#chef joel x bartender reader

[penvisions]

garnish {chapter 1}

Pairing: Chef! Joel Miller x Bartender! Reader

Summary: Summer is a time of fun and carefree days for those who are fortunate enough to not work within the food industry. You however have found yourself back in that world and so long were the days you could spend doing nothing. Along with the shift back to a world you once left behind is the figure of Joel Miller, who is as magnetizing as he is irritating that is now a part of your daily life.

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: smut piv smut, unprotected piv, dirty talk, joel miller's filthy mouth, kinda enemies to lovers?, degrading language, restaurant lingo, triggers associated with the food industry

A/N: this...this is a scary thing for me to share. this is so closely drawn from my life and the things i've experienced in my twenties (as far as the restaurant stuff goes, i was never fortunate enough to catch the eyes of someone as alluring as our dear joel). i'm fully aware that i don't need another WIP but this has been comsuming me lately and i wanted to share despite the trepidation. c'est la vie, no?

ao3 link || series masterlsit || main masterlist

“Fuck.” You moaned, the sound filling the cool air of the walk in, back arching as you tried to push back against the man who had sheathed the entirety of his hard length into you with one smooth, drawn out move so attuned to your body. His grip on your hips was bruising, the feeling of him gripping tight to your shoulder even more so, but he didn’t move.

He seemed frozen, head bowed down and forehead connected with the back of your head, hands gripping tight, chest heaving with each deep breath and brushing hot against your back. Murmured words falling from his plush lips too quiet for you to catch, but you were sure if he could safely do so, he would be praising you in that filthy way he was prone to do. His large thighs were pressed to the backs of your own and the feel of his chef pants was rough on the naked skin of your thighs where he had pushed up the skirt of the dress you had worn for your shift.

“Please, Joel, I need you to move.” You circled your hips, grinding back on the entire length of him and you could feel yourself clench. A guttural moan sounded from his lips, puffing out in a misty breath.

“What did I tell you about bein’ a good girl f’me?” The hard line of him twitched deep inside you and your knees wobbled. The hand on your waist curled around your middle to help keep you upright, lest they give out on you completely. He pulled out nearly all the way only to slam back in, it took everything in you not to scream from the pleasure as white sparked across your vision. Your teeth digging into the hands that were grasping desperately onto the edge of the metal storage shelf you were pressed up against. Trying to hide the sound in an effort to keep the secret that had become your personal life just that, something shared in moments of spiking passion and deep kisses between you and the man who enraptured you beyond anything you had experienced before.

Thoughts swirled and your mind took you back to the events that transpired to allow this type of pleasure to be something that you owned, that you took, that was given to you by the man whose hands were holding you so tightly and pounding into you so deliciously.

“I think a play on mint would be a good idea, for the paired cocktail. I could whip up a batch of simple syrup infused with it or order a case of crème de menthe. But I’ll mess around with it and get back with y’all in a few days before the order needs to be placed.” You jotted down what glasses you were thinking of, a choice between a martini glass, a coup, and a tall rocks class. You pushed your reading glasses back up your nose, the frames having slipped down the bridge as you scribbled half ideas down in your small notebook. “Chef, will the mash be sweet potato or more like the topping for the Shepard’s pie we did last fall? And the balsamic, will it be a glaze over the brussels or will they be cooked with it?”

Joel Miller’s eyes seemed to snap to you, he had offered his new rotation of dishes for the fall menu and promptly spaced out. He never seemed to pay attention to anything else in the higher up meetings for the restaurant you worked at. You had been here for a year now. Having been hired as a general bartender and then bumped up to manager around two months in. You had to do an order on the fly for the bar when it was revealed that the manager had made a faux one and pocketed the money for themselves. To say they had been fired would be an understatement. They were no longer allowed to work for any part of the company.

You don’t think you had ever met his eyes before and you were beginning to think that was a blessing in disguise. His eyes were such a warm, chocolate brown that lit up into an amber wonderland that you could find yourself getting lost in when they caught the light. It took you a moment to realize that he was answering your questions. This was the first instance of a menu change that you had the chance to ask questions. His gaze wandered over what he could see of you as you sat across the table from him, further down by the barback you had chosen to help out with keeping the tickets flowing well and running drinks when the servers were busy.

“Was thinkin’ of sweet potatoes, to compliment the lamb. It won’t be a traditional mint jelly, more of a yogurt based mint sauce topped before leaving the line.” He glanced down at the menu he had provided for the meeting. It was simple and to the point. Underneath one of the new dishes, the special due to the cost of sourcing the lamb was simple descriptors. Special: Lamb. Mash. Brussels. Mint. Balsamic.

“Sounds yummy, and the balsamic, chef?”

“Haven’t decided yet.” He grunted out, not sure what to think of you asking after the dish. Sure, he knew you needed to know the components properly for each dish of the special in order to pair it properly with a house made drink. But you were so…something he wasn’t used to seeing. You had a good balance of professional and personable, both on the clock and off. He noticed some of his cooks offering you tastes of stuff they were working on during prep hours and returned dishes that came back to the kitchen. The other servers often mentioned you helping them with rowdy or difficult tables, were more than willing to help them if they didn’t know questions asked after the drinks offered and wine selection.

More often than not, people from both the front of house and back of house would sit at the bar with you after their shifts. Idle chit chat and horror stories of the night told between laughs and knowing looks. Bonding in ways that could only happen as a result of working in such a space, of being able to handle working in such a space.

He shook his head, the thoughts of you disappearing with the movement and he shoved off from the table to slink back into the kitchen. He stopped at the threshold of the dining room, your gentle voice in his ears and he stifled a shiver at the thought of your lips close enough to whisper into them. What kind of things would you be brave enough to say in hushed tones just for him? Would you whisper filthy desires into his ears and cause heat to spark down his spine, or would you beg him for the things he wanted to say to you, the things he saw flash before his closed eyes when he would see how effortlessly you knocked out a line of tickets, or helped to expo his line during the times in which spacing out tables was only a wish.

“Gotcha. Thank you, chef.”

Despite his better judgement he turned to look back at you over his shoulder, just in time to see you smile softly at him before turning your focus back to the meeting. He almost hadn’t, unsure of where the sudden salacious nature of his thoughts had sprung up from. And his heartrate picked up as he crossed into his kitchen space.

The manager of the restaurant was pacing back and forth in front of the host stand, phone held tightly to her ear as she listened to the voice bleeding from the other line. It was summer, the season of call outs and no call no shows. As predictable as the looks of glee on servers and cooks faces alike as checks hit their accounts on a weekly basis, the tip out rate through the roof with the influx of tourists and lively people of the city. The manager prided herself in being able to provide a good base pay for everyone, ignoring the cheap cop out of matching the other establishments of the area and the country in general.

None of that $2.13/hour nonsense, she had smiled genuinely at you in your interview, the softness of her excitement allowing you to seriously consider the industry you had left a few years previously in favor of going back to school, of taking the monumental step of becoming a teachers assistant at your alma mater. But grad school was around the corner, something you needed in order to pursue your dreams.

But even that wasn’t a good enough allure to keep the younger members of society committed to their shifts, especially after a particularly busy week. The restaurant world wasn’t for everyone, and it was quick to humble people in ways that still took you off guard even after having been entrenched in it for a good chunk of your twenties.

With a long sigh, a worn-out thin smile, and the harsh placement of the phone back into the charging station atop the host stand, that’s how you found yourself in the kitchen you only drifted through previously.

“You know anythin’ about preppin’ food?” The calculating look aimed down at you as Joel stood beside you in front of a prep station was sharp, his arms crossed over his broad chest. The sleeves of his chef’s coat folded up to expose the thickness of his forearms.

“Of course, we prep the-“

“Not fruit. Food. Actual food.”

The fact that he cut you off mid reply made your jaw clench and you had to hold your tongue back from spewing a bad comment. You had never been treated like that at this job, in the entire year that you’ve been here. Everyone had always been polite and friendly and professional. Things you were in return, the kitchen even going so far as to offer you the rare dead plate or extras from staff meal you were always unable to snag any of due to your schedule. People would stay and hang out at the bar after their shifts ended, often bringing you treats on their off days to share as you frequently brought stuff for the front of house to have snacks and rounds of their favorite drinks to stay hydrated during busy hours. This often extended to the back of house as well, if you had the time and means to.

The divide seen so cleanly in other restaurants was something that you tried to eradicate here, not play into the ‘this versus them’ ideology that plagues too many establishments and allowed for more errors and unhappy customers.

That’s not to say there was the odd throwaway comment in the heat of dinner rush or particularly challenging event, but those were brushed under the table as they were harmless. But this, this animosity for someone willing to help out when it was desperately needed, was uncalled for and sparking annoyance in your chest.

You hadn’t really interacted with Joel directly. Just in passing and hardly for longer than a professional acknowledgment during staff meetings when a new dish would be rolling out and you needed to make a cocktail or wine pairing for it. To be honest, you hadn’t spoken to him out of the childish daydream of not wanting the image of the handsome man to be shattered in your mind’s eye. Guess you were right to worry about something being wrong with him to warrant him to spend what seemed like his entire life in the damn kitchen. He had a superiority complex, it seemed.

But for him to be rude and cut you off after already making it clear he didn’t want you in his kitchen?

Game, fucking, on.

“Oh, no,” You adjusted the fit of the black gloves around your right wrist before you carefully picked up the chef knife and tapped the tip of it on the cutting board. Joel’s eyes were heavy and judgmental as you did so, he probably disliked the way you had needed to get the feel of the knife before using it. But he stayed silent, the furrow of his brows and the turndown of his plush lips deepening as you quickly and efficiently broke down the chicken. Once you were done, you placed the knife along the edge of the cutting board beside the line made up of a pair of breasts, thighs, legs, wings, and the severed spine of the chicken. “I don’t think I’m any good with actual food, chef.”

The controlled expression you were holding didn’t break, even when one of Joel’s eyebrows seemed to rise without conscious thought as his sharp eyes danced from the cutting board atop the prep station to you standing at attention in front of it. The tick in his jaw was garnering your attention, an obvious show to what the man was really feeling at your little display. Despite his less than kind attitude toward you, you couldn’t help the flash of heat that flared up in your middle at the thought of sucking kisses into the cut of his jaw, right where it was showing is ire. The surrounding kitchen staff were all peering over toward your new station with wide eyes, unbelieving that you were deliberately feigning innocence in a cheeky manner toward the head chef.

He may be an asshole, he may be loud, he may be particular, and he may have high standards: but no one argued with him because of his skill set and how effortlessly he displayed it day in and day out.

“Now, I believe we prep a total of 56 for the night shift. After dissembling them, they get placed into a salt brine to allow the skin to brown and crisp easier when braised or pan roasted. With an extra 4 just in case of dishes going to the wrong table or mix ups with servers not paying attention to the available par, is that correct, chef?”

Your lips turned up in a small grin and you knocked your gaze up to catch the man’s eyes. There was a fire behind them, one you were sure he was about to unleash on you in front of the entire staff. He was known for his outbursts when really upset, whether it be from someone not listening to clear instructions or a count gone wrong and messing up the rotation of dishes that could be offered that shift. Instead, he gave you a curt nod and told you to complete the prep by time the doors were to open and walked briskly away.

You spent the rest of the evening prepping the necessary things for the dinner service. You could’ve just done what had been asked of you, but you peeked at the long list of things that needed to be done by the person who had bailed on their shift, on the job and decided that the bar would be okay on a weekday night without you.

You prepped the chickens for the evening and the chickens for tomorrow’s service so the kitchen wouldn’t be behind like it had nearly been today. You had diced in perfect cubes the pickled beets for the panzanella salad and the components for the egg salad to be combined. Portioned out the ingredients for the brine and brought them to a soft boil atop a hot plate for a new batch of pickles and prepared the cucumbers with a mandolin. Sliced and portioned out the bologna and pancetta used for sandwiches, and even sliced the other components like the provolone cheese, cucumbers, and tomatoes used on them as well.

You neatly organized and legibly dated everything before breaking down the station at the end of the night. Even taking everything out of the banes and running them through dish and drying them before placing them back in their respective locations underneath the hood. Going as far as to deep clean the cooler shelves down below, wiping them down and sanitizing the entire station before putting everything back according to FIFO etiquette and wrapping it all up for the night.

The next day, your schedule was updated with two hours of prep before your typical shifts for the bar.

next chapter

[penvisions]

garnish {masterlist}

Pairing: Chef! Joel Miller x Bartender! Reader

Summary: Summer is a time of fun and carefree days for those who are fortunate enough to not work within the food industry. You however have found yourself back in that world and so long were the days you could spend doing nothing. Along with the shift back to a world you once left behind is the figure of Joel Miller, who is as magnetizing as he is irritating that is now a part of your daily life.

Word Count: 50k - complete

Warnings: smut piv smut, unprotected piv, dirty talk, joel miller's filthy mouth, kinda enemies to lovers?, age gap (reader is around 30 and joel is late 40's but it's up to your imagination, bby), degrading language, restaurant lingo, triggers associated with the food industry, power dynamics (due to job rankings), secret relationship, workplace relationship, pining, mutal pining, sexual tension, lingering stares, angst, hurt and comfort, stalking, unwanted attention, reader is an academic

A/N: please enjoy this self-indulgent little series!!

series teaser

main series:

chapter one || chapter two || chapter three || chapter four || chapter five || chapter six || chapter seven || chapter eight || chapter nine || chapter ten

one shots:

*in chronological order

during main series: happy hour(s) - post series one shot || not yet posted

after main series: office hours (valentine’s day one shot) || savor || out of date || i wish i never met you || zest of life

[penvisions]

garnish {chapter 6}

Pairing: Chef! Joel Miller x Bartender! Reader

Summary: You're overwhelmed with the realization of your attack and Joel tries his hand at comforting you as best he can.

Word Count: 6.3k

Warnings: reference to sa attempt, relationship talk, feelings of inadequacy, reader has a minor manic moment, body issues, reference to past body shaming, reference to past bullying, eating disorder, talk of ed, eating, cooking, a lot of food in this one, sexual content, p in v, joel's magic fingers, oral (f receiving), use of pet names, power dynamics (due to different job rankings), secret relationship, work dynamics, alcohol, consumption of alcohol, miscommunications, reader is described as flushing visibly through her tan skin (idk just covering my tracks w/ this one)

A/N: surprise chapter, anyone? today was a good day and i wanted to share this as it's been waiting for editing i took care of while waiting for class this evening. i'm not the most comfortable or best with writing full smut scenes, but i did my best. hope y'all like this?

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || kofi

Joel’s voice was carrying over from where he was in the kitchen. The phone had rung a few moments ago, stirring you both from slumber. His voice was even, his tone not giving anything away about what the conversation was about. It seemed to go on for a while, allowing you to drift back off.

“They put out a warrant, apparently this guy’s harassed some other girls around town.” His voice was quiet, once he realized your eyes were closed and you had snuggled back into the bed as he walked into the bedroom. You let out a whine and shifted to face him, eyes barely open.

Joel crawls back into the bed, not strong enough to resist the soft look you gave him as you lifted the corner of the covers for him in a silent request. He settled easily back into the bed, breath huffing out as he shifted to get comfortable.

He must’ve drifted off, his breathing evening out as you shuffled close to him and buried your face in his shoulder and hugged his arm close to you. He was warm, comforting over the spinning of the ceiling fan he had insisted on turning on last night.

You awoke to the feeling of fingers trailing over your own, over the hand you had put atop the bare chest you were resting your cheek on. A strong heartbeat was thudding in your ear, comforting. It picked up a tick when your hand flexed underneath Joel’s soft touches, the flutter of your lashes against his skin as you opened your eyes. Lips curling into a smile, you pushed your face further into his chest, fingers tangling with his own to rest over his stomach.

“Broke some ‘f your pretty nails,” His voice was a sleepy rumble, the gravel of his voice shooting straight to your core.

You pressed your lips to his chest in a kiss. Peppering them as far as you could reach before you had to shift to straddle hm. Thighs on either side of his waist, you trailed the kisses up to his collarbone, up the column of his neck, to the underside of his jaw. His chest was rumbling underneath your hands as he preened under the attention. His own hands gripping your waist where you hovered over him. You could feel the swell of him, and in a bold move you settled over him completely. He groaned at the pressure and his knuckles popped with the force he was gripping you with.

“Babygirl, you’re drivin’ me crazy, fuck, you’re so goddamn soft.”

“Then do somethin’ about it.”

“I want to, god, do I want to.” He pleaded with you, his eyes dark as he looked up at you, his hands never straying from their hold on your hips, his body not moving beneath you save for his breath. He licked his lips, pink tongue peeking out between them and you felt a jolt of heat. But he wasn’t moving, he wasn’t doing anything and his eyes took on a weird cast.

He wasn’t moving, he seemed to barely be breathing.

Your entire body stiffened, the loose, languid way in which you had rolled over him gone as you pushed off from him and sat in the spot you had just been laying in next to him.

