there?”

Joel didn’t respond, not that you expected him to, so you just kept going. “Did you know roosters don’t just crow in the morning? They cackle, too. It’s a totally different sound. Like, they cackle when they wanna mate, or when they find food and wanna tell the others. Imagine being a chicken and hearing your husband cackle, you’d have to figure out if he wants to do it or if he just found a worm.” You laughed at your own joke, your head tipping back like it was the funniest thing you’d ever come up with. “Like, ’Is he trying to make a baby or is dinner ready?’ That’s gotta be so confusing.”

Joel grunted, just a short, low sound, but from him, it might as well have been a full monologue. You grinned, proud of yourself, that was something, at least you’d managed to pull a reaction out of him.

Shoving your hands deeper into your coat pockets, you added, “Y’know, I think if you were an animal, you’d be a bear. You totally give ‘hibernate for six months just to avoid people’ vibes. Or maybe… a lone wolf. Yeah. All moody and broody and with a tragic past. Definitely a lone wolf.”

Joel didn’t say a word. The woods go quiet again, and Joel dares to hope, for a moment, that maybe that was it, maybe you’d finally run out of things to say, that you were done, and he could have what he wanted most: silence. The trees stand tall and bare, branches black against the pale morning sky, Joel walks ahead, the rifle slung over his shoulder doesn’t sway.

You glance up. “I had a dream last night about—”

Joel stops short. You nearly crash into him, your boots skidding a little on the snow-packed path. He doesn’t turn fully, he just speaks.

“Y’know,” he mutters, eyes still forward, “you ain’t gotta fill every second with talk.”

“Oh.”

He turns just enough to glance at you, not all the way, just enough that you catch a piece of his face in profile, of his mouth pressed into a hard line. He doesn’t look angry, not exactly, be just looks… worn, maybe a little annoyed.

“Jus’ sayin’,” he adds after a beat. “You could let the woods do some of the talkin’.”

You nod. “Right. Of course. Sorry.”

He starts walking again, crunching through the snow like nothing happened, and you stay quiet… for almost twenty whole seconds, until you suddenly saw a rabbit hopping through the woods, and Joel knew another goddamn animal fact was coming.

“Did you know rabbits have like three or four pregnancies every single year? How insane is that? I mean, I guess that’s where the whole ‘doing it like rabbits’ thing came from. It’s crazy how biology works, don’t they get tired of popping out babies? Poor things.”

Joel exhales sharply through his nose, and you smile like you’ve just won something. “You ever shut up?”

You grin, he was just kidding, right? He actually loved hearing your rumbles, didn’t he? “Nope.”

He mutters something under his breath that might be Jesus Christ, might be kill me now. It’s hard to tell.

“God, this weather’s perfect,” you chirped, dragging your boot through the fresh blanket of snow. “Crisp, but not too cold, you know what I mean? And the trees look so beautiful like this, like they got powdered sugar on them.” You glanced over, squinting at Joel’s profile. “You like snow, Joel? You seem like a winter guy. Definitely winter-coded.”

No answer, not even a grunt. You didn’t take it personal, you were used to that with Joel. The silence didn’t bother you anymore. You just… filled it, that’s what you did. You filled space, filled time, filled quiet, because the world was already heavy enough, and talking made it lighter, at least for you. But Joel wasn’t having it today, maybe because he’d had a shitty night, because he hadn’t slept. He was even moodier and grumpier than usual, which was saying something.

“So I was thinking,” you went on, undeterred, “what if we organized a karaoke night at Jackson?”

Still nothing from him.

“I bet you’d kill some old country song. You’ve got that deep, grumbly voice, you could totally pull off a Johnny Cash. Or, like… wait, do you like country music? I kind of assume everyone from Texas does cause I don’t remember much from before and that’s what comes to my mind when I think about Texas... did you use to go places on a horse? Did you have a cowboy hat? I feel like you must’ve had a cowboy hat. Sorry if the whole stereotyping is offensive, by the way.”

Nothing, not a sound came out of his mouth, but you didn’t let that stop you. “Anyway, do you even like Johnny Cash? You could totally sing something from him, I bet you’d crush it.”

He didn’t answer, not even a little grunt this time. You grinned and nudged his arm lightly with your elbow. “Come on, Joel. Give me something. A sigh? A groan? One of those little annoyed huffs you’re so good at?”

His steps halted, you blinked and looked up at him. “What’s wro—”

“I swear to God,” he snapped, turning on you fast, “if you don’t shut the hell up for five goddamn minutes, ’m gonna lose my fuckin’ mind.”

You froze, the breath caught in your throat, you were used to Joel being grumpy, you were used to his silence, the annoyed grunts, the glares, but you’d never heard him like this, never heard him snap.

You let out a weak, awkward laugh, trying to lighten the sudden weight in the air. “Talking’s kind of my thing, Joel. You know that.”

He shook his head hard, like he was trying to shake you right out of it. “You think every moment of silence is a goddamn invitation. Like you have to talk, like people need to hear every damn thought that crosses your mind. Well, we don’t. I don’t.”

Your voice came quieter now, a little stung. “I was just trying to make conversation.”

“Well, I couldn’t give two shits bout what the snow reminds you of. I don’t give a fuck about what you think I’d sing. And I don’t care if you think ’m a fuckin’ winter guy.” He took a step closer, looming now. “You treat every patrol like it’s some goddamn field trip. And some days... some days, I can’t take it, you’re too much. So do me a favor, ’nd top talkin’. Just… stop.”

He didn’t even blink when he said it: “’Cause I can’t stand the sound of your voice. And believe me, I don’t give a damn about anythin’ that comes out of your mouth.”

You didn’t speak, which was rare, Joel had finally done what he’d wanted for weeks now… he’d shut you up, you didn’t even know what to say, it felt like someone had reached into your throat and ripped the words out, like even if you wanted to speak, your mouth wouldn’t know how to shape the sound.

Joel’s chest rose and fell, hard, like he’d just spat out something he’d been choking on, like it was a relief to finally say it, but the silence that followed wasn’t peaceful or restful. It was cold, unpleasantly cold. And maybe that was the point, maybe he’d meant it to be, maybe this was what it took to finally make you shut up, right? He’d tried subtle hints, hadn’t he? Polite nudges, short replies, walking faster to get ahead of you, that one time he said maybe you should “save your breath for the hike.” But you never got it, you never listened, so maybe this was necessary, maybe cruelty was the only language you understood. At least, that’s what he tried to tell himself.

You took a single step back, your boots crunching in the snow. “Okay,” you said lowly. “Got it.” You didn’t look at him, you just turned, and started walking ahead, in silence now, just like he wanted.

The next hour dragged and you didn’t say a word. Your mind buzzed with a thousand thoughts, stories, questions, stray facts desperate to spill out, but none of them made it past your lips. You fought the urge to tell him about the time you’d built a snow fort as a kid and nearly froze your fingers off. You stopped yourself from asking him about his favorite food, or who he liked the least in Jackson, or whether he knew horses can’t physically vomit.

You were quiet, gave him exactly what he wanted, but somehow, it didn’t feel like a win. Joel had spent so long wishing for this, some goddamn peace and quiet. And now that he had it, now that you’d finally shut up… it didn’t feel right, didn’t feel good. It felt wrong. The silence settled between you two and guilt slowly crawled up his spine, making him feel like a dick for saying that to you, gnawing at the edges of his pride until all that was left was the sharp echo of what he’d said and the miserable quiet that followed.

You stopped by a frozen stream, crouching to sip from your canteen. Joel stepped up beside you, but he kept a careful distance, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed closer anymore. You could feel him watching you, but you didn’t look back.

“Wasn’t tryin’ to be mean,” he muttered, keeping his eyes on the snow.

You glanced sideways, but didn’t dare to meet his gaze. “Didn’t sound like it.”

Joel exhaled, a frustrated sigh more at himself than at you. “I just—”

“You don’t have to explain,” you cut in quickly, with a smile that didn’t even pretend to reach your eyes. “Really. I get it. Some people like quiet. Some people like noise. You like quiet. I’ll be quiet.”

He shifted his weight. “It’s not like that, I—”

“Sure it is,” you said, your voice light in that careful way that hurt more than yelling ever could. “Lesson learned, Joel. Don’t poke the bear.”

You were waiting at the stables when Joel arrived. You had your coat on and your hair tucked into your hat. You looked like you always did, a little too pretty for patrol, the soft curve of your cheeks pink from the cold, but something was missing… your usual charm, your cheerful voice greeting him, your bright smile. You just nodded when you saw him appear at the stables. No “good morning,” no snow commentary, no teasing about how slow he always was, just a nod. He looked at you for a second longer than usual, then walked past to saddle up his horse.

“Ready?” he asked.

You didn’t say anything, just climbed up in silence and rode. The first hour passed without a single word, and it felt so unnatural, so uncomfortable. You used to fill the air do naturally, but now it was just the wind and hooves and the sound of your breathing. Your silence was sharp and uncharacteristic, the girl who used to talk about snow and song lyrics and dream dinners with celebrities was now just… trying not to breathe too loud, scared that would annoy him too.

By the time you reached the crossing path at the river, Joel had tried to say something three different times. The first time, he opened his mouth and closed it, his jaw working like he had to chew the words before they came out. The second, he cleared his throat and muttered, “Watch your step,” as you crossed a patch of ice. You nodded and that was it, no smile, no playful “Yes, Dad.” Just a nod. The third, he almost said your name, just to test it, to see if you’d say anything back, but he didn’t, too scared you wouldn’t reply.

At one point, you saw a deer sprint across the path, his cute little white tail flashing through the trees. Normally, you’d make a joke, say something like, “Think he had somewhere to be? Maybe a hot date?” but today, you just watched it go by, didn’t even crack a smile, just breathed in slowly and let the moment pass. Joel followed your line of sight, then glanced at you again, you didn’t look back, didn’t even seem to notice him. He couldn’t stand it, the silence didn’t suit you, it looked wrong on you, like watching a bird forget how to sing.

And the worst part was that you weren’t pouting, you weren’t dramatic about it, weren’t even trying to punish him. You were just… quiet, just deeply hurt by what he’d said, and it was all his fault alone. It echoed in his head, louder now than it had sounded in the moment, he still saw it, too clearly: the way you’d stepped back that day, the way your smile had dropped, the way you’d said, “Lesson learned. Don’t poke the bear.”

By the time the sun dipped low, you kept ahead of him on the path back, not out of spite, but because you didn’t feel like walking beside someone who didn’t want to hear you. Except… he did. He realized that now, too late, maybe—but still, he missed your dumb jokes, your questions, your weird little facts. He missed the way you made the world feel softer, he hadn’t deserved any of that, but you’d given it freely, and he’d crushed it with one goddamn outburst. Crushed something warm and rare and good.

Snow fell over your wool hat. It was another patrol morning with Joel, but you were still quiet, you weren’t speaking, and Joel hated it. He wouldn’t admit that, of course, not out loud, but he did. You rode a few feet ahead of him, not too far, not enough to be rude, but far enough that he didn’t have to pretend not to look at you. And he did look. Often, in short, guilty glances when you weren’t watching.

The silence was driving him crazy, by the time you passed the old bridge, Joel was clenching his jaw so tight it ached. “So… Ellie’s got this book,” he says. “Full of jokes. Real bad ones. Think you’d like it.”

Your posture didn’t change, you didn’t turn your head, didn’t soften your shoulders, didn’t give him anything, didn’t offer him the comfort of your voice.

“She told me one the other day. Uh… lemme think…” He frowns under his breath, tugging on the reins slightly. “Why did the scarecrow get a promotion?”

No response.

“Because he was outstandin’ in his field.”

Fine, it was a good joke, you probably would’ve laughed until you fell off your horse, if your chest didn’t still ache from all the things he’d said. You still said nothing, not even a breath of amusement. The silence that followed felt louder than the punchline.

“Get it?”

You nod, but it’s cold and mechanical, a hollow gesture. He exhales and scratches the back of his neck, a nervous tell. Joel Miller doesn’t fidget, doesn’t tell jokes, doesn’t try to ramble, but for some reason, you’d gotten him trying now. And somehow, that made it worse, because he’d only started trying after he broke something.

Another hour passes like that, the only sound was a hawk criying in the distance.Joel kicks at a rock as he walks next to his horse, it skitters off the path and disappears into the trees. “You’d have a fact about hawks, I bet,” he says. “Prob’ly somethin’ real weird, like how they mate midair or scream to scare prey. Somethin’ strange like that.”

He says it like a joke, but his voice is low, almost uncertain. Still no answer from you, you don’t even look at him, not once. His attempts at small talk were pathetic, really. Painfully awkward, it was obvious how much he sucked at trying to make light conversation, the words didn’t flow, it didn’t come naturally to him like it did to you. Joel wasn’t built for that, he was built for silence, for scowls and short commands.

He’s grasping now, and he knows it, but he keeps going anyway. “Or frogs. You always liked frogs, right? Ain’t heard a goddamn frog fact in days. ’M startin’ to worry.”

Still nothing, just the steady rhythm of the horse’s hoofs in the snow, your silence tucked tight around you like your coat.

You eat lunch in silence by a half-frozen stream. Joel sits across from you, he tries not to stare, but fails. Your head is down, shoulders hunched a little from the cold, or maybe from something else. You chew on a protein bar and look out at the trees, Joel doesn’t even bother unpacking his own food.

And suddenly, he was starting to get pissed at your silence. Why were you acting like this? Like a little girl throwing a tantrum. That’s what it felt like, that’s what he wanted to call it, but it wasn’t, he knew it wasn’t. Still, the frustration built. Yes, maybe he’d said something a little cruel, maybe he hadn’t meant it to sound like that, maybe he didn’t know how to say things right, but goddamn, did you have to stay so quiet? Did you have to make him feel like this? Like every second you didn’t speak was a punishment he couldn’t bear.

“Alright, enough.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You proved your point,” he said gruffly. His tone was sharp, like he was the one who’d been wronged. “You’re mad. I get it.”

“I’m not mad,” you said, and God, your voice was quiet and so empty.

“So you’re just gonna stay quiet this whole damn time?” he muttered, the words sounding more bitter than he intended.

You glanced over at him. Not angry, just… tired. “Figured you’d like that.”

He scowled. “Didn’t say that.”

He was so stubborn he couldn’t even own the words that came out of his mouth just a few days ago. Couldn’t admit them.

“You did, actually. You told me to shut the hell up, remember?” you said, glancing ahead again. Your voice didn’t shake, you weren’t accusing him, just repeating the facts, it was the truth, he’d said that. “Said you couldn’t stand the sound of my voice. So I’m doing you a favor.”

Joel muttered something under his breath, it sounded like a curse, or maybe it was your name. You didn’t know, didn’t catch it, and sure as hell didn’t ask him to repeat it. You weren’t being dramatic. You weren’t sulking or giving him the cold shoulder on purpose. You were just… sad, quiet in the way people get when they’ve decided they’re not allowed to take up space anymore, like you’d tucked yourself into some small corner of the world, somewhere less inconvenient. And Joel had done that to you, he still remembered exactly how you’d looked when he snapped, the flicker behind your eyes, that small, tight smile, how fast you’d folded yourself in.

“Y’know I didn’t mean it,” he muttered eventually, like he didn’t really want to hear himself say it.

You didn’t look at him. “Yeah, you did.”

“I was just—”

“Tired. I know. Had a bad day or whatever other excuse, didn’t want to hear me rambling.” You didn’t say it bitterly, just plainly, like a fact you’d finally accepted. You didn’t care about any excuse he might have for treating you like that. Honestly, it’d be easier if he just owned it, if he admitted outright that he hated you. That was the part that hurt the most, how honest he’d sounded. Because you liked hanging around Joel, even if he never said much, you still enjoyed taking up the same space as he did, telling him about your dreams, about your past, and knowing he couldn’t even stand being around you completely broke you.

Joel exhaled hard through his nose. “You’re twistin’ it.”

“No,” you said calmly. “You were clear. And I listened.” You didn’t want an apology, you didn’t want to fight, you just wanted to believe your voice mattered again. You stood again, shouldering your bag. “Let’s keep moving. I wanna get home soon.”

“Just lemme know if you ever get tired of bein’ mad at me.”

You stopped in your tracks and looked him full in the face “I’m not mad, Joel.” He blinked. “I’m just… not interested anymore.”

And that hurt him more than any yelling ever could.

You waited until just after noon, when the patrol rosters were still being finalized and Tommy was alone. He looked up when you knocked on the door frame.

“Hey,” he greeted. “Can I help you with anythin’?”

You nodded, stepping inside. Your boots felt heavier than usual, like every step toward that desk was one you didn’t really want to take. “Can I talk to you?”

“‘Course.” He sat up straighter. “What’s goin’ on?”

You hesitated, just for a second, but you knew it was the right choice to make, even if it stung, even if it felt like giving up. Then: “I want to switch partners. On patrol.”

You’d thought about it, a lot, and even though it hurt, deep inside you knew it was the right call. Being out with Joel hurt, you couldn’t stop thinking about the things he’d said to you, the look in his eyes that day, as if you were just… an inconvenience to him, something loud and annoying and in the way, something he had to tolerate, not someone he wanted to have around.

Tommy blinked. “You were with Joel, right?” His voice was careful and measured, but he wasn’t dumb, he already knew the answer. And he also knew his brother was a complicated man, especially around people. He didn’t find it difficult to imagine Joel acting like an asshole around someone like you, not when your personalities were complete opposites.

“Mhm.”

“Sure you wanna change?”

You nodded, quick, and it felt like ripping off a bandage. If you hesitated, even a second, you knew you’d unravel.

He studied your face, the way it looked down for someone who was always chatty and cheerful. Someone who used to talk so much she barely paused to breathe.

“Did Joel… said… or do somethin’?”

“No,” you said quickly, and suddenly you were trying to fight the tears back from your face. Your throat tightened, and it took everything not to blink too fast, not to wipe your face, not to let it show. “He didn’t. He just…” You shrugged. “I just think it’s not working between us.”

Tommy frowned. “Not workin’ how?”

You exhaled. “I don’t know. We’re just… really different and… I think we’d both benefit if we get assigned to different people.”

You didn’t say anything else, you didn’t trash Joel. Didn’t tell him how it felt to offer up every little spark of joy you had, only to watch it die in silence. You didn’t explain what it felt like to give joy to someone who never once gave any back. Didn’t say how it hollowed you out, how it started to feel pathetic. You didn’t explain how he had made you feel like you were too much, like you were unlovable. Like your kindness was annoying. Like your voice didn’t deserve to fill the air. You just stood there and waited for Tommy to speak.

Tommy rubbed his jaw. That soft, thoughtful gesture of his when he was trying to work through something, trying to find the right thing to say. He didn’t usually do favors for people wanting different patrol partners or better routes, he was a fair man, through and through. But there was something in the way you looked that made him relent. He felt responsible for the big asshole his brother was. And so, against his usual rules, he agreed.

“Well,” he said, standing. “I’ve got Javi lookin’ for a partner for the east routes. Bit longer than the ones you’re used to, but if you don’t mind… I’ll talk to him. You okay with that?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, that works for me. Thanks, Tommy.” Your voice was polite, practiced, the kind of tone you used when you didn’t want anyone to ask follow-up questions.

Tommy gave you a quiet smile. “Joel can be... complicated. Don’t take anythin’ too personal.”

“I know.” You looked down, then away, but you didn’t believe it, not really. Joel wasn’t just complicated, and you were tired of people excusing a grown-ass man for acting like a dick.

Joel found out about the change the next morning. He walked into the stables expecting to see you there, same as always, but the space where you usually stood was empty. He slowed to a stop, frowning. “…Where is she?” he muttered, mostly to himself.

Hector, a man in his forties Joel didn’t know well, just a face from around town, appeared from behind one of the stalls. “She’s with Javi today. East patrol.”

Joel turned, shocked by this new information. “What?”

“Got reassigned yesterday,” Hector said, tightening a saddle strap without looking up. “Tommy said she asked for it. I’m with you now.”

Joel stared, feeling how his stomach dropped. Had you really gone to Tommy asking for a new partner? What had you even said? “Joel is mean and he hurt my delicate feelings, I want a new partner.” He could almost hear it in your voice, except not really, because you wouldn’t say it like that, you wouldn’t be petty. Had you really been that immature? Or was it that he’d hurt you so much you couldn’t even stand to be around him anymore? That possibility stung the worst. He’d seen the pain in your eyes, but he never thought you’d come this far, never thought you’d actually pull away for good, thought maybe you’d get past it soon enough, start talking like before, start babbling about the clouds or chickens, and Joel would once again beg for you to shut up.

“She asked for it?”

Hector finally looked up and shrugged. “That’s what I heard.”

Joel said nothing, did nothing, just stood there, in the cold morning air, until Hector called his name and forced him to move.

“What the hell, Tommy?” Joel said as soon as he came back from patrol with Hector, stepping inside his brother’s house like it was his own.

Tommy looked up from where he was peeling an apple at the counter. “What you on bout, big brother?”

“You just rearranged patrol ‘cause she asked you to? Like she’s a spoiled girl? You can’t pull that shit.” Joel’s voice was rough, irritated, and maybe a little defensive too.

“Look, Joel—” Tommy tried to explain, this reaction from Joel surprised him, why did he care so much about you changing partners? He’d assumed Joel couldn’t stand being around you.

“No. Who does she even think she is? She comes here and asks for a different partner and everyone just does what she wants like she’s—”

“Like she’s what?” Tommy asked, quieter now, with a warning in his voice.

Joel paused, he didn’t finish the sentence, didn’t want to say something he couldn’t take back.

“Look,” Tommy said again, slower this time. “I dunno what the hell went down between you two. I don’t know what you said or did to that poor girl. That’s your business.” He dropped the knife down on the cutting board with a soft clack. “But she came to me tryin’ to hide the tears in her eyes. Asked for a new partner real quiet. Wouldn’t say much, just kept lookin’ down.” He shrugged. “Javi needed one after Mikey split his ankle, so I offered her.”

Joel just shook his head and scoffed, a bitter sound, one that tried too hard to cover up the sinking guilt that had started curling in his gut.

Weeks stretched by. You liked having patrol with Javi, he was a funny guy, easy going, warm. He didn’t seem to mind how much you spoke, in fact, he always followed your conversation, he cracked jokes back at you, he’d answer all your questions with real enthusiasm, and he’d tell you about his dreams too. Made you feel like your voice wasn’t a burden, like it mattered, and it was exaclt what you needed after Joel’s words broke your spirit.

Joel saw you once, across the market, laughing softly at something Ellie said. It caught him off guard, that sound… your laugh. It was the first time he’d heard your voice in days. Another time, in the dining hall, he almost didn’t see you there, but you were sitting at a table near the back, listening to Javi talk while your eyes stayed fixed on the window. And once, the hardest of all, at the gates, you were loading your patrol pack, and Joel couldn’t help but remember, and also miss, his mornings patrolling with you.

You’d reached out again and again and again, with light and warmth and endless words, trying to pull something out of him, and all he’d ever done was push you away.

One night, he sat on his porch with a half-drained glass of whiskey and no coat on, the cold didn’t bother him, it couldn’t reach somewhere already frozen through. He stared at the street, at the place where your silhouette used to pass by some evenings, humming, talking to yourself, but now you were gone. He missed it, he missed you… And it was too late to take it all back.

The gates were already open when the horses came in. It was late, and the watch lights had already been turned on, casting long yellow shadows over the snowy ground. Joel was just walking by, just passing through, he’d just… wandered this way. Thought maybe he’d say hi to Tommy, that was the lie he told himself, he was definitely trying to run into you after your patrol shift, to look at you even if it was from afar. But when he heard the hooves, saw the horses trot in through the gate… and saw you, slouched in your saddle, with blood down your sleeve, he went still.

You weren’t crying, you weren’t panicking, but your shirt sleeve was ripped off, and there was red streaked from your bicep to your knuckles. Javi was beside you, talking, too animated, too casual, his hands moved while he spoke, like this was just another story, like you weren’t bleeding, like Joel wasn’t standing there ready to rip someone’s throat out.

Joel’s blood ran hot, his fists curled and his chest burned, something primal slammed into his ribs, roaring to life. He started moving before he knew why, his eyes locked on you like you were the only goddamn person that existed. You dismounted with a slow wince, your wound wasn’t anything life-threatening, not visibly at least, but there was a long, jagged cut along your arm.

Joel pushed past two people who were in his way, his shoulders slamming without apology, and stormed straight for Javi like he was seconds away from ripping his head off his body.

“The fuck happened out there?” he snapped, looking at him like he wanted to eat him alive.

Javi turned, surprised by Joel’s outburst. “I don’t know man, we were cool and suddenly there’s like a dozen runners coming out of nowhere. It was siiiick.”

Joel’s chest rose and fell like he’d just run a marathon. “She’s bleedin’.” He pointed at you like it physically hurt, like the blood on your arm was on his hands. “What the fuck happened?” He said again, as if Javi’s explanation hadn’t been good enough.

“I told you, some runners attacked us,” Javi said, frowning at Joel’s insistence. “She tripped and cut her arm with some glass from a broken window. She’s fine.”

“She ain’t fine!” Joel’s voice cracked through the air and people turned. The guards, the stablehands, two kids passing by with a bucket of feed. Even you stopped, still holding your reins. Joel wasn’t a man known for yelling, not like this, not unless someone was already dead or dying. And yet here he was, vibrating with fury, his eyes locked on Javi like he was seconds from breaking something… or someone.

Joel stepped closer to him. “You’re s’posed to watch her,” he said darkly. Pissed at Javi but also pissed at himself for not being there to protect you. “That’s your goddamn job. Makin’ sure she’s okay.”

Javi scowled, Joel was really getting on his nerves with all this complaining, trying to put the blame on him for an accident that was not out of the ordinary during patrol rounds. “Hey. Don’t come at me like that, man. She’s not a damn child. She can protect herself too.”