“But…?” You felt the sting of tears in the back of your throat, making it hard to get the singular word out clearly. Small, you felt so small, like a piece of garnish that’s been pushed off a beautiful display of food to be forgotten. He wasn’t looking at you directly, eyes trained on the top of your head, his hands had fallen to his middle when you shifted up and away. But you were looking, seeing the way his face had contorted into something conflicted. As if he was at war with himself, his mind providing reasons for his hesitancy that he couldn’t or wouldn’t voice.

“Did I do something wrong or...?”

Tears betrayed your attempt at remaining composed, they raced down your heated face and you began to wring your hands in your lap. Still he didn’t move, so you shoved yourself from the bed and grabbed a hoodie, pulling it over your sleep shirt.

“Do you not…like the way I look?” You hated the way your voice came out in a weird staccato, as if it was warbling around the words that you were forcing through the tightness of your chest and into the air. A pair of sweatpants hushed as you pushed your legs through them and pulled them up.

Always self-conscious of your body, the way that everyone assumed things of you because of how you were built, how your curves filled out clothes more fully than some other girls. Not exactly skinny but not exactly fit, a little too much jiggle that sometimes made you try on outfit after outfit only to hide in hoodies when not at work. You couldn’t turn around at the sound of him shifting atop the bed, hands shaking where you tried to tame your hair that was most definitely mused from sleep. Face hot and hands shaking.

“I don’t know what I did,” Your voice cracked, a sob ripping through your body. “I’m sorry, I didn’t…I didn’t meant to push you, Joel – I’m-“ Your breathing was uneven, lungs burning as they pushed and pulled what air they could between your cries. Your feet were quiet on the hardwood as you rushed toward the bathroom, just as you cleared the threshold, his arms wrapped around you and turned you around before pulling him into his chest.

Eyes flicking up, you took in the way he was watching you already. Eyes trained on the curve of his mouth as his tongue peeked out from between his own lips. You hadn’t done anything quite so bold yet, besides that rather heated make out session the day he admitted to wanting to be with you. It always felt like he was holding back, or you were too hesitant to initiate despite being the one to kiss him first.

You had decided to and it backfired into this.

“You didn’t do nothin’, trust me.” His voice rumbled in his chest, where your face was pressed to it, his lips pressed to your hair. “Darlin’, it’s me. I…I want to be that way with you, trust me, I really do…but you need to know some stuff about me first.”

You felt the deep breath he took in, his chest expanding where your face was pressed into him and your hands against the softness of his tummy.

“I also didn’t want to push you…after last night. Bein’ attacked like that…if you had seen yourself as you set in that office…”

You hiccupped as you tried to get your breath back, errant tears hot as they raced down your cheeks and into the fabric of the shirt Joel thrown on as he got up from the bed. Looking up at him, knowing how big your eyes must’ve seemed, you tried to see how sincere he was in his words. Anger at being handled flared and faded when his own gentle eyes met yours.

After calming you down, Joel decided that breakfast sounded like a good second start to the day.

“Was supposed to be Tommy and a date. Don’t,” He paused, lifting the decorated ceramic to his lips for a drink. “Don’t want you thinkin’ I would just send you over to a table full ‘a my family you didn’t know about.”

“Didn’t know about.” You repeated it evenly, attention focused on the act of scrambling four eggs in a bowl. Your heart was beating fast in your chest. Anxiety trying to claw its way out of your ribcage as you stood in your small kitchen with a talented, established chef with a decade or so of experience you were getting a glimpse of as he opened up. And you were frying up left over taco steak and eggs. “Don’t know a lot about you.”

“All you gotta do is ask, I’ll try my best to answer.”

“Sounds an awful lot like first date talk.”

The hiss of the eggs hitting the pan was the only sound for a moment.

“…is that somethin’ you would like?” His eyes trained on you as you padded around the small kitchen to gather up salsa and tortillas you had made the other day from the fridge. “To go out…on a date?”

“…yeah.” You breathed out, glancing over at him, taking in the way he looked so devastatingly good bathed in the soft morning light seeping in through the open blinds. You couldn’t meet the amber of his eyes, lit up with something other than the rising sun. Instead, you focused on the gray sprinkled in his scruff.

He moved behind you, his coffee cup abandoned next to your own. His chin hooked over your shoulder and his hands loosely held onto you waist, just close enough for you to feel him but not restrict your movements as you set about to make breakfast before a shared day off.

“Uh, Joel?” The busy street was lined with spots, the one he pulled into right in front of a salon. The pinks and pastels of the shop familiar as it was exactly where you had gotten your nails done two weeks ago. You looked over to him, across the cab of the truck. “This is my nail salon, not the warehouse.”

“It’s just down the way.” Was his uninformative response, one of his hands on the steering wheel while the other dug into the middle console to retrieve his wallet. He pulled out a silver card and held it out to you, secure between his pointer and middle fingers. “It’s gonna take a while to go over everything, figured you could get a new set instead of bein’ bored.”

Staring. That’s all you could do. Eyes taking in the way his thick fingers held the card out to you, connected to his strong forearms. Veins decorated his arms and the bulge of his bicep that strained against the short sleeves of his blue t shirt. His scruff was dark on his tan face and smelled faintly of your rose – lemon body wash.

“Darlin’, I’m not trying to get rid of you, honest.” His eyes caught yours and you felt your heart flutter as the brown of them lit you up. “Your nails were so pretty, and I know how upset you are that they got messed up. Just wanted to do somethin’ to cheer you up.”

All you could do was lean over the console and take his face in your hands, feeling that dark scruff beneath your fingers and pull him to you in a deep kiss. He let you move him, leaning closer at your urgent attention. His lips moved against your own just as urgently, like he had been counting down the time since he last had the opportunity.

The knock on your security door started you as you fluffed up your hair, giving it volume to fall around your face just right. Smoothing your hands down the red silk of the dress you had picked out, you walked over to the door. It had been a hard decision, standing in the mirror and tearing apart your appearance before finally just walking away. The small form of your fluffy cat playing with Joel through the glass of the door, the front left open. He brandished a dopey grin at you, a dimple appearing in his right cheek that had a heat flush your cheeks.

“Didn’t know you had somethin’ like this in your closet, darlin’.”

You took in the clean, black of his pressed pants, the black and dark green paisley of his dress shirt underneath a black suit jacket. His hair had been brushed back, curls swooping around the nape of his neck. He had trimmed his beard and mustache, a little less scruffy now. He looked good. Was that a gold chain around his neck, you reached up to where the top two buttons of his shirt were undone and uncovered the glittering there. It was.

“Uh.”

“Cat got your tongue?” He held up the little creature to you and she pressed her nose to your cheek, a scratchy lick following in. The smirk he aimed down at you had heat stirring to life between your legs.

“Fuck, you’re hot.” Was all you managed to get out, hand tugging lightly on the chain between your fingers and pulled him down to crash your lips together. Padded steps let you know he had set the cat down and his hands wrapped tight around your middle, bringing you against his chest.

Licking into his mouth, he eagerly returned the enthusiasm.

When his hands slipped underneath the skirt of your dress and rucked it up around your waist, he tucked one of his thighs between your own.

“Let. Me. See. It.” He nudged his thigh, creating friction exactly where you needed it and your vision wavered. He leaned his head back and drank in the sight of you. From the heat flushing the tan of your face, the way your chest moved in the fabric of the dress, to the flare of your hips as he moved his thigh against you, to the way your lips were swollen from his attention.

“Fuck, baby, we gotta make the reservation.” His fingers toyed with the band of your underwear, feeling the thinness of the fabric before he pulled away and adjusted himself.

The dining room is bathed in soft, low lights. Joel leads you to the table, keeping your arm wrapped around his easily, drawing you toward a table that is nestled into a semi-circle booth. The plush velvet of the booth is soft against the bare skin of your arms as you carefully scooch in toward the middle to face out toward the rest of the room. Joel movement is smooth as he follows suit. The thick frame of his glasses catching the overhead twinkling lights. His thick hand rests atop your thigh, tracing absentminded patterns in the silk of your dress.

“There’s no pressure to eat, I’d be happy just sharing a drink with ya, alright?” Joel pinned you with a look, somewhere between a mix of simmering concern to not offend you and seriousness to let you know he just wanted you to be comfortable.

“Can I get anything started for you?” A waitress popped up, smile bright and apron tight around her waist.

“I’ll take a Glenlivet, neat.”

“I’ll take a gin and tonic, Empress if you have it? I think I see the purple of it from here, but I wanted to check.”

“Of course, did you want that with a lime or lemon twist?”

“Hmm, lime and a cherry.”

“Got it, I’ll give you a moment to look over the menu. Let me know if you have any questions!” She moved away with a swing of her hair and a hand skimming the table. You looked after her, having noticed the way she wouldn’t look at your during the exchange, her eyes trained on Joel the entire time.

You felt shy all of a sudden, aware of how much skin you had on display for everyone to see. You fidgeted, knees bumping as you tried to make yourself smaller, take up as little space as possible. The scent of food wafting around the room made your stomach clench, realizing you hadn’t had anything since breakfast. But you worried about messing up the lipstick you had fawned over as you got ready, the color of it smearing and revealing that you weren’t as put together as you appeared. For everyone to see that you didn’t know what you were doing, that this was out of your comfort zone.

Sure, you could work in a place of such high caliber and elegance, but to be a patron?

“Hey, look at me.” Joel’s voice had an edge to it, the urgency of it causing you to snap your attention to him from where it had been trained on the shelves of the bar, but unseeing. Lost in the mental Olympics that your thoughts had delved into. “You seem nervous, we can go, we don’t have to stay even if we ordered drinks. Jus’ want you to be comfortable.”

“It’s just…I feel like I don’t belong, this place is so fancy.”

“No fancier ‘n my place,” He watched the way your eyes flitted from the cardstock menu to the servers bustling about, to the way you were clocking every movement from the door to the bar to the kitchen, every vigilant. Then it clicked for him, for all the confidence you had while at work it didn’t carry over into your personal interactions, to your everyday actions. Self-conscious and worried about everything translated into good work ethic. He knew about that, all too well. His hand on your leg tightened before he moved down to cup your knee. That’s why his previous behavior got to you so easily, he questioned your ability to shove it all down in order to thrive at work. The one place you felt comfortable enough to front and do a damn good job of it.

“You’re one of the most enamoring people I’ve ever encountered, you have my attention.” Your gaze on him softened, just as the waitress made her way back over to the table with two drinks in hand.

“Here you go, sir.” She trilled, setting the drink down in front of him carefully. She turned her attention to you and beamed, her eyes lighting up as she leaned down a little to offer the drink to you. She spoke with genuine words as she met your hesitant eyes. “Your dress is so beautiful; it really suits you. I wish I had your confidence.”

You could feel Joel’s hand tighten on your knee as you seemed to shift, some of the self-assuredness you carried at work settling into you. Spurred on by the kind words of another woman, the affirmation where there were so often thinly veiled insults thawing the icy anxiety that had taken hold of you.

“Thank you, I love your earrings. That’s one of my favorite movies.”

She blushed, her hand going to tuck a wayward strand from her face. The earrings looked just like the ones a character in an animated movie did, and she smiled shyly at the recognition.

“Thank you, I’ll give you two some more time. Chef Macey wanted to come by and greet you before you placed your order.” And she was off, with a little more confidence settling her own shoulders.

“Can’t keep my eyes off of you, the way that dress moves on your body, you fill it out so nice, pretty girl.”

Joel leaned in close and whispered in your ear before taking a sip from his drink. You nudged him with your shoulder, but the tint to your dark skin surely told him how you really felt.

Conversation flowed from that point on, both of you sharing with each other.

Joel dragged his lips down the column of your neck, entire body pushing you up against the front door of his house that he just closed. One of his hands loosely clamped both of yours above your head to against the wood, the other was caressing the skin of your hip. The silk skirt of your dress was hiked up around his wrist, the slit in the side of it allowing him easy access to trace his hands over you. His fingers skimmed where your skimpy underwear lined the crease of your thigh.

Your head hit the door you were up against with a thunk, hips canting forward as heat pulsed through your middle.

“Been wondering what you’ve got hiding under here all night, sweetheart.” He pressed the words into your collarbone, scruff brushing over you as he did so in a pleasant way. His fingers stroked the front of your underwear, feeling the fabric damp from his attention. He pressed harder, your swollen lips gliding together with a squelching sound and when his index finger caught the hood of your cunt, you couldn’t help the loud moan that pushed from somewhere deep in your ribs.

“Oh fuck, she’s so needy, isn’t she?”

You could only nod, unable to form words as you watch, enraptured by the man before you.

“Just begging for attention and she’s gonna get it, gonna give her what she wants.” He rasped as he used both hands to drag the fabric from your body down your legs. He let out a pleased sound at the sight of creamy slick gathered on the inside of them, his tongue coming to part his lips as he leaned forward to bury his face in the front of your dress. He stayed crouched down, hands groping your legs as he raised them, nuzzling his nose against the front of you, the sensation lighting you up from the inside out.

Lifting the fabric of your dress up, rouching it around your waist, he took your legs and brought them over his shoulders. Making sure your back was supported by the door, he leaned in and grazed the tip of his nose through your folds. Just hovering over the apex of your thighs, taking in the way he could see the slick glitter against your inner thighs from his attention. He licked up your slit with the flat of his tongue, hands holding tight to your stuttering hips as he supported you.

Your back arched, hands scrambling for purchase in the hair he had slicked. Tugging it gently from its careful placement and nails lightly scraping against his scalp had him groaning into you. The vibrations hitching your breath as pleasure stole the air from your very lungs.

Feeling boldened by your sounds and rutting, he carefully brings a hand down to circle your fluttering entrance with a thick finger before he slowly pushes into you.

“Ah, hah, fuck,” You keened when he curled it within the tight heat, pumping slowly and adding a second one before you could even catch your breath to beg for just that. It was too much, it wasn’t enough, it was just right. He groans as you clench tightly around his fingers, fucking them into you in slow drags to work you through up to the precipice. The feeling of your pulsing clit against the wet of his tongue where it swirled around making you dizzy.

Feeling the clench of your stomach, fire crackling deep in your core, you came suddenly with a shout.

Joel worked you through it, his fingers pumping in and out of your slick entrance. His tongue rolling over your sensitive clit as it pulsed harshly enough for him to feel. The aftershocks of your release twitching your muscles, you felt boneless in your satisfaction.

Suddenly deflating, your entire body slackens, and if it weren’t for the way Joel supported your legs you would’ve crumbled.

“Bedroom. Now.” He growled as he took you into his arms and carried you up the stairs. All you could do was cling to him, arms around his neck as he cradled you against his chest. With every step, you could feel the hard line of him straining against his dress slacks.

There was nothing that could’ve looked better, you mused as you watched Joel fists the long line of his cock, pumping himself slowly as he watched you from the foot of the bed. The way his body was on display for you, the way he was looking at you with a need that had been simmering for weeks, months now ever since you first met his eyes in the sunlight during that meeting so long ago. Muscles in his thighs jumping as you shifted to let your legs fall open, an invitation for him. The glistening of your release smeared over all of your cunt on display for him as your lips parted, allowing him to see how you fluttered around nothing as your eyes trained on the small dribble of precum that bubbled up from his tip.

He moved slowly, taking in the sight of your laid out before him on his bed, eyes desperate. Your hands trailed down the expanse of your body, miles of supple skin all for him. Fingers moving through course hair before finding your glistening lips, delved into the soft folds of yourself to circle your clit in small circles.

“Fuck, can’t wait, can ya? Greedy lil thing,” Joel’s knees hit the surface of the bed and he crawled over you, your legs falling open to make room for him as he pressed his warm body to you. He reached over to rummage in his bedside table, the crinkling of foil telling you he was fetching a condom. He held it between two fingers for you to see, like he had with his credit card earlier in the day. You nodded, grateful he had the awareness to think of it.

His fingers nudged yours away, taking over and sparking heat as he guided his cock to drag through your slick folds. His tip brushed against your sensitive clit and you gasped out, hands coming up to grip his biceps, the muscles firm. Pulling away, he quickly tore open the small package and rolled it on, pumping himself a few times as he watched the way your body trembled in anticipation. He notched himself at your entrance, pausing to catch your eyes as he slid in.

He moaned out at the tight feel of you taking him, the wet sound of you sucking him in to the hilt. He stilled, holding himself above you, chests brushing as you both breathed deeply.

“She’s taking me so well, baby girl, you’re taking me so well,” Voice low and sultry as his eyes trained on the way you were clenching tight around him, not moving quite yet as he reveled in the sight of himself nestled deep inside of you for the first time.

“Joel, please,” You panted, hands reaching for him, petting his chest, feeling the heat he was giving off and the soft brush of his dark chest hair against your palms. He gave an experimental thrust, dragging out nearly all the way until just the tip of his cock stretched you out to glide back in. You keened as he brushed against something deep inside, eyes going wide as you looked up at him. “Do that again, hard, please, Joel.”

“Fuck, I’ll do whatever you want if it feels this fucking good,” He pressed into you, his chest flush with yours as he leaned down deeper into your space. Your arms hooked around his neck as he thrust harshly into you, hitting that spot deep inside you relentlessly. Eyes clenching shut, he moved against you and all you could do was take it. You felt so full, pleasure warming you up like a fire licking at the edges of your skin.

The head of his cock brushed your cervix and your breath hitched before a guttural sound flitted from between your lips. One of your hands snaked down from around his neck to press on your lower belly and he grunted out at the added pressure.

“So full, so good,” Was all you could say, overwhelmed by the feeling of him all over. All around and inside of you, making you feel so good that tears welled up in the corners of your eyes. He moved against you in hard, deep thrusts that made your breath hitch on each impact. The stretch of him punching the air from your lungs just as he breathed it back into you with his lips so close to yours.

Pleasure washed over you, the heat all encompassing and you tried to warn him before your vision sparkled black and your body clenched impossibly tight around him.

“Fuck, you did so good, pretty girl. You came f’me so well.” He grunted with every move against you, his thrusts faltering as he neared his own peak. His forehead was heavy where he rested it against your own, skin slick with sweat and curling his mused hair. His dark eyes found your own, seeing the way you came back to yourself, he stilled deep inside you and filled the condom. The hot sensation of his release inside you, felt through the thin material, making your hips jolt up and rut against him.

Joel had started to take Wednesdays off, to share the day with you after you completed your classes. You had all three that day, the two you attended as a student and the one you were an assistant for. It was something you had noticed the first time he had slept over after a long shift the night before and offered to drop you off and fetch you afterwards. It was rather nice, to have someone waiting for you when you found yourself leaving campus around dinner time. He often offered to cook or get takeout from one of the Joel-approved establishments around the city. Paired with an offer to come to his place or hole up in yours and watch bad movies or sitcoms.

It was a nice way to spend the last couple weeks of the summer semester. The campus crowded with people attempting to get their credits during the faster paced season, but you felt like you belonged a little more, now having other parts of your life flesh out. Conversations with classmates shifted from talk about work to that and the addition of what you and Joel would get into.

Your close friend Nia was also very interested in the sudden influx of photos on your feed that were all cropped to show only snippets of Joel. Your legs tangled on the couch, his hand on your thigh while in the car, two coffee cups beside each other, two pairs of boots on a trail, the hint of a scruffy chin in the low light of a kitchen or backyard.

It was a lazy afternoon, the lingering scent of breakfast and coffee in the air of Joel’s cozy house as you stood underneath the hot stream of water in his master bathroom. He had let you sleep in, the day free from work and class. Only finals to complete over the next week. You took your time washing with his soap, the scent comforting as it wafted around in the steam that collected in the room.

Sighing, you pulled out one of his shirts from the dresser to go over your leggings. Pulling on a pair of socks and adding product to your hair, voices could be heard downstairs in the living room.

“Y’all can stay but…yes, she’s here.”

“Dad! You could’ve told us that when we texted we were on the way!” Sarah smacked him on the side of his arm with the book she had picked up to check out from the coffee table.

“Yeah, Joel, meeting the family is kind of something you gotta prepare her for.”

“It doesn’t matter how much we want to meet her if she’s not ready, if you aren’t ready.” Ellie pointed out, a dull look aimed at her father as she settled into the couch. They both watched Joel’s hands fidget as he thought it over. Weighing the options of what to do.

“…you’re right, lemme go and run it by her.”

As he climbed the last few stairs he came face to face with your form in the doorway leading into his room, a soft smile on your face. Your name fell from his lips as he took in the causal sight of you in his clothing, coming out of his room as if it was your own.

“So- uh, my girls are here, and they wanted to take me-us out to lunch.”

“Okay,” You watched the way he clenched and unclenched his hands at his side, a nervous tick of his you’d noticed before ever even talking to him outside of work matters. In a soft voice, you melted away his worries. “Then lemme get changed into some jeans.”

The smile he broke out into fluttered your heart.

They didn’t pass judgement on the way you only ordered an appetizer and shared a few bites of a dessert with them. They shared endearing stories of Joel’s attempts to parent them in the ways he thought was best, from stocking up on their favorite snack foods for when they visited, to doing research on the best mechanics and repair crews in their respective areas should he not be able to get to everything when he visits.

“Study groups have been outlined, please gather together.”

The packet handed to you had a post it with a message to stay after class, something about an application for an upcoming internship. You excused yourself for a moment, after taking the time to see who was in your group and settled together in a corner of the classroom. They smiled at you, letting you know it was okay as textbooks and reading for the class were brought out.

Waiting for the line to pick up after nervously hitting the call button underneath the number for the restaurant, you picked at a stray thread hanging from you shirt. It picket up after the seventh one, just before the typical recording of information and how to leave a message.

“Hi, yes, I’m looking for leadership?”

“Mary’s off today, it was supposed to be you today. Chef is here, but…he’s in a mood.” Millie spoke in a whisper, and you could picture her holding her hand over her mouth as she spoke into the receiver.

“When isn’t he?” You huffed, worried about having to tell him you were going to be late. You weren’t immune to the attendance policy. While Mary was relaxed about, lenient when she could be, it still adhered in most cases. Joel, however, as the owner, took it a little more seriously when it came to the kitchen staff. Needing them in order to run a high caliber of service. “Can you fetch him for me? It’s important.”

The line muffled, Millie not putting the line on hold but instead was probably walking the phone through the restaurant to the kitchen. You heard the sound of the swinging door on it’s hinges before the line came back in crisp quality.

“This is Joel Miller.”

“Joel, it’s me.”

“You’re due in at one.”

“I know. I…might be late. I got a note from my professor, they want me to see me after class. It might run long.”

“You’re the front of house leadership today, Mary’s out for that thing with her son.”

“Joel…I know. I wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t important, I’m not calling out, just letting you know I might not make it in time for my prep shift.”

“Can’t have that, it’s just a meetin’ with someone who regularly seeks you out while you’re on the bar.”

“Joel…”

There was the sound of a door closing and he spoke at a lower volume. “Text me any updates, okay? There’s somethin’ about it that I don’t like. Need to know everything is okay. Just get here when you can, I’ll get Millie to open the bar and make the section outlines.”

“I’m emailing you the outlines sections for who’s on shift, the reservation list and who gets what tables for that, and the things Millie needs to prepare for the ones with prefix menus.”

“…thank you.”

“You know…there’s no need for you to be jealous, Miller.”

“’m not jealous, just don’t like him, is all.”

“I’ll see you later.” You bit back the words that wanted to follow, holding them down until they lodged themselves at the bottom of your throat.

“I wanted to discuss the interest you’ve shown toward the internship I’m offering once the Fall semester begins. You were one of the first to apply.” Your professor stated as the last couple bodies from class exited out into the hallway. You just nodded, nerves still itching underneath your skin as you pulled up an errant chair to settle into, the desk separating you from him.

“Yes, I enjoyed the way you lead your class and think you have a lot to teach on how to apply that knowledge toward real world parameters.” You crossed your legs, trying to get feeling back into them, leg muscles twitching for having sat for so long.

“You certainly are one of the more qualified candidates and I always enjoy your work. But there is one concern that I have regarding the situation.” He leaned back slightly in his chair, the springs squeaking as he did so. He looked so calm and collected, like he did during lectures. He had all the knowledge and he was granting it to you, you wanted to continue to learn from him. He was a good teacher, a thorough instructor, a caring and thoughtful person who decided to share his knowledge with those of like-minded individuals.

“And that is…?”

You were worried he was going to tell you it would be unprofessional to offer it to you in the wake of him becoming a regular at the bar. That he was going to tell you he had feelings for you, that he wouldn’t be able to work in such close quarters with you for the duration of the internship. Something, anything, the smallest thing to prevent you from getting the position.

“It seems you and my…brother had a mighty big misunderstanding.”

Confusion halted your racing thoughts, the anxiety that had been humming through your veins during the entire class session. Everything in your mind blanked as the words clicked into place.

“Your broth- oh shit.”

previous chapter || next chapter

dividers: by the lovely @/saradika-graphics

[penvisions]

garnish {chapter 9}

Pairing: Chef! Joel Miller x Bartender! Reader

Summary: Life is weird. Human connection is weird. But you finally are in a spot to listen to what Joel has to say, even if your mind is already made up.

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: canon typical language, restaurant lingo, talk of food, consumption of food, smoking, references of nicotine addiction, nicotine, cigarettes, drinking, references to alcoholism, insinuations of infidelity, complicated relationship dynamics, reader feels a lot of anxiety, sexual content, p in v smut, unprotected p in v, cream pie

A/N: this was a hard one to sit down and get done, i feel so removed from this story for some reason. it's turned into something i didn't expect and i love it, do not get me wrong. but it's just a hard dynamic for me write about at the moment. hope y'all like this one, only one more to go!

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

Your boxes were in the living room, bathed in easy early morning light when you turned the handle of the front door. Joel was a still figure on the couch, head hanging between his legs and cradled in his hands. Hair mused and frizzy from the endless brushing of his fingers through the thick locks.

He must’ve dosed off, you thought, as you quietly closed the door behind you. But when you turned back around, he was standing next to the boxes with a haggard look about him. Clothes disheveled and showing the wrinkles of his endless pacing and fidgeting throughout the night. You jumped, not having heard him move up from his spot and closer to you.

“Figured we could unpack today…if that’s somethin’ you would want.” His words were clear, but you could sense the hesitancy behind them, the uncertainty of where you were at and what you wanted obvious in his every muscle.

“I want to know why.” You regretted the crack rough quality of your voice, of the faint lingering haze of nicotine from the cigarette you had smoked on the porch before building up the courage to cross the threshold. Distant worry that you would find the woman from the night before asleep on the couch or the guest room downstairs. That they would be enjoying a nuclear family breakfast, Sarah having been called to come down and help Joel deal with what was an obvious issue with the girl’s mother. It was foolish to spend energy on the what if’s but that’s what your brain did, every second of every day since you were a small girl yourself. Endlessly tiring and anxiety inducing.

But this was a situation where you believe it was warranted. Any relationship has a person whose name could be brought up and instantly cause problems. And not for lack of understanding and an abundance of care for each other. But society has but such a strict label on what is appropriate behavior for friends and what isn’t. The same for people in a romantic relationship. It was all bullshit, but anything other was looked at with discontent and judgement born of nothing but devotion to those strict labels that had no impact on genuine human connection.

This was a situation you had never anticipating being smack dab in the middle of, between two distant co-parents to a biological daughter only a few years younger than you and an adopted one even younger than that. The what ifs were endless.

They rendered you silent for a moment, moving through the space toward the kitchen. He followed you, his own thoughts scrambled as he tried to find an honest answer to give you. You could feel his eyes follow you as you moved about the kitchen, knowing the space as well as your own. Coffee. You were making coffee. A bit of cinnamon on the grounds before turning the pot on and turning to face the man once again, arms coming up as a makeshift shield around your ribcage.

Joel heaved a sigh, hands clenching at his sides in that nervous tick of his. Exhausted eyes with dark color encircling them watched you as you crossed your arms around yourself to try and make yourself small. A thing he’s seen you do a lot when overwhelmed.

“I didn’t do anythin’ after that morning in your kitchen. I swear to you.”

“But the day before?”

“…yes.” His head hung slightly, like the weight of his answer was too heavy for him to bear. Too much of a give away of how he thought of himself, how he felt about the decisions he’s made in his life.

“Joel, that’s….that’s really confusing.” You admitted quietly, knees weakening as the image of him with someone else flashed in your mind. The thought of him with someone he had a connection with, a history with. A child with, grew up with, the same age as him. Close. Important. A part of his life for most of his life.

“I know, this whole damn thing is confusing. I didn’t- I never thought about it past the instances of what would happen. Didn’t dwell on it.” He sighed, shuffling closer and reaching out a hand to you in a silent request. You gently shook your head, not wanting to be touched right now. Unable to resist the warmth and strength of his hands coming around you and holding you tight. One breath against his chest would be your downfall. You needed to stay strong, for now. For as long as you could.

“I shouldn’t have let it go on for as long as it did. Every time she had a bad date or something ended or she was overwhelmed with trying to reconnect with Sarah…it would just happen. And I know that’s not a good enough reason to keep it from everyone. Hell, I don’t even think Tommy knows. But, sweet girl, please, it’s done. I-I-I had her admitted to an in-patient facility to help her with everything she’s struggling with, she wanted to go. The alcohol, the smoking, those habits I picked up from her, but they have such a stronger hold on her than they ever did on me. She’s going to get better with the understanding that I have love for her, for all that she’s been to me. But also that we are no longer going to engage in that way, that she is someone who is family and boundaries were made. I told her about you, really told her about you.”

His heart was bleeding and bare, offered to you in a way you weren’t sure you could handle.

Turning from him, you poured two cups of coffee and took them over to the table, taking a seat before your knees did betray you and no longer support your weight. He followed, leaving space between you lest he spook you. Lest you feel the need to run from him. You didn’t know if you would and could see the same worry in him.

“Okay,” Was all you could say, unsure of how to handle such transparency so early in the morning. It had been a long night, up late with Nia as she told you of all the good things going on in her life. Trying to be supportive despite showing up on her doorstep with dried tear tracks and a hollow feeling in your chest.

You hadn’t told her, had just spent time with her and watched lame movies that wouldn’t be able to pass today’s critics. Stupid, cliché comedies about sororities, about ice skaters who hated each other, about a damn dodge ball competition. Easy to consume media that helped to get you out of your head long enough to laugh at the ridiculous antics until you dozed off with each other on the couch surrounded by candy wrappers and bowls of snacks.

“I’m processing, it’s…it’s not okay, Joel, but I’m accepting what you’re telling me.”

“I was honest when I said I didn’t know how to-“

“Ding dong bitches,” Ellie’s voice sounded as she burst into the room with a duffle bag hanging from her hand and a crooked smile. She paused for the briefest of seconds at the scene of you and Joel on opposite sides of the dining table. A vulnerability shining in both your eyes. A heavy feel to the air of the kitchen surrounding you both. “…everything okay?”

“We’ve had a rough couple of days.” You felt your mood lighten the face of direct interaction with someone other than Joel. Ellie being such a comfort in all her genuine comfortability in herself, in the way Joel’s eyes were bright when he cracked jokes with her or groaned out at one of her less than clever puns. “But we’re okay, promise.”

“Okay, cool. I didn’t wanna be the jackass who waltzed in on like a really tense moment when I’m so excited to be home.” Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, knowing that that was exactly what she did and you were both faking it.

“You didn’t, baby girl, promise.” Joel reached out to squeeze your hands laid out on the table with his own but thought better of it at the last second before he stood up and moved around the kitchen.

“Dad, hey, so like the food on the plane sucked and-“

“Already got the stuff to make omelets, give me about fifteen minutes.”

“You rock! Gonna go shower and then we can head to the campus, yeah?”

“Austin?”

“Yeah!” Ellie turned to you, eyes taking in the way you were moving slowly and your eyes hadn’t quite yet cleared. “I’m applying for a graduate program for spring! I graduated earlier this year but being a teacher assistant isn’t exactly racking in the dough, ya know?”

“I warned you,” You joked with her as she came over to give you a side hug from her standing position, a delayed greeting you returned that had Joel turning quickly away from you both.

“Shuuuuut up, I know.” She grumbled. “We can’t all be really good at being fake nice to people and mix drinks, okay? Buuuuuut maybe I could-“

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was gonna say, ya old dinosaur.”

“You-“ He pointed a mixing spoon in her direction, bowl of cracked eggs in front of him. “Are not coming to work in the restaurant. You know the rules, you live here and go to school full time and everything else is taken care of.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re the best, okay? We get it.” She stuck her tongue out at him as she walked backwards out of the room, her steps heavy on the stairs as she made her way to her room.

“You really are, Joel.” You said more to the contents of your mug than the man himself. Eyes downcast and thoughts overwhelming.

All you could think about was Joel. All you could feel around you was Joel. He was enthralling, his body moving against you in deep, hard thrusts. His voice was in your ear, grunting your name every so often, his voice traveling down the length of your body and right to your core. He had moved to lay your back against the floor, one of his hands supporting himself by your head while the other was fastened right on your hip. You were trying not to make a keening noise as the head of his cock hit that glorious spot deep inside you over and over again, but you weren’t too confident when his eyes snapped up to try and capture yours where you had been staring at the way sweat was trickling down the column of his neck, pooling at the collar of his white undershirt.

“You’re takin’ me so well.” Your legs clenched tighter around him, your core squeezing his length sinfully tights, at his words. He stilled as he bottomed out on his next thrust, circling his hips to grind down on that spot inside you that had a coiling feeling building up and about to snap in your stomach. Your fingers dug into the curve of his shoulders, trying to urge him to move but when he didn’t, you moved your hips around him, his next words coming out in a low growl. “But you gotta reign in those sounds, darlin’.”