Joel’s face twisted in anger. He hates Javi for not doing something more to help you, but he also hated him more for being the one taking the place Joel used to have next to you. “Maybe, but she ain’t you. She’s not built like a fuckin’ tank. She’s small. You should’ve had her back.”

Javi took a step forward. “You weren’t there, man. You don’t know what the hell went down. She handled herself just fine.”

“Then why the hell is she the one comin’ home bleedin’ ‘stead of you?”

“Joel,” you said, sharp now, feeling like you needed to intervene before this got out of hand. Your voice cut the air like a knife. “Stop.”

Joel fully ignored you, just kept looking at Javi. “Maybe if this asshole—“

“Hey!” Javi barked, who the fuck Joel Miller thought he was to talk to him like that? “Back the fuck off. You don’t talk to me like that.”

“No, you listen to me, you little—”

“What the fuck is your problem, dude? There was nothing I could do.” Javi tried to explain himself again, trying to get that old stubborn man to understand it.

“THERE’S ALWAYS SOMETHIN’ YOU CAN DO.” Joel straight-up yelled, it wasn’t just anger now, it was fear. Fury and guilt and panic, all knotted together.

The shouting echoed, everyone was staring now, a dozen half-frozen faces looking between them like something might snap, like they were about to watch some street fight. And they almost did, Joel’s shoulders were tight, his fists trembling at his sides, Javi was standing his ground, his chest puffed, ready to throw the first punch if he needed to.

And you? You stepped forward, planting yourself between them like a barrier between the two big man. “Come on, Javi,” you said firmly, not leaving any room for argument. “Let’s go.”

Joel’s jaw clenched like it might crack any second now. Where you really siding with Javi on this? With the guy that was supposed to protect you but failed? “You don’t have to leave with him.”

You turned to him. “Yes. I do.” Your voice didn’t rise, it was just flat and final.

Joel stared at you, at your pale cheeks, at the cut at your temple and the blood on your arm. Blood he hadn’t cleaned, wound he hadn’t checked, wound that was there because he hadn’t been around to protect you. There was so much anger in your eyes, like you couldn’t believe he had the nerve to care now. You were already walking away with your head high, Javi gave Joel a final glare and followed you, his presence behind you was loud and loyal, like a dog who knew where home was.

And Joel stood there, fists still curled, chest heaving, surrounded by silence, staring at the empty space you’d just walked out of. No one spoke, no one dared, not with the way Joel’s hands were shaking. Not until Tommy came walking up from the far side of the barn and muttered under his breath, “Jesus Christ. What the hell’s goin’ on with you?”

"It's goddamn Javi. He's an idiot, he—"

“Don’t bullshit me, Joel. What was that? That wasn’t about Javi.”

“Yes. It sure was. Stupid kid can’t watch his flank. He’s gonna end up gettin’ someone killed.”

“Joel, you can’t lie to me. I know it’s about her.”

“It ain’t about her. She’s got nothin’ to do with—” He tried to lie, but Tommy knew him too well, he could tell when his brother was lying.

Tommy stepped closer, it felt familiar in the way only someone who’s known Joel his whole life can be. “Listen, man. I get it. She’s bright. She talks a lot. Got that energy that makes people wanna stay near her.” Joel’s jaw flexed, a muscle twitching from holding back too much, too many feelings, too many emotions he’d tried hard for years to suppress, but now they were coming out all at once. “But whatever’s goin’ on,” Tommy continued calmly, annoyingly gentle even, “you gotta figure it out. ‘Cause this whole hot-cold act? It’s not workin’. Not for you. Not for her.”

“Ain’t an act.” Joel tried to excuse himself, almost defensively. The words tasted strange in his mouth, hell, he didn’t even know what this was all about. He thought he hated you, he’d told himself that, over and over. Repeated it like a prayer every single morning he had to spend patrolling with you, he’d convinced himself that he’d rather have a clicker come and bite him in the neck than listen to another second of your voice… your voice that never shut up, your voice that filled the silence with sunshine and facts and nonsense and life. But now? Now he was dying to hear your voice again, now he was starting to think that maybe… maybe he liked you. Maybe he liked the way your nose scrunched up when you talked about animals, maybe he liked the way you laughed at your own bad jokes, maybe he liked the way you made everything feel less cold. Maybe he’d just been a goddamn coward.

Tommy didn’t flinch. “Then that’s worse.” The silence that followed was thick. “What is it? Between her and you. Be real.”

Joel looked away again, like it physically hurt him to say it. He couldn’t even admit it to his own brother, hell, he couldn’t even admit it to himself, couldn’t even say the words: ‘I like her’ out loud. “It’s nothin’.”

Tommy stared, Joel was too much of a stubborn, emotionally-constipated man than he even remembered him being. “You gonna stand here and lie to my face?”

“There ain’t no goddamn deal,” Joel snapped, angry at the world for trying so hard to get him to admit his feeling for you. “I patrolled with her a few times. Thassit.”

Tommy was not buying a single word. “You don’t scream at someone’s partner like that after they get hurt unless there’s a reason behind it, Joel.”

“I didn’t scream—”

“You lost your goddamn mind.”

Joel looked down at his hands. They were clenched, he realized, like he’d been bracing for a punch that never came. “I am…” he exhaled roughly, and almost inaudible said, “upset.” That was as close as he could get to talk about his feelings out loud.

“Right. And ’m the Pope.” Tommy moved closer now, like approaching a wounded animal. “Y’like her. Don’tcha?” Joel didn’t respond, he let the silence be the confirmation of his feelings toward you. “You care bout her. You ever told her that?”

Joel gave a bitter little laugh. “You think she’d wanna hear that from me?”

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “You ever ask?”

“Believe me, she don’t want anythin’ to do with me.”

“Maybe cause you act like an asshole every time she gets close.” Tommy said, Joel didn’t flinch, he’d been expecting that one, he deserved worse after how goddamn cruel he’d been with you. “You pushed her away, Joel. And then you got pissed when she let go.”

Joel ran a hand through his hair, the gesture was restless, almost violent, like he was trying to rip the thought of you out of his skull. “I didn’t mean for it to go this far.”

“Well, it did,” Tommy said. “She asked to stop patrollin’ with you. That’s a big step. That girl didn’t seem the type to give up on people.” Joel swallowed hard and Tommy sighed. “So ’m gonna ask one more time. Not as your brother, as someone who watched you lose your goddamn mind when you saw her come back bleedin’.”

Joel looked up at that, Tommy met his eyes. “What’s the deal with her?”

Joel exhaled slowly, like it cost him something. “I dunno,” he said. “I don’t know what it is. I just…” His voice tightened. “She was always talkin’. Always smilin’. Like it didn’t matter how cold it was, like she didn’t know the world we live in.” Tommy waited, Joel rubbed at the back of his neck. “I didn’t know what to do with that,” he admitted. “Didn’t think I deserved to have it pointed at me.”

“You mean her attention?”

“I mean her.” It was the most honest thing Joel had said in months.

Tommy’s gaze softened. “Joel…”

“She was better off. With someone who could…” Joel shook his head. “Smile back.” He couldn’t even picture it, himself smiling at you like you did at him, like he meant it, like he deserved it.

They stood in silence, and Tommy let out a long breath. “Well, she ain’t smilin’ much these days.” Joel didn’t move or speak, just stared at the dirt like he could dig a hole and bury this whole damn mess. Tommy clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t gotta fix it all at once. But maybe stop pretendin’ it don’t exist.”

That night, you sat on your bed. The room was quiet, too quiet, Javi had offered to walk you home, but you told him you were fine, and you weren’t lying, not really. It wasn’t the pain that hurt, not the cut, not the dull throbbing in your arm or the tender spot blooming purple on your ribs. It was the sound of Joel’s voice cracking through the cold like it suddenly mattered, like your well-being was important now that the damage wasn’t his fault. Where was that fire when you’d gone mute for days? When your eyes welled up mid-patrol and you turned away so he wouldn’t see? Where was that protectiveness when you’d been swallowed by quiet and too afraid to speak again? Where was he? Not when you needed him. He couldn’t protect you from a wound he’d already made, and no amount of yelling at Javi would change that. He could shout all he wanted now, full of heat and anger, but it was too late. The damage was done in the stillness, in the look he didn’t give you, in the joke he tried to tell when you were already fading. You didn’t need him to defend you now, you needed him then.

Joel didn’t sleep. He sat at the window with a half-empty bottle, watching the streets go dar, watching the world turn quiet while something inside his brain stayed loud. Not because you were hurt, not even because of Javi, but because for one brief second, when he saw the blood on your skin, his heart stopped, and then it shattered. It wasn’t the cut, it was you, with blood on your face and standing on your own two feet, not needing him, not even looking at him. And the aching realization that he didn’t know you anymore, that he’d pushed you away, bit by bit, and word by cold word. And now? Someone else got to stand beside you, someone else got your trust, your time. Someone else got to see you bruised and brave and trying, and Joel just watched from the damn gate like a stranger, like someone who used to matter.

The Tipsy Bison was loud on the night of your birthday. One of your friends had brought a guitar, someone else was dancing badly after too many shots, and there was a small cake waiting on the table. You were in the center of the room, halfway through a funny story, your hands flying as you animated something absurd, probably patrol-related, probably exaggerated, probably funny as hell because everyone around you was howling. At least that was what Joel thought. He’d come for one drink, maybe two, say hi to a few people, show his face so Tommy would stop nagging him about not leaving his house. That was what the night was supposed to be like, but then he walked in, and he saw you, and everything stopped.

Javi was doubled over, your friend Annie had her hand on your shoulder, laughing so hard she spilled beer down her sleeve, someone at the next table leaned in just to hear more of your story. And you? You were shining. Your mouth was open wide with laughter, your cheeks were flushed from whiskey and heat, your voice bouncing through the bar like music. That fire Joel thought he’d snuffed out was back.

He watched from the far corner of the room, you wore a deep green sweater that made your eyes too bright, and your hair was half-tucked behind your ear, messy from dancing. There was a thin scar just beneath your cheekbone now, probably from the bad patrol a few weeks back, but it only made you look prettier. And Joel hated how long it had been since he saw you like this, he hated that you could glow again and he wasn’t part of it.

Someone toasted you. You rolled your eyes but raised your glass anyway.

“To her loud mouth,” one of your friend said.

“To her bad jokes,” someone else added.

You laughed and clinked your glass against theirs. “To being a pain in the ass for one more year.”

The whole table cheered and Joel’s chest hurt, because there was nothing in this world he desired more than to be there celebrating next to you.

You stood to stretch at one point, hands over your head, grinning as the music shifted. Javi grabbed your hand and spun you clumsily in place, it wasn’t a real dance, just a drunken sway. You laughed and shoved him off, swatting his shoulder. And Joel gripped the edge of the bar like it might keep him grounded, that used to be his spot beside you. His partner, his patrol, his quiet moments in the woods, listening to you ramble. He threw it away, and now you were spinning, tipsy and bright and surrounded by people who wanted you. People who didn’t flinch when you reached out, who didn’t push you away.

“Y’alright?” the bartender asked him. Joel blinked, realized his glass was still full, he nodded stiffly. “Birthday crowd,” the guy said. “She bring the whole damn town in with her.”

Joel didn’t respond. Didn’t say: She used to talk to just me for hours, she used to walk beside me and hum under her breath, she used to ask me questions just to fill the silence... and now she laughs like I was never there at all. He just gave a tight nod and turned away from the bar. You didn’t see him, not at all. You were too busy dancing, talking, drinking… too busy living.

Joel was walking home, hands in his coat pockets, boots scuffing snow. He’d tried to finish his drink but couldn’t, and seeing you there having fun with your friends had become unbearable, so he decided to call it a night. But then he saw you, alone, laughing softly at nothing. You were half a block ahead of him, your coat was open, your scarf crooked, you had a half-empty bottle in one hand while your arms stretched out like you were trying to balance on an invisible beam. You were talking to yourself, to the moon up in the sky, maybe to some cricket you’d encounter along the way. To him, when you turned and saw him in the middle of the street.

“Ohhh my god,” you said, grinning. “Look everyone! It’s Joel Miller.”

He blinked. “You drunk?” What an stupid question. He already knew the answer.

“Extremely.” You walked toward him with uneven steps. “What are you doing out? You stalking me? Bit forward for you, cowboy.”

Joel sighed. “Jesus.”

You stopped in front of him and squinted. “Good evening to you too, Mr. Miller. You look awfully serious tonight.”

“I always look serious.”

You nodded solemnly. “True. That’s your whole vibe. You should try smiling more often, you got nice lips. Not that I noticed, of course.”

Joel looked at you, really looked, for the first time in what felt like months. You were flushed from the cold and the whiskey, and your eyes looked brighter than usual, your lips pink and chapped from the wind. “It’s your birthday,” he said softly.

“OH MY GOD, you’re right. It’s my birthday!” You grinned, as if you’d forgotten it after too many drinks. “Wait, how did you know?”

“Saw you and your friends at the bar.”

You took another swig from the bottle. “I’m a year older now. Can you believe that? I made it this far. How crazy is that?” He didn’t respond. “I used to think I’d die young,” you said casually. “Something poetic. Falling off a roof trying to rescue a cat or some shit.”

Joel frowned. “That ain’t poetic. That’s stupid.”

You burst out laughing. “Okay, fair. But you get the idea.” He sighed, and you rocked back on your heels. “Anyway. Happy birthday to me.”

“Happy birthday,” he murmured.

You smiled, wide and tired. “Well, thank you very much, Joel Miller.” Your started walking again, slow and wobbly, and Joel moved to follow. “You don’t gotta walk me home,” you said.

“I know.”

“Let me guess… you’re gonna anyway.”

He didn’t respond, but you talked the whole walk, like the old times, probably because you were too drunk to remember, or to care, that you were still angry and hurt. You talked about the music at the Tipsy Bison, about how your friend Annie cheated at darts, about how someone made you a cake with candles, actual candles, and you cried for like six seconds over it. Joel just listened, he didn’t speak unless you asked him something, he didn’t interrupt you, just walked beside you in the dark, feeling blessed to hear your voice once again. You tripped on a rock at one point and he reached for your elbow, you let him touch you just for a second, then kept walking.

“I missed you,” you said suddenly. Joel looked at you but you didn’t look back. “I mean,” you continued, “not that we were ever, like, friends. Or whatever. I know you’re not exactly a fan of… people. Pretty sure you hate me.” Joel stayed quiet. “But still, I missed you. It was weird not talking to you.”

Joel swallowed. “You stopped talkin’ to me.”

“You told me my voice annoyed you. And that you didn’t care about anything I said,” you said without any anger behind your voice. “What was I supposed to do, Joel?”

He didn’t answer, you stopped walking and he stopped too. You looked up at him, suddenly a little less drunk, like the chill had sobered you. “Why did you say that?” you asked quietly.

Joel blinked. “Say what?”

“That I talk too much. That I was annoying. That I wasn’t… enough… Was I really that insufferable?”

He frowned, fuck, you were kicking him while he was on the ground. “I didn’t say you weren’t enough.”

“You said worse.”

He inhaled sharply. “You were pushin’. Always askin’ things I didn’t want to answer. Talkin’ when I needed quiet. I tried givin’ you signals but you didn’t know how to stop.”

“I didn’t want to stop,” you said. “That’s the difference. I didn’t want to stop cause I enjoyed talking to you” Joel stared, but you looked away, ashamed, and for the first time, your voice dropped. “I spent my whole life being told I was too much. Too loud. Too happy. Too intense. I always thought… maybe the right person wouldn’t mind it.”

Joel’s throat went dry. Did you really think he was the right person? Him? An old, grumpy, broken-down man? That was what you saw for yourself? That was what you aspired to? You, with your bright eyes and all that goddamn sunshine in your voice, thought he was it? You couldn’t be serious.

“I liked you,” you added softly. “I didn’t think you’d like me back or anything,” you continued. “But I thought you didn’t hate me. I thought you… tolerated me. Cared a little, maybe.”

He took a step toward you. “I did—”

You held up your hand to stop him there. “And then you snapped. Like I was a burden. Like I was some stupid, useless little thing you had to drag around on your boot like mud.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“But that’s how it felt. I wasn’t pissed,” you said. “I was hurt. Maybe you thought it was the same thing cause you have the emotional range of a teaspoon. But it’s not the same thing.”

There was a big silence, just the wind in the trees was heard. And Joel, stuck between wanting to apologize and not knowing how. “’M sorry,” he said finally. “I shouldn’t have said those things,” he continued. “Not like that. Not to you.”

This time it was you who didn’t answer.

“I was… mean. For no reason. You didn’t deserve that.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You were the first person in a long time who—” He paused. “Who made me forget. How bad things were. Just for a minute.” Joel exhaled. “I didn’t know what to do with that. And for the record, I don’t hate you, I never did.”

“I don’t need you to explain,” you said. “You already did the damage. And I already survived it. It’s all good, Joel. No hard feelings."

Joel looked like he’d been hit. You turned, started walking again and he followed. You didn’t say another word the rest of the way until you stopped in front of your porch, one foot on the bottom step, swaying a little, maybe from the alcohol in your body.

“I should go to bed,” you said, and Joel nodded. “Thanks for walking me.”

He gave a tight nod again. “Yeah. Don’t mention it.”

You turned, made it up two steps, then paused. Without looking back, you said: “You know I never wanted you to like me back, right?”

Joel blinked. “What?”

“I didn’t expect that. I wasn’t asking for anything. I just… liked the way it felt, being around you, making you smile sometimes... even if it was just a grunt. And when that stopped… that hurt worse than a bullet. And I got shot once, so I know what I’m talking about. I’d tell you the story but I doubt you’d be interested.”

You should’ve gone inside, the door was already open, you could feel the heat of your living room escaping into the cold night air. Your limbs were buzzing with too much whiskey and too many words said, but Joel was still standing there, and your body was still turned toward him.

He shifted on his feet and glanced up at you with a slight squint. “How,” he said with caution, asking the question that had been killing him inside. “How’s patrol goin’ with Javi?”

You blinked and then snorted. Oh, he had some nerve asking that. You leaned against the railing, smiling just enough to hurt him. “It’s great. Javi doesn’t complain when I talk too much, and he doesn’t tell me to shut the hell up. So that makes him a better partner than you already.”

Joel winced, and you let him suffer for a bit. He nodded once, and then, after a long moment, his voice came out carefully neutral. “You and Javi…?”

“Me and Javi what?” you asked him, arching your brows.

“Are you two a thing or…?” he said, trying to appear unfazed, like he didn’t care about the answer, even if internally, he was praying you’d say no. His voice was tight, casual in the way someone pretends not to be holding their breath.

“A thing? What do you mean?” you asked, genuinely confused.

“Y’know what ’m talkin’ about,” he muttered, eyes flicking to the side like he wished he hadn’t opened his mouth.

Then sudden realization hit you. Your eyes went wide. “OH MY GOD, NO!” He blinked startled, and you smiled wider. “Javi’s gay. Like, suuuper gay.”

You watched it happen in real time, the way his jaw relaxed just slightly, the way his shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch, like a thread pulled too tight had finally been cut.

“Oh,” he said.

“Yeah, like reeeaally into guys. I mean, like, if we were both naked he’d probably be checking you out and ignoring me,” you chuckled, amused now, watching color bloom subtly in his cheeks. Joel didn’t say anything, he just felt relieved, so stupidly relieved it made his chest ache. “Your gay-dar is super off, Joel. You should get it checked,” you teased with a grin.

He didn’t respond, just grunted, shifting his weight, clearly trying not to smile. You tilted your head. “Why did you ask?”

Joel didn’t answer, he didn’t need to. You could see it all in his face… the question he didn’t ask, the way his eyes flicked over you like he couldn’t help it, like he was trying to memorize you before he lost his nerve.

You took a step closer and Joel didn’t move, or look away. Your voice was soft now. “Did you think he was my type?”

Joel’s voice came slow. “I didn’t know if you had a type.”

You smiled. “I didn’t either.” Another pause. “But now I think I might have a thing for older guys. The grumpy type. The ones who break your heart without even meaning to.”

You leaned against the porch railing again, closer now, and Joel stepped up. His hand came to rest on the railing beside you, not touching you yet, but near. You looked up at him, and found his eyes already on you. You stared at each other, and then he moved, not fast or clumsy, he just leaned in, slowly, like a man who’d been thinking about it for weeks, like a man who didn’t believe he’d ever get a second chance if he didn’t act now.

And when his mouth met yours? It was quiet and warm, like he was apologizing for all the things he said with that same mouth before... that mouth who’d hurt you in the past was now trying to put the pieces of you back together. You didn’t pull back or freeze, you just let it happen, let your eyes slip closed, let your hands curl against his flannel shirt… let yourself feel him.

It wasn’t rushed, it wasn’t needy or desperate, it was gentle like he was terrified he might break you, and maybe that was the part that undid you most, that this man, this gruff, stubborn, often infuriating man, was finally treating you like something precious. His hand came up slow, fingers brushing along your jaw before sliding to the back of your neck, you felt his thumb at your pulse point, like he was grounding himself in the fact that you were real, that this was happening.

When he finally pulled back, just inches in between you two, his voice was the softest it had ever been.

“Goodnight, birthday girl.”

You looked up at him, dazed. He stepped back and walked off your porch without another word, and you stood there like you’d been struck, watching him walk away, still swaying slightly from the whiskey, still buzzing from the feel of his mouth on yours, still trying to catch your breath. Joel Miller was already halfway down the walk. You watched him go, one step, two, three.

“HEY!” you shouted.

He didn’t stop walking, just turned back over his shoulder, eyes catching yours for a second, that big-ass smile stretched across his face.

“Joel Miller, you can’t do that!”

He slowed, but kept walking away anyway. “Already did it.”

“No! You can’t— You can’t do that and walk away!” Your voice cracked, but there was no real anger behind it, just amusement, and maybe a little frustration, because he’d left you hungry for more. “You can’t kiss me and run away like a coward!”

“Sweet dreams, birthday girl.” He replied teasingly with that same grin still painted on his face. The street was empty, the windows all dark, it was just you and him and the sound of your own heart thudding against your ribs.

“You better come back here and finish what you started, Joel Miller.” You tried to sound dangerous and commanding, but the look of a schoolgirl in love on your face wasn’t helping you.

He offered you one last smile before turning around and walking away. It was faint, like he didn’t have the right to give you more than that. Maybe this was all that was meant to happen tonight, but it sure as hell meant something for both of you. He felt it in his chest as he walked away, you felt it in your throat as you watched him go. And you wondered what would happen the next time you saw him, if he’d pretend nothing happened, or if he’d look at you the way he did when he had his lips on yours.

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A/N: Wraaaah, I’ve had this idea bouncing around in my head for a while, and I finally sat down and wrote the first chapter! Please, please, please let me know what you think🥹 I’m writing a second part soon (with some smut in it😮‍💨).

This is one of the fics I’ve poured the most love into, I swear I’ve edited it a thousand times to make sure it’s the best it can be. I have so many more ideas for these two in the future, so please, I’d really love to know what you think!

As always, a huge thank you for your support🩷

tags: @unforgivemn @puduvallee @gorzelnia-blog @conrzd @applebloom928 @glitterspark @imjustaprettyyprincess @mani-pedro @jettia @sunnyssimming @sethell @thescxrpio @cowboylikejoha @dugiioh @crimsonxcobra @twigleektribute23 @alexxavicry @thievin-stealing @tearsweetenedtea @serenity-1221 @lover-of-books-and-tea @joelsgoodgirl @nightbornangel @millersweetheart @spacemooi @bbyanarchist @nixiaw @dlwrish @yeswhale456 @mxyjailer @uncassettodiricordi @looking1016 @Ghostlover19 @sofisweb @lanasdolll @smvtwitchmiller @bolitadesol

dividers by: @/thecutestgrotto

[lokidbadguy]

“POKE THE BEAR” part 1

Grumpy!Joel Miller x Sunshine!Reader

Summary: You’re too bubbly, too chatty, too cheerful for Joel’s liking. Always rambling about dreams or tossing out random facts no one asked for. And sometimes… Joel just wants a little silence.

Joel’s Masterlist Join the tag list

WC: 11.4k

Warning/Tags: Angst, eventual smut (not in this part), kind of slowburn, undisclosed age gap, f!reader, Joel is a grumpy and mean old man, and ofc he sucks at feelings.

“Hey partner, you’re late.” Joel heard you call out, your voice far too bright for this early in the morning, too damn cheerful for seven a.m. “Looks like it’s you and me from now on, huh?”

Joel didn’t answer right away. He just gave a grunt, adjusted the rifle on his shoulder, and kept walking toward the stables.

He liked patrol, always had. It kept him sharp, reminded him of what still lingered beyond the gates of Jackson, reminded him of the shit people were too comfortable forgetting. The warm beds and hot meals were nice, but it was comfort that made people soft, and being soft gets you killed. He also liked patrolling with Tommy, it had always made the hours go easier. They understood each other without needing to say much, they knew when to speak, when to let the silence stretch between them, and when to crack a joke. But last week Tommy had come to Joel, said he needed to cut patrol for a while. "Just a few weeks," he promised. Said he needed his mornings free to supervice some work being done on the hydric plant. "Don´t worry, I'll reassign someone with you."

And now here you were, bright-eyed, full of questions, talking like you were hosting a radio show. You always had something to say, too much to say. You never knew when to shut up, it was like you didn’t realize how loud your voice could get, how damn annoying it was for the people who had to listen to you, as if the words “shut the hell up” had never been directed your way in your entire life. And maybe it’d be easier for Joel if you were just useless. If you couldn’t shoot for shit or kept forgetting to check your blind spots, then he’d have a reason to complain, a reason to go to Tommy and say, “Take this girl off patrol. She can’t do a damn thing right.” But that wasn’t the case, you were sharp and you knew how to handle yourself. You were a survivor just like him.