“I’m tryin’.” You panted, throwing your head back as you felt your stomach tighten, you felt so hot, so tense, you were so close. Your voice was wrecked, dripping honey sweet to his ears, the sounds you were making made him think how much more he could get out of you if there was no background worry of waking anyone or drawing attention. Taking his time and dragging out your orgasm as long as he felt fit, making you beg for it. He closed his eyes at the thought, beginning to thrust again. “But it just feels so good, you fill me so well.”

He could feel the tightening deep in his stomach, he wanted to make sure you came before he did. He wanted to take care of you, make sure you got what you needed, just as he felt so desperate himself to chase that high. He straightened up a bit, body no longer caging yours. He put both of his hands on your hips and patted them, the give of your skin so plush and soft under his fingers. “On your knees.”

The command had you positioned on your knees, resting most of your weight on your elbows in ten seconds flat. You looked back at him over your shoulder, seeing the way his eyes were roaming over the curves of your body, his hand lazily pumping himself as he watched you wiggle into place. He choked out a strangled noise when you bumped back into him, slick heat catching the head of his cock. With a growl, he lined up and slammed into you without preamble, hands coming to grip your hips for leverage. You jolted forward, his length hot and hard overwhelming in the best way possible.

He angled his hips, searching for that spot inside you again and he knew he found it when your breath began to hitch with every thrust. He pulled your hips back with every forward thrust, you were clenching so tight around him and he was so close. He just needed to feel you unravel around him. You felt him throb inside you, the feeling overwhelming. You began to push your hips back, chasing that tightening feeling. The long line of him inside you was hot, sending shockwaves through your entire body, you were sweating, pleasure making you clench your eyes shut.

His tip was merciless, hitting that spot just right inside you, you felt small waves of pleasure wash over you. Your legs began to shake, and you bit into your arm when the waves crested and overtook you. You could feel yourself clench around Joel, the man moaning low at the feeling of your orgasm overtaking you. He ground his hips flush against yours, helping to draw it out a little. You went slack below him, shaking legs barely able to hold your hips up for him, once, twice, three times more and he was quickly removing himself and waves of pleasure overtook him as well. You could feel the hot ribbons of his release on your backside, some of it dripping down your folds and earning Joel a filthy moan.

The sound of your panting filled the bedroom as you pushed yourself into a kneeling position, knees spread below you. Behind you, Joel watched the way the moonlight from the window illuminated your body in front of him, the sight of his cum trailing down your ass making him throb where he held himself in his hand. You turned to look at him over your shoulder, your face flushed and eyes blown.

You glanced down to where his cock was barely visible in his large hand, fist tight over his tip as a drop of cum dribbled out. It jerked in his hand, his eyes watching the way you watched him.

The sticky release between your legs catching the moonlight had his heart hammering harder in his chest, heaving as he tried to catch his breath. It had been ages since he had been able to get worked up so immediately afterwards but you were something else, something inspiring, something desirable. From the position you kept in front of him, the glazed over, cock drunk appearance of your eyes. The way your plush bottom lip was taken between your teeth, the ropes of his release painted across your body. For him, just for him, you whispered as you finally locked eyes with him.

And he was pressing back into you, semi hard at just the sight of you. The stuttered gasp that punched from your throat was all the appraisal he needed as he began to move against you again, wanting to paint you completely, your insides this time.

It was late, Joel snoring beside you as he laid out on his stomach with one arm crooked up and beneath his pillow, the other reached out to splay across your stomach. You had taken what he offered, breathing it in like a lifeline, revealing in the feelings that had flowed from him. His apologies, his transgressions, his regrets. All laid out bare for you to see, to pick up in your hands and smooth them over. To take for your own and to accept them. And you did.

He had been so tender as he washed you up in a hot bath, cradled you to his body in the tub of his en suite. Cried into your shoulder let you see him in all his remorse. And your heart ached for him, your soul, everything in you ached for him.

He would give you whatever you needed, he would try his best to help you. Without even a breath of an ask ghosting your lips. He was selfless in that way. Giving his all to those he deemed important and cared for. And that was too much to take from him. Even if he was willing.

But that didn’t change the way you felt.

The dark was a comfort, the sounds of an easy life you could have haunting you as you lay awake for what seemed like hours.

‘You drove all the way to your old apartment before you realized it wasn’t yours anymore. The keys having been handed over to the landlord earlier that month. Reliant on anything people in your close circle were willing to throw your way. Dependent on people once again and that was terrifying. You had sworn you would never be dependent on anyone again, give people the power over you in such a way.

Even if they didn’t have ill intentions.

Even if it was Joel.

The situation with your former professor, with his brother, with the asshole at work; all of them culminating and breaking you down.

Refusing to let anyone have that much of a sway over you, especially if it was a double edged sword.’

Your boxes were still in the living room the next morning, a mirror image of the day before. But in this moment, they didn’t bring you comfort. Seeing them there, waiting for large hands to help you unpack, they looked like a weight you didn’t have the strength to bare. You set the coffee mug in your hands atop the table,

“Was thinkin’ about unpacking this morning, head out and get some stuff you’ll need for around the house.” Joel sipped from his own mug. A bit of sugar added to it this morning, stolen from you before you poured the cream into the first cup. With a snort, you had just reached up to grab another. Breakfast hadn’t been started and with the way your stomach was twisting now, you knew that food wouldn’t even be a thought today. Joel had picked up on it and hadn’t offered to get something going.

“I, um, I don’t think that’s the best idea.” You spoke to the contents of your mug.

“No. No, you don’t get to do this, goin’ and makin’ decisions without hearing me out. Without giving me the chance to explain.” He was suddenly more awake than he had been just seconds ago.

“Joel, please, I’m….I’m so tired and I just…I don’t belong here, in this house where you raised your daughters, where you looked after your brother. Just another chapter of things you’ve given up for people who need lookin’ after. And I don’t wanna be the next one. Not with Ellie potentially moving back for school.”

“It’s not a burden, not if it’s you. It wasn’t with them, that’s…that’s what you do for family, for people you love.”

“You don’t love me.” Your breath carried the words, hands coming up to cover your face as you felt tears sting in the corners of your eyes. The sharp spear of an invisible blade sprouted in the middle of your chest. Once, twice, three times as you watched the emotions play out on his enamoring features.

“Darlin’, I do.” He was suddenly so close, his chair kicked out from the table, now kneeling in front of you with an open expression. His large, brown eyes catching the light and making your chest feel light when he took your hands from your face gently and held them over your knees. “But that’s why I’m gonna let you do what you think is best. I’ll help you find a place, help you with hours at work. Hell, I’d build you a whole damn house if that’s what you wanted, because I love you. I just want you to be happy, sweet girl. You deserve it so much and if I can help you get there: then I will do whatever it takes.”

You were silent, words stuck in your throat. The instinctive response on the tip of your tongue, the return of his sentiment. But it was blocked, drowned out by everything you had ever heard otherwise. Berated towards you and pressed into your very skin, something not so easily overcome if at all. The feeling of being a burden, of being too much, not enough thrummed inside your entire body, mind a cacophony of all the negative things you’ve ever been told.

“Loving someone doesn’t save them.”

He was quiet for a few breaths, watching you from his crouched position, face soft and concerned. His eyes lit up by more than just the morning light now. They were shining with unshed tears.

“Joel, please. Let me do this. Let me take back what I can from everything that’s happened. I-I don’t know if I’ll return to you but believe me when I say thank you.” Your nails dug into the backs of his hands as you gripped them tight, holding onto him with everything you had before you let him go.

The snick and hiss of a bottle being opened was loud in the empty townhome. The walls shining with the drying hues you had spent all day painting to cover the white applied by the rental company between tenants. Your stuff in the bed of three different trucks down on the curb in front of the building. You had found a place a few blocks from the campus, cheaper rent for those who qualified and had affiliation with the university. Joel had been insistent on getting Tommy to help load and move your things from his house.

They had just pulled up, after a quick text to let them know you were ready for them. Ready to fill this new space. Sweet Pea in the walk in closet upstairs with a temporary set up so she didn’t feel abandoned in the new space. It hurt to see that Joel had lined her kennel with a flannel shirt of his that smelled of you both, to help sooth the small cat during the transition from you old home, to his own, and now here.

You had cried over it for a long while before finally getting started on decorating your space with the colors you had picked out to make it feel more like a home.

Both men efficiently moved everything in and set it up where you had asked them too. Working well together and not letting you lift so much as a finger unless it was to point to where something should go.

The hammering of them putting up shelves and the bedframe for both the main bedroom and the guest room was a hum in the background as you busied yourself with making them a meal as a thank you.

The conversation was easy between all three of you. It had ended with Tommy leaving ahead of Joel, giving you both a little privacy. You weren’t sure what Joel had told him, but you kept your own answers with him vague. Not wanting to contradict anything his brother had already shared with him.

It had been slightly awkward, both of you shuffling your feet. You had asked for a hug, his arms coming around you completely for the last time. A kiss placed into your hair for the last time.

Over the next few months as the year began to transition through fall and into winter, you couldn’t bring yourself to keep in contact outside of work. Teaching and grading and working on your final program layout while still working at the restaurant in the evening was wearing you thin. Falling asleep at the desk in your downstairs office, the bed sitting up trying to cuddle with the cats, on the couch surrounded by piles of books and papers that needed to be attended to.

It had already been a month since you quietly requested to meet with Mary and turn in your resignation letter. She had listened to you, heard you out and agreed that should they need to hire anyone or replace anyone they could contact you first to see if you wanted the chance at hours. She had tried to get you to take a cut to them initially, but when you explained that you were going through some stuff that was taking a lot of emotional energy, she acquiesced.

Joel had called once and then left a voicemail marked only thirty seconds, but you hadn’t built up the courage to press play.

Crying yourself to sleep every night for a week afterwards, looking at his contact number made you feel pathetic, but you stood your ground. Stubborn and set on your decision, knowing his honeyed words would change your mind even if he didn’t ask you to come back.

One of the shining moments from the months that passed was that you did get the internship, had been working diligently through the end of the year to prove yourself. That’s what had been the tipping point for dropping the restaurant job that had been more than just a way to make fast, easy money. It was everything you had worked so hard for, and it was demanding. The other was that the board of your department wanted to soft launch a program you had created a mock up for in one of your summer semester courses. Needing to fill some time blocks left behind from your shitty professor. A blessing in disguise, your best friend had cheered out in a toast.

You were doing it, you were making a name for yourself in the academic world. But the cost was passing out in the late hours of the night only to be up and back at it in the early morning. No time for anything else, a distraction of the highest caliber. Joel a lingering thought every time you made dinner or smoked one too many cigarettes in a day. It was as comforting as it was devastating.

But the guilt of not having kept up contact weighed heavily on you, made it harder to send out a simple text or open his voicemail. So you didn’t and time continued to pass.

“Dad.” Ellie’s voice greeted him, still seated on the couch with a now warm beer in his hand, condensation trailing over his numb knuckles, the tv playing something he hadn’t been paying attention to. Her voice called to him again before he came back to himself. He leaned over to place the bottle atop the coffee table and rubbed his hands roughly over his face, trying to get some feeling back into it.

“Yeah, baby girl?”

“I, um, I was coming to check on you and to…ask if I could move back in?”

“What? Is everythin’ okay? I thought you liked your school set up out in Boston.” He was up on his tingling legs in a breath, worry seeping into his very soul at the hesitant expression on his little girl’s face as she stood at the end of the couch.

It was past the end of summer and well into the fall season, December just cresting over the horizon and settling in nicely. It was break for her, and she had shown up to help and keep him company since he had been working so much and things in the home fell by the wayside. He was sure there had been a conversation between his two girls about who would help him get back on track.

“Hey, woah, everything’s okay. It’s just that I was looking at programs to apply for since I’m done with my bachelor’s degree, and they didn’t have any that really jumped out at me. Figured I’d apply to the university here. There are a few classes I want to take and they have a really good applied arts program that they just announced.”

“There’s a new program, focused on how art influenced the cultural building blocks of different societies and how language developed from it. How art is the center of everything that we’ve become, made ourselves into and the juxtaposition of how it’s now viewed in a society that frowns upon the pursuit of it.”

“Why are you askin’ me, Ellie, you know you could’ve just started moving boxes in and I wouldn’t have batted an eye.” He thinks back to the two carry on suitcases she had brought along with her last week, and how she was talking of needing to find a new place since she needed to reapply for a new dorm or possibly find an apartment now that she was awaiting on news of her graduate application back there.

“Well, um, the program is headed by a…new professor.”

“What’re you talkin- oh.” Suddenly, the girls hands fidgeting and eyes shifting clicked everything into place. His heart soared with pride at the idea of you finally getting the position you had tirelessly worked for. All of the books and notes and papers, all of the hectic shifts, the shitty customers, the endless tickets springing forth from a printer with a chirp, every lost pen and empty bottle tossed into a recycling bin. You had been so distant at work leading up to your departure from the restaurant, eyes glazed over every time you weren’t interacting with anyone. Exhausted from everything you had been doing in the background, creating a foundation for yourself to prop up on.

You did it. You made it happen.

A wide, unfiltered smile broke out on his face, pulling his plush lips up in a moment of pure admiration and affection for you. Even if you weren’t here to see it, to know that he was in awe of you, your resilience, despite the way his messages remained unread and his calls unanswered.

“Yeah, dad, it’s her program. It starts in the spring and since I’m just a TA next semester, I figured I would give that up to someone intending to stay at that school.”

“She did it, she made it happen.” He gazed at the label on his abandoned beer bottle, something you picked out one of the first nights you both spent camped out on his couch with a movie, still getting to know each other outside of work. It was one of your favorites and he had been buying ever since, wanting whatever small part of you he could have now that you were gone and not responding to his attempts at conversation. Not that he had tried much after you left the restaurant, not wanting to make you feel like he was pushing himself on you.

“I have an interview with her today, she’s only taking like thirty students or something and there’s a lot of buzz around it. I just…wanted to check in and make sure it was like okay, that I do this.”

“Baby girl, of course it’s okay. If this is what you want to do, then you should go for it. I don’t think she would breech professionality because of who you are after everythin’ she faced the last year.”

“Yeah, she’s good like that.”

“Yeah, kid, she really is.” Joel smiled to himself, willing his heart to stop aching.  

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taglist: @jessthebaker @clevergirl74 @anavatazes @samiamproductions @76bookworm76 @tuquoquebrute

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics

[penvisions]

garnish {chapter 3}

Pairing: Chef! Joel Miller x Bartender! Reader

Summary: Thoughts about Joel Miller have you desperate for something you hadn't sought out in quite a while: human touch. So when your friends suggest a girls' night out, you readily agree. It's just your luck that the very man plaguing your thoughts happens to be at the bar picked out for the night.

Word Count: 6.5k

Warning: alcohol consumption, drunken interactions, creepy flirthing, unwanted attention, fighting, bar fights, nonconsensual touching (not joel), protective joel, injuries, blood, degrading talk, power dynamics, abuse of power, restaurant lingo, triggers associated with the food industry, smoking, cigarettes, joel miller is a conflicted man, kissing, drunk makeout session

A/N: this story is literally keeping me from climbing the walls in my apartment, i've applied to over 20 jobs the last few days and made even more calls to see if places were hiring. the issue isn't finding something, it's finding something willing to pay me for my experience and skill set. but i found out a local coffee shop is opening a new location and i should be getting a call back with interview times for that today, they need cooks and bakers and i can definitely do that

ao3 || series masterlist || main masterlist

It was Wednesday, your normal day off for the week, but Joel had scheduled you two hours of prep, the shift reminder notification early that morning. It had woken you up, having allowed yourself to sleep in after the rather busy shift the night before. It had been a record-breaking sales day, the concert downtown only blocks away bringing increased foot traffic. It had been a week and a half since that terrible Sunday shift where you had finally given into hunger and had ordered food only to be told you had messed up. You had gone hungry that night, nothing in your kitchen at home.

You hadn’t spoken to Joel beyond confirming that dishes were ready to go out and helping to take updated pars out to the servers’ board for them to be aware of throughout services. Lists were left atop the sandwich prep station, and you completed it every shift you had before making your way toward the bar. They were in his writing, some things new with recipe page numbers for the guidebook stored on the expo line.

You had completed a few things on your list and were moving onto the next thing when his booming voice sounded from the walk in.

“Where are the rest of the yellow onions?”

Everyone in the kitchen looked over their stations, including you. The yellow onions you had chopped up for the red lentil soup were sitting in the pot you had atop a portable burner on the left side of your station. Cutting board beside it as you chopped the carrots that were to be added next.

“Whose used yellow onions today?” His brow was furrowed, lips downturned as he gazed around the kitchen. The three confirmations of ‘here, chef’ had him moving intimidatingly through the space, the first two seemed to come out of their interaction unscathed. But you felt like you weren’t about to be so lucky.

“When did you start the prep for these? They look nearly caramelized already.” He stirred the wooden spoon resting in the deep pot, getting a feel on the state of the onions cooking inside. You had stepped aside, hands behind your back as you let him inspect your station. He turned to watch as you answered, professional air about you as you briefly met his eyes with your own. You spoke in an even tone, worried about how he was going to react. He had already proven himself comfortable with cutting you off and denying you food that you had paid with your own money. And that was when you hadn’t actually done anything to warrant that type of reaction.

“I started this half an hour ago, gathered them from the walk in as I gathered everything else, chef.”

“Did you happen to notice that you grabbed the last ones? There are none in the box, left empty on the shelf. That you too? Don’t understand the way things work here, do ya?” He turned with a sharpie held tight between his fingers and he jutted it at the dray erase board beside the walk-in door where things low in stock were to be written down. “In case anyone is unclear on how this kitchen operates: things low in stock are to be written on that board there BEFORE we run out. Boxes or containers that are emptied while grabbing items are to be discarded or put into dish, not left on the shelf for the next person to find.”

“Yes, chef!” The chorus rang out evenly throughout the room.

He turned back to the portable burner and clicked it off, turning the nob off and the whoosh of gas going out was loud in the slight hum of busy work that the kitchen returned to once he had finished speaking.

“Why don’t you go clock yourself out.”

“Chef, there-“ You tried to talk to him, let him know that you had left nearly three pounds of onions left in the box. It wasn’t empty when you left the walk-in. You had been too wrapped up in your work to notice who else had gone in afterwards, though you wouldn’t have sold them out to begin with.

“Go. Clock out, now.”

“Yes, chef.” You wouldn’t raise your face to meet his look. Trying to keep your anger in check lest you give him a real reason to go off on you. Instead, you moved to grab your sharpie laid out over the recipe binder. The small field notes pad of paper beside it with the notations for a double batch written neatly on the page it was open to. Joel blocked your movement with a sidestep, his broad figure blocking your reaching hand.

“Now means now.”

“My-“

“Is now mine. Go.”

Your eyes flicked up and you tried your best not to pin him with the annoyance that was humming through your very blood. This man was nothing but a nuisance, you had only agreed to come into the kitchen because they were short staffed. But it was degrading work, to be around this man who deemed nearly everything below par and had extreme standards for the way things were to be done. The two instances of common decency he had offered you had to have been a fluke, maybe he had been extra tired and worn out those days, didn’t mean to let his guard down. Either way, you were quickly getting over the fluctuating temperatures of his attitude. At first it had been jarring, but you weren’t about to let it get to you any longer. You were determined to face it head on or dish it back out in what ways you could safely do so without risking your job.

You were lagging outside of the back door, standing with the bar back, whose name was Millie and a server who were both on break. You each had a cigarette in hand, swapping stories about the worst pick up lines that you had been approached with. You had removed your apron, it was folded carefully in your crossbody bag to be washed when you got home, simple black long sleeve Henley along with it. That left you in your black denim with that kitschy cute heart belt buckle and a dark green racerback. You had left your hair up in its normal fashion of low buns on either side of your head, short black beanie atop your head.

“You gotta admit,” Your laughter ringing through the air accompanied by the giggles of the two girls in front of you. “He was honest, what better way to start a conversation, though I could’ve done without the-“

All the laughter cut off as the backdoor opened and Joel appeared with a bag of trash. The two younger girls snubbed out their waning cigarettes and scurried inside, deeming breaktime over with his sudden arrival. You watched as Joel tossed the bag over the lip of the nearby dumpster before removing his gloves and tossed them in as well. He removed a pack of his own cigarettes from the breast pocket of his chef’s coat, and you could see the spiral wiring of your notebook peeking out over the top of it. His eyes took in the way your lips moved as you took a long drag from your own, bringing your phone out to ignore him.

The snick snick snick of his lighter resulted in a deep grunt, and you looked at him out of the corner of your eye. The cigarette he had pulled out was between his plush lips and his dead lighter was being pushed back into the pocket of his chef’s pants. When his eyes flicked to you, your attention snapped back to your phone. He cleared his throat, and you cocked an eyebrow up at the sound, turning to give him the barest hint of attention. He was leaning heavily against the side of the building, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he regarded you.

“Do you-

“Nope.” You took the last drag before snuffing out your own cigarette and tossed the butt into the pail beside the door. You started walking toward the parking lot, your truck beeping with a press of the control in your hand. The strap of your bag over your shoulder caught the man’s eye as you began to move away.

“You’re just gonna walk off from your shift?”

“Today’s my day off, chef.” You didn’t look back at him but could tell that your words had affected him.

“Shit, I-“ He straightened up and moved away from the wall, taking a step toward you, his hands coming out from his pockets to take the unlit cigarette from between his lips.

“Don’t worry about it. Now you don’t have to worry me using up all your inventory, right?” You pulled another cigarette out from the pack still in your hand along with your phone and brought a lighter out from your own front pocket. You took a long drag and blew the smoke in his direction over your shoulder, aware of his gaze on your back and you hopped into the cab of the truck.

The next day, everything that was on your prep list had been completed and the one for today had instructions on where to find the mise for each recipe. Everything was already prepared for you and were just combining and finishing the last few steps of each one.

“Hi there, what can I get started for you?” You placed a coaster down on the bar top before a glass of water, eyes coming up as you smiled at the new guest. Your smile faltered a little when the face of your biological evolution professor beamed back at you, but you didn’t let your surprise show other than that.

“I heard a rumor that the bartender here made the best whisky drinks. Here to test out that theory.” His voice was smooth, something you had often spoken aloud to your friends that made the class lectures rather easy. His baritone deep and the ways in which he spoke with such passion and interest in his material was an added bonus to understanding the class subject matter than most.

“Let’s get to testin’, what your preferred whiskey?” You busied yourself making the drinks that had been rung up the last couple of minutes, the man having sat to the side of the well in the last seat along the right side of the bar.

“I’m a Bullet man, myself. But I’m up for whatever you think is best.”

“Oh, well, of course the one I think is best is our top shelf.” You tossed the man a playful smirk, aware that it was a possible line being crossed. But neither of you were on campus, you were at work, and he was one of your bar guests. His laugh was beautiful as he knocked his head back, the line of his throat catching shadows from the strong lights over the bar.

“I actually prefer Woodford, it’s not too expensive but its leagues above some of the stuff on the shelves like Evan Williams.”

He was funny, quick-witted. Matching your jokes as fast as he could. Bringing up documentaries he had recently seen.

“No, but like that’s the thing! There’s been no discovery of this caliber ever before, its unprecedented in nearly every aspect.” You were making a round of lemon drops for a group of girls on the other end of the bar, loading up the shaker and then securing the smaller component over it before lifting your hand and shaking it. As you did so, you reached over to grab the coup glasses you would need for the pour. A figure appeared at the well, taller than the servers and barback, who had gone on break a few minutes ago.

You glanced over at Joel, the man had his hands atop the plastic mats, eyes taking in the organized garnish container and the jars of small straws and picks for the servers to complete their drinks. You nodded at him to let him know you saw him and would be with him as soon as possible before you held the shaker tight in one hand and used the heel of your palm to knock the smaller part loose. Your hand was steady as you parted the two components enough to strain the bright pink liquid from the ice, not looking up from it.

“To actually have fossil evidence of not just any Hominid species, but of a newly discovered hominid species, with a crafted tool in their fuckin’ hand! Like, I got chills, and I was pretty sure my attention was plastered to the screen. Didn’t even touch the food I made that night. I immediately started just taking notes throughout the whole thing.”

“To be fair, it was just as intriguing to find out that the child’s body had been in the cavern wall, not even properly buried like the rest of the bodies in the Dinaledi chamber.”

“Oh my gosh, I know! That opens a whole plethora of questions about what that child was even doing, was he the one carving those symbols into the wall, was he alone- hold on one moment.” You moved over to the other side of the bar, two coup glasses cradled carefully in each hand, and you took the four of them over to the girls who had been watching you make them. They were all bright smiles and excited giggles as you told them you used Meyer lemons for a sweeter drink and added a bit of cherry juice for the color.

“She’s a busy one, guests seem to love her.” Your professor smiled over at Joel, who was watching you flit around behind the bar much like he had been admiring all night. Joel’s eyes snapped to the man beside him and he just nodded, crossing his arms over his chest.

“She knows what she’s doing.”

“Not much of a talker in class, but her papers are beyond wonders. The way her mind makes connections is amazing. And the way she uses her words so carefully, so eloquently.”

“You go to school with her?” Joel questioned, mind going over the small interactions he’s had with you recently. You tended to stutter over your words around him, as if you were hesitant to speak in the first place. He didn’t like the comparison, now, seeing you in your element and recalling the way you had always been professional around him. But this, you behind the bar and completely enthralling as you entertained so many people and mixed drinks like it was second nature. Firing back jokes and conversation as if it was the easiest thing in the world. Your laughter ringing through the space of the dining room. He felt the pull of a frown, not liking the shift he was causing in you lately.

“Oh no, school is way behind me. I’m her professor.” The grunt Joel made seemed to display his trepidation at the revelation and the man was quick to jump into defense mode. “It’s not what it looks like, she’s at work and I’m just here on a friend’s word that it’s a good place. Didn’t even know she was here until I sat down.”

“Sure.” Joel said in a tone that said he didn’t buy a word the man was saying.

You were back with them by the well, professional smile in place as you addressed Joel. You were busy tucking a receipt and some bills of money into your server’s book, secured underneath the counter and atop a cooler beside the drink station.

“Yes, chef?”

“Bourbon for the steak sauce. And whatever amber you have on tap.” He tried to muster up the courage to lighten up his face from a frown, but the way your eyes flashed away from him told him it didn’t work.

“Heard, chef.”

You busied yourself with retrieving the bottle of bourbon he had asked you to tack onto your order. He hadn’t wanted to deal with the liquor vendors himself and sure you would find a better deal than him anyway.

“It’s gonna be a 6.7 percent amber, it’s smooth and the notes of pecan to cut the malt. Only one I have on tap at the moment, that okay?” You talked over your shoulder, picking up on the waves and attention from the other patrons of the bar top, reaching to get more than the one glass needed for just Joel’s request. You poured two blondes, an IPA, and a stout and placing them in front of those who had been nursing them all night before going to pull the tap for the amber. It poured for maybe two seconds before it sputtered and compressed air forced itself out of the spicket.

“I told Millie to change out the keg last night, I’m sorry, chef. It’s gonna take me a minute before I can step away and replace it.” Your brows were furrowed in a worried expression, not wanting this to be something he used against you. You were really hoping to get something to go later, needing to finish a paper that was due tomorrow before class. He must’ve clocked the rising panic in your eyes because he squared his shoulders before shoving off the drink station.

“I gotcha, which label am I looking for?”

“Oh, um, Riverbank Red.”

“Heard.” He turned to move toward the small walk-in just behind the bar, the heavy door opening easily underneath his hands. You could hear him rustling around inside, the hiss of him removing the empty keg and then the clunk of him placing the new one in its place. The two knocks on the wall alerted you that it was all set and you pulled the tap, compressed air working its way through the hook up before foam began to stream. Letting it run for a few seconds, you turned around and grabbed a fresh pint glass for Joel’s drink. You used the previous one and filled it, cutting off the tap and took a long pull from it.

When you lowered the glass after your drink, you found two pairs of eyes on you. You looked between your professor and Joel, both on each side of the corner of the bar. Some of the foam from the outside of the glass when the tap died out had run down your chin and settled on your chest. The cut of your shirt was a little low, your simple, silver chain necklace catching the soft glow of the bar lights much like the foam.

You avoided meeting either of their gazes as you poured a second pint for Joel and walked it over. Before you could place it atop the drink station beside the bottle of bourbon already waiting, he reached out for it and his thick fingers brushed yours. His beautiful, brown eyes flashed down and caught yours, full of something you didn’t recognize, prompting you to pull your hand away as you struggled to catch your breath.

His teeth clicked with the clenching of his jaw, his hands tightening around items he came over for and he turned to make his way back to the kitchen.

“He’s not much of a charmer, is he?”

“He just has an asshole voice, don’t mind him.” With a somewhat fake smile plastered on your face, you turned back to your professor and started making him another drink as more rang through the printer. “Now, what were the most concrete dates we had archived for allusions to tool use?”

The alcohol in your system was washing your stress and anxieties away. Moving your body along to the song that was bumping from the speakers of the bar that held a small dance floor. Your friends’ bodies were moving alongside you, along with you, tangling with your own in a heady and exciting way. It was such a relief to not have any worries at the moment, only blipping thoughts of ‘oooh this is a good song’ and ‘another drink, yes please’.

You were taking a break, downing a glass of water and ordering a round of shots for everyone. There were five of you altogether and they huddled around you as you passed one to each of them, smiling widely at the bartender across from you. He just chuckled with a shake of his head and moved on down the bar to help out two waiting men. If you had been paying attention, you would’ve recognized one in a particular. But you were too preoccupied with the rather loud cheers the girls were trying to agree on before someone finally just shouted, ‘drink up, bitches!’ and you were downing the shot along with them.

The burn of it down your throat was anticipated and you gathered the empty glasses from them while they sputtered and coughed, not able to handle it as well as they normally could with already being more than tipsy. You were leaning over the bar a little, on your tip toes to place them atop the washer on the plastic pad you knew the bartender liked to gather used cups before loading them up.

A large hand found the exposed small of your back, your crop tank top allowing for the skin to be on display. It was dangerously close to the waist of your skirt, and you jerked back with a start, face contorting into one of anger.  

“Hey, who the fuck do you think you are?” You settled back on your heels, the height of them making you a little taller than normal. Your eyes swept over the crowd around the bar and found that your friends had returned to the dance floor, leaving you to deal with this on your own. Not that you couldn’t, but it would’ve been nice to have a witness. The man in question was rather tall, blonde, nice suit, but his forwardness left little to be desired.

“Just helpin’ to hold ya steady, looked like you were about to flip over the bar, little lady.”

“Keep your hands to yourself.”

“Didn’t mean to offend-“

“Yeah, well, ya did. Don’t fuckin’ touch me, got it?”

“C’mon now. You were gettin’ all close and personal with your friends, maybe I wanted a feel for myself.”

The man stepped closer to you, and you could smell the alcohol on his breath, cheap and cloying as it wafter over into your personal space. His hands were coming up as if he were going to wrap them around your hips and pull you to him. His eyes were raking slowly up and down your body, taking in the short skirt and crop tank top you had deemed appropriate for the night. The cleavage peeking out of the top of your shirt glistening with the glitter body spray you had used before leaving your apartment.

“Leave me the fuck alone.” You spat, stepping away from the man only to collide with another’s back who had been passing by.

“Watch where-“ Joel of all people turned around, a scowl on his face. You felt like a deer caught in headlights, totally caught off guard that your boss was here in the same bar. The beer in his grip had sloshed over his fingers when you slammed into him and it was dripping to the already sticky floor. There was another man beside him, similar height and build. He had the same brown eyes and you realized they must be related.

Joel’s eyes took in the slightly panicked air about you, gaze moving behind you to see the man you had been fleeing from in such a haste.

“He touch you?”

“Don’t know if that’s any of your business, old man.” The man stepped forward and hooked a finger on the strap of your crossbody, pulling you backwards and you stumbled at the bold move. “We’re just two friends having an intimate-“

You maneuvered your stumble into a pivot and raised your clenched fist to deck the guy across the face, cutting off his words. You felt the crack of his nose beneath your knuckles, the action splitting two of them open. There was a gasp and a bark of laughter from behind you.

“I said, don’t fuckin’ touch me.” You sneered, anger lighting you up from the inside out. You didn’t pay the dull ache of your new injury any mind as you brought your arm back closer to your body, but you did flinch when the man’s hands shot out and his nails scratched along your neck where he had tried to grab you.

Joel was moving with a grunt of effort before you could fully register that the man had lunged at you.

Body slamming into his and pinning him face down against the bar with a hand tight on the back of his neck. His forehead had cracked against it, and he had shouted out weakly at the pain the action must’ve caused. His arms were twisted behind up, Joel’s right one holding them tight by the wrists. As he did so, the man with Joel had pulled you away from the confrontation, hands far more gentle with you than the man now pinned to the bar.

“You okay?” Joel looked back at you, his eyes hard and his expression schooled into one of control despite the way he had just cracked that man’s head on the top of the bar. When you didn’t answer, he looked to the man who had pulled you further out of harms way. “Tommy, she okay?”

There was no time to answer him, the bartender was out from behind the bar in a second, security that checked identification alongside him and they were forcefully guiding the man toward the door. He was putting up a rather good effort, but the two men were stronger than him. He turned with one last look over his shoulder and spat at you. The spray of it startled you and the tears that formed were angry, wet, ugly things.

Suddenly, the girls were swarming you, all talking at the same time and guiding you toward the bathroom to help get you somewhere safe to gather yourself. You let them guide you away from Joel and what you assumed was his brother, not glancing over at them lest they see more of the tears than they already had.