And that pissed him off even more, he didn’t like you not because you were loud, or bright, or talked too much, sure, those things annoyed the shit out of him, but it was because somehow, despite everything this broken world had thrown at you, you still looked around and saw something good, you still looked at him and saw something good. And he didn’t know what the hell to do with that.

Joel didn’t say out loud how annoying he found you, but he thought it constantly, every time he got saddled with you on patrol. You, with your sunshine voice and those eyes full of stupid, stubborn hope, like you hadn’t noticed the world ended twenty years ago, like you still thought it could be fixed somehow, or that beautiful things still existed. He’d sit through entire shifts in stiff, seething silence, grunting when you spoke, or straight-up ignoring you altogether, hoping you’d eventually catch the drift. That maybe, just maybe, you’d realize he didn’t give a damn about whatever weird dream you had last night, or your favorite color growing up, or some useless fact about bees, or whales, or whatever the hell it was today.

It was a cold morning. Joel pulled his coat tighter as he trudged through the morning snow, boots crunching over the frozen ground. You were just behind him, your constant stream of chatter following him.

“…and did you know lizards can drop their tails when they’re in danger? Like, it just… boom, falls off, to distract predators. Imagine if we could do that, being chased by a runner and suddenly your ass just drops off behind you like ‘see ya!’ Of course, we wouldn’t be able to grow it back like lizards, but still. I think that’d be kinda cool, right?”

Joel didn’t answer, he never did, but that never stopped you. “I read that in a book, I mean, it was a children’s book, but it was still really interesting. Did you know that female goats don’t live with the male goats—”

“Bucks and does,” Joel cut in. You blinked, surprised, because that was the first thing he’d said to you all morning.

“Huh?”

“Female goats are called does. Males are bucks.”

“Oh. Right.” You nodded thoughtfully. “Well, when the female goats—does—have babies, if the babies turn out to be male, once they grow up, the moms kick them out. Make them go live with the other mal— bucks. I think goats are smart. We should raise some here at Jackson, and we could even make some goat cheese with their milk. Oh, I’ve never tried goat cheese, but I’m guessing it’s probably really good. Have you ever tried it, Joel?”

Joel only grunted, a gruff sound that you couldn’t even tell if it was a yes or a no.

You told him next about the deer you’d seen near the river, about the weird dream you had three nights ago where the moon exploded but it turned out the moon was made of cheese, so everyone at Jackson was happy and celebrated by eating moon-cheese pizzas.

“Hey, Joel,” you called again, as if you were clueless about how much you were annoying him, your voice muffled behind your scarf. “Can I ask you something?”

“No.”

You snorted. “Okay, well, I’m gonna ask anyway.” He rolled his eyes where you couldn’t see. “If you could be an animal, what would you choose?”

He didn’t turn around. “You’re gonna get yourself killed someday, talkin’ ‘stead of payin’ attention.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He sighed heavily, like your words were physically weighing him down. Still, he said nothing, the crunch of snow under your boots filled the silence.

“I think I’d be a butterfly,” you said, your voice light as the snow crunched beneath your boots. “It’d be nice to fly, go wherever I wanted. Plus, they’re cute. People like butterflies, they get the pretty treatment, you know? Everyone’s like, ‘aww, look at that butterfly, it’s so pretty!’ But if you’re, like, a moth or something? People just wanna kill you. Instantly. Life’s so unfair, don’t you think?”

Joel blinked. What the hell were you even on about? He didn’t get how your brain worked, how you even got to these thoughts. Butterflies and moths? Did you just think things and say them out loud with no filter, no sense of direction? He didn’t say a word, just kept walking, praying internally that you’d finally run out of things to say, that the endless stream of chatter would dry up, that you’d burn through every thought in that strange little head of yours and, God willing, just shut the fuck up already.

“Or maybe I’d wanna be a chicken,” you mused, your voice louder than necessary, resonating through the woods. “They always look so clueless, right? Like, what’s going on in their heads? Are they secretly scheming some evil plan, or is it just… static in there?”

Joel didn’t respond, not that you expected him to, so you just kept going. “Did you know roosters don’t just crow in the morning? They cackle, too. It’s a totally different sound. Like, they cackle when they wanna mate, or when they find food and wanna tell the others. Imagine being a chicken and hearing your husband cackle, you’d have to figure out if he wants to do it or if he just found a worm.” You laughed at your own joke, your head tipping back like it was the funniest thing you’d ever come up with. “Like, ’Is he trying to make a baby or is dinner ready?’ That’s gotta be so confusing.”

Joel grunted, just a short, low sound, but from him, it might as well have been a full monologue. You grinned, proud of yourself, that was something, at least you’d managed to pull a reaction out of him.

Shoving your hands deeper into your coat pockets, you added, “Y’know, I think if you were an animal, you’d be a bear. You totally give ‘hibernate for six months just to avoid people’ vibes. Or maybe… a lone wolf. Yeah. All moody and broody and with a tragic past. Definitely a lone wolf.”

Joel didn’t say a word. The woods go quiet again, and Joel dares to hope, for a moment, that maybe that was it, maybe you’d finally run out of things to say, that you were done, and he could have what he wanted most: silence. The trees stand tall and bare, branches black against the pale morning sky, Joel walks ahead, the rifle slung over his shoulder doesn’t sway.

You glance up. “I had a dream last night about—”

Joel stops short. You nearly crash into him, your boots skidding a little on the snow-packed path. He doesn’t turn fully, he just speaks.

“Y’know,” he mutters, eyes still forward, “you ain’t gotta fill every second with talk.”

“Oh.”

He turns just enough to glance at you, not all the way, just enough that you catch a piece of his face in profile, of his mouth pressed into a hard line. He doesn’t look angry, not exactly, be just looks… worn, maybe a little annoyed.

“Jus’ sayin’,” he adds after a beat. “You could let the woods do some of the talkin’.”

You nod. “Right. Of course. Sorry.”

He starts walking again, crunching through the snow like nothing happened, and you stay quiet… for almost twenty whole seconds, until you suddenly saw a rabbit hopping through the woods, and Joel knew another goddamn animal fact was coming.

“Did you know rabbits have like three or four pregnancies every single year? How insane is that? I mean, I guess that’s where the whole ‘doing it like rabbits’ thing came from. It’s crazy how biology works, don’t they get tired of popping out babies? Poor things.”

Joel exhales sharply through his nose, and you smile like you’ve just won something. “You ever shut up?”

You grin, he was just kidding, right? He actually loved hearing your rumbles, didn’t he? “Nope.”

He mutters something under his breath that might be Jesus Christ, might be kill me now. It’s hard to tell.

“God, this weather’s perfect,” you chirped, dragging your boot through the fresh blanket of snow. “Crisp, but not too cold, you know what I mean? And the trees look so beautiful like this, like they got powdered sugar on them.” You glanced over, squinting at Joel’s profile. “You like snow, Joel? You seem like a winter guy. Definitely winter-coded.”

No answer, not even a grunt. You didn’t take it personal, you were used to that with Joel. The silence didn’t bother you anymore. You just… filled it, that’s what you did. You filled space, filled time, filled quiet, because the world was already heavy enough, and talking made it lighter, at least for you. But Joel wasn’t having it today, maybe because he’d had a shitty night, because he hadn’t slept. He was even moodier and grumpier than usual, which was saying something.

“So I was thinking,” you went on, undeterred, “what if we organized a karaoke night at Jackson?”

Still nothing from him.

“I bet you’d kill some old country song. You’ve got that deep, grumbly voice, you could totally pull off a Johnny Cash. Or, like… wait, do you like country music? I kind of assume everyone from Texas does cause I don’t remember much from before and that’s what comes to my mind when I think about Texas... did you use to go places on a horse? Did you have a cowboy hat? I feel like you must’ve had a cowboy hat. Sorry if the whole stereotyping is offensive, by the way.”

Nothing, not a sound came out of his mouth, but you didn’t let that stop you. “Anyway, do you even like Johnny Cash? You could totally sing something from him, I bet you’d crush it.”

He didn’t answer, not even a little grunt this time. You grinned and nudged his arm lightly with your elbow. “Come on, Joel. Give me something. A sigh? A groan? One of those little annoyed huffs you’re so good at?”

His steps halted, you blinked and looked up at him. “What’s wro—”

“I swear to God,” he snapped, turning on you fast, “if you don’t shut the hell up for five goddamn minutes, ’m gonna lose my fuckin’ mind.”

You froze, the breath caught in your throat, you were used to Joel being grumpy, you were used to his silence, the annoyed grunts, the glares, but you’d never heard him like this, never heard him snap.

You let out a weak, awkward laugh, trying to lighten the sudden weight in the air. “Talking’s kind of my thing, Joel. You know that.”

He shook his head hard, like he was trying to shake you right out of it. “You think every moment of silence is a goddamn invitation. Like you have to talk, like people need to hear every damn thought that crosses your mind. Well, we don’t. I don’t.”

Your voice came quieter now, a little stung. “I was just trying to make conversation.”

“Well, I couldn’t give two shits bout what the snow reminds you of. I don’t give a fuck about what you think I’d sing. And I don’t care if you think ’m a fuckin’ winter guy.” He took a step closer, looming now. “You treat every patrol like it’s some goddamn field trip. And some days... some days, I can’t take it, you’re too much. So do me a favor, ’nd top talkin’. Just… stop.”

He didn’t even blink when he said it: “’Cause I can’t stand the sound of your voice. And believe me, I don’t give a damn about anythin’ that comes out of your mouth.”

You didn’t speak, which was rare, Joel had finally done what he’d wanted for weeks now… he’d shut you up, you didn’t even know what to say, it felt like someone had reached into your throat and ripped the words out, like even if you wanted to speak, your mouth wouldn’t know how to shape the sound.

Joel’s chest rose and fell, hard, like he’d just spat out something he’d been choking on, like it was a relief to finally say it, but the silence that followed wasn’t peaceful or restful. It was cold, unpleasantly cold. And maybe that was the point, maybe he’d meant it to be, maybe this was what it took to finally make you shut up, right? He’d tried subtle hints, hadn’t he? Polite nudges, short replies, walking faster to get ahead of you, that one time he said maybe you should “save your breath for the hike.” But you never got it, you never listened, so maybe this was necessary, maybe cruelty was the only language you understood. At least, that’s what he tried to tell himself.

You took a single step back, your boots crunching in the snow. “Okay,” you said lowly. “Got it.” You didn’t look at him, you just turned, and started walking ahead, in silence now, just like he wanted.

The next hour dragged and you didn’t say a word. Your mind buzzed with a thousand thoughts, stories, questions, stray facts desperate to spill out, but none of them made it past your lips. You fought the urge to tell him about the time you’d built a snow fort as a kid and nearly froze your fingers off. You stopped yourself from asking him about his favorite food, or who he liked the least in Jackson, or whether he knew horses can’t physically vomit.

You were quiet, gave him exactly what he wanted, but somehow, it didn’t feel like a win. Joel had spent so long wishing for this, some goddamn peace and quiet. And now that he had it, now that you’d finally shut up… it didn’t feel right, didn’t feel good. It felt wrong. The silence settled between you two and guilt slowly crawled up his spine, making him feel like a dick for saying that to you, gnawing at the edges of his pride until all that was left was the sharp echo of what he’d said and the miserable quiet that followed.

You stopped by a frozen stream, crouching to sip from your canteen. Joel stepped up beside you, but he kept a careful distance, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed closer anymore. You could feel him watching you, but you didn’t look back.

“Wasn’t tryin’ to be mean,” he muttered, keeping his eyes on the snow.

You glanced sideways, but didn’t dare to meet his gaze. “Didn’t sound like it.”

Joel exhaled, a frustrated sigh more at himself than at you. “I just—”

“You don’t have to explain,” you cut in quickly, with a smile that didn’t even pretend to reach your eyes. “Really. I get it. Some people like quiet. Some people like noise. You like quiet. I’ll be quiet.”

He shifted his weight. “It’s not like that, I—”

“Sure it is,” you said, your voice light in that careful way that hurt more than yelling ever could. “Lesson learned, Joel. Don’t poke the bear.”

You were waiting at the stables when Joel arrived. You had your coat on and your hair tucked into your hat. You looked like you always did, a little too pretty for patrol, the soft curve of your cheeks pink from the cold, but something was missing… your usual charm, your cheerful voice greeting him, your bright smile. You just nodded when you saw him appear at the stables. No “good morning,” no snow commentary, no teasing about how slow he always was, just a nod. He looked at you for a second longer than usual, then walked past to saddle up his horse.

“Ready?” he asked.

You didn’t say anything, just climbed up in silence and rode. The first hour passed without a single word, and it felt so unnatural, so uncomfortable. You used to fill the air do naturally, but now it was just the wind and hooves and the sound of your breathing. Your silence was sharp and uncharacteristic, the girl who used to talk about snow and song lyrics and dream dinners with celebrities was now just… trying not to breathe too loud, scared that would annoy him too.

By the time you reached the crossing path at the river, Joel had tried to say something three different times. The first time, he opened his mouth and closed it, his jaw working like he had to chew the words before they came out. The second, he cleared his throat and muttered, “Watch your step,” as you crossed a patch of ice. You nodded and that was it, no smile, no playful “Yes, Dad.” Just a nod. The third, he almost said your name, just to test it, to see if you’d say anything back, but he didn’t, too scared you wouldn’t reply.

At one point, you saw a deer sprint across the path, his cute little white tail flashing through the trees. Normally, you’d make a joke, say something like, “Think he had somewhere to be? Maybe a hot date?” but today, you just watched it go by, didn’t even crack a smile, just breathed in slowly and let the moment pass. Joel followed your line of sight, then glanced at you again, you didn’t look back, didn’t even seem to notice him. He couldn’t stand it, the silence didn’t suit you, it looked wrong on you, like watching a bird forget how to sing.

And the worst part was that you weren’t pouting, you weren’t dramatic about it, weren’t even trying to punish him. You were just… quiet, just deeply hurt by what he’d said, and it was all his fault alone. It echoed in his head, louder now than it had sounded in the moment, he still saw it, too clearly: the way you’d stepped back that day, the way your smile had dropped, the way you’d said, “Lesson learned. Don’t poke the bear.”

By the time the sun dipped low, you kept ahead of him on the path back, not out of spite, but because you didn’t feel like walking beside someone who didn’t want to hear you. Except… he did. He realized that now, too late, maybe—but still, he missed your dumb jokes, your questions, your weird little facts. He missed the way you made the world feel softer, he hadn’t deserved any of that, but you’d given it freely, and he’d crushed it with one goddamn outburst. Crushed something warm and rare and good.

Snow fell over your wool hat. It was another patrol morning with Joel, but you were still quiet, you weren’t speaking, and Joel hated it. He wouldn’t admit that, of course, not out loud, but he did. You rode a few feet ahead of him, not too far, not enough to be rude, but far enough that he didn’t have to pretend not to look at you. And he did look. Often, in short, guilty glances when you weren’t watching.

The silence was driving him crazy, by the time you passed the old bridge, Joel was clenching his jaw so tight it ached. “So… Ellie’s got this book,” he says. “Full of jokes. Real bad ones. Think you’d like it.”

Your posture didn’t change, you didn’t turn your head, didn’t soften your shoulders, didn’t give him anything, didn’t offer him the comfort of your voice.

“She told me one the other day. Uh… lemme think…” He frowns under his breath, tugging on the reins slightly. “Why did the scarecrow get a promotion?”

No response.

“Because he was outstandin’ in his field.”

Fine, it was a good joke, you probably would’ve laughed until you fell off your horse, if your chest didn’t still ache from all the things he’d said. You still said nothing, not even a breath of amusement. The silence that followed felt louder than the punchline.

“Get it?”

You nod, but it’s cold and mechanical, a hollow gesture. He exhales and scratches the back of his neck, a nervous tell. Joel Miller doesn’t fidget, doesn’t tell jokes, doesn’t try to ramble, but for some reason, you’d gotten him trying now. And somehow, that made it worse, because he’d only started trying after he broke something.

Another hour passes like that, the only sound was a hawk criying in the distance.Joel kicks at a rock as he walks next to his horse, it skitters off the path and disappears into the trees. “You’d have a fact about hawks, I bet,” he says. “Prob’ly somethin’ real weird, like how they mate midair or scream to scare prey. Somethin’ strange like that.”

He says it like a joke, but his voice is low, almost uncertain. Still no answer from you, you don’t even look at him, not once. His attempts at small talk were pathetic, really. Painfully awkward, it was obvious how much he sucked at trying to make light conversation, the words didn’t flow, it didn’t come naturally to him like it did to you. Joel wasn’t built for that, he was built for silence, for scowls and short commands.

He’s grasping now, and he knows it, but he keeps going anyway. “Or frogs. You always liked frogs, right? Ain’t heard a goddamn frog fact in days. ’M startin’ to worry.”

Still nothing, just the steady rhythm of the horse’s hoofs in the snow, your silence tucked tight around you like your coat.

You eat lunch in silence by a half-frozen stream. Joel sits across from you, he tries not to stare, but fails. Your head is down, shoulders hunched a little from the cold, or maybe from something else. You chew on a protein bar and look out at the trees, Joel doesn’t even bother unpacking his own food.

And suddenly, he was starting to get pissed at your silence. Why were you acting like this? Like a little girl throwing a tantrum. That’s what it felt like, that’s what he wanted to call it, but it wasn’t, he knew it wasn’t. Still, the frustration built. Yes, maybe he’d said something a little cruel, maybe he hadn’t meant it to sound like that, maybe he didn’t know how to say things right, but goddamn, did you have to stay so quiet? Did you have to make him feel like this? Like every second you didn’t speak was a punishment he couldn’t bear.

“Alright, enough.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You proved your point,” he said gruffly. His tone was sharp, like he was the one who’d been wronged. “You’re mad. I get it.”

“I’m not mad,” you said, and God, your voice was quiet and so empty.

“So you’re just gonna stay quiet this whole damn time?” he muttered, the words sounding more bitter than he intended.

You glanced over at him. Not angry, just… tired. “Figured you’d like that.”

He scowled. “Didn’t say that.”

He was so stubborn he couldn’t even own the words that came out of his mouth just a few days ago. Couldn’t admit them.

“You did, actually. You told me to shut the hell up, remember?” you said, glancing ahead again. Your voice didn’t shake, you weren’t accusing him, just repeating the facts, it was the truth, he’d said that. “Said you couldn’t stand the sound of my voice. So I’m doing you a favor.”

Joel muttered something under his breath, it sounded like a curse, or maybe it was your name. You didn’t know, didn’t catch it, and sure as hell didn’t ask him to repeat it. You weren’t being dramatic. You weren’t sulking or giving him the cold shoulder on purpose. You were just… sad, quiet in the way people get when they’ve decided they’re not allowed to take up space anymore, like you’d tucked yourself into some small corner of the world, somewhere less inconvenient. And Joel had done that to you, he still remembered exactly how you’d looked when he snapped, the flicker behind your eyes, that small, tight smile, how fast you’d folded yourself in.

“Y’know I didn’t mean it,” he muttered eventually, like he didn’t really want to hear himself say it.

You didn’t look at him. “Yeah, you did.”

“I was just—”

“Tired. I know. Had a bad day or whatever other excuse, didn’t want to hear me rambling.” You didn’t say it bitterly, just plainly, like a fact you’d finally accepted. You didn’t care about any excuse he might have for treating you like that. Honestly, it’d be easier if he just owned it, if he admitted outright that he hated you. That was the part that hurt the most, how honest he’d sounded. Because you liked hanging around Joel, even if he never said much, you still enjoyed taking up the same space as he did, telling him about your dreams, about your past, and knowing he couldn’t even stand being around you completely broke you.

Joel exhaled hard through his nose. “You’re twistin’ it.”

“No,” you said calmly. “You were clear. And I listened.” You didn’t want an apology, you didn’t want to fight, you just wanted to believe your voice mattered again. You stood again, shouldering your bag. “Let’s keep moving. I wanna get home soon.”

“Just lemme know if you ever get tired of bein’ mad at me.”

You stopped in your tracks and looked him full in the face “I’m not mad, Joel.” He blinked. “I’m just… not interested anymore.”

And that hurt him more than any yelling ever could.

You waited until just after noon, when the patrol rosters were still being finalized and Tommy was alone. He looked up when you knocked on the door frame.

“Hey,” he greeted. “Can I help you with anythin’?”

You nodded, stepping inside. Your boots felt heavier than usual, like every step toward that desk was one you didn’t really want to take. “Can I talk to you?”

“‘Course.” He sat up straighter. “What’s goin’ on?”

You hesitated, just for a second, but you knew it was the right choice to make, even if it stung, even if it felt like giving up. Then: “I want to switch partners. On patrol.”

You’d thought about it, a lot, and even though it hurt, deep inside you knew it was the right call. Being out with Joel hurt, you couldn’t stop thinking about the things he’d said to you, the look in his eyes that day, as if you were just… an inconvenience to him, something loud and annoying and in the way, something he had to tolerate, not someone he wanted to have around.

Tommy blinked. “You were with Joel, right?” His voice was careful and measured, but he wasn’t dumb, he already knew the answer. And he also knew his brother was a complicated man, especially around people. He didn’t find it difficult to imagine Joel acting like an asshole around someone like you, not when your personalities were complete opposites.

“Mhm.”

“Sure you wanna change?”

You nodded, quick, and it felt like ripping off a bandage. If you hesitated, even a second, you knew you’d unravel.

He studied your face, the way it looked down for someone who was always chatty and cheerful. Someone who used to talk so much she barely paused to breathe.

“Did Joel… said… or do somethin’?”

“No,” you said quickly, and suddenly you were trying to fight the tears back from your face. Your throat tightened, and it took everything not to blink too fast, not to wipe your face, not to let it show. “He didn’t. He just…” You shrugged. “I just think it’s not working between us.”

Tommy frowned. “Not workin’ how?”

You exhaled. “I don’t know. We’re just… really different and… I think we’d both benefit if we get assigned to different people.”

You didn’t say anything else, you didn’t trash Joel. Didn’t tell him how it felt to offer up every little spark of joy you had, only to watch it die in silence. You didn’t explain what it felt like to give joy to someone who never once gave any back. Didn’t say how it hollowed you out, how it started to feel pathetic. You didn’t explain how he had made you feel like you were too much, like you were unlovable. Like your kindness was annoying. Like your voice didn’t deserve to fill the air. You just stood there and waited for Tommy to speak.

Tommy rubbed his jaw. That soft, thoughtful gesture of his when he was trying to work through something, trying to find the right thing to say. He didn’t usually do favors for people wanting different patrol partners or better routes, he was a fair man, through and through. But there was something in the way you looked that made him relent. He felt responsible for the big asshole his brother was. And so, against his usual rules, he agreed.

“Well,” he said, standing. “I’ve got Javi lookin’ for a partner for the east routes. Bit longer than the ones you’re used to, but if you don’t mind… I’ll talk to him. You okay with that?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, that works for me. Thanks, Tommy.” Your voice was polite, practiced, the kind of tone you used when you didn’t want anyone to ask follow-up questions.

Tommy gave you a quiet smile. “Joel can be... complicated. Don’t take anythin’ too personal.”

“I know.” You looked down, then away, but you didn’t believe it, not really. Joel wasn’t just complicated, and you were tired of people excusing a grown-ass man for acting like a dick.

Joel found out about the change the next morning. He walked into the stables expecting to see you there, same as always, but the space where you usually stood was empty. He slowed to a stop, frowning. “…Where is she?” he muttered, mostly to himself.

Hector, a man in his forties Joel didn’t know well, just a face from around town, appeared from behind one of the stalls. “She’s with Javi today. East patrol.”

Joel turned, shocked by this new information. “What?”

“Got reassigned yesterday,” Hector said, tightening a saddle strap without looking up. “Tommy said she asked for it. I’m with you now.”

Joel stared, feeling how his stomach dropped. Had you really gone to Tommy asking for a new partner? What had you even said? “Joel is mean and he hurt my delicate feelings, I want a new partner.” He could almost hear it in your voice, except not really, because you wouldn’t say it like that, you wouldn’t be petty. Had you really been that immature? Or was it that he’d hurt you so much you couldn’t even stand to be around him anymore? That possibility stung the worst. He’d seen the pain in your eyes, but he never thought you’d come this far, never thought you’d actually pull away for good, thought maybe you’d get past it soon enough, start talking like before, start babbling about the clouds or chickens, and Joel would once again beg for you to shut up.

“She asked for it?”

Hector finally looked up and shrugged. “That’s what I heard.”

Joel said nothing, did nothing, just stood there, in the cold morning air, until Hector called his name and forced him to move.

“What the hell, Tommy?” Joel said as soon as he came back from patrol with Hector, stepping inside his brother’s house like it was his own.

Tommy looked up from where he was peeling an apple at the counter. “What you on bout, big brother?”

“You just rearranged patrol ‘cause she asked you to? Like she’s a spoiled girl? You can’t pull that shit.” Joel’s voice was rough, irritated, and maybe a little defensive too.

“Look, Joel—” Tommy tried to explain, this reaction from Joel surprised him, why did he care so much about you changing partners? He’d assumed Joel couldn’t stand being around you.

“No. Who does she even think she is? She comes here and asks for a different partner and everyone just does what she wants like she’s—”

“Like she’s what?” Tommy asked, quieter now, with a warning in his voice.

Joel paused, he didn’t finish the sentence, didn’t want to say something he couldn’t take back.

“Look,” Tommy said again, slower this time. “I dunno what the hell went down between you two. I don’t know what you said or did to that poor girl. That’s your business.” He dropped the knife down on the cutting board with a soft clack. “But she came to me tryin’ to hide the tears in her eyes. Asked for a new partner real quiet. Wouldn’t say much, just kept lookin’ down.” He shrugged. “Javi needed one after Mikey split his ankle, so I offered her.”

Joel just shook his head and scoffed, a bitter sound, one that tried too hard to cover up the sinking guilt that had started curling in his gut.

Weeks stretched by. You liked having patrol with Javi, he was a funny guy, easy going, warm. He didn’t seem to mind how much you spoke, in fact, he always followed your conversation, he cracked jokes back at you, he’d answer all your questions with real enthusiasm, and he’d tell you about his dreams too. Made you feel like your voice wasn’t a burden, like it mattered, and it was exaclt what you needed after Joel’s words broke your spirit.

Joel saw you once, across the market, laughing softly at something Ellie said. It caught him off guard, that sound… your laugh. It was the first time he’d heard your voice in days. Another time, in the dining hall, he almost didn’t see you there, but you were sitting at a table near the back, listening to Javi talk while your eyes stayed fixed on the window. And once, the hardest of all, at the gates, you were loading your patrol pack, and Joel couldn’t help but remember, and also miss, his mornings patrolling with you.

You’d reached out again and again and again, with light and warmth and endless words, trying to pull something out of him, and all he’d ever done was push you away.

One night, he sat on his porch with a half-drained glass of whiskey and no coat on, the cold didn’t bother him, it couldn’t reach somewhere already frozen through. He stared at the street, at the place where your silhouette used to pass by some evenings, humming, talking to yourself, but now you were gone. He missed it, he missed you… And it was too late to take it all back.

The gates were already open when the horses came in. It was late, and the watch lights had already been turned on, casting long yellow shadows over the snowy ground. Joel was just walking by, just passing through, he’d just… wandered this way. Thought maybe he’d say hi to Tommy, that was the lie he told himself, he was definitely trying to run into you after your patrol shift, to look at you even if it was from afar. But when he heard the hooves, saw the horses trot in through the gate… and saw you, slouched in your saddle, with blood down your sleeve, he went still.

You weren’t crying, you weren’t panicking, but your shirt sleeve was ripped off, and there was red streaked from your bicep to your knuckles. Javi was beside you, talking, too animated, too casual, his hands moved while he spoke, like this was just another story, like you weren’t bleeding, like Joel wasn’t standing there ready to rip someone’s throat out.

Joel’s blood ran hot, his fists curled and his chest burned, something primal slammed into his ribs, roaring to life. He started moving before he knew why, his eyes locked on you like you were the only goddamn person that existed. You dismounted with a slow wince, your wound wasn’t anything life-threatening, not visibly at least, but there was a long, jagged cut along your arm.

Joel pushed past two people who were in his way, his shoulders slamming without apology, and stormed straight for Javi like he was seconds away from ripping his head off his body.

“The fuck happened out there?” he snapped, looking at him like he wanted to eat him alive.

Javi turned, surprised by Joel’s outburst. “I don’t know man, we were cool and suddenly there’s like a dozen runners coming out of nowhere. It was siiiick.”

Joel’s chest rose and fell like he’d just run a marathon. “She’s bleedin’.” He pointed at you like it physically hurt, like the blood on your arm was on his hands. “What the fuck happened?” He said again, as if Javi’s explanation hadn’t been good enough.

“I told you, some runners attacked us,” Javi said, frowning at Joel’s insistence. “She tripped and cut her arm with some glass from a broken window. She’s fine.”

“She ain’t fine!” Joel’s voice cracked through the air and people turned. The guards, the stablehands, two kids passing by with a bucket of feed. Even you stopped, still holding your reins. Joel wasn’t a man known for yelling, not like this, not unless someone was already dead or dying. And yet here he was, vibrating with fury, his eyes locked on Javi like he was seconds from breaking something… or someone.

Joel stepped closer to him. “You’re s’posed to watch her,” he said darkly. Pissed at Javi but also pissed at himself for not being there to protect you. “That’s your goddamn job. Makin’ sure she’s okay.”

Javi scowled, Joel was really getting on his nerves with all this complaining, trying to put the blame on him for an accident that was not out of the ordinary during patrol rounds. “Hey. Don’t come at me like that, man. She’s not a damn child. She can protect herself too.”

Joel’s face twisted in anger. He hates Javi for not doing something more to help you, but he also hated him more for being the one taking the place Joel used to have next to you. “Maybe, but she ain’t you. She’s not built like a fuckin’ tank. She’s small. You should’ve had her back.”

Javi took a step forward. “You weren’t there, man. You don’t know what the hell went down. She handled herself just fine.”

“Then why the hell is she the one comin’ home bleedin’ ‘stead of you?”

“Joel,” you said, sharp now, feeling like you needed to intervene before this got out of hand. Your voice cut the air like a knife. “Stop.”

Joel fully ignored you, just kept looking at Javi. “Maybe if this asshole—“

“Hey!” Javi barked, who the fuck Joel Miller thought he was to talk to him like that? “Back the fuck off. You don’t talk to me like that.”

“No, you listen to me, you little—”

“What the fuck is your problem, dude? There was nothing I could do.” Javi tried to explain himself again, trying to get that old stubborn man to understand it.

“THERE’S ALWAYS SOMETHIN’ YOU CAN DO.” Joel straight-up yelled, it wasn’t just anger now, it was fear. Fury and guilt and panic, all knotted together.

The shouting echoed, everyone was staring now, a dozen half-frozen faces looking between them like something might snap, like they were about to watch some street fight. And they almost did, Joel’s shoulders were tight, his fists trembling at his sides, Javi was standing his ground, his chest puffed, ready to throw the first punch if he needed to.

And you? You stepped forward, planting yourself between them like a barrier between the two big man. “Come on, Javi,” you said firmly, not leaving any room for argument. “Let’s go.”

Joel’s jaw clenched like it might crack any second now. Where you really siding with Javi on this? With the guy that was supposed to protect you but failed? “You don’t have to leave with him.”

You turned to him. “Yes. I do.” Your voice didn’t rise, it was just flat and final.

Joel stared at you, at your pale cheeks, at the cut at your temple and the blood on your arm. Blood he hadn’t cleaned, wound he hadn’t checked, wound that was there because he hadn’t been around to protect you. There was so much anger in your eyes, like you couldn’t believe he had the nerve to care now. You were already walking away with your head high, Javi gave Joel a final glare and followed you, his presence behind you was loud and loyal, like a dog who knew where home was.

And Joel stood there, fists still curled, chest heaving, surrounded by silence, staring at the empty space you’d just walked out of. No one spoke, no one dared, not with the way Joel’s hands were shaking. Not until Tommy came walking up from the far side of the barn and muttered under his breath, “Jesus Christ. What the hell’s goin’ on with you?”

"It's goddamn Javi. He's an idiot, he—"

“Don’t bullshit me, Joel. What was that? That wasn’t about Javi.”

“Yes. It sure was. Stupid kid can’t watch his flank. He’s gonna end up gettin’ someone killed.”

“Joel, you can’t lie to me. I know it’s about her.”

“It ain’t about her. She’s got nothin’ to do with—” He tried to lie, but Tommy knew him too well, he could tell when his brother was lying.

Tommy stepped closer, it felt familiar in the way only someone who’s known Joel his whole life can be. “Listen, man. I get it. She’s bright. She talks a lot. Got that energy that makes people wanna stay near her.” Joel’s jaw flexed, a muscle twitching from holding back too much, too many feelings, too many emotions he’d tried hard for years to suppress, but now they were coming out all at once. “But whatever’s goin’ on,” Tommy continued calmly, annoyingly gentle even, “you gotta figure it out. ‘Cause this whole hot-cold act? It’s not workin’. Not for you. Not for her.”

“Ain’t an act.” Joel tried to excuse himself, almost defensively. The words tasted strange in his mouth, hell, he didn’t even know what this was all about. He thought he hated you, he’d told himself that, over and over. Repeated it like a prayer every single morning he had to spend patrolling with you, he’d convinced himself that he’d rather have a clicker come and bite him in the neck than listen to another second of your voice… your voice that never shut up, your voice that filled the silence with sunshine and facts and nonsense and life. But now? Now he was dying to hear your voice again, now he was starting to think that maybe… maybe he liked you. Maybe he liked the way your nose scrunched up when you talked about animals, maybe he liked the way you laughed at your own bad jokes, maybe he liked the way you made everything feel less cold. Maybe he’d just been a goddamn coward.

Tommy didn’t flinch. “Then that’s worse.” The silence that followed was thick. “What is it? Between her and you. Be real.”

Joel looked away again, like it physically hurt him to say it. He couldn’t even admit it to his own brother, hell, he couldn’t even admit it to himself, couldn’t even say the words: ‘I like her’ out loud. “It’s nothin’.”

Tommy stared, Joel was too much of a stubborn, emotionally-constipated man than he even remembered him being. “You gonna stand here and lie to my face?”

“There ain’t no goddamn deal,” Joel snapped, angry at the world for trying so hard to get him to admit his feeling for you. “I patrolled with her a few times. Thassit.”

Tommy was not buying a single word. “You don’t scream at someone’s partner like that after they get hurt unless there’s a reason behind it, Joel.”

“I didn’t scream—”

“You lost your goddamn mind.”

Joel looked down at his hands. They were clenched, he realized, like he’d been bracing for a punch that never came. “I am…” he exhaled roughly, and almost inaudible said, “upset.” That was as close as he could get to talk about his feelings out loud.

“Right. And ’m the Pope.” Tommy moved closer now, like approaching a wounded animal. “Y’like her. Don’tcha?” Joel didn’t respond, he let the silence be the confirmation of his feelings toward you. “You care bout her. You ever told her that?”

Joel gave a bitter little laugh. “You think she’d wanna hear that from me?”

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “You ever ask?”

“Believe me, she don’t want anythin’ to do with me.”

“Maybe cause you act like an asshole every time she gets close.” Tommy said, Joel didn’t flinch, he’d been expecting that one, he deserved worse after how goddamn cruel he’d been with you. “You pushed her away, Joel. And then you got pissed when she let go.”

Joel ran a hand through his hair, the gesture was restless, almost violent, like he was trying to rip the thought of you out of his skull. “I didn’t mean for it to go this far.”

“Well, it did,” Tommy said. “She asked to stop patrollin’ with you. That’s a big step. That girl didn’t seem the type to give up on people.” Joel swallowed hard and Tommy sighed. “So ’m gonna ask one more time. Not as your brother, as someone who watched you lose your goddamn mind when you saw her come back bleedin’.”

Joel looked up at that, Tommy met his eyes. “What’s the deal with her?”

Joel exhaled slowly, like it cost him something. “I dunno,” he said. “I don’t know what it is. I just…” His voice tightened. “She was always talkin’. Always smilin’. Like it didn’t matter how cold it was, like she didn’t know the world we live in.” Tommy waited, Joel rubbed at the back of his neck. “I didn’t know what to do with that,” he admitted. “Didn’t think I deserved to have it pointed at me.”

“You mean her attention?”

“I mean her.” It was the most honest thing Joel had said in months.

Tommy’s gaze softened. “Joel…”

“She was better off. With someone who could…” Joel shook his head. “Smile back.” He couldn’t even picture it, himself smiling at you like you did at him, like he meant it, like he deserved it.

They stood in silence, and Tommy let out a long breath. “Well, she ain’t smilin’ much these days.” Joel didn’t move or speak, just stared at the dirt like he could dig a hole and bury this whole damn mess. Tommy clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t gotta fix it all at once. But maybe stop pretendin’ it don’t exist.”

That night, you sat on your bed. The room was quiet, too quiet, Javi had offered to walk you home, but you told him you were fine, and you weren’t lying, not really. It wasn’t the pain that hurt, not the cut, not the dull throbbing in your arm or the tender spot blooming purple on your ribs. It was the sound of Joel’s voice cracking through the cold like it suddenly mattered, like your well-being was important now that the damage wasn’t his fault. Where was that fire when you’d gone mute for days? When your eyes welled up mid-patrol and you turned away so he wouldn’t see? Where was that protectiveness when you’d been swallowed by quiet and too afraid to speak again? Where was he? Not when you needed him. He couldn’t protect you from a wound he’d already made, and no amount of yelling at Javi would change that. He could shout all he wanted now, full of heat and anger, but it was too late. The damage was done in the stillness, in the look he didn’t give you, in the joke he tried to tell when you were already fading. You didn’t need him to defend you now, you needed him then.

Joel didn’t sleep. He sat at the window with a half-empty bottle, watching the streets go dar, watching the world turn quiet while something inside his brain stayed loud. Not because you were hurt, not even because of Javi, but because for one brief second, when he saw the blood on your skin, his heart stopped, and then it shattered. It wasn’t the cut, it was you, with blood on your face and standing on your own two feet, not needing him, not even looking at him. And the aching realization that he didn’t know you anymore, that he’d pushed you away, bit by bit, and word by cold word. And now? Someone else got to stand beside you, someone else got your trust, your time. Someone else got to see you bruised and brave and trying, and Joel just watched from the damn gate like a stranger, like someone who used to matter.

The Tipsy Bison was loud on the night of your birthday. One of your friends had brought a guitar, someone else was dancing badly after too many shots, and there was a small cake waiting on the table. You were in the center of the room, halfway through a funny story, your hands flying as you animated something absurd, probably patrol-related, probably exaggerated, probably funny as hell because everyone around you was howling. At least that was what Joel thought. He’d come for one drink, maybe two, say hi to a few people, show his face so Tommy would stop nagging him about not leaving his house. That was what the night was supposed to be like, but then he walked in, and he saw you, and everything stopped.

Javi was doubled over, your friend Annie had her hand on your shoulder, laughing so hard she spilled beer down her sleeve, someone at the next table leaned in just to hear more of your story. And you? You were shining. Your mouth was open wide with laughter, your cheeks were flushed from whiskey and heat, your voice bouncing through the bar like music. That fire Joel thought he’d snuffed out was back.

He watched from the far corner of the room, you wore a deep green sweater that made your eyes too bright, and your hair was half-tucked behind your ear, messy from dancing. There was a thin scar just beneath your cheekbone now, probably from the bad patrol a few weeks back, but it only made you look prettier. And Joel hated how long it had been since he saw you like this, he hated that you could glow again and he wasn’t part of it.

Someone toasted you. You rolled your eyes but raised your glass anyway.

“To her loud mouth,” one of your friend said.

“To her bad jokes,” someone else added.

You laughed and clinked your glass against theirs. “To being a pain in the ass for one more year.”

The whole table cheered and Joel’s chest hurt, because there was nothing in this world he desired more than to be there celebrating next to you.

You stood to stretch at one point, hands over your head, grinning as the music shifted. Javi grabbed your hand and spun you clumsily in place, it wasn’t a real dance, just a drunken sway. You laughed and shoved him off, swatting his shoulder. And Joel gripped the edge of the bar like it might keep him grounded, that used to be his spot beside you. His partner, his patrol, his quiet moments in the woods, listening to you ramble. He threw it away, and now you were spinning, tipsy and bright and surrounded by people who wanted you. People who didn’t flinch when you reached out, who didn’t push you away.

“Y’alright?” the bartender asked him. Joel blinked, realized his glass was still full, he nodded stiffly. “Birthday crowd,” the guy said. “She bring the whole damn town in with her.”

Joel didn’t respond. Didn’t say: She used to talk to just me for hours, she used to walk beside me and hum under her breath, she used to ask me questions just to fill the silence... and now she laughs like I was never there at all. He just gave a tight nod and turned away from the bar. You didn’t see him, not at all. You were too busy dancing, talking, drinking… too busy living.

Joel was walking home, hands in his coat pockets, boots scuffing snow. He’d tried to finish his drink but couldn’t, and seeing you there having fun with your friends had become unbearable, so he decided to call it a night. But then he saw you, alone, laughing softly at nothing. You were half a block ahead of him, your coat was open, your scarf crooked, you had a half-empty bottle in one hand while your arms stretched out like you were trying to balance on an invisible beam. You were talking to yourself, to the moon up in the sky, maybe to some cricket you’d encounter along the way. To him, when you turned and saw him in the middle of the street.

“Ohhh my god,” you said, grinning. “Look everyone! It’s Joel Miller.”

He blinked. “You drunk?” What an stupid question. He already knew the answer.

“Extremely.” You walked toward him with uneven steps. “What are you doing out? You stalking me? Bit forward for you, cowboy.”

Joel sighed. “Jesus.”

You stopped in front of him and squinted. “Good evening to you too, Mr. Miller. You look awfully serious tonight.”

“I always look serious.”

You nodded solemnly. “True. That’s your whole vibe. You should try smiling more often, you got nice lips. Not that I noticed, of course.”

Joel looked at you, really looked, for the first time in what felt like months. You were flushed from the cold and the whiskey, and your eyes looked brighter than usual, your lips pink and chapped from the wind. “It’s your birthday,” he said softly.

“OH MY GOD, you’re right. It’s my birthday!” You grinned, as if you’d forgotten it after too many drinks. “Wait, how did you know?”

“Saw you and your friends at the bar.”

You took another swig from the bottle. “I’m a year older now. Can you believe that? I made it this far. How crazy is that?” He didn’t respond. “I used to think I’d die young,” you said casually. “Something poetic. Falling off a roof trying to rescue a cat or some shit.”

Joel frowned. “That ain’t poetic. That’s stupid.”

You burst out laughing. “Okay, fair. But you get the idea.” He sighed, and you rocked back on your heels. “Anyway. Happy birthday to me.”

“Happy birthday,” he murmured.

You smiled, wide and tired. “Well, thank you very much, Joel Miller.” Your started walking again, slow and wobbly, and Joel moved to follow. “You don’t gotta walk me home,” you said.

“I know.”

“Let me guess… you’re gonna anyway.”

He didn’t respond, but you talked the whole walk, like the old times, probably because you were too drunk to remember, or to care, that you were still angry and hurt. You talked about the music at the Tipsy Bison, about how your friend Annie cheated at darts, about how someone made you a cake with candles, actual candles, and you cried for like six seconds over it. Joel just listened, he didn’t speak unless you asked him something, he didn’t interrupt you, just walked beside you in the dark, feeling blessed to hear your voice once again. You tripped on a rock at one point and he reached for your elbow, you let him touch you just for a second, then kept walking.

“I missed you,” you said suddenly. Joel looked at you but you didn’t look back. “I mean,” you continued, “not that we were ever, like, friends. Or whatever. I know you’re not exactly a fan of… people. Pretty sure you hate me.” Joel stayed quiet. “But still, I missed you. It was weird not talking to you.”

Joel swallowed. “You stopped talkin’ to me.”

“You told me my voice annoyed you. And that you didn’t care about anything I said,” you said without any anger behind your voice. “What was I supposed to do, Joel?”

He didn’t answer, you stopped walking and he stopped too. You looked up at him, suddenly a little less drunk, like the chill had sobered you. “Why did you say that?” you asked quietly.

Joel blinked. “Say what?”

“That I talk too much. That I was annoying. That I wasn’t… enough… Was I really that insufferable?”

He frowned, fuck, you were kicking him while he was on the ground. “I didn’t say you weren’t enough.”

“You said worse.”

He inhaled sharply. “You were pushin’. Always askin’ things I didn’t want to answer. Talkin’ when I needed quiet. I tried givin’ you signals but you didn’t know how to stop.”

“I didn’t want to stop,” you said. “That’s the difference. I didn’t want to stop cause I enjoyed talking to you” Joel stared, but you looked away, ashamed, and for the first time, your voice dropped. “I spent my whole life being told I was too much. Too loud. Too happy. Too intense. I always thought… maybe the right person wouldn’t mind it.”

Joel’s throat went dry. Did you really think he was the right person? Him? An old, grumpy, broken-down man? That was what you saw for yourself? That was what you aspired to? You, with your bright eyes and all that goddamn sunshine in your voice, thought he was it? You couldn’t be serious.

“I liked you,” you added softly. “I didn’t think you’d like me back or anything,” you continued. “But I thought you didn’t hate me. I thought you… tolerated me. Cared a little, maybe.”

He took a step toward you. “I did—”

You held up your hand to stop him there. “And then you snapped. Like I was a burden. Like I was some stupid, useless little thing you had to drag around on your boot like mud.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“But that’s how it felt. I wasn’t pissed,” you said. “I was hurt. Maybe you thought it was the same thing cause you have the emotional range of a teaspoon. But it’s not the same thing.”

There was a big silence, just the wind in the trees was heard. And Joel, stuck between wanting to apologize and not knowing how. “’M sorry,” he said finally. “I shouldn’t have said those things,” he continued. “Not like that. Not to you.”

This time it was you who didn’t answer.

“I was… mean. For no reason. You didn’t deserve that.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You were the first person in a long time who—” He paused. “Who made me forget. How bad things were. Just for a minute.” Joel exhaled. “I didn’t know what to do with that. And for the record, I don’t hate you, I never did.”

“I don’t need you to explain,” you said. “You already did the damage. And I already survived it. It’s all good, Joel. No hard feelings."

Joel looked like he’d been hit. You turned, started walking again and he followed. You didn’t say another word the rest of the way until you stopped in front of your porch, one foot on the bottom step, swaying a little, maybe from the alcohol in your body.

“I should go to bed,” you said, and Joel nodded. “Thanks for walking me.”

He gave a tight nod again. “Yeah. Don’t mention it.”

You turned, made it up two steps, then paused. Without looking back, you said: “You know I never wanted you to like me back, right?”

Joel blinked. “What?”

“I didn’t expect that. I wasn’t asking for anything. I just… liked the way it felt, being around you, making you smile sometimes... even if it was just a grunt. And when that stopped… that hurt worse than a bullet. And I got shot once, so I know what I’m talking about. I’d tell you the story but I doubt you’d be interested.”

You should’ve gone inside, the door was already open, you could feel the heat of your living room escaping into the cold night air. Your limbs were buzzing with too much whiskey and too many words said, but Joel was still standing there, and your body was still turned toward him.

He shifted on his feet and glanced up at you with a slight squint. “How,” he said with caution, asking the question that had been killing him inside. “How’s patrol goin’ with Javi?”

You blinked and then snorted. Oh, he had some nerve asking that. You leaned against the railing, smiling just enough to hurt him. “It’s great. Javi doesn’t complain when I talk too much, and he doesn’t tell me to shut the hell up. So that makes him a better partner than you already.”

Joel winced, and you let him suffer for a bit. He nodded once, and then, after a long moment, his voice came out carefully neutral. “You and Javi…?”

“Me and Javi what?” you asked him, arching your brows.

“Are you two a thing or…?” he said, trying to appear unfazed, like he didn’t care about the answer, even if internally, he was praying you’d say no. His voice was tight, casual in the way someone pretends not to be holding their breath.

“A thing? What do you mean?” you asked, genuinely confused.

“Y’know what ’m talkin’ about,” he muttered, eyes flicking to the side like he wished he hadn’t opened his mouth.

Then sudden realization hit you. Your eyes went wide. “OH MY GOD, NO!” He blinked startled, and you smiled wider. “Javi’s gay. Like, suuuper gay.”

You watched it happen in real time, the way his jaw relaxed just slightly, the way his shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch, like a thread pulled too tight had finally been cut.

“Oh,” he said.

“Yeah, like reeeaally into guys. I mean, like, if we were both naked he’d probably be checking you out and ignoring me,” you chuckled, amused now, watching color bloom subtly in his cheeks. Joel didn’t say anything, he just felt relieved, so stupidly relieved it made his chest ache. “Your gay-dar is super off, Joel. You should get it checked,” you teased with a grin.

He didn’t respond, just grunted, shifting his weight, clearly trying not to smile. You tilted your head. “Why did you ask?”

Joel didn’t answer, he didn’t need to. You could see it all in his face… the question he didn’t ask, the way his eyes flicked over you like he couldn’t help it, like he was trying to memorize you before he lost his nerve.

You took a step closer and Joel didn’t move, or look away. Your voice was soft now. “Did you think he was my type?”

Joel’s voice came slow. “I didn’t know if you had a type.”

You smiled. “I didn’t either.” Another pause. “But now I think I might have a thing for older guys. The grumpy type. The ones who break your heart without even meaning to.”

You leaned against the porch railing again, closer now, and Joel stepped up. His hand came to rest on the railing beside you, not touching you yet, but near. You looked up at him, and found his eyes already on you. You stared at each other, and then he moved, not fast or clumsy, he just leaned in, slowly, like a man who’d been thinking about it for weeks, like a man who didn’t believe he’d ever get a second chance if he didn’t act now.

And when his mouth met yours? It was quiet and warm, like he was apologizing for all the things he said with that same mouth before... that mouth who’d hurt you in the past was now trying to put the pieces of you back together. You didn’t pull back or freeze, you just let it happen, let your eyes slip closed, let your hands curl against his flannel shirt… let yourself feel him.

It wasn’t rushed, it wasn’t needy or desperate, it was gentle like he was terrified he might break you, and maybe that was the part that undid you most, that this man, this gruff, stubborn, often infuriating man, was finally treating you like something precious. His hand came up slow, fingers brushing along your jaw before sliding to the back of your neck, you felt his thumb at your pulse point, like he was grounding himself in the fact that you were real, that this was happening.

When he finally pulled back, just inches in between you two, his voice was the softest it had ever been.

“Goodnight, birthday girl.”

You looked up at him, dazed. He stepped back and walked off your porch without another word, and you stood there like you’d been struck, watching him walk away, still swaying slightly from the whiskey, still buzzing from the feel of his mouth on yours, still trying to catch your breath. Joel Miller was already halfway down the walk. You watched him go, one step, two, three.

“HEY!” you shouted.

He didn’t stop walking, just turned back over his shoulder, eyes catching yours for a second, that big-ass smile stretched across his face.

“Joel Miller, you can’t do that!”

He slowed, but kept walking away anyway. “Already did it.”

“No! You can’t— You can’t do that and walk away!” Your voice cracked, but there was no real anger behind it, just amusement, and maybe a little frustration, because he’d left you hungry for more. “You can’t kiss me and run away like a coward!”