The bathroom muffled the booming music enough to hear your own thoughts, the lights a little brighter to help you process what had just happened. The girls were dabbing wet paper towels underneath your eyes to wipe your smeared makeup, to sooth the scratch marks on your throat. They plopped you down on one of the chairs off in the corner, removing your bag from around your body and just allowed you to take however long a moment you needed. Someone fetched a bottle of water from somewhere and you gulped down half of it without taking a breath. Your hands were shaking and you lifted your hand up to inspect the damage on your knuckles.

Someone gasped and it startled you, making you jump in your seat and then the bartender was there with a first aid kit.

“Me’n my boyfriend kicked him out, some cops were walking down the way and he taken to the station.”

He said as he kneeled in front of you, tearing open a package of sterile gauze. He dabbed some disinfectant on it before gently taking your hand and patting it across the top of your hand.

You found yourself back up at the bar, seated in a stool with your bag laid over the back of it. Your friends had checked on you again and pouted at your insistence of not going to another place with them. They wished you a good rest of the night and told you to check in with them when you got home, you returned their kind words.

You downed the last dregs of your cocktail, a vodka something, and gathered your keys from your purse.

Heels heavy, you stumbled over your own feet as your head swam and the lights of the bar flared. You reached out for the back of the stool but ended up grabbing onto a man’s arm. It was warm and strong and white-hot desire raced down your spine at the contact. Bringing your face up to apologize, it was lost in your throat as you realized it was none other than Joel Miller you were holding onto. You stepped back, turning from him to properly retrieve your bag this time.

“You’re not the boss of me here, lemme go.” You struggled against the hold he had on your upper arm, where he had turned you to face him. He seemed to realize you were uncomfortable and he dropped his hand, allowing you to turn back to face the bar. Jerry looked from your annoyed expression to the man behind you, taking in the situation and trying to determine how best to deal with it.

“Hey, man, good on you and your brother for helping us get that guy earlier, but I don’t think she likes the attention.”

“She’s drunk, you really gonna let her leave alone?”

“She comes here a lot, knows her limits and she’s got me to look out after her.”

“She’s drunker ‘n you think.”

“I am not.”

“Darlin-“

“I am not your anything, Mr. Miller.” You turned back on him with such a glare he was surprised you could hold the look in your state. He could see the way your head was lolling with every turn, your movements loose and uncoordinated. “This is a public space, I am not your prep cook and you are not my boss. You can’t lord over me and refuse me food here like at work. And I want…I want French fries.”

You stumbled as you turned around to face him again with heat behind your words. Eyes flaring in anger as he tried to reach for you again. Your body sung where one of his arms wrapped around the small of your back, helping you to keep upright as your balance faltered. The heels weren’t helping. You wished you had just stayed home, the sting of being ditched by your friends, the sting of his treatment at work and the workload of your classes, all of it was a lot and tonight was supposed to help you get out of your head, not make things worse.

“You-“ You swayed on your feet, leaning back from him slightly. The length of his forearm supporting you as you did so and stabbed a finger into his chest to emphasize your next words. Ignoring the way that his chest was firm and hot through the fabric of his shirt, he would probably have chest hair and it would be as peppered as his scruff… “You’re mean.”

His brother was doing his best to smother his laughter behind a hand, but you could hear it and you pouted even more.

“Your little brother is laughing at me and you’re a meanie.” You shoved away from him again, the warmth of his arm gone from your back as you turned around to retrieve your bag from the back of your stool. “I’m leaving.”

“The hell you are, you can’t walk, let alone drive.”

“Don’t need help. I’ve been on my own for as long as I can remember.”

“Sweetheart, you-“ Tommy tried to step in, hoping that maybe he could help out the situation. It was clear they were both worried but you were just being so stubborn. Jerry was right, you didn’t like the attention, you didn’t like getting felt up and your boss had been there to witness the aftermath. That he was still there and seeing you in such a way.

“I’m not your sweetheart.” Your voice held more bite than you thought you were capable of in your current state. Tommy stepped back with his hands held up in surrender. His brows furrowed as he shared a look with his brother.

“Lemme call you a cab, please.”

“No, I don’t need anything from you. You made it clear how you feel about me, barking at me all day when I’m helping you with your kitchen because the staff don’t wanna show up and deal with you.”

“Oof, that’s a hard hit, brother.” Tommy reached over to help you drape your purse strap over your shoulder, the crossbody secure over your form and he stepped away as you pushed at his hands much like you had done with Joel. “You really did a number on her.”

“Lemme just, please, lemme take you home. Need to make sure you get home okay.” His voice was pitched quiet, leaning a little into your space with an open expression. His hands were at his sides, not reaching out to touch you again, his fists clenched at his sides. Your eyes lingered on the way his mouth formed around the words and you swallowed the harsh ones you were about to fire back at him. All you could manage was a small nod.

That’s how you found yourself in the passenger side of his own truck, waiting in a short line of a drive through.

Once your fries, and some for him too, had been passed through the window, he was following the spoken instructions to your house. Watching the way you watched things pass by the window as you munched on the salty treat in your lap out of the corner of his eye. The dried blood on your split knuckles making his stomach lurch as he thought of that man putting his hands on you and the look on your face when you tried to flee. The look on your face when you had run into him, eyes wide and panicked.

You had calmed down, now in a lazy mood after the adrenaline packed events of the night.

“You do know what you’re doin’, just don’t think I’ve ever said it out loud ‘fore now.”

“Hmm?” You rolled your head along the back of the seat to face him, bringing a fry up to the seal of your mouth as you did so. He had to look away from the sight, your entire body and demeanor relaxed. Your expression was so open and curious, eyes soft as you looked over at him. Containing none of the animosity and worry he seemed to pull from you at work as you looked him over. He was in a pair of dark wash jeans that his thighs looked good in as he drove, a simple white Henley for a shirt. It allowed for the tan of his skin to pop, the grays that speckled his hair looking good in the lights of passing cars and lamps.

“You-uh-you, nevermind.” Joel’s deep voice wavered before he cut off, not being able to handle the earnest gaze you had pinned him with, his hands tightened on the steering wheel.

“Mkay, whatever you say.” You turned back to look out with window, letting him know that your complex was around the corner.

He parked along the curb beside the gate that opened up into the parking lot. Watching him as he hopped out of the cab and toward your side of the vehicle, his expression hard to read. He was opening the door and leaning into the can to undo your seatbelt. Not wanting to risk you trying to do it and spill your fries, knowing you would probably tear up at the mishap should it occur. He said as much under his breath when you asked him what he was doing and you couldn’t help the giggles that bubbled up from your chest as you agreed with him, it would be tragic.

Once unbuckled, he reached for the fries in your hand and put them back in the bag they came in, tucking it into your purse that was still across your body.

“Will you let me help you step down?”

At your nod, his hands came around your waist, the wideness of them allowing his fingers to span across your back in a tantalizing way. He lifted you a little, holding most of your weight as you hopped down from the cab. His arms tensed around you as you felt yourself wobble, forgetting you were in heels for the entirety of the drive. Another round of giggles bubbled up and you found yourself leaning more into Joel’s space. His body was warm where you were pressed up against his front, the scent of cedar stronger tonight than it had been all those nights ago when he insisted on making you food to take home.

“I wish you liked me.” You spoke quietly into his neck, lips brushing against the skin there as you did so.

You felt his fingers twitch where they held onto you before you were pulled back a little so he could look down at you.

“Darlin’, I do like you, that’s the problem.”

“Doesn’t have to be.” You wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, pulling yourself closer to him.

“You’re not in the right state to be talkin’ about this right no-“

Surging up, you smothered the words from his lips with your own. His arms tightened around you, pulling you flush against him as he kissed you back. As if he was unable to stop himself despite the words he had just been ushering. It was all teeth and tongue, sparking heat that pooled low in your middle. A whimper sounded in the air, Joel swallowing it as he licked into your mouth. Your nails dug into the curls at the base of his neck and you pulled.

A deep groan rumbled through his chest and you pulled away to catch your breath, looking at the face of the man who had been consuming your thoughts for weeks now.

He looked back at you, took in the way your eyes were blown out and dilated, the puffiness of your swollen lips, the quick breaths you were taking to recover from his mouth on yours, the heat that he was causing was all consuming and you knew that he could feel through your skin underneath his hands. He was swooping back down to capture your lips, his hands moving up to cradle your face in his hands as he did so and you melted at the action.

Consciousness hit you like a jolt and you were shooting up from your bed. The covers fell from you to pool around your waist, and you looked around the room, nothing looked out of place but something felt off, so incredibly off. Your bag was on the bedside table, an empty greasy bag crumpled beside it and your lips were tingling with the memory of pressing them against someone else’s.

“Oh, fuck.”

You had drunkenly kissed your boss.

And he had kissed you back.

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[penvisions]

garnish {chapter 10}

Pairing: Chef! Joel Miller x Bartender! Reader

Summary: Time doesn't heal all wounds, but it does make the heart grow fonder. You find yourself missing Joel, too stubborn to reach out but Ellie is tired of seeing you both pinning as she navigates classes with you and her homelife with Joel now that she's back in the city.

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: canon typical language, reader is a dumb dumb, reader is stubborn and heartbroken, mentions of reader's past, trauma, complicated family dynamics, stressful family dynamics, reader mourns her past relationship with father, verbal abuse (past tense), ellie being a scheming lil shit, language, sexual content, references to sexual relations (past tense), smoking, cigarettes, nicotine, drinking, consumption of alcohol, melancholia, manic depressive internal monologue

A/N: WE DID IT, we made it to the end!! i've never finished a fic before so this is all so exciting and a little terrifying, to be honest. i hope hope hope that i've done this lil au justice, with it growing a mind and story line of its own i never even planned for somewhere around chapter five. but we did it and i am proud of this lil one and maybe self-indulged a lot with my own birthday on the 17th! please tell me your thoughts!! a HUGE thank you to everyone that interacted with this. y'all made this possible by engaging with me and inspiring me to continue on even when my own brain was working against me ♡

i would love to take prompts for these two dummies to expand their universe and story in the future if anyone is interested? but i'm still getting used to having what little attention my fics are getting and i dunno if that would be something people are interested in ♡

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

“Well, you certainly have the enthusiasm, Ellie.” A smile passed over the desk, fingers curled over her application and subsequent documentation. She had already graduated from her Boston school at the end of the previous spring semester, already set up to TA for a favorite professor of hers in the new year after a successful first year of doing so for another. But she had a pending application for a secondary degree. One here in Austin. 

Her life laid out in front of you once she had begun school, having applied and gotten into an art program in England right out of high school, something she had gushed about excitedly for a few moments when you asked her about it. Sure, you had talked about it in passing over shared meals both in the comforting environment of father’s home and while out getting coffee that had developed as a regular occurrence any time she was in town.

She was only four years younger than you, both her and Sarah. So driven and excited about this time in their lives. Sarah having relocated to work for a company that fought for her attention and hire after a phenomenal performance in communications and social work out in California. Both supported and shown love in a way that used to make anger and jealousy flair up in you, but that you now saw as a blessing for those who had that kind of nurturing environment to flourish in.

“I just…the perspective of art and language of art you’re trying to explore is really fuckin’ interesting. I know it doesn’t necessarily fall in line with my focus of studies, but-“

“Classes that interest you are just as important as those that help along your degree.”

“And dad said that I could go for it, said if it’s what I want, he’ll help me in any way he can.”

“Ellie, it would be a pleasure to have you take part in the program. There is a two semester commitment, I will remind you. And the application you submitted for Austin is still pending. But if you’re on board, I can sign my approval and walk it over to the admissions office when we’re done here.”

“I was…actually going to see if you could give me a ride back to the house…dad was in a hurry when my car wouldn’t start, and I left my keys with him so he could take a look at it.”

“Oh,” Your bottom lip was between your teeth, nervousness taking ahold of you. “Um, well-“

“I totally understand not wanting to, but I would feel better going with you than taking a bus or somethin’.”

“It’s okay, I can. But let’s walk this over to admissions and see what we can get in the way of aid first, yeah?”

“Fuck yeah, thank you so much!”

Your class sessions were at nine and lasted for two hours every Tuesday and Thursday. Not wanting to over log the students with a long block of class time on top of all the reading you did end up requiring of them in order to participate in the discussions. Only two days a week to allow for some leeway with the readings on top of the other responsibilities you were all to familiar with. You had explained to Ellie once her application had been switched over from pending to accepted.

You did miss the social aspect of working at the restaurant, the different foods and drinks you could try on a whim, the ability to get as much or as little human interaction as you wanted. But…you had made a choice to leave it behind. For good. Focusing finally on the things that you wanted to do for the rest of your life and a plethora of memories and stories of a time now past.

And Joel….you missed Joel.

But you were stubborn, sure that the man wanted to wash his hands of you after never getting a response.

Ellie was banging her head along to the tape that had been stuck in the trucks deck for years now. An old one from your childhood, one of the only things you father had intentionally gifted you. His love of music something you shared despite the rift and space created between you both. Your birthday up until you moved resulting in a gift card to the local record shop and a few tapes or CDs he wanted to share with you.

The younger girl belted out the lyrics, the loose strands of her hair whipping around from the cracked windows. You sang along with her, though not as loud, indulging her despite the ache that had settled in your bones. Having overthought yourself into a weird mood before class.

Suddenly the music faltered before the warbling completely as the ribbon inside began to loosen from the spool and hang out from the deck.

“Shit, that’s not good.” Ellie lamented as she reached forward to push the play button in to pause the music. She hit the ejection button and carefully pulled the tape from the mouth of the player. Her charcoal stained fingers spinning the spools one at a time to wind the ribbon back where it should be. A few moments later and she was reloading it and pushing play but the speakers only crackled before the tape ejected itself.

“Damn, it died.”

You didn’t say anything, thoughts a whirlwind as you panicked over loosing the last tangible connection you had with your estranged father. If she picked up on your tense silence, Ellie didn’t comment on it, leaving the tape hang half out the deck and moving to use the radio for the remainder of the ride.  

The house looked the same, Joel’s house, nestled to the side of a small cul-de-sac. The neighborhood calm and quiet in the early afternoon.

The graying curls you would recognize anywhere peaked from where Ellie’s care was being inspected by Joel laid out on a roller underneath the carriage. The hood was propped open and a giant tool storage cabinet had been wheeled closer to the opening of the garage. She bounded up to him, talking too fast for you to make anything out from the curb.

But Joel must’ve been able to decipher at least some of it because his gaze turned to you, oil staining one of his cheeks and his chest puffing up with a deep breath.

You felt your own breath catch low in your throat, a lump of air making it hard to breathe.

You drove off with your heart hammering in your chest.

It was now February, the dreaded holiday of the month approaching and your birthday right along with it. A shame, that such a day overshadowed any plans you had once made. The holiday taking precedent with prefix menus that brought in generous tips from happy couples and friends. But this year, this year you could do whatever you wanted.

Stay in, go out, order takeaway, drown yourself in fancy truffles. Whatever you wanted. But the weight in your heart didn’t have you all too keen for the day to arrive. Wondering what Joel had decided for his special menu, the drinks Millie worked with Mary on to pair alongside it. Maybe….maybe you could snag a seat at the bar and indulge?

You let the thoughts trail off and focused on grading the papers in front of you. Needing to get them done before your attention was pulled by a movie night with your friends.

You were up at exactly one minute before the clock stuck midnight. Bleary eyes watching the progression of the last sixty seconds before it was officially your birthday. Your phone buzzed with two texts immediately, all camps too much to handle in the early hour. Turning it to silent mode, you turned over and listened to the faint sounds of Sweet Pea playing with a bell down in the living room, hoping sleep would come back to you.

Waking up for a second time was a whirlwind, snooze allowing for you to sleep in until the absolute last minute before you had to get up. Shoving the tube of fabric that was a simple, off the shoulder dress over your head and fluffing up your hair with dry shampoo and you were out the door and headed to the campus.

“Alright, everyone, since I’m feelin’ a little generous today!” You clapped your hands once, noticing Ellie slink in at the last minute before you typically announced the beginning of class. “I’m gonna play a documentary for today- but!”

You interrupted the happy chuckles from the group of about thirty or so individuals you had interviewed and approved for your program. “I will need a paper on the methods used to help identify the remains and artifacts, with your general interpretation of the cultural basis hypothesized from them due next class!”

“Professor, c’mon. It’s my birthday, it’s your birthday: let’s all just take it easy.”

A chorus of, “Is it really your birthday?! Why didn’t you tell us!” rang out across the room. Certain individuals looking genuinely upset that they had missed out on a chance to let you know how much they appreciated you and liked you. It made the ache in your heart lighten just a bit, weird mood about the day waning slightly in their unabashed openness. Ellie was oddly silent, normally one to engage loudly and enthusiastically, her phone in her hand, fingers a blur as she fiddled with it.