“Sweet dreams, birthday girl.” He replied teasingly with that same grin still painted on his face. The street was empty, the windows all dark, it was just you and him and the sound of your own heart thudding against your ribs.

“You better come back here and finish what you started, Joel Miller.” You tried to sound dangerous and commanding, but the look of a schoolgirl in love on your face wasn’t helping you.

He offered you one last smile before turning around and walking away. It was faint, like he didn’t have the right to give you more than that. Maybe this was all that was meant to happen tonight, but it sure as hell meant something for both of you. He felt it in his chest as he walked away, you felt it in your throat as you watched him go. And you wondered what would happen the next time you saw him, if he’d pretend nothing happened, or if he’d look at you the way he did when he had his lips on yours.

Join my tag list!!

A/N: Wraaaah, I’ve had this idea bouncing around in my head for a while, and I finally sat down and wrote the first chapter! Please, please, please let me know what you think🥹 I’m writing a second part soon (with some smut in it😮‍💨).

This is one of the fics I’ve poured the most love into, I swear I’ve edited it a thousand times to make sure it’s the best it can be. I have so many more ideas for these two in the future, so please, I’d really love to know what you think!

As always, a huge thank you for your support🩷

tags: @unforgivemn @puduvallee @gorzelnia-blog @conrzd @applebloom928 @glitterspark @imjustaprettyyprincess @mani-pedro @jettia @sunnyssimming @sethell @thescxrpio @cowboylikejoha @dugiioh @crimsonxcobra @twigleektribute23 @alexxavicry @thievin-stealing @tearsweetenedtea @serenity-1221 @lover-of-books-and-tea @joelsgoodgirl @nightbornangel @millersweetheart @spacemooi @bbyanarchist @nixiaw @dlwrish @yeswhale456 @mxyjailer @uncassettodiricordi @looking1016 @Ghostlover19 @sofisweb @lanasdolll @smvtwitchmiller @bolitadesol

dividers by: @/thecutestgrotto

[lokidbadguy]

dark! joel miller edit. hope this makes sense tho.

[lokidbadguy]

already home 

pairing : joel miller x fem!reader summary : after a tough patrol with tommy, joel’s the only person that can ever really make you feel okay again warnings : hurt/comfort, blood mentioned, reader and tommy’ve known eachother a long time, for context joel and reader aren’t dating they’ve got a wierd mysterious fwb thing going on, reader cries, injury wc : 1.9k a/n : hi guys🧍‍♀️

you hadn’t said much after the second body dropped.

just nodded when tommy told you to reload, swallowed back the sharp breath stuck in your throat, and kept moving.

there’d been five of them. raiders, maybe smugglers, maybe just desperate. but they weren’t there to talk. shouting first. then gunfire. the snow’d gone red faster than you could think, and now your fingers were trembling, your jacket soaked through with melted ice and sweat.

“that’s the last of ‘em,” tommy said, pulling his coat tighter as he walked up beside you. he kept his voice low. careful. “you alright?”

you nodded again. not a lie, but not the truth either. your heartbeat hadn’t slowed yet.

you had a deep gash on your cheek - just along the edge of your jaw - from when someone tackled you into the frozen brush. your side hurt where you’d hit the ground, ribs bruised under your layers, and the knuckles of your left hand were scraped raw from swinging the butt of your rifle at someone’s face.

but you were alive.

and more than that - tommy was too.

“come on,” he said gently, gesturing toward the horses. “let’s get you home.”

he didn’t ask for details. didn’t need them. you’d known tommy longer than you had joel, and he knew how you tended to get after patrols, withdrawn and tense. he’d never been able to get out of that headspace, having to usually just wait for it to pass, wait for sleep to take you and hope you’d be a little more yourself in the morning. tommy hadn’t had to worry about that since joel. of course he still felt concern for you, you were his partner after all, and had been for years, there for him when joel wasn’t - his fretting over you caused sleepless nights, maria having to reassure him constantly you were more than able to handle yourself.

he always kept close while you rode, staying to your left where the trees got thick. his posture was loose, but his eyes didn’t stop moving. you noticed him glance back at you more than once. checking.

it was quiet between you, but not heavy. not uncomfortable. tommy never pressed when you got quiet like this - always treated it like it wasn’t strange, like it didn’t worry him that you went half-silent after encounters like that. you were beyond grateful for it.

about a mile from the gates, you shifted in the saddle, breath catching.

tommy looked over.

“you good?” his tone soft, as not to spook you.

“yeah,” you said, voice small. “just… sore.”

“saw you hit the ground back there,” he said, frowning. “you’re not bleeding out anywhere, right?”

you managed a soft smile. “no. promise. just my cheek.”

he craned his neck while you turned to show him, “fuck…” he muttered under his breath. 

“i’ll patch you up soon as we get back, promise you.” he said, frowning.

“thank you, tommy.” he could tell by your tone you weren’t really in the mood to speak.

not wanting to fully ice him out, you shot him another soft smile, though he could tell it took effort, and his shoulders relaxed just a little.

jackson’s watchlights were a hazy yellow glow in the distance. you didn’t think you’d ever been so relieved to see them.

“you want me to take you to the clinic as well?” tommy asked.

you shook your head. “no. can you - just… joel’s.”

he nodded understandingly. “figured.”

your voice went even softer, and your eyes grew wider. “you think he’s gonna be mad?”

tommy looked at you with a kind of gentle disbelief. “mad?”

“i don’t know. i didn’t…” you shrugged. “i froze up for a second. might’ve slowed you down.”

“bullshit,” he said flatly. “you kept your cool. you always do. don’t talk like you didn’t hold your own out there.”

you bit your lip and looked down at your reins.

“besides,” tommy added, a smile tugging at his mouth, “if joel’s mad, it’ll be ‘cause he wasn’t out there with us.”

that earned a small laugh. barely more than a breath. but it was something.

by the time you reached joel’s place, your hands were stiff from the cold and your legs felt shaky. maria had met you both in the middle, between joel’s and jackson’s gate. she’d ridden quietly with you, but you didn’t miss the falter in her stony resting face and the crumple in her brow at seeing tommy’s sheepish expression. you admired the both of them so much. tommy dismounted first and moved to help you down, his touch careful at your waist. you winced when your boots hit the ground, hand drifting toward your ribs.

“hey,” he said, his brow furrowed. “you sure you don’t want me to-”

“i’m okay,” you said. then, quieter, “thanks, tommy. and you maria, thank you both.” you said, looking over his shoulder.

he gave a small nod.

you stepped up onto the porch, pausing at the door. the house was warm behind it. safe. it smelled like woodsmoke and cedar, like him. the smell already making tears jump to your eyes.

your knock was soft. you didn’t have it in you to be louder.

it opened almost instantly.

joel stood there, hair mussed from sleep, flannel wrinkled, boots half-laced. his eyes landed on you first. scanned your face, your posture, the way your hand hovered near your ribs. his jaw tensed.

then he looked past you. saw tommy lingering by the steps. something passed between them - a brief nod, nothing more - and joel stepped out onto the porch.

you stiffened when his hand found your arm. he didn’t tug. didn’t pull you forward. just touched, lightly, like he was making sure you were real.

you were cold. stiff. tired.

and you didn’t expect him to pull you into his arms like that.

not here. not in front of anyone.

but he did.

one arm around your back, the other hand sliding up to the back of your neck. he drew you in close, his chin resting above your temple, your face pressed to his chest. he was warm. smelled like soap and leather and sleep.

his lips brushed your forehead once.

“you’re okay, baby.” he murmured into your hair.

you didn’t react. couldn’t. your eyes just shut, throat tightening.

joel didn’t say anything. didn’t move. he held you there, steady and sure, until he felt the wetness on his shirt and the hitch in your breath.

tommy didn’t speak. just watched from the steps, something unreadable in his face.

“i’ll check in tomorrow,” he said, voice low. “let you two rest.”

joel’s only response was a small nod, barely more than a tilt of his chin.

you didn’t look back.

he guided you inside with one hand on your back, door closing behind you with a soft click. the warmth of the house settled against your skin, but it didn’t chase the cold from your chest.

you still hadn’t said anything.

joel didn’t ask.

he turned you gently, holding your face in both hands now, his thumbs brushing beneath your eyes. his gaze dropped to the gash on your cheek, now stitched up by tommy. however, he missed the smudge of dried blood near your jaw. joel frowned.

“who did that?” he asked.

you blinked slowly. “i don’t know. someone grabbed me when i was reloading.”

his fingers brushed the edge of the bruise on your side. “and this?”

“hit the ground hard.”

he made a quiet, steady sound in his chest - something frustrated, something helpless. then he took your hand and led you to the couch.

you sat down slowly, the ache settling into your bones now that you were still. joel crouched in front of you, opened the small kit he kept by the hearth. he worked in silence - gentle hands, clean cloth, steady pressure on the scrape.

you watched his face. watched how his brows furrowed when he dabbed at the wound, how his jaw clenched when you winced.

“you should’ve seen the other guy,” you tried.

your voice came out smaller than you meant.

joel’s lips twitched. almost a smile.

“probably can’t see much of anything now.”

you blinked, and something stung behind your eyes again.

he noticed. joel always noticed. he shifted closer. rested a hand against the side of your neck.

you didn’t mean to cry.

it just happened.

slow at first. then sudden. your shoulders shook, breath catching, tears spilling over. you tried to turn your face away, to hide it, but he stopped you with one hand against your cheek.

“hey,” he said softly. “don’t do that. jus’ let it out.”

you did.

no words. just the weight of it, the panic, the cold. the way the snow had gone pink around your boots. the way your fingers still felt numb.

joel eased onto the couch beside you, pulling you gently into his lap. you curled up slow, careful of the sore spots, your head resting just under his chin. his arms wrapped around you tight. his hand moved in slow, soothing strokes along your spine.

“you’re alright,” he murmured. “i’ve got you, baby.”

you nodded against his chest.

he stayed like that for a long time, holding you through every shaky breath.

when the tears finally slowed, you realized how quiet it was. the snow outside had dulled the world to a hush. the fire crackled softly. joel’s heartbeat was steady under your ear.

he shifted only once - just enough to grab a blanket from the back of the couch and pull it over your shoulders. then he kissed the top of your head.

“you warm enough?”

“mmhmm,” you said, voice raw.

“good.”

you stayed curled up like that, legs drawn into the blanket, your cheek pressed to his collarbone.

“tommy okay?” he asked after a while.

you nodded. “he looked out for me.”

joel’s hand moved slow against your arm. “he’s good like that.”

you glanced up. “you’re not mad?”

his brow furrowed. “mad?”

“that i… panicked. or… didn’t shoot fast enough.”

he pulled back just enough to look at you. 

“you’re not supposed to be made for this,” he said quietly. “you still made it home. that’s all i care about.”

you swallowed. “but what if-”

he cut you off gently. “don’t start that, baby.”

you nodded, eyes dropping.

his thumb brushed your cheek again, slower this time.

“just glad you’re here.”

you leaned into him.

joel helped you up eventually, though he didn’t let go for long. brought you into the bedroom, helped you change into dry clothes, guided you under the covers. he settled behind you, one arm wrapped around your waist, his nose tucked behind your ear.

“get some sleep,” he murmured. “i ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

your hand found his where it rested against your stomach, fingers curling around his.

you didn’t answer.

you didn’t need to.

you were already home.

JOEL MILLER : @person-005

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[lokidbadguy]

i need more joel miller fics please! (esp game joel miller)

[lokidbadguy]

Definitely a girls' dinner 🫦👅

[lokidbadguy]

god hes so hot i love his pixels

[lokidbadguy]

it has been months since i read family matters, but this specific scene

“You know, my brother can pretend all he wants," Joel growled, driving into you harder, making you feel it, making you take it.

"But this pussy’s mine now," he snarled, his fingers gripping tight at your jaw, making you watch yourself begin to fall apart on him.

"Was mine the second you came on my cock last time....."

is stil engraved in my mind. i kept revisiting your works. what a top tier writing right here.

THANK YOUU!!!! I think that’s the chapter I wrote while I was sick as hell and feverish and damn you can tell huh

[lokidbadguy]

holy mother of god he’s so hot

[lokidbadguy]

seven days, six nights

5.6k / pairing: joel miller x f!reader

← masterlist

summary: You get jumped in the QZ after a deal gone south and hide yourself from Joel to keep him safe. After eventually finding you and learning the truth behind your injuries, he heals you and promises revenge. 

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), post-outbreak Joel, living in the Boston QZ, somewhat established relationship, mentions of falling ill, mentions of hunger/starvation, mentions of weapons, mentions of sleeplessness, descriptions of a fight/brief assault, descriptions of bodily injury, talking about medical shit (and I ain't no doctor, I used google, don't sue me) thoughts and descriptions of murder (… isn’t he just so dreamy?), angst, light fluff at the end, half-ass edited (apologies in advance)

A/N: So happy to practice some post-outbreak writing! Enjoy this angsty one shot (inspired by this lovely ask!) that I fuckin loved writing. Dedicating this to @macfrog, as I pictured this entire plot with pixel Joel. 

“Joel, I’m so sorry, I lost you the battery-” “Someone stole it from you.” He corrects, shaking his head as a sinking feeling washes over you. Your eyelashes flutter as you feel a droplet of water land on your nose. You glance up at the sky, seeing the clear summer day has turned into dark clouds overhead threatening to flood the city in rain. Joel doesn’t look up, he stays watching you. You can’t seem to meet his eye contact. “But the battery-” “Don’t care about the battery right now, care about you.” 

Joel doesn’t know where you’ve been. You haven’t returned to his apartment in the QZ for days. He keeps track. Every time the sun rises and shines blistering beams of light into the quiet apartment until the moon replaces it and casts light silver streaks between the torn-up pieces of newspaper taped to the windows. Another day gone.

You had a routine. Make the smaller drops or pickups on your own, return to Joel, and report back to him with anything you think he might find useful or interesting. Five days ago, he sent you off to negotiate a truck battery with that West End District piece of shit, Robert. He shouldn’t have let you go alone. Fucking smugglers, you couldn’t trust any of them. Hell, Joel was even surprised you trusted him at first. He regretted not insisting on being by your side, even if it was just as your personal attack dog to keep Robert  on his toes. 

Despite Boston being one of the more “well-managed” QZs to still exist, the black market that emerged from it was just as strong. That’s where Joel came in. He figured if he could smuggle himself into one of the most protected quarantine zones in the country, he could smuggle just about anything else. 

Drugs, weapons, ammunition, illegally forged paperwork, counterfeit ration cards, you name it, and Joel could work it in or out of the city.  Joel’s reputation was usually enough to keep you both out of imminent danger as he became popular with not only the inhabitants of the QZ, but also with fellow smugglers. You all needed each other to stay alive, in one way or another. 

Don’t be mistaken; the Boston QZ wasn’t perfect. It went through its fair share of scares. Food sources dwindled occasionally, leaving people angry, starving, and rebellious. Fireflies were a constant nag on depleting military resources. The fighting never truly stopped. This partially made Joel’s life easier. When times got tough, people searched for Joel to procure particular goods to help keep them afloat or, more importantly, alive. 

That’s the problem Joel ran into after spending a night in FEDRA lock up. He was the one in need of supplies. 

Joel was sick. Not infected sick, not cordyceps sick, some kind of infection he got from poor sanitation in the lock-up that attacked its way through an open wound Joel had gotten. He didn’t know if it was from work duty or from the recent street attacks, hence his stay in the FEDRA lockup. No matter where he got it from, an infection in the bloodstream wasn’t easily curable. 

The doctors, what very few the QZ had, were scarcely treating the sick due to a lack of supplies. And Joel was only getting worse. 

He was fighting a high fever, his breathing was fucked, as was his heart rate. Only a few days into his symptoms, he was crashing. He was damn near on the devil’s doorstep. He wasn’t made for heaven’s gates. 

Joel didn’t have friends in the QZ, but there were certain high-powered people who needed items smuggled, too. And the guards paid him well to keep his mouth shut about what he saw going in and out of those gates after curfew. That’s why when one of his more popular clients heard Joel was an inch from  death, they sent you. 

You burst through his apartment, the door nearly flying off its hinges as you fled to his bedside. He pushed you away with what little strength he had at first, the infection was making him lose his damn mind. His skin was scarlet red, and he was clammy with sweat. He didn’t know you, you didn’t know him. But you weren’t going to let him die. 

“Joel, I’m here to help you, hold still.” 

Then you started your search, tearing Joel’s clothes off one by one until you found the sizeable cut on his upper bicep near his shoulder, a huge scrape from a metal blade that had gotten infected. The man had tons of scars, all in varying sizes, shapes, and places on his body. You didn’t know his past, but his body told his story. He was a fighter. 

Your fear was how far into sepsis Joel was. Any further or even just a few hours later, you might have witnessed his organs begin shutting down. 

Despite his hazy state, Joel was struck by your amount of supplies. You weren’t a Boston QZ doctor, he would remember a face like yours. It took a smuggler to know a smuggler, and you dealt in medical supplies. 

Joel passed out not long after you got there. You caught him up in the morning, you never left his side. You monitored him, kept checking his vitals, pumped him with water, shoved antibiotics down his throat, cleaned his wound before it could fester anymore, and tried to regulate his body temperature. This could have been a lot worse. It should have been a lot worse. 

This was your first time experiencing Joel Miller’s tenacious stubbornness. He wouldn’t fucking die, not last night, and not today. 

A few weeks later, with Joel improving, he picked up on you around town. The way you blended in with just about everyone else. Not much slipped past Joel these days with his eyes like that of an eagle. But you slipped right through his fingers, didn’t even know you existed,  despite running the same territory. 

That’s when he decided he wanted someone like you on his team. Not just for your medical skills, but the type of supplies you ran was in high demand. You never did tell him where you got it, or how it was funded, all he had to know was that you were in. And you have been in ever since. 

Joel introduced you to heavier smuggling, like weapons and bundles of cash. Even people for the right price. He taught you how to make fake documents of verification and how to forge other paperwork. This was a lot bigger compared to your clean syringes and medicine. 

You learned a lot from each other. You taught Joel patience, and to thank you for saving his life, he taught you how to orgasm in less than five minutes. 

The relationship you shared, if you could even call it that, wasn’t strictly a romantic one. Both of you were too guarded for something like that. But also, life was too short and unpredictable right now not to crave pleasure to erase the pain from the past. 

It was hard to admit, considering how independent you’ve grown since being accepted into the Boston QZ, but you were thinking about Joel in ways far beyond a slightly romantic relationship. He had protected you and cared for you in the Joel sort of way that’s hard to read but you know exists. 

Joel worked extra hours to hand you off extra ration cards, shaking his head and not looking at you when he said it was no big deal, just take’em. Or when he didn’t want you to stay in spare housing, he offered to let you live with him in his nicer, non-shared apartment. It was a small slice of heaven in this fucked up world. You liked him, hell, maybe it was more than like. 

That’s why when you got jumped by Robert’s guys on the way back to Joel’s with the truck battery, they damn near killed you. They left you passed out in the alley. Robbed you of your ration cards, stole back the battery, smashed your head so hard into the brick wall you had passed out. All you wanted to do when you came to was crawl to Joel. So you did. You were outside his door, beaten and bruised, about to knock. Then you just stood there and spiraled. 

You listened from the other side of Joel’s door to the floorboards creaking as he paced the old wooden beams. You were late and left him worried. He was waiting for you to come home. 

The thought made your stomach twist. You looked like shit. You knew what Joel was capable of. One look at your bruised and bloodied face would send him flying down the street with a rifle in his hands and a pistol shoved in the back of his jeans.  You couldn’t bear the thought of him getting hurt in a war with Robert. 

Joel was smart, a hell of a lot smarter than Robert, but their smuggling operations varied greatly. Robert was an arms dealer, with henchmen all around the QZ. Joel only worked with a handful of people, he kept his circle small. If Joel went after Robert, you were more likely to find him dead in the street than anything else. And you couldn’t do that to Joel, not after all he’s done for you. 

If Joel saw you hurt, he would kill Robert. He’d kill anyone that laid a finger on you. No one touches what’s Joel’s. Not merchandise, not weapons, not the pills he smuggles in and out of the QZ, and certainly not you. 

So you tiptoe back down the stairs and run to the spare housing blocks just before the curfew alarm sounds. What Joel doesn’t know won’t get him killed. 

---

Joel stands in line during the heat of summer, ration cards stuffed in his back pocket as he waits with others in the queue for a tray and some food. The dining hall was packed, and by the looks of other people’s trays, the food was low again. All he can think about is how he worked extra shifts all last week to get more ration cards for both of you. Without these cards, you were going hungry. You were supposed to be by his side, where were you? 

By day six, Joel was restless. He didn’t realize how accustomed he had grown to having you in bed beside him. All he could picture during his sleepless nights was his body spooned in behind yours, the heavy weight of his arm curled around your waist, being able to sense even the tiniest of movements. You’d push off his arm in the middle of the night, telling him that you just needed to use the bathroom or get some water. 

It wasn’t always like that, though. Sometimes, you have nightmares. Ones that left you shooting up straight in the middle of the night, gasping for breath, crawling backward in bed like something or someone was chasing you. Joel didn’t know everything about your past and vice versa, but he knew wherever you came from before Boston was a different form of hell. He would hold you in his arms, console you, wipe your hot tears, lay your head on the warmth of his chest, and tell you to level out your breathing by listening to the beat of his heart. He held you in his arms until you eventually fell back asleep. Most of the time, you’d wake up and wouldn’t remember a thing. 

What if nothing was wrong with you, and you just realized you didn’t want to be with someone as broken and battered as Joel? He didn’t make being in his company easy. He gave you a lot of shit, pushed you to the limits, told you on more than a handful of occasions he just wanted to be left alone. You’d ask about his daughter, the one he sparsely spoke about, and he’d bark at you until you regretted even thinking about her. He didn’t make things easy on you, but Joel did care about you. Even if he was shit at showing it. 

He pushed you away, maybe you took the hint and left him. 

On day seven, he started asking around about you, something he saved as a last resort. The less you two were seen together, the better. You had him worried sick, and he was damn near ready to raid Robert’s warehouse to see if he had taken you, made you his girl against your will.  

That was until he caught a glimpse of you going past the market. It didn’t take much, he recognized your figure and trailed you with his eyes.  You were walking towards spare housing, with a heavy backpack and a sweatshirt on. Your arms were wrapped securely around you, and your head was down. 

He navigated through the crowds, jaw tight, putting down heavy steps on the broken gravel road as he pushed people out of his way with a guided hand on their shoulder. He followed you out of the crowd and down the street lined with stone barricades and rubble from a recent building that was raided by patrol on the hunt for Fireflies. You turned sharply down an alleyway, and Joel followed you, needing to see if you were okay, looking for answers. 

As soon as Joel took the alley, he was attacked and harshly shoved backward, his shoulder blades smacking the red brick wall behind him. A small switchblade was then shoved against the protruding vein in his neck, heated puffs of breath leaving him. He initially panicked in the moment, his hand tightening around the wrist that held him there.

“Why the hell are you following me?” You bark at him, head still lowered. Joel’s eyes narrow at the sound of your voice. 

He speaks your name.

Your strength relaxes, and you lift your head up to see you had pinned Joel. Shit, you thought one of Robert’s men was following you from town. You let out an exhausted breath of relief. 

“You’re really holdin’ me up with the knife I gave you?” Joel asks. He smacks the back of your hand, reflexes making your fist open up and lose the grip on your switchblade. Joel snags it with his free hand and glares at you. He takes the opportunity to shove your forearm off his chest, the one that was pinning him against the wall, and sending you a few paces back from the force he exerts. He hesitates but folds the blade back into the handle, and offers it back to you.

You let out a sigh of relief to see that it was just Joel. But this was still a problem. 

You retrieve the switchblade you accidentally surrendered to him and stuff it into your sweatshirt pocket. You cross your arms and look away to the entrance of the alley. “What the hell are you doing following me, Joel?”

He lets out a scoff through his nose and shoots daggers out of his eyes that you won’t meet. “What the hell am I doin’? Where the hell have you been?” He tries not to bark so loud. You won’t stop staring at the entrance of the alley, and Joel’s not sure if you’re thinking about running or thinking about being ambushed. 

He grabs your arm and drags you further into the alley, sunset on the horizon. He brings you to the back of an old school that was ready to collapse. He pushes you back against the wall and stands close, too close. 

“Answer me, what the hell happened to you?” His voice shoots goosebumps across your skin, low and growling for answers. 

The grip he has on your arm tightens and washes a flood of heat over your injured arm. Your mouth hisses with hurt, trying to breathe through the pain. You shake him off of you and clutch your arm lightly. “‘M fine, Joel, I can manage.” 

You’re speaking with a break in your voice that Joel can’t quite place. The hood you’re wearing is working overtime to shield your face. 

He pauses before he slowly looks over you. “Why are you wearin’ a sweatshirt in the middle of summer?” 

The silence he’s met with only leaves him more curious. What are you hiding? He swiftly pushes the hood off your head before you can stop him, and he’s not prepared for what he sees. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, his large hands delicately coming up and caressing your cheeks.

You sigh and roll your eyes. The skin around your right eye is blueish-purple. You lightly twinged at the contact, no matter how delicate he was being. “It’s not as bad as it seems, it doesn’t hurt-”

“Like hell it doesn’t,” Joel mutters, lightly taking your chin between his thumb and index finger as he angles your face from left to right, allowing him to get a full look at the damage done to you. You glance down at his broken watch for comfort, the band fraying and the glass shattered, but he still wore it. 

You can’t exactly explain why your lower lip starts to wobble. It was so hard to stay away from Joel, to distance yourself, but it was all for keeping him safe. Your small fists lightly clutch the button-up shirt he’s wearing around his abdomen, finally feeling a slight sense of security. 

“Joel, I’m so sorry, I lost you the battery.”

“Someone stole it from you.” He corrects, shaking his head as a sinking feeling washes over you. Your eyelashes flutter as you feel a droplet of water land on your nose. You glance up at the sky, seeing the clear summer day has turned into dark clouds overhead threatening to flood the city in rain. Joel doesn’t look up, he stays watching you. 

You can’t seem to meet his eye contact. “But the battery-”

“Don’t care about the battery right now, care about you.” His thumb gently examines the cut on your lip. You curl it inwards to stray from his touch. “Robert do this to you? His guys?” Joel’s asking accusingly, and you know better than to lie to him. You swallow the growing lump in your throat and gently nod, blinking back tears. 

His face grows taut with anger, his brows furrowing and the creases in his forehead are set in stone. His jaw is clamped shut while he grits his teeth. Joel’s probably thinking of a million scenarios of how to put Robert down. Which way would last the longest, string out the torture, make him apologize to you, and beg for his life. Make him apologize to Joel for ever touching a hand on what was his. 

“Joel, you need to take a breath. Focus.” The last thing you wanted was for Joel to go on a rampage tonight in search of Robert. “I’m fine, this shit happens. We’ll get back on track and-”

“Can’t believe they let you live.” He murmurs, taking a look at the damage that he can visibly see before lightly sighing and releasing your face. You’re quick to pull the hood back up and cross your arms in front of you as some sort of shield. 

His eyes are sunken in, his chest is lightly heaving as he tries to sort through his muddled thoughts. The rain is starting to scatter more, hitting your muddy sneakers and Joel’s dark denim shirt. The setting sun meant curfew was just around the corner. 

“Come on. We’re goin’ home. Need to take a look at you in the light." You hesitate but his eyes are pleading for you to just let him take care of you.  So you let him. 

---

You travel up the same staircase you did just a week ago, limping and injured, broken and feeling guilty. Joel needed that battery for the truck. He was going to leave Boston and go to find his brother, Tommy. Neither of you had discussed if you would come with. For Joel, you think you might do just about anything for him if he asked. 

He stabs his key into the lock of his door. You hear a crying baby in a neighboring apartment, it was probably startled awake by the blaring of the curfew alarm. Lightning and thunder crack outside as Joel pushes open the door. You follow him inside and set down your backpack by the door like you usually do. Another strike of lightning makes his apartment flood itself with white-silver streaks of light, if only for a moment. Joel flips the lock back into place and hits the switch to the one overhead light in between the kitchen and the living room. You’re sweating up a storm in your sweatshirt. 

Though living in Boston’s QZ wasn’t great, you had to admit that not every quarantine zone had clean water and electricity. Joel had an old standing oscillating fan that was stationed at the foot of his bed during the summers since he ran so warm all the time. He said he traded about four or five meals worth of ration cards to get it, said that it was considered a steal. You shed the heavy material of your sweatshirt and sit tiredly down at the end of his bed, closing your eyes as the fan wicks away your sweat and cools your face. 

Living in spare housing the past week was hell. You barely slept. The homeless, sick, and injured all found their way to spare housing. You weren’t safe there. And you didn’t have any ration cards to your name. You had to trade one singular, perfectly clean syringe to afford four rolls of bread. It was all you could get at the time being. Everyone was fighting for work, knowing ration cards and food were low. Since you were still somewhat new to the QZ, you weren’t given privileges. You laid on a nasty, old cot for a week. Joel’s small apartment was heaven. The solitude was peaceful. 

Joel was standing at the sink, water running over a cloth as he stared down at the water circling the drain. He needed to take a breath, set his anger aside, and get you to talk. 

Joel wrings out the rag, loose droplets of water splattering in the sink before he sits down at his small wooden kitchen table. “C’mere.” He whispers, taking your attention away from the fan. You slowly stand up and make your way to the table under the central light in his living room, sighing softly as you slowly sink into the accompanying chair. Now in the light, he observes your injuries closer. 

Without your sweatshirt on, he can see bruises and scrapes along your arms, residual blood on your knuckles and under your nails. His little fighter. He notes that your tanktop is a bit shredded, and he fears the worst. 

You catch him staring and intervene. “Don’t worry. I didn’t let them get close enough to touch me like that.” You glance down at the sweaty tank top and lightly tug on the hole. “Just got this while I was running away, trying to hop a fence.” 

Joel frowns and slowly works his eyes over you. “‘S not like you to get caught. You’re pretty damn fast.”

You held down a bubble of laughter as your fingers played with the fraying material of your top. “Yeah, well, they already got one or two good hits on me, so I was a little hazy.” Your words don’t settle him. They infuriate him. 

He brings his attention to your face. Your eye must have been swollen at one point, but it wasn’t anymore. The puffiness had gone down, and the bruises were in their final stages of healing. You have another more prominent bruise on your cheekbone, black and blue, but it’s not broken. That’s good. The cut on your eyebrow and the matching one on your lip catches his attention. A man with a ring. 

“Red hair? Crooked nose, missing a front tooth?” 

You blink a few times rapidly, curious as to how the hell Joel knew the characteristics of one of your attackers. 

“How did you…” You start to say until your words trail off, shaking your head in confusion. 

Joel sneers lightly and brings the wet rag up to gently dab at the cut on your lip. “Not a lot of men are stupid enough to wear a ring that basically signs their name on whoever’s face they’re knocking in.” How he describes your fight makes you flinch and shift uncomfortably in your chair, evading his eye contact. “Sorry.” He mutters quietly. “His name is Chase, Jase, somethin’ stupid like that. One of Robert’s guys.” Joel’s words lightly flitter off as he shifts his attention to your lip once more. 

It was still swollen and angry. You probably tried to eat with it still agitated and delayed its healing. But you know this already. You ate because you didn’t have a choice. It was that, or starve. He hated knowing you were roaming the streets in a horrible hunger, especially when he had ration cards waiting for you at home. 

Your eyes twitch closed as Joel’s wet rag rinses the blood out of the cut on your lip, the old excess blood lightly trickling into your mouth. Your tastebuds catch the tang of metallic and salt. You did what you could with the medical supplies you had, but you didn’t want to waste on yourself what you could potentially sell. If you were avoiding Joel for a while, you needed to be able to make trades of your own. You did use some supplies to clean the cut on your head. You were lucky the wall you were thrown into didn’t leave you with a concussion. 

Joel is still wrestling with why the hell you didn’t come home, why he had to go out and find you. Why, why, why? Why did he let you go alone? Why did the deal go south? A terrible feeling soured his stomach.  Robert’s men were ruthless, they must have felt kind enough to let you live. Or it was a message to Joel from Robert. You’re next. 

Joel wasn’t scared of Robert, but for them to be scared of a young woman was a mystery for the masses. 

He tosses the rag down on the table and stands up. “I’ll fuckin’ kill ‘em.” He grunts up, his lips snarling and his nostrils flaring in heated fury. 

He storms to the kitchen and impatiently fills up a glass of water. Joel was fantasizing about plunging his thumbs into Robert’s eye sockets and squeezing until his head turned into mush. Or maybe Joel could take him to the Eastern district, throw him in the Massachusetts Bay, and hold him underwater, only bringing him up from the brink of drowning before pushing him down again. And again. And again. 

Your sweet voice breaks Joel’s murderous thoughts. “Joel, I owe you the battery, and I promise I’ll find another one. Just give me a little time and-”

Joel slams the glass of water on the counter, the clatter of it echoing around the room. “Don’t care about the damn battery!” His back is to you, broad and strong shoulders heaving lightly as his head hangs low. His hands are gripping the edge of the counter. “Thought they fuckin’ kidnapped you! Or worse!”

You shift uncomfortably in your chair, your lower lip wobbling once more as he slowly starts shaking his head. 

“I almost lost you, and it’s my fault.” 

Your eyes soften at his words. He’s felt this way before, and he’s been haunted by the mistake ever since. His daughter, you think. 

His low, southern drawl makes you focus on him once more. “Tell me why you hid. Why didn’t you come to me? We could have figured things out, for fuck’s sake!” He shouts as he turns to face you, his body falling back into the counter as he crosses his arms. 

Your chest swells with heavy emotion. You stand up so fast from your chair that its sent scraping backward. “I did come here! I did! I heard you inside and I..” you pause and shake your head, still finding your voice. 

“I was scared you’d be upset with me letting someone steal the battery, I was afraid you’d go after Robert and get yourself fucking-- killed, Joel! I don’t want you to die, okay? I need you!” 

“And I need you!” He shouts back, lips parted with heavy breaths, both of you trying to settle with the newly shared revelation. 

You both stare at each other from across the room, watching as Joel’s jaw slowly begins to click loose. He shoves himself up off the counter and closes the distance between you two. You hesitantly take a step back, and he pauses his footsteps. His eyes soften, and he looks as broken as you do. 

“Please,” he pleads, gently shaking his head. “Would never hurt you, baby.” He puts his hand out, a gesture of kindness and warmth that you’d missed all week, yet you still hesitate. You almost wait too long, he’s already reeling his hand back into his side. 

“Joel,” you whisper with soft relief. You eagerly take a few steps forward, ignoring his hand, and gently settle your head on his chest as you tightly squeeze your arms around his lower back. You close your eyes and melt into him, finding solace in Joel’s embrace. 

Joel’s arms stay hovering in the air for a moment, lips parted as he looks down at the top of your head. He shames himself for even hesitating. He puts one hand on the side of your head and holds you to his chest, while the other settles low on your back. He breaths peacefully for the first time in a week. 

You stay like that for who knows how long. He’s warm, and you feel protected. You sink into his arms, he takes on your weight. He walks you backward to the foot of his bed once more, letting you delicately fall back into the mattress. You watch with tired eyes as he unties the laces of your sneakers, one after the other. He shucks down your jeans, making you giggle. 

“Joel, you don’t wanna fuck me right now, I smell like spare housing.” 

The right side of his mouth twitches up as he shakes his head at you. “I know you do. ‘M takin’ you to shower.” 

You sit up on your elbows as you smile a bit bashfully at him. “Good. Because I’m too sore to fool around anyway.” You whisper with a teasing smile as you grab the bottom of your tank top, peeling it up and off of your sticky skin. Joel tries not to stare. You’re not sure if he’s clocking your naked figure or the bruising around your ribs and legs. 

You’d need some time to heal. Joel knows you do. While you shower, he makes you as big of a feast he can muster up with the canned goods he has in his cupboards. You try to eat the first real meal you’ve had in a week slowly, to savor the taste, but you end up shoveling your spoon into the bowl and scraping it clean.  

Joel’s eyes are on you the whole time, watching you, observing you. He won’t let you out of his sight for a while, but maybe that’s what’s good for you. You meet his gaze and he speaks a silent vow. We’ll find Robert, steal the battery back, then kill him and anyone else who laid a finger on you. He nods. You nod too. 

Joel’s not sure how late it is by the time you two fall into bed together. He doesn’t know how to tell you how much you mean to him, but he says it in the way he holds you. Back in his arms, he’s more alert of how sore you are from your fight. He gently cups your face, watching your eyes slowly flutter closed with long blinks. You must be so tired. And he doesn’t want to keep you awake. He’s afraid to look away, like if he lets you out of his sight, you’ll disappear again. 

He speaks your name and gently stirs you awake. “Hm?” You softly murmur, bringing your hand up and gently feeling over the planes of Joel’s chest, fingers lightly grazing his chest hair. 

He looks down at you for a moment, choosing his next words carefully. “Don’t run away like that again.” His words are stern before he pauses again,  lightly pushing some hair behind your ear and touching you like a delicate flower. You watch him attentively. He cups your jawline and angles you to look up at him.  “We’re takin’ that battery back, and we’re gettin’ the hell out of here. You hear me?” 

Your heart swells at his words. We. You slowly nod in agreement. You feel Joel’s gentle kisses on your forehead and the tip of your nose. You lean up to capture his lips, but he falters by an inch. A confused expression crosses your face. 

“You’re hurt.” He mutters, referring to the cut on your lip. Don’t wanna hurt ya, sweet girl.

You roll your eyes and take his face in your small hands. “Don’t care.” You whisper before you pull him in, and the two of you share a featherlight kiss. You let it last, both of you soaking it in after a week apart. A week too long. 

Joel’s the first to pull away, giving you a playful little glare. The bruising on your face reminds him of the boxing movies he grew up watching. “Easy, Rocky.” 

You look at him confused and cock your head. “Who?”

He rolls his eyes at you and sighs, gently running his hand down your side. “Go to sleep. I’ll teach you about Rocky one through five tomorrow. D’you at least get a few good hits on Robert or his guys?”

You hum quietly and let your eyes dip closed. “Mhm.”

“Like I taught ya?”

“Just like you taught me. Gave ‘em the ole left, right, goodnight." You bring up your fists to demonstrate. "Made Robert’s nose bleed, think I broke it.”  

Your head falls into Joel’s chest, feeling it rumble with laughter and a sense of pride. “That’s my girl.”

His body shields you from the outside world. You sleep like a rock for the rest of the night. You live another day, and so does Joel. But with Joel’s promise, you know Robert’s days are numbered. You’ll be sure of it. 

---

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[lokidbadguy]

is it that sweet? (joel miller x f!reader) 18+

masterlist | a/n i've had no motivation to write lately but this randomly popped into my head the other day and suddenly my brain was like okay let's roll!! let's do this!! let's jump in!! so idk what that says about the current state of my subconscious. anyway this is filth! pls read the warnings! love u. summary: you probably shouldn't let some random middle aged man on the beach take nude photos of you, right? right? rating: 18+ explicit warnings: pervy!joel, age gap, voyeurism, coercion, objectification, sneaky picture taking, nude photos, paying for sexual favors, dirty talk, praise kink, pussy pronouns up the fuckin wazoo, oral (f receiving), nipple sucking, unprotected p in v sex, standing sex, creampie word count: 8.4k ao3 dividers by @saradika-graphics 🤍

He's been watching you for about an hour. You'd sussed him out almost immediately after settling onto your beach towel and digging into your bag for your sunscreen, mildly aware of the shape of him in your peripheral vision. He's old, definitely in his late fifties, but certainly not the most unattractive man who could be eyeing you. You're used to it by now anyway, almost feed into the way men seem to gawk at you sometimes now that you've finally thrown caution to the wind and stopped giving a fuck about your beach body. You used to be self conscious about your curves, your tummy, your thighs - you decided this summer that it had to stop.

And you're glad you did. Because now he's staring at you, this unnamed, completely anonymous middle aged man only a few feet away. And it feels fucking good.

Should it feel good? Probably not. Should you tell him to buzz off and leave you alone? Take a picture, it'll last longer, something like that? Probably. But will you? No.

You like feeling his eyes on you.

Older men like you, you've noticed. They stare. They stare more than men your own age - boys, really. Twenty somethings who try to play it cool and more often than not come across as disinterested in their interest. They're cowardly, obnoxious. And you suppose some older ones are too, especially the ones with wives - they want you to be impressed by them, ooh and awe over their high paying jobs and big mansions, their fancy cars that they think make up for their tiny dicks.

But every now and then you'll come across one like this. You can read him like a book, peering at him from over your sunglasses every so often as he lounges behind a vibrant blue umbrella. His eyes caress your bare shoulders and chest, your exposed stomach, your soft thighs. They linger on the places they shouldn't and it makes you tingle. He's appreciating what he sees, basking in it, taking his time.

You could be content just lying here and letting him look. He is handsome after all, greying curls and soft scruff flecked with white, golden skin that almost glows underneath the sun. His legs stretch out over his own towel, long and lean and strong. He's got a soft looking belly, hanging out a little bit over his trunks, and now your eyes linger for a little longer than they should.

But you won't say anything. If he wants to talk to you, he has every opportunity to. You're not going anywhere for at least another hour, not until the sun starts setting and it's time to head back to your friend's vacation home. You've only been in California for a short period of time, but it's like it's somehow molded you into a different person - a more confident, sexier version of yourself that's been dying to get out for years. A version of you who lets this old man stare and get his fill as you smirk and turn over on your towel, arching your ass up into the air.

Oh, he likes that. You can tell because of the way his jaw clenches, neck tightening as his eyes fall to the globes of your cheeks. With a barely there smirk, you arch a little more, stretching and flexing and letting him take in the way your bikini bottoms barely contain them. Your breasts hang low onto your towel, practically overflowing from their own containment, and you have to admit - you're getting a little wet posing for him like this.

He licks his lips, eyes flickering downward again to something closer to him, something in his hand. You crane your neck a little bit to peer around the blue umbrella, and your breath hitches.

He's taking pictures of you.

It's obvious now, should have been obvious this whole time, really. Only one of his hands has really been visible, the other settled low against his side behind the umbrella. Now you can see that he's got his phone angled toward you, the camera peeking slyly out from behind the blue nylon as he repeatedly taps his screen with his thumb. To test him a little further, make sure you're really seeing what you think you're seeing, you push down into the sand with your hands and rise up a little bit on the towel, almost into a lazy downward facing dog. Your tits jiggle below you, threatening to escape, and out of the corner of your eye you watch as the man adjusts the camera to get a better angle. His thumb and forefinger glide across the screen, undeniably - and unashamedly - zooming in.

You're definitely wet now. You know you shouldn't be. You know this has probably gone too far and you should get up and leave, potentially tell someone about the creep on the beach taking photos of women in bikinis.

Instead, you make eye contact with him, settling back down onto your towel with your ass still perched a little in the air. He seems to freeze, eyebrows going up in the realization that he's been caught. In response, you blink slowly at him, pout a little bit as if to say, Really? You arch your back a little more and shimmy your hips, tilting your head as you continue to gaze over at him, eyes going a little hooded.

Come fuck me, you're almost saying, even though you know there's no way in hell you're gonna let him. It's just funny to watch him squirm, phone gripped tight in his hand as his adam's apple bobs in his throat. You arch a little more and then grind your hips into your towel, flattening yourself against it, holding his gaze. You rest your head and smile at him teasingly.

He's getting up and shuffling toward you in no time at all.

"Hi, darlin'," are the first words out of his mouth when he reaches you, and you certainly did not expect a Southern accent to fall from those plush lips. He's gorgeous really, now that you can see him up close - wide shoulders and big arms that strain against his white shirt, strong chest covered in little freckles, chocolate brown eyes that shimmer in the sunlight.

"Hi," you say with a smile, blinking up at him.

"I'm sure you saw what I was doin'," he seems a little embarrassed, voice apologetic as he scratches the back of his neck, "I know I shoulda asked, but you seemed so relaxed, I didn't wanna disturb you."

Bullshit, you only came over because I smiled at you. Any other reaction and you'd have run for the hills.

"I'm Joel," he reaches his hand down for you to take. For some reason, you shake it without hesitation. "I'm actually a photographer, believe it or not."

Huh. You raise an eyebrow at the words, doubt immediately swimming in your mind as you assess him.

"If you're a photographer, where's your camera?"

He chuckles, "Back at my hotel. I just came out here to relax, wasn't plannin' on takin' any photos. But then I saw you, and, well..." he smiles at you sheepishly, "You're just so pretty, darlin'. Never seen somebody like you before."

The words are not special. They're nothing you haven't already heard, nothing he hasn't probably already used on countless other women. And yet... you smile back at him, cheeks warming a little at the way the compliment sounds coming out of his mouth in particular, all Southern and sweet. "Thank you."

His eyes suddenly leave yours to flicker back toward your body again, scanning the length of you. As if on instinct, almost to show off, you tighten the muscles in your ass cheeks and then release, letting them jiggle a little bit under your swimsuit. He swallows tightly.

"Would you be interested in posin' for me, sweetheart? There's a little spot down the beach, outta sight. Still public though, of course. I wouldn't ask you to go anywhere unsafe," his eyes linger on your ass for a few more seconds before he's meeting your gaze again, soft and sincere, "I'd love to get some pictures of you in that bikini, and some with it off too, if you're comfortable with that."

Oh, he's fucking brave. You can feel disgust brewing in the pit of your stomach, a scowl beginning to dawn on your face. This is where you should draw the line. This is where you should get up and leave, tell him to go to hell, tell him he's a pervert and-

"I'll pay whatever you think is fair," he continues, "How's three hundred as a starting point?"

On second thought...

"Beautiful, baby," he's telling you softly, "You're so pretty like that."

You hum in contentment, laying in the sand with a little smile tugging at your lips as Joel maneuvers around you with his phone, snapping pic after pic as you peer up at him through rays of sun. You're a little ways down the beach now, in a sparser area behind some rocks. He was right about it still being public - if something happened, you know you could raise your voice the tiniest bit and be heard immediately by people on the other side. Somehow though, despite his forwardness and slightly perverted habits, you trust that he isn't going to force anything on you.

You've already got three hundred dollars in your purse. He'd given it to you before you'd even gotten up from your initial spot on the beach, placed it in your hand with a grin as your eyes widened. You suppose you could've taken the money and run, but part of you wanted to play it out, test the limits, see what else he'd pay you for.

Which leads you here, laying sensually in the sand with the strings of your bikini dangling a little looser off your shoulders and hips, a little careless, a little more teasing. The poses so far have been pretty basic, and you've tried your best to emulate what you think a supermodel on the cover of Sports Illustrated would do. Based on Joel's responses - excited nods and gentle praises - you think you're doing a good job.

"Turn over now," he tells you with a playful grin, "Put that cute little ass in the air again for me."

It should be demeaning, the way he's talking to you. There's a lot about this situation that should be wrong, and yet you can't help but feel pride swell in your chest at his directions, his compliments. You do what he says, flipping over to dig your hands into the sand and arch your back, turning your head to eye the camera directly with a sultry little smile on your face.

"Perfect," he's murmuring, thumb tapping the screen like his life depends on it, "That's so perfect, honey." You listen to the fake little shutter sounds the phone makes, still wondering if he's even really a photographer. Would it even matter? Wouldn't you have still let him do this anyway?

With this new angle you can feel the loose strands of your bikini top starting to slip, unraveling at the back and trickling gently against your sides. You watch with what should be a worrying lack of urgency as it cascades down onto the sand below, leaving you topless.

He whistles low under his breath, "Well, would you look at that. The girls are out."

"That's an extra fifty," you say with a coy eyebrow raise, "Or else I cover them back up."

"Extra fifty, no problem" Joel echoes, "Can you shake your ass for me again, darlin'?"

You nod, tilting your head and peering back at him as you tighten and release your muscles with a giggle, basking in the way he stares at it, like it's a five course meal he's about to devour. You do it a few more times, arching your back a little more and spreading your thighs slightly to allow for more recoil, more jiggle. He makes an odd sound in the back of his throat and you grin.

"How much to take these off too?" he lowers the phone and peers at you with pleading eyes, brown and soft, "Huh? How much extra to show me this lil' peach, honey?"

You grimace, looking down at the sand and trying to calculate an appropriate cost in your brain. You bite your lip, "You know that's not the only thing that'll show."

"I know," he murmurs, eyes trailing downward again to eye your ass, still perched high and plump, "Your peach and your pussy then, how much?"

Fuck.

"I won't touch you," he promises softly, "You can just tug it down and show her to me, lemme see her up close, yeah?"

Her?

Her.

"Christ," you mumble under your breath. He's filthier than you thought, and not in a bad way - in a fucking hot way. "Another fifty," you decide, voice firm, "And... and I wanna see you put the money in my purse first. And no touching my... her."

"I can do that, sweetheart," he's already digging into his wallet and yanking out the money, opening your bag slightly to place it inside. It could be counterfeit for all you know; this whole thing really might be a completely worthless venture, and yet -

He watches as you reach backward to untie the strings of your bikini bottoms, doing it in one fell swoop and then spreading your thighs again, knees digging into the sand. You arch and press your face against your towel, feeling goosebumps rise all over your skin at the knowledge that he's staring at where you're now completely bare.

You hear him groan, a rough little sound that goes straight to your core, and a few little shutter sounds go off, "Now, that's a pretty little pussy you got there, baby."

Heat rises throughout your body, up through your chest and to your cheeks. You turn a little to look at him shyly, lashes fluttering when you see where his gaze has settled.

"Yeah?"

"Oh, honey, she's so pretty," he breathes, "She's all wet. Leakin' for me, you see that?"

You can't see it of course, but you can feel it; feel the way you're dripping, knowing that he can see it, has a 1:1 view of the way you throb and drool for him. This random old man who about twenty minutes ago you'd never spoken to in your life.

"And your little clit is sayin' hi to me too, babygirl, can see her pokin' out." Fuck. You squirm a little in place as his camera continues to go off, legs spreading a little more unconsciously as you tilt your head downwards and close your eyes. Your clit twitches under his stare.

"Swollen little thing," he breathes, barely loud enough to hear, "Perfect pussy."

Jesus Christ.

"Roll over for me again, sweetheart," you hear him say quietly, "Show me all those pretty parts."

You don't know why, but you whine a little at his words. It's subconscious, a burning desire you can't describe as you slowly flip over and lazily lay back on your towel to show him your entire naked body. He stands over you with his brow furrowed in a gentle kind of way, eyes appraising you up and down like you're some kind of goddess. And fuck, he's kind of making you feel like one.

"Legs open a little bit, baby, that's it." You obey, spreading your legs and looking up at him with lidded eyes, lips parting a little. You bring your arms up to rest behind your head and he takes note of the way your tits bounce for him, shivering back and forth beneath his gaze. "You're perfect," he murmurs, "You're absolutely perfect."

"Stop," you say, unable to stop a grin from spreading across your face, "M'not perfect."

"But you are, darlin'," he shakes his head, eyes full of wonder as he kneels down to get some closer pictures. You watch as he brings his phone down directly in front of your pussy, snaps a few close-ups of your puffy lips and swollen clit. "I'd love to kiss her, honey, if you'd let me."

"N-no," you say quickly, though your voice cracks, "No touching."

"I'll pay you extra," his eyes return to yours, locking your gazes, "You name it, baby. I'll pay anything to taste how sweet you are down here."

You look at him calculatingly, tilting your head. Anything?

"Two hundred," you practically whisper, "In the bag."