“If you really want to do something for me, please, concentrate on the documentary!” You turned your back to the class, booting up the video on your laptop and tugging down the projector screen that was closed and stored up above the whiteboard. Turning the lights off, save for one in the back for them to take notes with, you pressed play and offered one last tidbit before the opening credits rolled, “But it doesn’t hurt to bring a gift card for any local coffee shops.”

“Need a ride today, Ellie?” You asked the lingering girl, slow to pack her bag up once the class had ended and hesitant to disembark from the campus altogether. Her car was in the shop, something needing repair that was beyond Joel’s skill set. As well as a new set of tires they were waiting on to get delivered before installing them. The ones she had for the more intense weather seasons of Boston worn down over the years and needed replacing. You didn’t mind totting the younger girl around, offering her help with proof reading papers and going over terms that didn’t easily stick. Talking about nothing in particular, though Joel had been diligently inside the house or away each time you dropped her off at home, no more awkward glances since your little display of speeding off the first time.

“Was gonna offer to get you a coffee,” She wouldn’t look directly at you, setting you on edge. You were about to ask her if everything was okay when she suddenly swung her bag on her shoulder and faced you. “I’m helping at the restaurant today, assumed you wouldn’t be cool with dropping me off there.”

An hour later, you were both loaded in the car with too expensive coffee drinks and pulling up to the front of the restaurant. You didn’t want to test if you had clearance to park in the employee lot, not sure what would hurt more. The denial of your code beeping or the approval of your code chirping and opening the gate. Sighing, you put shifted into park and let the engine idle.

Ellie seamed to be taking her sweet time once again. Moving slow to collect her things, having hesitantly showed you the project she was working on for one of her art courses. The bell above the front entrance sounded as the door opened and your head snapped up to see Joel walk through it. He paused, holding the door open beside him as he gave a small wave to Ellie and a somber nod to you.

Yous lips lifted at the corners as you noticed the stain of what had to be beets on his otherwise pristine apron, the white of it displaying the dark red in a disturbing way. His other hand was behind his back, shrouded in the shadows of the interior. He shared a hushed work with Ellie as she finally exited the truck and slinked past him with a last wave toward you.

But Joel didn’t follow her inside.

He stepped outside completely. The door closing behind him with a soft thump.

He was walking toward the truck, the passenger window down all the way as Ellie relished in the fresh air before knowing she wouldn’t leave until well past midnight after the rush of the holiday. 

Your fingers dug into the skin of your thighs, dress having ridden up during the drive to expose the tops of them. The sun warm on them as your nails made crescent shapes in their softness, making your anxiety for the world to see. You were otherwise frozen, unsure of what to say, how to talk. He looked so good. Longer hair slicked back, sliver glinting in the sunlight at his temples and in the scruff of his face. A vaguely heart shaped patch where it didn’t grow in too tempting of a sight as you recalled the way it felt to pepper kisses there.

Joel’s eyes flickered down to your mouth as your tongue swiped out to wet your suddenly dry bottom one, his hidden hand finally shifting from behind his back.

You couldn’t help the little gasp that pushed from your chest as a boquet of flowers was revealed to be in his grip.

The colors of it shades of orange, gold, and yellow. A mix of chrysanthemums, sunflowers, and peonies all wrapped in a delicate tissue paper with a white ribbon holding it all together. In the middle of the front of it, there was something shiny.

“Thought it was an emergency, when she started blowing up my phone a few hours ago.” He finally spoke, stepping off the curb and up to the passenger side of the car. He extended the bouquet to you, hiding his face from you for a moment. You were able to make out the shiny thing in the middle.

It was a copy of the tape that had died the first time you had given Ellie a ride home. The one you couldn’t find anywhere online. The one you had almost just ordered a CD or digital version of. The one you had almost reached out to your father to ask about. It was impossible to find, to replace. But it was there, in the middle of a beautiful arrangement of flowers.

A sob suddenly wracked through your body, hands coming up to cup your chin and hold any others in as fat tears fell hot from your eyes.

“Oh no, no – this – this was supposed t’make you smile, darlin’, not burst into tears.” Joel quickly lowered it, moving it out of view of the windows frame and pulling it back behind him. “I’m so sorry, I – I was just trying to do somethin’ nice for ya on your special day.”

You hiccupped as you reached out a hand in a weak wave, wiping at your cheeks with the other.

“No, Joel, it’s…it’s really sweet of you to do this. I just…I don’t deserve it.”

“Of course you do, you deserve everythin’, darlin’.” He reached through the open window and gently placed the bouquet down on the passenger seat. Molasses eyes catching yours as he offered you a weak smile and a nervous display of his fingers slinking his hair back. “Just wanted to do somethin’ for you today. I didn’t know last year and well, this year I do.”

“Joel…”

“Don’t need anything from you, really. They’re for you and that’s that.” He shuffled on his feet, watching as the breeze ruffled your loose hair and the fabric of your dress, sleeves flowing in the wind, the shine of your necklace in the sunshine.

“Thank you, really. I- I appreciate it.” You reached over to tug the cassette from its secure spot. Turning it over in your hands, taking in the scratches on the plastic of the case. The memory of looking over the massive collection he had displayed in one of the guest rooms, the small shelving unit he had made himself to store all the tapes he had previously kept in boxes in the garage. “Joel, this is from your collection, I can’t-“

“You can ‘n I wanted to. Ellie told me yours got ate and I don’t listen to the tapes much these days, just the vinyl.”

Voice gone and heart beating fast, you nodded. Feeling the urge to lean over and pull him into the truck to drive around for hours and listen to the reverent offering in your hands. But he had a holiday menu to get back to and you had a new recipe to try out. Each on their own and in different worlds.

He patted the window sill twice with a wide palm before he was turning away and disappearing back inside. You watched him go, heart urging you to call out to him while your mind told you it wouldn’t ever be that simple again.

Friends had come and gone, sharing dinner and gifts with you. Crappy movies and good liquor, laughs abundant and feelings so alive. The kind of day that reminded you that you were alive and well. The kind of day that made everything else worth it, small moments tiding you over until you could feel like full and bright again.

You stared at the flowers until the alcohol in your system blurred them, the colors running together and dimming as sleep pulled you under in the late hour. The tape playing through to the end before the machine finally shut off, blanketing you in your passed out state.

You would stare at them, as if they were pulling your attention every time you were in the kitchen or the living room. Choosing to hide away in your office or upstairs when you were home where they were out of site. When they began to wilt and dry up, you moved them to the back patio, not able to through them out but not able to reach out to the man who had gifted them to you.  

Finally removing them from the vase and cleaning it out. You bagged them up and left them on the counter to deal with after class. One that went by in the blink of an eye, almost like the day was rushing toward something. Rushing you toward something. The slow thrum of…something deep in your bones as you engaged in the discussion, leading it back to the focal point if it got too off tangent.

The routine of giving Ellie a ride one that hadn’t been prevalent lately since her car had been fixed and the end of the semester rolled around. But today it seemed to be one of the things that time was ushering you toward. Driving Ellie home with post class treat of milkshakes this time, the weather beginning to inch toward the dry heat that was prevalent most of the year.

“Thanks again! See you Thursday, professor!” Ellie hollered over her shoulder as she all but tore out your truck and ran towards the front door. By passing the scene of Joel stood in the driveway, garage open behind him once again.

“I better! You have a final!” You hollered after her, no real malice in your voice.  

She whizzed past Joel who was stood at the front of her car, hood open and engine block exposed to his perplexed expression. His hands were on his hips, a wrench in one and a screwdriver in the other. He was looking down into the exposed parts with a look you couldn’t quite read from the curb but when he spotted Ellie he called after her.

“Babygirl, I don’t see anything wrong with it. You said it was making a rattling sound, yeah?”

“Oh, yeah! A rattling sound.”

“From…where, exactly?” He turned a furrowed brow to her but she was determined to get away from his prying gaze, scurrying off without any more words. Her bag thumping against her shoulders as she rushed toward the door.

You had been so focused on watching her nearly trip over the steps leading to the front door that you didn’t notice Joel rise from his spot tinkering with something on her car and approach the side of yours.

“Hey there,” His cautious voice greeted you too close through the open window.

“Oh jesus, fuck! Joel don’t do that!” You startled so bad the seatbelt locked up and tightened around you, preventing you from taking a deep breath to calm yourself.

“Shit, sorry. Thought you saw me comin’ over.” A sheepish rub of his hand along the back of his neck, had your eyes roaming over the picture he made in the frame of the open window. Perfectly fitted, as if he should be on the inside of the truck beside you instead of standing outside of it. Close, but not close enough.

Quiet fell over the both of you, Joel looking into the cab of the truck, grease and oil marring his beautiful skin and white t-shirt and you gazing just to the right of him, not able to directly do so now that his attention was focused. The words shared between you both, all of the good, all of the bad, and all of the confusing floating in the heavy air between two people who had lived far too much in such a short amount of time. Echoes of everything passing in the charged air between you both.

Your name being uttered had your eyes glancing at his, the sun lighting them up into a bright hue and your heart fluttered in your chest. You held his gaze for a few seconds, heat creeping up your neck from the pulse of warmth that only he could cause filling your chest.

“Alright, well…thanks for bringing Ellie home.” He reached a handout to pat the side of the truck before shoving away.

“Hey, Joel, wait…” You leaned over, hoping that the words in your throat didn’t get stuck. When he turned quickly back to you, there was a hopeful pinch to his features, lips pursed as he waited with bated breath for you to continue. Taking a deep breath, you locked eyes with him again, keeping up the connection. The hope that glinted in them helped the words to flow from you in a quick push.

“Do, um, do you want to grab a coffee sometime?”

previous chapter || end

taglist: @hiddenbabynyc @jessthebaker @clevergirl74 @anavatazes @samiamproductions @76bookworm76 @tuquoquebrute @sarap-77

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics

[penvisions]

garnish {chapter 5}

Pairing: Chef! Joel Miller x Bartender! Reader

Summary: A busy Friday night always has its ups and downs, but never this bad.

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: triggers associated with the food industry, workplace tension, language, argumentative dialogue, degrading language, power dynamics (due to job rankings), attempted assault, man on woman violence, shoving, pushing, non con touching, non con manhandling, mentions of eating disorder, vomiting, reader has a lot of panic attack symptoms, reader goes nonverbal for a moment, symptoms of shock, minor injuries, smoking, cigarettes, alcohol, alcohol consumption

A/N: i realize this chapter has a lot going on, i've tried to tag it appropriately, if i missed something please let me know and i can add or alter.

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist

Tommy’s smile was bright as you approached, the hum of the dining room fading out as you looked from him to the young woman across from him.

“Well look who it is, the only girl brave enough to call Joel a meanie to his face!”

“At your service.” You tipped your head, going along with the banter from the jovial man. He had cleaned up rather nice, a dark button down and slacks in lieu of the plain t-shirt and jeans he had worn to the bar all those nights ago. “Chef sent this over.”

“Name’s Tommy, not sure if we actually got acquainted the other night in all the chaos. And this lovely young woman is my company for the night, Sarah.”

“Only because you had a reservation and dad would’ve killed you if you didn’t make it.” The young woman had the same dimple that Joel did, a decoration on the right cheek. Same furrowing brow, now aimed at her uncle across from her. She was beautiful, from the carefully arranged kinky hair atop her head to the caramel of her skin.

“It’s not my fault my date bailed.”

“Of course, of course.” She waved him off as smiled at you in a conspiratorial way, pulling you effortlessly into the conversation. One you weren’t too sure you even wanted to be a part of. There was a heavy weight that had settled in your chest, insecurity and anxiety such a familiar feeling as it flared. “My Uncle Tommy doesn’t have the best luck with the ladies.”

“You’re Chef Miller’s daughter?” You asked for confirmation as politely and professionally as you could, setting the wine glasses down in front of each of them. Introducing yourself as you watched her nod enthusiastically. While using the wine tool, you felt Tommy’s eyes rove over your expression, a collected smile on your lips as the feeling in your chest began to gnaw and move up into your throat. Nausea was rolling deep in your stomach, and you wanted nothing more than to excuse yourself. But you were a professional and had been tasked with delivering them their drinks.

Tommy must’ve clocked the slight shift in tone, definitely the way you referred to Joel. His smile faltered a little, but he was aware enough not to ask you anything too personal in present company. Hell, even in the restaurant setting, not wanting to cause a stir with whatever was going on with you.

“One and only!” She chirped as lifted her now full glass to her lips and took a sip. The saccharine sweet scent of the wine did not help to settle your stomach as you poured the appropriate serving into Tommy’s glass. “Well, by blood at least.”

You hadn’t responded, unsure of what to say. Not knowing what to say to the daughter of the man who had begun to fill the void in your life you had let form. So you fell back on the practiced skills that allowed you the job you did. You prattled on about the wine, from the notes that should be detectable to the perfect pairings on the menu that they could consider.

The universe seemed to take pity on you, because someone was sidling up next to you as you set the bottle of wine on the table. Millie placed a hand on your upper arm, leaning in to speak to you quietly.

“Need help on expo, Mary’s orders.” Her words were a blessing and you quickly excused yourself from the table.

“Appetizer for 38, chef.” Someone announced as a dish slid onto the expo line. Joel turned from where he was tending to a steak, keeping it braised with the butter that was browning in the pan alongside sprigs of rosemary.

“Run it.” His eyes locked with yours through the line.

“I’m here to expo, not run dishes.” You focused on wiping the edges of the dish with a towel, ensuring no sauce or herbs or fingerprints tarnished the ceramic. You double checked the hanging ticket and when it looked good to go you were calling out. You projected your voice, keeping it professional. “Can I get hands please?”

“You have hands.”

“I’m on expo, Mary said.”

“And I’m tellin’ you to run it, what’s your problem?” The cast iron skillet in his hand clunked to the burner, flat as he disengaged the flame, and turned his full attention on you.

“Think your daughter would like it if you brought the appetizer out, chef.” You shot back at him, aware that eyes were shifting from you both at the exchange as the servers flitted around grabbing refills for drinks and plates to preset tables. Something flickered behind his eyes, but he reigned it in as quickly as it appeared.

“Expo helps runs dishes.”

“I’m well aware of my job responsi-“

“Apparently not. The dish is dying. Run. It.”

Locked in a heated glare with the man across from you, the tension of the kitchen and the dining room and having to sneak around, of your professor coming back to the restaurant, to the feeling that you didn’t want to think about every time you saw the crinkle of his eyes when his lips pulled into a smile.

Chest hurting, panging in such a harsh way you felt your breathing begin to deepen. Full breaths expanding and exhaling visible moving your chest. His eyes softened the slightest bit but whatever he was about to say was drowned out by the dining room door opening with more force than necessary.

“I am so sorry! I thought Mary said to get you for expo, she said to get you back on the well and I run expo.”

“This needs hands.” Was all you said to the flustered girl before setting the towel down and rushing out of the kitchen.

“Somebody run the goddamn dish!” Joel’s raised voice had you picking up your pace and you tried not to burst through the door as you entered the dining room.

The bar was busy, a line of tickets stuck together where the printer didn’t tear them completely and they hung down to the floor mats at your feet. Making quick work of them and running them to their respective tables to help out the swamped looking servers, you were just about to the bar when you noticed that Joel was out in the dining room. He was standing beside table 38, with his family. As you passed by on the way back to the bar, you caught a snippet of their conversation.

“Congratulations, baby girl, I am so proud of you.” Joel leaned down to wrap an arm around her shoulders and pull her into his side as he stood beside her. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, flattening the kinky curls there with the action. She swatted at him, though her easy laughter sounded in the air. Another young girl had joined them a beer you vaguely remember pouring in her grip. She was fairer skinned than the rest of them, but it was family, their dynamic too familiar and jovial with each other to be otherwise. You ignored the table completely as you passed it, pretending it was just another happy father and their child, a good evening to be surprised at work by family. The bathroom door slammed behind you and you beelined for the nearest stall and locked it with shaking hands.

You vomited the breakfast you had managed to eat and the bites of recipes you had tried while prepping earlier that day. Coughing as the acid burned in your throat, you tore far too many sheets from the toilet paper roll and raised them to wipe at your mouth. Breathing heavily through your nose, your chest felt tight, and the phantom feel of a man’s large hand on your back had you holding back sobs. Eyes stinging as you fought off tears, you tried to keep as quiet as possible as the bathroom door opened, and the click of heels could be heard from the newcomer. The scuff of boots on the tile signaled another.

“So who do you think it is? The old man could not stop smiling the other day and he does fuck all except work so it has to be somebody here.”

“I dunno, maybe another manager? Everyone here is so young.”

“Yeah, but age is just a number. You’re dating someone older.”

“But dad doesn’t know about that.” Her tone sounded vaguely threatening. But a cackle decorated the air and then giggles. The two girls dissolving into easy going laughter before exiting the room.

After making yourself presentable, you exited the bathroom and made your way back to the dining room. As soon as you were back behind the bar one of the girls who had been waiting for a date must’ve come to terms with being stood up, she was tracking a ride home on an open app on her phone. She waved at you to close out and you took the card from her offered hand, checking the way she was a little too loose in her movements.