You're half expecting him to tell you that he's run out of money, that he couldn't possibly give you any more than the four hundred he's already blown on this. But he surprises you, reaching back into his pocket to grab his wallet and tug out the bills. It's like he has an endless supply, and you're beginning to wonder if maybe this is a hobby of his, something he prepares for, carries money around to be ready to spend on women like you. Maybe he's rich rich, has unlimited money to throw away, and this is just his weird perverted thing he does on the side of something else.

Maybe you should have asked for more.

But he's already kneeling back down into the sand and you're already opening your legs wider for him, allowing him to settle between them and lean his head forward to place his lips gently against your pussy. You watch with heavy lids as he kisses you so softly there, his mouth tender and inviting and deliciously scratchy from his scruff. Without really thinking about it, you reach down and run a hand through his curls, smiling a little fondly as he kisses you again, and again, and again.

"That feels nice," you breathe, watching as he continues to press incredibly slow and gentle kisses to your cunt in an almost respectful way, a reverent way.

"Good," he murmurs, lips vibrating against your core, "Want it to feel nice for you, baby."

You let out a soft moan the second his tongue breaches your folds, wet and warm. You watch as he closes his eyes and seems to get lost in it, tasting your pussy like it - or she, as he'd said - is some rare delicacy he's never indulged in before. He trails the tip of his tongue through the mess you've made, maneuvering your puffy lips and flicking it against your clit. Your hips buck and another moan slips out, quiet and pitiful.

"That's it," he murmurs against you with a little half smile, "So sweet for me, honey." He dives back in immediately and slowly plunges his tongue inside your entrance, fucking into you a few times before carefully pulling back and opening his eyes to peer up at you again. God, those brown eyes are fucking sinful. He gives you one more smile and then reaches down to grab his phone.

"Gonna get some more pics of this messy girl, okay?" he breathes, and you're a little startled when his left hand is suddenly coming down to touch you there, two fingers carefully scissoring you open. You don't say anything, too horny to protest, too intrigued to see what he's going to do. "Gotta open her up a little," he tells you softly, answering your unspoken question, "Wanna take a little peek at what she's hidin' inside her, baby."

A little whimper falls from your throat again as his fingers scissor you wider, holding you open and baring your hole to his camera. You can feel your walls twitching and pulsing, contracting and leaking; you can only imagine what it looks like. Your eyes roll a little when his middle finger taps your clit, another gush of arousal flooding past your opening.

"Look at this lil' hole, huh?" he's murmuring, but your eyes are closing and your head is falling back onto the towel as he plays with you, "Oh, she's alllll messy for me down here, baby. And it's no wonder your clit came out to see me, she loves gettin' played with, don't she?"

Christ, he knows how to talk. His words send another helpless little sound past your lips, thighs trembling as he slowly caresses your clit with his finger, pressing down on it with just the right amount of pressure.

"Aw, you're all sticky here again, baby," he whispers and you whine, feeling your juices dribble down toward your ass, "Shh, I'll take care of it," and then he's leaning back in to lap at your folds, a little faster this time, more desperate, "Tastes so good, pretty girl. So sweet."

He suckles your clit into his mouth and you let out a breathless moan, brow furrowing as he suctions the swollen nub and lets one of his fingers fall to slip inside your entrance. You're so close you can feel it, coiled inside and ready to snap at any moment, his thick index plugging you deliciously as his tongue swirls. You tighten around it, thighs squeezing a little around his head, and then-

He's pulling away, removing his mouth and finger. Your eyes flutter open and you watch as he stands up with a little groan, older age apparent in the way he clutches at his back and exhales once he's upright. You want to tell him to get back down here, finish what he started, but part of you feels like it'd almost be letting him win, somehow. This perverted creep on a public beach that's somehow managed to lure you away and get you naked, take photos of your body and eat your pussy. He doesn't deserve to have you beg for him - even if you want to.

"Can you stand up for me now, honey?" he tilts his head, squinting against the sun and smiling like he didn't just ruin your orgasm.

On shaky legs, you manage to pull yourself up from the sand and stand before him in all your naked glory, legs crossing a little as you squeeze your thighs together. He smirks but doesn't say anything about it, instead angling his phone toward you again and snapping some full length photos. You immediately do your best to go back into Sports Illustrated mode, posing a little and trying to ignore the ache between your legs, the relentless throb of where his mouth just was.

"Squeeze your tits together for me," he tells you, voice a bit deeper, rougher, full of arousal, "Cup 'em a little, show me those cute lil' nipples."

You do as he says, biting your lip and showing the camera exactly what he wants to see. Your nipples are peaked and hard, begging to be teased and tugged, but you refuse to do it yourself - you're not giving him the satisfaction, not after what he just pulled. He takes a few up-close pictures, camera so close to them that you shiver with sensitivity, the smallest bit of air from his movements causing them to tighten even more.

"Those are so beautiful, baby," he murmurs softly, gaze trailing upwards to meet yours, "Can I give 'em a kiss too?" God, his eyes are so fucking soft and sincere, like fucking boba pearls. You wonder if anyone's ever been able to say no to him.

You swallow, keeping eye contact, "For another fifty, sure."

He chuckles at that, "You drive a hard bargain, darlin'."

"I know what I'm worth."

He smiles, nodding slowly, "That, you do." He pulls out his wallet and slips another bill into your bag, then shuffles toward you again. You try to keep your breathing calm when one of his hands comes up to cradle your bare back, pulls you in a little bit as he lowers his mouth to your right nipple. With hazy eyes, you watch as he presses the softest little kiss to it, then does the same to the left.

Part of you wants to pull back and say that's it, that's all you get, just to see what he does, give him a taste of his own medicine. But then he's wrapping his lips around the pebbled bud and suckling, your eyes going glassy, jaw dropping a little as your hands come up to hold his shoulders. Your pussy throbs at the sensation, thighs rubbing together again as he suctions just the right amount and swirls his tongue all over the hard peak. It's impossible not to let a quiet moan fall past your lips, something he returns with a little mmhmm around your nipple, a wordless I know.

It feels so good that you feel your guard going down even more than it already has, feel your head falling forward to rest against his. His greying hair is so soft, so warm from the sun. You blink slowly and inhale, cheek smooshing into his temple as he sucks and sucks and sucks, then turns his attention to the other one. Little whimpers are tumbling past your lips, your hands squeezing and caressing his shoulders as you feel yourself starting to drip down your inner thighs.

It's so fucking intimate, much more intimate than you anticipated. And when he finally pulls away and comes back up to peer into your eyes again, leaving your nipples puffy and a little sore, you betray yourself by leaning forward to kiss him softly, tugging his bottom lip into your mouth and returning the favor with a little suckle. You feel him smile against you, the hand on your back tightening as he brings his other one up to tangle in your hair. His lips are plush and wet - a little chapped from what he's just done to your nipples - and he tastes like pussy.

It's fucking heavenly.

"I wanna show you somethin', babygirl," he murmurs against you after a moment, and you nod a little too quickly, a little pathetically. You're starting to realize that you're losing the battle here, if there ever even was one.

He pulls back a little, eyes still soft. You watch as he reaches down to his swim trunks and unties them, heart suddenly in your throat as he slips his hand inside and comes out with an absolutely beautiful dick. It's long and thick, rounded and full at the tip with an extremely suckable looking mushroom head, as well as a prominent vein trailing up his shaft that makes your mouth water. You both stare at it for a few seconds without speaking, your lips parting but no words coming to mind.

"You wanna take some pictures with my cock, honey?" he asks you quietly, and you think he's probably looking at your face now, watching your expression, but you're still just staring at his dick.

"W-what?"

"Just a few, like...well..." he shuffles forward a bit and very gently presses the warmth of his cock against your bare stomach, letting the tip sit just above your belly button, "Like this."

Your brain is blank.

"That okay?"

His cock is so heavy.

"Darlin'?"

And warm.

He pushes some of your hair behind your ear, cradles your face in his big hand, "I know, honey," he murmurs, "You just gotta say okay."

Okay?

"O-okay," you finally whisper.

"Yeah?"

Yeah. You think it but don't say it, can't say it. You feel beyond overwhelmed, eyes still glued to where his throbbing tip is smooshed into your belly. You can't stop looking at it, ogling it, awed by its impressiveness and girth, the way it leaks a little onto your skin. You've never seen a dick this pretty before. You almost forget that you're standing there without any clothes on, barely aware of the shutter sound as he snaps multiple pictures on his phone.

"Good girl," he murmurs softly, "That's a good girl, just look at it."

Every few seconds he repositions a little, pulling you in closer to capture the way his cock stands at attention between your bodies. Precum gurgles from the tip and makes a sticky mess in his happy trail, dribbling down onto your skin. Without thinking about it at all, completely unaware of even doing it, your arms are suddenly around his waist, holding him close with your gaze still locked onto his cock.

"Yeah, that's for you, baby," he tells you softly, grinding his hips a little bit against yours and essentially fucking his cock against your stomach, "You did that to me."

It's only when he suddenly takes a small step back, holds the base and angles it downward to gently prod the sticky head against your pussy lips, that you finally come to your senses.

"Wait," you gasp out, yanking yourself back from him and shaking your head, "W-wait a second."

"M'sorry," he says quickly, brow furrowing as he puts his hands up. His cock hangs from his trunks almost comically, bobbing up and down as he takes a step back, "Shoulda asked first."

"Y-yeah, you should've," your voice cracks, heat flooding your face, "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me just then, that was too far." Why the fuck are you apologizing to him?

"S'not too far," his words are gentle, alluring, "We're just havin' fun, aren't we honey? You were havin' fun, got lost in it. It's okay."

You take a breath, staring at him as you try to get your bearings. Were you having fun? Is this fun? What the fuck are you even doing right now? Your thoughts are cloudy, hazed with arousal and attraction to this complete stranger in front of you. Are you really gonna let this continue? Is it really worth it? Your gaze falls back to his cock and the question is almost answered for you.

"What am I doing?" you ask aloud, a breathless little laugh escaping your lips.

"You're just havin' fun with a new friend, s'all it is."

You raise an eyebrow at him, trying to ignore the way your hands tremble, "Is that what you are? My friend?"

"I'll be anything you want me to be, darlin'," his mouth turns up at the corners, eyes sparkling, "I sure would like to be your friend."

He peers at you for a moment, waiting for you to speak. Your mouth opens a few times but no words come out, your thoughts scrambled as you try to make heads or tails of this situation. You're suddenly painfully aware of the fact that you're still completely naked, and you quickly peek your head over the rock formation to make sure there's nobody nearby - there isn't.

Why are you checking?

"C'mere," Joel finally says, and you turn back to look at him with your lip between your teeth. He's standing there with his arms open a bit, cock still heavy between his legs. By all accounts, a fucking perv. And yet...

And yet.

Fuck it.

You're back in his embrace in no time, hooking your head over his shoulder and allowing his cock to press warmly into your skin again. You close your eyes and sigh as he brings one of his hands downward to squeeze your ass.

You know what he's going to ask before he even says it.

"Can I put it inside you, darlin'?" he murmurs softly, pleadingly, "Just to get a pic of your pussy all full?"

You don't say anything.

"Won't take more than a minute," he urges, "I promise, baby. Just wanna see it stretched around my cock. Don't you wanna see that, pretty girl? I'll pay extra, whatever you want."

More silence.

"I know you wanna see it," he's relentless, his other hand coming down to squeeze your other cheek and pull you impossibly closer, "You wanna feel that, don't you, baby? Big cock fillin' you up before you go?" His middle finger slides between your cheeks and settles at your pussy, slowly teasing your entrance, "Don't gotta do anything at all, just gotta stand here, we'll do it standin' honey."

"Standing?" you ask softly, pulling back to look at him with intrigue, and your response suddenly has him grinning from ear to ear as he slowly inserts his finger. You shiver, eyes fluttering closed as he fills you with it.

"Standin'," he repeats, "Just like this, baby, don't gotta do anything 'cept open your legs a little for me. You can do that, can't you?" The hand on your ass comes up to hold your chin; he pinches it gently between his finger and thumb and gives you another soft look as he starts to fuck you in earnest, "I know you can, 'cause you're a good girl, yeah?"

"Y-yeah," you breathe, arms tightening around his body.

"Yeah," he adds a second finger, smile faltering into a sympathetic pout when you let out another soft moan, "And you want that cock, don't you? I can see it all over your face, honey. Don't gotta pretend."

"I do," you whisper with a nod, swallowing thickly and trembling in his arms, "I want it, I do."

"So..." he's waiting for you to say the words, to tell him to go ahead and put it in, do what he wants, let him take control. His fingers are relentless inside of you now, plunging in and out at a speed you know he's purposely using to distract you, cloud your decision making.

Which is why his eyebrows go up in surprise when you're suddenly reaching down to grab tightly to his wrist, yanking his fingers out of your pussy in one swift pull.

"Three hundred," you state, "Take it or leave it."

To your surprise, his face alights with a gigantic smile, a deep laugh tumbling past his lips as he nods and digs his hand into his pocket, seeking his wallet one more time, "Yes, m'aam," he grins, "I'll take it."

You've never had sex standing up before. Not like this, face to face and completely upright with your feet planted on the ground. It's a little awkward at first, Joel having to crouch a little to align his hips with yours, one hand gripping your waist while the other grips his phone. God, this fucking phone. You're pretty sure you'll never wanna see a phone case with this ugly shade of cerulean blue again, let alone hear those obnoxious shutter sounds.

Your annoyance is quickly overpowered by the sensation of the warm head of Joel's cock pressing gently to your pussy. You look down to watch, lip between your teeth again as Joel snaps image after image of the way his tip crowds your outer lips, pushes them apart. You have to admit, it's certainly a sight to behold.

"Yeah, look at her open for me, baby," he's murmuring, thumbing the base as he slowly rubs his cockhead back and forth through your folds, "Bloomin' like a little flower."

The top of your head rests against his shoulder, face angled down to watch what he's doing. A tiny whimper falls from your lips when he very slowly eases the head of his cock inside of you, the stretch barely noticeable with how wet you are. He releases your hip to reach down and open your pussy lips with his thumb and forefinger, exposing where you're joined.

"Tell her to smile for the camera, babygirl," he whispers, and while part of you wants to roll your eyes, another part can't help but feel a gush of arousal at his words, soaking his cock even more, "Good, that's good."

He feeds his cock to you slowly, making sure to take as many pictures as he can. Little whines and squeaks erupt from your throat and your hands claw at his back, fingers tangling in the white crocheted material as he fills you up. It's only when he's fully sheathed inside of you that he suddenly tugs his trunks down a little more to expose his balls, heavy and round and full. You stare at them with a longing in your eyes you can't describe, lower lip trembling as you watch them bounce and settle against where you're joined.

"There you go," he murmurs, snapping one last picture before tossing his phone into the sand and bringing his hands up to cradle your back, pulling you close, "All done, baby, that's it."

Your toes curl in the sand as you embrace the feeling of being so full of him, his tip pulsing delicately inside the deepest parts of you. A distant thought in your brain wonders why he just threw his phone on the ground, but it doesn't seem to matter when you feel like this, so full and wet and warm, lost in a hazy glow. You bury your face in his shoulder, letting out quiet little whimpers as he pulls you in tighter. He presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head, seemingly reveling in the moment too as you stand there listening to the ocean waves, impaled on a stranger's cock.

"How's that feel, honey?" he asks you softly, thumbs tracing shapes along your bare back, "Hm? Feel good?" You don't answer, just nuzzle your face against his skin and let out another soft whine, hands clamoring underneath his shirt to grip his back. He chuckles, "Yeah, I know, baby."

You both stand there for what feels like forever, until you finally have enough sense to pull away from his shoulder and get a look at his face. He's watching you fondly, brow furrowed, eyes still incredibly soft and inviting. He really is gorgeous. Pervy, but gorgeous.

"You dropped your phone," you mumble, words faint and slightly slurred.

"Don't need it anymore," he murmurs, "Got my pictures."

"Then why are you still inside me?" you ask softly, eyelashes fluttering, "If you're done?"

He shrugs, smiling, "'Cause it feels good, don't it?"

You stare at him for a few seconds but end up nodding regardless, turning your face a little to peer over at the ocean, "It does," you admit, "Feels really good."

"Mmhmm," he kisses the top of your head again, then your temple, stroking his fingers through your hair. The way he touches you is reverent, delicate, like you're something fragile he needs to keep safe. It's not what you'd expected, that's for sure. But something you're not as sure about is what happens now, where you both go from here.

It doesn't take long for him to decide.

You feel his thumb on your clit, drawing your attention away from the ocean and back to his presence. You peer at him through bleary eyes, a dazed little smile curving your lips as he carefully rotates the swollen nub. His belly caresses yours, warm and soft, and you smile even wider.

"Feel good?" he asks you again - tender, kind.

"Yeah," you whisper.

The hand on your back comes up to cradle your hair, pulling you in close again and allowing you to rest your head against his smooth chest. You moan as his thumb picks up speed, the sound muffled by his tan skin.

"You want me to make you come, honey?" he murmurs, fingers brushing carefully through your hair, "You wanna come all over that big cock inside you?"

"Yeah," you repeat, a little broken this time, "W-wanna come."

"You've been so fuckin' good for me, you know that?" he breathes, barely a whisper, brow furrowed as he continues to rub your clit, "Posin' all pretty, showin' me that soft little pussy, lettin' me taste her," he gives a low whistle, shaking his head, "And now she's all full, huh? She full?"

You nod, eyes rolling a little, "Y-yeah." Apparently yeah is currently one of the only words in your vocabulary.

"She all messy for me?"

Again, you nod, expression blissful as you let out a moan, "Yes, Joel," you whimper, and you're pretty sure it's the first time you've said his name this whole time. It's like you've been trying to be disconnected from it, from him, and now suddenly he's everywhere; inside you, in front of you, above you - there's no escaping him. And you don't want to escape - what you want is him. Badly. Desperately.

He seems to realize this at the exact same time you do, the moment he hears his name fall from your lips. Which is why you're not surprised in the slightest by his next words.

"What if I wanted a pic of my cum leakin' outta this little pussy?" he whispers, mouth suddenly directly next to your ear, sending insane amounts of pleasurable tingles throughout your whole body, "Huh? How much would that cost? Tell me."

"You can't," you mumble, lightheaded, but you're lying to yourself, completely lost in the pleasure he's giving you, the movement of his thumb and the girth of his cock.

"Only take a few seconds, honey, m'already close," as he speaks, you feel his hips slowly begin to buck, cock pulling from you for only a moment before easing back in, making you shudder, "You don't gotta do nothin', 'cept show me how she drools when she's full. You can do that, can't you baby?"

"Joel," you whine again, eyes shut tight as you dig your toes into the sand, holding tight to his back as he slowly starts to fuck up into you. He's so big, so thick, plugging you full and then leaving you again, slow and warm. You can only imagine how it would feel to have him burst inside of you, to fill you to the brim.

"I wanna see her drool, honey," he murmurs, voice desperate again, full of arousal, "Wanna see her push it out."

"Fuck," you moan, high and whiney as you suddenly grip both sides of his face in your hands to peer directly into his eyes, "A thousand," you whimper, your hands clawing at his scruff as his hips pick up speed, as his hands fall to your waist and hold tightly as he starts to pound up into you, "A thousand and you can come in my pussy."

He presses his forehead against yours, lets out a guttural sound and then hisses, "Deal."

And for some reason, you believe him.

Getting pounded while standing upright is a fucking trip. His nails dig into the pebbled flesh of your hips, knees bending and unbending as his cock fucks up into you relentlessly without stopping or slowing. Your hands are still holding his face, eyes locked with his as your mouth pops open in a silent scream, thumbs digging into the apples of his cheeks. Holy fucking shit.

"I know, I know, I know," he's groaning, voice wild and unhinged, groans vibrating in his chest, "Fuckin' take it, s'what you were made for, honey. Knew it the second I saw you, knew you were gonna go wild on that dick."

"Please," you moan out, tears pricking in your eyes, the sensations almost too much to bear, "Please, please." You don't even know what you're begging for, thoughts muddled as you release his face and wind your arms around his neck, "Keep fucking me, keep fucking me, don't stop, please."

"I got you, honey, I got you," you feel his thumb return to your clit as he speaks, the sounds of your skin slapping together almost rivalling the sound of the ocean waves, "You gonna come, pretty girl? Huh? You gonna cream on my cock?"

"Yes," you practically squeal, and before you can really process what you're doing you're suddenly jumping up from the sand to wrap your legs around Joel's waist, ankles tangling together behind his back. He has no issue shifting positions, his arm cradling you and holding you in the air while his thumb continues to ravage your clit. You feel it building in your stomach, tightening more and more with the insistent pressure of his thumb and the continuous thrusts of his dick hitting your cervix over and over.

"Ohh, I feel her, baby," he groans in your ear, "Sloppy little cunt wants to make another mess, doesn't she?" And that's all it takes for your orgasm to hit you, your legs squeezing tighter and tighter and tighter around Joel's body as you moan and whine and cry, grabbing fistfuls of his hair and shaking in his arms. It's like having the wind knocked out of you, arguably one of the best orgasms you've ever had in your life, your eyes rolling back into your head as you sob into his neck.

"Joel," you whimper, pussy pulsing repeatedly around his dick through the aftershocks, "Joel, come inside her, please."

"Oh, fuck."

You feel it then, the twitch of his cock and the warm ropes of his release pumping into you. You sigh almost dreamily, burying your face in his shoulder and listening as he groans, feeling the way his fingertips dig into the soft plush of your ass. It's steady - there's so much more than you thought there'd be, and the sensation is enough to make you whimper again, murmuring his name one more time as he empties himself.

You stay like that for a moment, the ocean loud in your ears, all other sounds seemingly drowned out by the hiss of sea against rock and sand. Eventually, he carries you a few steps to your towel, your ears ringing and his body trembling a little as he carefully lowers you down. You let go of him a bit reluctantly, a pout on your lips as he lays you out and then slowly pulls himself from you with a wet squelch.

"Good girl," he's murmuring - you realize he's been saying it the whole time - "Good girl, that's it, open your legs."

There's no hesitance at all anymore, not after that. You open your legs wide with abandon and sit up on your hands, watching with heavy lids as he grabs his phone from where he'd discarded it, bringing it down to your leaking pussy.

"Look at that," he breathes, awestruck, and your eyes trail downward to see what he sees. You feel heat return to your cheeks when you see the way his creamy white release is slowly beginning to dribble out of you and onto the towel.

"Wow, that's a lot," you whisper with a faint little giggle, eyes coming back up to look at his face as he watches it drip. You're not sure he hears you, intensely focused on where you're swollen and leaking, but you don't mind. You push back lazily on your hands and smile fondly at him as he takes his precious photos. In the afterglow, you find that the shutter sounds aren't that annoying, not really.

"Open her up for me, baby," he tells you softly, "Spread her wide and push it out."

You sit up a little, feeling drowsy and dreamy as you reach down and pull yourself open with your hands. You apply a little pressure, closing your eyes in a daze and hearing the wet little sounds as you push his cum out of you and onto the towel. You hear him groan, hear the shutter sounds again, and you can't help but grin.

"Are they good?" you ask him, genuinely wondering, "Is she pretty?" As you speak you pull yourself a little wider, allow him to take one more picture as close inside as possible before he pulls it away.

He looks up from his handiwork with that familiar soft smile on his face again, brown eyes shimmering in the sun that's already beginning to set, "You're perfect," he tells you, "And don't argue with me, I just gave you almost two thousand dollars."

You snort, releasing yourself and falling backwards onto the towel to stare up at the sky. Your limbs feel heavy, eyelids drooping as you watch Joel in your periphery slipping his soft cock back into his trunks, as well as his phone.

"It's real money, right?" you ask, a little unsure.

"I promise it's real money," he says with a chuckle, walking over to stand over you, "D'you wanna come back to my hotel with me and get cleaned up? Maybe have some more fun?"

You bite your lip, "Would you pay me?"

"I'd pay you."

Admittedly, as reality begins to wash over you, the idea doesn't sound anywhere near as appealing as it might have an hour ago. With a little effort, you sit up again and reach for your bikini, half buried in the sand near your feet.

"Nah, I think I'm good."

Joel reaches his arm down and you take it, letting him help you to your feet. As you put your bikini back on, you watch with a little smile as he digs the rest of your money out of his wallet, slipping it into your purse like it's just second nature at this point - which, it basically is. He stands there then, a little awkwardly, like he's not sure what to say.

"Well, uh, thank you, darlin'," he finally says, taking a step back and nodding toward you with a kind expression, "Not many girls would have, um... not many would've done this. I'd offer you my number, but I get the feeling that's not what this is."

You wince, shaking your head, "Yeah, this, uh- this isn't gonna go anywhere, sorry. But it was fun."

He nods, "It was. And, I mean, those pictures aren't just gonna collect dust, I can tell you that much."

You laugh, walking forward a little to pick up your bag. You stop in front of him and, after hesitating for only a moment, lean forward to press a soft kiss to his lips. Just a peck - a goodbye.

"Have a good rest of your summer," you tell him as you pull away, heat rising in your cheeks again as he looks at you with those beautiful eyes, "And uh- maybe try to be a little more covert with that camera."

This time it's his turn to blush, his cheeks tinging a dark shade of pink as he laughs and tosses you a wave, turning to begin walking away from you. He only makes it a few steps, and then-

"Hey, Joel?"

He turns on the spot, a hopeful look in his expression that makes you wonder, if only for a moment, that maybe you're making the wrong choice.

"You're not really a photographer, are you?"

His blush deepens, a look of embarrassment crossing his features, "No, I'm not. But after today, I just might try my hand at it."

[lokidbadguy]

JOEL MILLER EDIT EVERYONE!

[lokidbadguy]

The thing in Gurdians of the Galaxy is that they don't really care about being good. They just want to be with their little band of misfits and accidentally saving the galaxy in the process.

In GOTG 1, they have no other choice bc they don't want to die.

In GOTG 2, Quill just wanted a dad. The dad happens to be an egomaniac.

In Endgame, Rocket and Nebula just wanted to bring their family back.

In GOTG 3, they just wanted to save a friend.

And their selfishness is what makes them more human than any superhero movie... though only .5 of them is actually human 😭

[lokidbadguy]

As long as you want - one shot - Joel Miller x f!Reader

As long as you want - ONE SHOT - Joel!Miller x f!Reader

words: 5.3k

Summary: When you're injured in the stables one morning your patrol partner and enemy Joel Miller is the only one there to help.

Tags:  Enemies to friends/lovers, Kissing, Mentions of Anxiety Attacks, Fluff, Mentions of Scars, Medication, Mentions of violence, Joel POV in parts, mentions of 'baby', Tooth-Rotting sweetness in parts, mutual pining. NO y/n.

a/n:  Originally gonna be part of my ‘So Much to Lose’ story, but the characterizations didn’t feel right for it, so I made a few tweaks and now this is a one-shot.

Dedicated to @katiexpunk because she took the time to send me the sweetest most encouraging message filled with lots of advice and just damn fine support for a woman who sometimes feels invisible on this platform.

-----------------------------

On mornings you wake up earlier than usual it's because of anxiety.

You never know when it's going to hit because it's never logical. Sometimes it's a day you have patrols, sometimes its days you have nothing at all.

You've been an inhabitant of Jackson city for almost fourteen months. That's plenty of time for your nervous system to adjust, to know that you're not being chased by the infected or fighting malnourished raiders. 

But your brain doesn't seem to grasp that yet. Every few months it wakes you before sunrise leaving you breathless and terrified until you adjust to your surroundings and remember that you are in your home. That you have a real home with a soft bed and easy access to food. 

And yet those days, like today, you can't go back to sleep. You can't force your body to relax again. You're all nervous energy and you need to calm down. 

Thankfully you've discovered one place that gives you that sense of calm; the stables with the horses used on patrols. 

You shower and pull on your clothes and are out the door quickly. It's so early that Jackson city is still slumbering and the sky is still dark and will be for a while longer. So it's just you and the dirt path that leads to the stables for company. 

You see your favorite dark brown horse Milly, the one you ride for patrols. The one who keeps you safe while you and your patrol partner survey the nearby areas. 

The patrol partner that apparently can't sleep either because as you approach Milly you see him inside the stables petting Glimmer gently behind the ears. 

Joel Miller. 

Of course he's here, the annoying man. Not one moment of peace is possible for you today.

The patrol partner you've been stuck with for the last year. The man who vacillates between mute and mocking when he's around you. 

You hold in a scowl as you view his shoulders flexing as he smoothes his large hand down her mane, murmuring in a low rasp.

He's an austere figure in Jackson. Aside from his brother, sister-in-law and Ellie you don't see him interact with many people. You don't even think he has a girlfriend. 

Not that you would care if he did. 

Not at all. 

Well, sure when you first met him on patrols in his form fitting jeans and shirt that positively strained over his broad shoulders you had been intrigued. And the face wasn’t half bad either - strong nose, captivating eyes and under his patchy beard…

Don't think about his mouth.

So you'd introduced yourself, citing that you were excited to be working with a man of his reputation. Because he was already a legend in Jackson City before you arrived - Joel Miller was ruthless, a crack shot, a prolific fighter. 

He'd blinked in reply at that before he'd opened his pouty mouth and all the burgeoning attraction that had been building came crashing down. 

"Don't know why they stuck me with a newbie."

It had only gotten worse from there: Cutting remarks about how you held a gun, sarcastic observations about your riding. By the end of your first patrol you'd officially decided you hated him.

Over your time together the animosity had morphed from all out mutual derision to a comfortable dislike between you two. An antagonistic relationship built on banter and irritation.

The only truly good thing about Joel is Ellie. She’s funny and brash and you love chatting with her. Plus when you see then together that dark countenance Joel maintains gives way to a soft kindness that radiates from him. 

But Ellie isn't here now in the stables. Only Joel with his salt and pepper curls and lean neck. 

"Hey Miller," you say with an exasperated sigh. He turns abruptly, his dark eyes narrowing on your face. 

"The fuck are you doin' here this early?"

"Could ask you the same," you mutter as you give Milly a pat. 

"Couldn't sleep."

"Me neither."

Joel hums a reply, turning around to fully face you before leaning back on the stable wall. He watches you petting the horse and takes in the dark circles under your normally expressive eyes. 

"You look like shit."

"How charming," you muse darkly. "It's a wonder you're still single."

Joel huffs a laugh, his mouth curling into a crooked grin. 

That fucking mouth. 

When it's not curled into a sneer or a smirk aimed in your direction you can't help but notice it's so soft looking. Plush, pink lips that don't fit the rest of his stern face. 

Stop. 

"I do just fine in that department don't you worry," Joel offers in that typical confident yet abrasive way of his. 

"In that case you should ask out Martha next," you say in a voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm sure she'd love some one-on-one time with Jackson city's most mysterious and handsome bachelor."

Martha is one of Jackson's kitchen workers. She's almost seventy and has a very obvious crush on Joel because she mentions how handsome he is at every opportunity. 

You smirk to yourself at the thought of him taking her to dinner. You don't even notice that he's drawn over to you petting Milly until you feel his breath on the back of your head. 

"So you think I'm handsome?"

It comes out of Joel in an exhale, raspy and amused when he sees you sputter. You glance at him over your shoulder, eyes wide. He's close, close enough to touch. 

"No. I-I mean, it's just that- that's what Martha says," you say, feeling your cheeks heating. "About you being handsome and stuff. Not me."

Joel rarely looks this amused in your presence, but right now he's grinning so broadly a dimple has appeared in his right cheek. He's so close you can feel the warmth of his body. 

"You sure, darlin'?" He teases his voice dropping to a purr. "You’re gettin' mighty flustered."

Darlin'. 

That's new.

You hate how your pulse hiccups at the sound of it. 

"Get over yourself, Miller," you manage in a shaky scoff before letting yourself into the pen with Milly, desperate to escape Joel's proximity.  

You feel his eyes on you and in a panic you move behind Milly to reach for the hairbrush propped on the fencing. 

"Watch it-" Joel starts. 

It's your own fault what happens next.

Milly makes a terrified whinny and kicks out her back legs. You feel a sharpness in your side that takes your breath away, knocking you into the side of the pen. Milly makes another jolting motion and you feel Joel's hand pulling you back sharply as you yelp, clutching at your ribs.

Joel guides you out of the pen with a hand on your shoulder, dark eyes peering into your face when you both exit.

"Why the fuck did you move behind her?"

"I wasn't thinking," you groan, doubling over and resting your head against the nearest wooden stall. "Fuck."

It's a miracle you weren't too close. If you'd felt the full weight of Milly's power you wouldn't still be standing, albeit curled. 

Joel stares at you, noting that you're white in the face, your spine bowed. You're clearly in a lot of pain. 

"C'mon," Joel says, tugging the loop of your jeans, trying to prompt you into continuing to walk. "S'go."

"Where?"

"The clinic," he answers gruffly. "Stop wastin' time. C'mon."

"I can't move," you tell him, tears of pain slipping down your nose as you double over. "It hurts too much."

Joel mutters something under his breath before he strides away from you and out of the stables. You wait a few moments and when he doesn't return you feel a shocked puff of air escape you.

He just left you. Abandoned you in some of the worst pain of your life. You knew Joel Miller was an asshole you just didn't realize how much. 

You fall to your knees, clutching at your side, the scent of hay and horse suffocating you. You wish you'd never come. Never tried to bond with another living creature.  

Your head moves up slowly when you hear voices and footsteps from outside approaching. To your shock Joel and a tall woman with silver hair are there and Joel is murmuring to her. 

"..n't sure if I should move her."

"Good you didn't," the woman assures him. "Could've done more damage."

The two of them move over to you and the woman urges you to breathe deeply after she introduces herself as Gemma the town nurse. You do, wincing loudly as a sharp pain nips your left right side. 

"Fuck!"

Joel is standing back by the stables, petting Glimmer absently. When he hears you cry out his brows rise. 

Gemma urges you to lift your shirt so she can see if there is swelling or bruising. You try but cry out in pain so she quickly lifts the hem of your shirt, tugging it up to just under your breasts. You panic when you realize you don't have a bra on.

"A bit of swelling," she tsks as her calloused hands sweep gently over your midsection. You whimper at the sensation, every swipe feels like agony. 

You flush when you realize Joel is staring over at you and his eyes linger along the bare skin of your abdomen on display. He catches your attention on him and quickly looks away, nonplussed. 

"Nothing's broken from what I can tell," Gemma hums thoughtfully.

"Doesn't feel like it from where I'm standing." 

Gemma smirks and you think you catch a hint of amusement cross Joel's features. 

"Likely a bruised rib," Gemma says with a concerned furrow of her brows. "You shouldn't be doing patrols. Not for a few weeks until this heals. You need plenty of rest, fluids and ice."

A strange feeling overtakes you then. Something between elation and disappointment at the thought you won't be going to do patrols for a bit. You don't understand why. You and Joel rarely get along, you should be thankful for the break. But you suppose you'll miss the consistent schedule. 

"I brought a few painkillers I could spare," Gemma offers, rummaging in her coat pocket. She opens the glass bottle to reveal less than a few dozen white pills that you don't recognize lining the bottom. 

"Is that all we have for painkillers?" You ask, concerned. "For the whole town?"

"For now these and a few dozen bottles of aspirin," Gemma nods. "When there's less snow we'll be able to scour around for more."

You look at the paltry selection and shake your head. "Nah, I'm okay. I'll just go home and rest."

"You'll take one right now," Gemma orders. "And you'll take a few more to get you through the night."

"I'll take two total," you negotiate, taking the first and swallowing it dry. The second goes into your jeans pocket. 

You wait a few moments until the pill begins to take effect. It could be psychological but you feel like it makes it manageable to start walking. 

"When you're getting up and down hug a pillow to your middle," she instructs. "Helps lessen the pain of the strain."

"Okay," you nod as you begin to shuffle. "Thanks a lot." 

"Joel," Gemma turns to the lurking figure at the end of the stall. "You'll walk her home?"

Joel nods just as you shake your head.

"That's not necessary."

Gemma fixes you with a look she must have given dozens of obstinate patients over the years. 

"Have you ever tried to climb stairs with a bruised rib?"

"No."

"Thought not. Let him walk you home and get you into bed."

You go to deny this but Joel is already herding you towards the path that leads to your neighborhood.

"S'go."

You walk slowly, shuffling down the street after Joel who walks at least three paces ahead of you. You don't mind, you don't really feel like chatting. 

"Why'd you try to turn down the painkillers?" He throws over his shoulder as if just to annoy you. 

"Because there weren't that many," you say grimacing. "And I'm not in that much pain."

He pauses, waiting for you to catch up. His dark eyes survey your hunched stance. 

"Liar."

You keep shuffling, trying to ignore the irritation you feel at his curious expression.

"Yeah it hurts a bit but it's nothing compared to Chester's broken leg from chopping wood last month is it?" You reason, starting to feel a bit spacey from the drugs. "And what if something like that happens to someone else and I took up all the supplies because of a bruised ribi brought upon myself? I'd feel terrible." 

"You shouldn't have been in the fucking stables to begin with," Joel says darkly. "Then you wouldn't have had to use any."

"I wanted to see the horses."

"They ain't pets."

"I’m aware," you throw back angrily. "But being with them in there makes me feel calm."

"Try meditatin' next time," Joel bites out. 

You've arrived at the bottom of your front porch steps and you're all out of patience for Joel Miller. 

"You can just leave me here. G'night." 

"I'm followin' the doctor’s orders," Joel snipes, taking you by the arm so you can lean against him as you walk. "S'go, I don't have all day." 

You grumble as you lean into his muscled arms, hating that you need to rely on him in any way. 

"Quit complainin'," Joel grits out. You wince in pain and embarrassment as he slips an arm around your waist, the other hand on your free forearm helping you up the stairs.  

"Slow," Joel murmurs. "Slowly now." 

His voice is low and rumbled. You feel his breath on your temple as you take each step, wincing at the pain.

"Yep, just like that," Joel continues, his fingers curling around your hip as you take another step slowly. "Good girl."

Good girl.

It's the same way he talks to the horses. That gentle, husky coo. You know he doesn't mean it sexually but that doesn't stop it from hitting you directly below the navel. 

You unlock the door, confused when Joel follows you inside. He scans the humble single story home, eyes falling on the paintings on the walls, the guitar by the fireplace. 

He didn't know you played guitar. Or painted. 

Joel knows you like to read, that you had a brother who died when he was young. He knows that your hair knots easily in the wind and that you hate the porridge in the dining hall. He's passively gathered information on you over the months patrolling together. But this? This is all new information to be stored.

He glances at you hobbling towards the bedroom and feels a mixture of irritation and pity go through him at the sight. He hates seeing you in pain and he feels a wave of protectiveness seep into his bones. 

"Don't go in the pens anymore," Joel instructs. "I'm serious. It's not safe."

You turn around just so you can glare at him properly. He's standing by your table, acting as if he belongs there. 

"You don't give me orders in my house, Miller," you say without thinking. "You're just mad I won't be around to deal with you on patrols and you'll have to do them alone because no one else in town can stand you."

The second it leaves your tongue Joel's face goes pinched and a cold. A cold, sticky sensation crawls along your insides at the sight of it.  

"I'm sorry," you say quickly. "Fuck. That was such a shitty thing to say. Especially since you went and got me help. I'm just tired and in pain."

Joel nods slowly, his face as always, unreadable.  

"Really, I didn't mean it,” you insist. “I'm sorry."

"I know you are," he huffs. 

"So you forgive me?"

"Nothin' to forgive," Joel offers in a tired rasp. He takes you by the waist again, shuffling you into the bedroom. "C'mon."

He eyes your bedroom as the two of you shuffle into it, taking in the dried flowers in the window, the scattered books on the end of your bed. He smiles to himself at the sight. 

"Couldn't decide what to read?"

"Read 'em all," you say walking slowly to the bed. "No new ones that interest me at the library so I was seeing which one I'd re-read."

You go to lower yourself onto the mattress but stop when Joel frowns at you and his hand taps your shoulder gently. 

"You're gonna sleep in your clothes?"

You shrug. "I'll manage."

"You're covered in mud and hay," he states flatly. 

You go to grumble that you don't particularly care when you feel Joel's large hands land on the buttons of your jacket. 

"What're you-"

"Hold still," he murmurs with his eyes on his fingers as he unbuttons all ten of the fasteners on your long jacket. You wince when he pulls it off of you, delicately. 

He's being gentle with you. 

Joel is never gentle with you. He’s caustic and points out when you fuck up. He makes you carry heavy lumber with him when repairs need to be done. But now he’s touching you as if you’re made of spun glass.

He drapes your jacket over the chair by the window before returning to see you fighting with your jeans button. It hurts to move your arms like that right now. Every inhale is like a stab. Frustrated tears are sliding down your cheeks. 

Joel doesn't like the sight of your tears. It makes him close the distance between the two of you quickly, chocolate eyes soft. 

"Let me," he says business-like. "We'll do this quick and you can get into bed."

You want to deny him but you know he's right. You don't want to wake up tomorrow even more stiff, wearing dirty clothes and unable to undress yourself enough to shower. His fingers are at the waistband of your jeans and you're impossibly thankful he doesn't make the fatal mistake of meeting your glassy eyes. 

Joel's fingers deftly pop your jean button then slowly lower the zipper. You hear him take a soft inhale before his thumbs curl at the waistband, dragging them over your hips and letting the denim fall to your knees. 

You look to his face and you see his eyes flit from yours back down to his boots. 

"Sleep clothes?"

"Dresser."

He nods, turning from you. Your cheeks burn, your heartbeat picking up the pace. Fuck, it must be the pill.  

He pulls out a cotton nightdress as you clumsily step out of your muddy jeans. You cover your front with your hands the best you can, feeling shy standing there without pants in front of Joel of all people. 

"Feels weird to be going to bed in the morning," you offer in the awkward silence. 

He's back, eyes on your t-shirt, trying not to notice the high cut of your panties or the fact that you look so fucking enticing standing there with your shapely legs on display.  

Joel is uncomfortably aware that he's not gonna be able to take off your t-shirt without getting hard and he doesn't want you feeling worse than you already are. He knows how much you despise him. 

"T-shirt is clean," he reasons. "Can probably sleep in that."

"Yeah totally," you agree quickly looking between Joel and the bed. 

You groan and blink a few times because a strange fuzz has started in your brain. 

"You should go," you swallow, trying to ignore the arousal building in your core. "I'll be fine."

"I'm makin' sure you get into bed alright."

"Then what? You gonna read me a story and tuck me in?" 

You're surprised when a soft giggle escapes from you.

"Stubborn brat," Joel mutters, even though his mouth is fighting against a grin. "Get in the fuckin' bed."

You feel oddly relaxed, even fond of the annoying man when you watch Joel pulling back the blankets of your bed for you. Regret and shame quickly follow when you recall your hard words from earlier. 

"I'm sorry about what I said," you tell him quietly.

“You already said that.”

"Lots of people like you in town."

"No they don't," Joel says with a shake of his head and a grim smile. "My brother and Ellie are about the only ones who like talkin' to me."

"And me," you add with a yawn. 

"Only cuz you got stuck doin' patrols with me. You gotta talk with me for those."

"I don't mind talking to you," you tell him honestly. "Sometimes I think you're funny."

Joel straightens, noticing the soft dreamy quality to your voice. He sees you swaying as you stand and he approaches you quickly. He peers into your face, seeing your pupils like large saucers and holds in a chuckle. 

The irritation you feel towards Joel has been replaced by a dizzying bliss that has you smiling dopily as he nears. 

"Drugs are workin' I see," Joel observes and his voice seems far away even though he's standing so close.  

"Mhmm," you purr, leaning back before wincing and grabbing your side. "Oh fuck."

"Take it easy," Joel grumbles and his dark eyes swim into view. Have his eyes always been so pretty? 

Joel I think..." you mumble something after that. You don't even know what you're saying. It's possible you're just making gibberish noises. 

He leans closer, eyes squinting as he tries to parse the unintelligible stream of random sounds. His mouth is so full, his lips so sweet looking. 

Something about his face so close and the lack of inhibitions from the medication has you feeling bold. 

You move your face towards his so quickly he doesn't have time to shift back. Your mouth crashes into Joel's, lips slotting between his. 

His lips are so soft. Full and soft and warm. You groan in delight as your hands go to his collar. You try to deepen the kiss, your tongue trying to slip between the seam of his lips but Joel is pulling back, his hands taking yours from his collar. 

"The fuck are you doin'?"

There's a part of you that knows what you've just done is insane. But that part is so quiet, so far away. All you can feel right now is contentment and you smile up at him with eyes almost closed. He drops your hands. 

"Mmm...Your lips are soft."

Joel is staring at you, mouth hanging open in slight surprise. You want to kiss him again but you're so fatigued from the medication you just give a yawn and feel your eyes shut firmly. 

"M'tired."

"C'mon now sleepin' beauty," Joel chides, guiding you by the small of your back to the bed. He sits you on the edge of the mattress before placing a pillow into your arms. 

"Squeeze it as you lay back."

"M'kay," you say doing as he asks, your eyes still closed. 

He watches you, grimacing himself when you let out a soft yelp as you lay back on the bed. He waits for you to unclench before taking the pillow from your arms and tugging the blanket up to your chest. 

"Lips are so soft," you say again as his face hovers above you. "How are they so fucking soft?"

Joel tries to hide the amused grin on his face. You're so loopy it's quite endearing. He can't wait to tease you about this when you're back at patrols. He can picture your scowl now, the flush that rises on your neck first and then your cheeks when you're embarrassed.

"Are my lips soft?" you ask in a concerned voice. 

Joel licks his lips subconsciously, replaying your mouth on his. A sensation he's trying not to fixate on. 

"Yeah," he finally relents in a husky whisper. "Real soft." 

Plump and soft and sweet and everything he's been imagining they would be. 

Without thinking he reaches over and brushes the hair from your eyes, taken by surprise when your hand weakly takes his wrist. 

"Kiss me again, Miller."

"I can't."

"Please," you beg, your eyes cracking open. You start to whine and shift towards him in the bed before the pain hits you sharply and you wince. 

"Fine, just lay back," Joel grumbles even as his heart picks up its pace in his chest. You do as he asks, sleepy eyes glancing up at him. 

He leans forward and gives your cheek a chaste kiss before pulling back. He has to hide the amused chuckle when he sees your grumpy face. 

"I wanted a real kiss."

"That was a real kiss."

"I meant on the lips."

"Tell you what," Joel says, greatly amused. "If you can look me in the eyes tomorrow when you're med free and ask me to kiss you, I will."

"Promise?"

"Yep and I'll make it a good one." 

"Okay," your medicated self agrees quickly. "I'll ask tomorrow."

He knows you won't. You won't remember anything. He takes a seat at the edge of your bed, watching you slip into slumber. 

Joel knows that he doesn't have to sit here any longer. He's got you in bed, you're drifting off, his job is done. And yet he lingers, watching your face go placid before you seem to wake yourself up.  

"I've wanted to kiss you for so long, Miller."

"Uh huh," Joel says with disbelief clear in his voice as he plumps the pillow next to your head in case you need it. "I'm sure."

"You don't believe me?" 

"Go to sleep."

"Member that day we went on patrols by Westons?" You slur eyes half closed. "And there weren't enough horses and we had to share one?"

Joel is surprised that you remember that. It was almost eight months ago.

"Uh huh," Joel nods, leaning back from where he sits at the edge of the bed. "Yeah, I remember."

"And we got to that clearing and you helped me down so we could do a perimeter check?"

"Yup."

"Yup."

"I wanted to kiss you then," you share. "When your hands were on my waist and you were smiling ... down at me. I thought... You were... so ... Handsome and... You smelled so good... Like leather n'..."

Joel sucks in a lungful of air slowly as he watches you fall back into a light doze. Your hand on your abdomen rises and falls as you begin to snore lightly. 

Joel remembers that day at Westons. He remembers the way your arms felt wrapped around his middle, your body tight against his back as he rode with you on the horse.

He remembers that his horse was taller than you were used to riding. How you'd hesitated asking for his help to get down because he knew how prideful you were. 

He had rolled his eyes, holding out his arms to you before you'd even had to ask him. 

"C'mon now. Stop wastin' time."

You'd said something scathing back to him before allowing him to pull you into his arms. 

He remembers the sound of your breath in his ear and the way your sweet scent enveloped him. You'd clung to him, slowly sliding down the length of his broad body before standing on the ground. His hands had lingered on your waist, smiling down at you in amusement at your discomfiture. 

But then the gaze had lasted a little too long when he realized at this proximity he could see so many details in your face. The length of your lashes, the deep color of your eyes, the beckoning curve of your lips. 

He'd always thought you were pretty. From day one he'd been enraptured by your smile. An attraction he hadn't felt since Sarah's mom. A frightening feeling that had him scowling at you and turning from you. 

He remembers how he went home that night drunk on the memory of your soft body against his. He remembers how he fell asleep aching at the memory of your lips and eyes.

He remembers how ever since that day he's tried to convince himself he isn't attracted to you. That he isn't excited every day he has patrols with you because he gets hours of you to himself. 

It's the reason he was at the stables so early this morning. Knowing he'd be on patrols with you tomorrow had him keyed up. 

Joel doesn't like people getting close. It's easier to have most everyone hate him. And even as the months went on and your wit and humor broke through his outer wall, he still worked to keep you out. 

But now you've all but admitted how you feel about him. And even if you forget it all tomorrow, he heard it tonight. The truth revealed. It makes his legs feel weak to know that the attraction exists on both sides. 

"Joel?"

Your voice is soft but he sees the furrow of your brow. You're awake and anxiously looking for him in the darkness. Something about that small action makes his breath unsteady. 

"I'm here, baby."

The soft smile you shoot his way makes Joel's insides turn to jelly. He doesn't even cringe when he belatedly realizes the pet name. You won't remember it.

When your eyes find his silhouette in the fading darkness he sees you visibly relax. 

"I was worried you were gone."

"Nope. Been here the whole time."

"Good," you breathe before yawning so widely your jaw cracks. Joel sidles closer to you on the bed, his dark eyes scanning your face. 

"You feeling okay? Any pain?"

"No pain," you say dreamily. "Just sleepy." 

"Go to sleep then," Joel soothes, unable to keep the affection from his voice. "Doctor’s orders." 

You nod and he thinks you're nodding off when your hand reaches for him. 

"Come lay next to me," you say with a cracked voice. "Please?"

Joel hesitates before he sees you trying to sit up to convince him. You're gonna be in worse pain tomorrow if you keep that up. 

"Fine fine. Just stop squirmin'."

He toes off his boots and slips off his jacket, placing it over the chair holding yours. After a moment of hesitation he lowers himself onto the mattress next to you, overtop the blanket. He hears your soft sigh as your head tilts towards him. 

He rolls onto his side so he can face you, seeing your eyes closed languidly. 

Your sweet face is highlighted in the dawning sun coming in from the window and Joel feels his heart throb at the sight. He sees you fighting sleep, eyelids fluttering. 

"Go to sleep, baby," he murmurs. His fingers rise between the two of you coming to trace along your cheek. "Just go to sleep."

You give a soft exhale. 

"Feels good having you here, Joel."

Joel feels himself melt at those words, his long fingers finding yours on the bed. He takes your smaller hand in his, rubbing your knuckles with his calloused thumb gently. 

"Will you stay for a while?" You whisper, your eyelids growing still as your body goes sluggish.

He smiles over at your placid face and answers you even though he's fairly certain you've fallen back asleep. 

"I'll stay as long as you want."