“Hey, Mary!” You called out, seeing the woman walking along the length of the bar and helping to refill water glasses for the nearby tables. “I’m gonna run someone out for a ride pick up, that cool?”

“Of course, I’ll let the servers know there will be a wait for drinks.”

“Thanks.” A grateful smile and a signed receipt later, you found yourself waiting on the curb outside the front door with a chatty girl.

Someone was standing to the side, smoking a cigarette but the minimal light didn’t allow you much of a hint of who they were, probably just a patron waiting on a table or stepping away from dinner for a moment. Just as you were helping the girl into her ride, double checking that the person and car matched the description the person put out their cigarette. Making sure the car was driving safely through the parking lot you and taking a moment to enjoy the fresh air, you heard the steps of the person as they made their way back toward the entrance.

Suddenly a hand was grabbing you while another was ushering you away from the immediate front of the building, back by where they had been standing to smoke. They were too strong, causing you to stumble on your feet as you were swept away.

“Yo, what the actual fu-“

“You need to shut up.” Your blood turned cold, and you let out a shout as your back collided roughly with the brick of the building. The action caused the clip your hair was being held in to snap and break apart, the jagged pieced of plastic tangling in your hair and pressing into your scalp. Another shout pulled from your chest at the pain.

A hand was shoved over your mouth and you tried to kick out at the man in front of you and swipe your hands out at him, but he pressed the entirety of his body up against yours. Your nails caught on his figure, tangling in his jacket as you tried to push him away. His own hands yanked them free, breaking two of your nails in the process. Grunting in pain at the throbbing that stemmed from them against his hand.

Through the blood rushing in your ear and the blurry image of blonde hair clouding your vision you bite down as hard as you could on the palm of the hand against you. The man cursed, stepping back in his shock and you pushed at him again with everything you had.

He stumbled, the light catching his face and allowing you to see that it was the man from the bar all those nights ago.

“Fuck!” Your voice squeaked out as you rushed away from his reaching hands. You reached up and brushed what was left of your hair clip away, not wanting to draw attention to anything amiss as you neared the door, for once you were through the threshold. His steps and presence were heavy behind you but the second your hand gripped the handle for the door he seemed to collect himself.

Trying to keep a composed air about you, you weaved your way through the dining room, eyes focused solely on the swinging door that led into the kitchen. Everything was a silent hush around you, mind not picking up on the absent chatter of the dining room or the clinking of silverware as people continued their nights like normal. As soon as you were through the door, you let go of your composure.

You were rushing toward the office with quick steps, your heart beating painfully in your chest and your ears roaring with the sound of blood rushing. Ignoring the way Joel’s head followed you as you sped through the kitchen, you pushed through the way your skin felt like it was itching, too tight over your body. You reached for the closed handle and turned it, stepping inside without thinking and the door clicked behind you as you leaned back onto it. Your breathing was heavy, and your hands were shaking and when you looked up to see Mary in her desk chair, a bite of food frozen midway to her mouth you let out a stuttering gasp.

“Oh no, honey, what’s wrong?” Food forgotten, she stood up and ushered you into Joel’s chair beside her own.

The words you wanted to say wouldn’t come out, stuck in your still burning throat and you feared you would throw up again in the middle of the small office. The longer you tried to force the words, the more your chest hurt, the more strangled noises sounded into the air. Reaching up to lay a palm flat over your chest, you could feel the rapid pace your heart was beating at, and you just shook your head as your skin continued to feel too tight and your temple began to throb in time with your rapid pulse.

“Oh, oh gosh. Okay, just, honey please calm down.” Her hands were on her knees as she knelt down in front of you. She took your hands in her own, pausing slightly at the sight of your broken nails, and urged you gently, “Just breath, one deep breath for me okay?”

A knock on the door startled you so bad you nearly jumped out of the seat. The grip Mary had on your hands tightened as she watched your breathing take on a hurried staccato, her eyes holding so much worry as she looked over you before turned to face the door.

“What the hell is goin’ on? I got the barback running from expo because the lead server said there was a commotion at the bar and-“ Joel’s deep baritone was too loud in the small office as he hadn’t waited for an answer and shouldered his way through the now open door. His words cut off abruptly as he took in the scene before him. You couldn’t bear to look at him, too focused on not tipping over into full panic attack mode. 

“We have a bit of a situation, Joel.” Mary reached out and smoothed a hand down one of your arms, having picked up on the slight trembling your body was doing with the door open. “Please close the door, she’s overwhelmed.”

“What’s going on?” His voice was tempered, arms coming to cross over his broad chest. He was trying to take control of the situation, trying to figure out what had upset you so much you basically abandoned the bar. You could feel his eyes on you even as you kept your head down and gaze focused on your hands tangled up with Mary’s.

“I’m trying to figure that out, she’s frozen, can’t get any words out.”

“Spit it out.”

“Joel!”

“Well! She’s the one with the problem, so she’s the one who had to let us know.”

“Honey, please talk to us. You can tell us, we won’t judge you. Did something happen? Was it a customer?”

You shook your head, tears hot as they trailed down your cheeks. The spike of fear you had felt when the man had reached for you had you scrunching your eyes shut as you took a shuddering breath. Joel was there last time, he had helped you then. Wrestled the man to the bar top and away from you, it had been so easy for him. It wasn’t fair, you could only do so much, you didn’t have the same intimidation factor that Joel did merely existing.

You lifted your head and met Joel’s eyes, the brown dark in the way that displayed how angry he was, unsure of what was going on and falling back on his gruff nature. But your words softened them, something that flashed too quickly for anyone else to see.

“The man from the bar, he’s here.”

He was gone in the blink of an eye, steps loud as he stalked through the kitchen. The sound of the swinging door creaking on its hinges audible even in the office. If Mary thought anything of your words she didn’t let it show, focusing her attention on helping to calm you down. After a few moments, his steps could be heard as he made his way back to the office. His arms were crossed over his broad chest, face set in a scowl as he tried to process the situation.

“Did he touch you again?” Joel’s voice was dark, his words a dangerous thing that cradled a threat in every syllable. You shuddered as they washed over you, even if the sentiment wasn’t meant to be aimed at you, it was because of you. For you, he spoke with such ferocity.

You could only nod, unable to get any more words out. Mary’s hand tightened over your own before she stood.

“Joel, we need to call security and give them a description. I want whoever it is out of the restaurant. I know you’re the owner, but this-“

“I want him out, but I’m calling the cops. Not just security.” Thick fingers already digging his cell phone from a pants pocket. He brought it up to his ear as the line began to ring, having punched it in quickly.

“Everything is going to be okay, we’re going to keep you here in the office until the police get here and then one of us will take you home.” She was trying to continue to sooth you, but half her attention was on the phone in her hand as she contacted the security company employed by the restaurant. She was messaging them, letting them know there had been an attempted sexual assault on the premises.

Those words burned into your retinas, bright as if they were a neon sign even when you clenched your eyes shut. Joel’s steps were solid as he left the room, phone still to his ear as he waited on the line until officers arrived on site, wanting as clear communication as possible. He returned a few moments later with a steaming mug.

Mary detangled her fingers and let you know she was going to go and manage the front of house, to ensure that things were still running and let the girls know to not go outside on any breaks for the time being. Joel took up her abandoned seat, putting the phone on speaker and setting it down atop the desk.

Using his feet to maneuver the rolling chair closer to you, he carefully removed your hands from where you had begun to grip the fabric of your jeans. He molded them around the warm mug, his own around them and he just looked at you. His concerned eyes took in the way your hair was mused, no longer contained in the clip you had showed up to work in. The way your eyes were rimmed red, cheeks stained with tear tracks, the way you were trembling slightly, eyes unfocused as you stared at your lap. You wouldn’t raise your head to meet his gaze head on, no words were being spoken, it was…disconcerting to him to see you so locked up.

“Darlin’,” Was all he said as he raised the mug up toward your lips. “Please take a sip of this, it’s bone broth, it’ll help ease your nerves a little.”

You only intended to take the smallest sip to appease him and get him to back off, still mad about finding out he was a father and that he didn’t tell you his daughter would be coming to the restaurant. Sending you to her table without a thought in the world how you would feel or react to such a revelation. But the second the warm liquid washed over your tongue, you were taking consistent sips until the mug was empty and placed off to the side on the desk beside his phone.

He sat with you in silence, not sure what to say that would break the spell you were under, the shock you were under. He hadn’t seen this side of you, knew that everyone reacted to these things differently, that it wasn’t an easily overcome thing, if overcome at all. You wanted to reach out and take his hands in your own, to feel the warmth of him but you fought back the urge, the happy face of his daughter flashing in your minds eye.

You reached a hand up to press against a pain on the back of your neck, as soon as your fingers touched the skin there underneath your hairline, you hissed out a deep breath. Your hand came away bloodied, shaking as you looked at it with wide eyes. Joel was on his feet instantly, one hand cradling your face as he moved your hair carefully from your neck. You felt his warm exhalations on your shoulder as he leaned in, the faint scent of an earlier cigarette on his breath mixed with the spearmint gum he chewed while on the line. His fingers gently reached for something you couldn’t see, flinching slightly as something tugged at the back of your neck. In his hand was a broken shard of your hair clip, blood bright on the turquoise of it. Fresh tears welled up and blurred your vision as they fell over your lash line and over his hand still cradling your cheek.

“Fuck, you’ve got some pretty deep cuts back here. I’m so sorry, baby.”

“D-don’t call me that.”

Anything he was about to say was cut off as a voice trilled over the phone call still going on his phone.

“Mr. Miller, sir? Dispatch here, officers are pulling up right now.”

He removed his hands from you, a weird look about him as he moved to pick his phone back up, “Thank you, I’ll go meet them out front.”

“Will you-“

Nodding your head, you couldn’t bear to look up at him.  

“Okay.” He nodded at you, his eyes trying to catch yours to make sure but you had ducked your head again. He reached over to get the small first aid kit from where it was stashed atop the shelve over the desk. It wasn’t as stocked or official as the one in the kitchen, but it had stuff you could clean your injury with. “I’d offer to clean it, but I don’t want to push you. Please, at least drag some antiseptic over the back of your neck.”

The rest of the night was a blur, the restaurant closing two hours earlier than posted hours. Mary insisted on driving you home, some of the girls from the front of house parroting her offer. Joel had silenced them all with thanks for being so kind and willing to help, but as the owner and the one who was ultimately responsible for everyone’s safety. He put his proverbial foot down and said he would be making sure you got home safe. A good cover, you thought bitterly to yourself as he walked back into the office sans apron.

“Alright, Mary is gonna close up once everyone is finished cleaning. Do you have your keys? Figured I’d drive your truck so you have it there at your apartment. My brother can meet us there and bring me back for mine.”

He kept his distance as he walked with you toward the staff parking lot at the back of the restaurant. He was quiet as you stopped by the lockers to get your bag, his own on his shoulder he had swiped from the office. You had stayed there while the cops had talked with Joel, with Mary, to security. The man had been long gone, rushing away from the security guards that had quickly rounded the front of the building when you had shouted out. But they had been seconds too late and you paid the price. The cops had asked you for your statement, Joel standing behind you the whole time, providing details from the night at the bar as well.

The truck was silent as Joel held the door open for the passenger seat, making sure you were situated before he closed it as gently as he could. Once he adjusted the driver’s seat from your settings, he climbed in as well, the cab of the truck tense as he looked over at you and you looked out the window.  

“I’m sorry.” Your words were so low, a whisper barely heard over the running engine and hush of the other cars on the road.

“For what darlin’?” Not answering him right away, you reached into your bag and pulled out a cigarette, moving on to dig into your pockets for a lighter. You froze when you couldn’t find it, realizing it must’ve fallen out when… punching a finger to activate the lighter built into the dash you chanced a look over at him. He was focused on the road, his large hands around the steering wheel and his brow furrowed. His bottom lip looked a bit irritated, like he had been worrying at it with his teeth.

“All those reservations, all that business.” Was your quiet response, reaching for the lighter when it jutted out from the dash to signal that it was ready to use. You lifted it to the end of your cigarette, inhaling deep once the ember glow encompassed it. He looked over, but you had already turned toward the cracked window, watching the smoke billow out in wispy curls.

“I ain’t worried about a few hours lost. The most important thing is that you’re okay.” His fingers curled tighter around the steering wheel, you could hear the crinkling of the leather in the small space. He flicked the turn signal on and reached up to hit the gate control you had attached to the visor as your building came into view. It was easy enough for him to pull into one of the spots that ran parallel to the building. It was only two stories, four apartments on each floor. Two more exactly like it on either side within the secure gate. He watched it close completely before he turned the truck off, turning to face you.

“Look, about the table, it was supposed to be for Tommy and a date of his.”

Shaking your head, you made to open the door and get out. With a sigh, he followed suit, rounding the bed of the truck to hold the door open for you while you stepped out. With one last pull, you put out the spent cigarette and dropped it into the bed of the truck. Adjusting your bag on your shoulder, you began to walk across the small parking lot toward the outdoor stairs that led up to your apartment. Joel was behind you, your keys in his hand as he made sure the vehicle was locked, the beeping sound loud in the quiet of the early evening.

“I was going to tell you, it’s just-“ You watched as he opened the security door and then the front door, shouldering past him you dropped your bag on the couch underneath the window. The click of the security door deadbolt echoed between you, but all you felt was exhaustion being back in your space.

“I don’t want to talk about that right now, not – not tonight, please.” Walking away from where he stood just inside the door, into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. He followed you further into the space, into the living room, closing the main door behind him, locking it to make sure your space was safe and sealed away from the world.

“Joel, I was so scared.” The words were a quiet confession as they left your lips on a shaky exhale, hands clenching at your sides as you tried to fight the urge to reach for him now that you were back in the living room beside him. He was so close already, but it wasn’t enough. You needed, no, wanted him to be the one to pull you for once, to let you know that he cared. You looked up at him, bottom lip trembling.

His arms were enveloping you, pulling you into his chest. He buried his face in your hair, and you could feel the way his own breath was shaky as you. You turned so your cheek was resting right over his strong heartbeat, a faint slightly delirious chuckle shaking your body before you were crying into his chest. His hold on you tightened and you reached your hands around him to hold him in return, hands digging into the fabric of his shirt at his sides.

You silently guided him towards your room, needing to get off your feet and melt into the full embrace of the man you were already entangled with. He followed you, kicking off his shoes to leave in the living room. He let go of his hold long enough to turn around and let you change without his eyes roving over you, not wanting to overstep anything. You were grateful, still too worked up to do much else other than hold each other. Once you were in a baggy shirt and a soft pair of sleep shorts, you reached your hands to grab ahold of the back of his shirt.

He turned around, the fabric twisting up, allowing you a flash of the dark trail of hair that ran from his belly button to disappear down below the belt holding up his work pants. Scrunching your nose at the idea of his dirty pants on your clean sheets, he ducked his head to make eye contact with you.

“What’s that lil bunny nose for, huh?” He boldly kissed the tip of your nose, pulling a surprised huff of laughter from you around soft sniffles as your fingers latched into his belt loops and weakly tugged at them. He made a sound deep in his chest, hands coming to wrap around your own. “Darlin’-“

“Just don’t want them on my sheets, that’s all.”

“Okay, only if you’re comfortable. That’s all I want right now, okay?”

You helped him, rather uselessly, to unbuckle the belt while he shucked the fabric down his legs. He stepped out of them, clad the clean shirt he had changed into at work and a pair of dark boxer briefs. He let you run your hands underneath his shirt and grab at him, he let you push your face back into his chest. And in return you let him wrap you back up in his arms and guide you to the bed. It took a few moments of shifting to get comfortable, but you ended up laying your upper half over his, his arms on your lower back and your legs tangled together where they stretched out. Your face was pressed into his neck, and you were sure he could feel the wetness of your lashes against his skin.

“I’ve got you, you’re okay, darlin’.”

He was reassuring you as much as he was himself.

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dividers by the lovely @saradika

[penvisions]

garnish {chapter 2}

Pairing: Head Chef! Joel Miller x Bartender! Reader

Summary: Joel can't seem to make up his mind when it comes to you: one minute he's kind and thoughtful, the next he's cruel and cutting off your every word. You're just trying to keep your head above water, work becoming something that is not so simple anymore.

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: pining, mutual pining, masturbation, mention of sex toys, use of sex toys, use of recreational drugs, marijauna, joel is a meanie in this, power dynamics, degrading talk, age gap (reader is late 20's, Joel in his 40s)

A/N: diving full force into this story while i'm trying to navigate finding jobs to apply to and calls to places i'm interested it. hopefully this chapter is received as well as the first! please let me know what y'all think!

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist

It had been a hectic two weeks of prepping before your normal bartending shifts.

There had been application posted to fill the position of the sandwich station worker who had called out all those days ago and then just never returned. But in the meantime you had been given the opportunity to prep the station for whoever would be manning it while Joel took over the main hot station that did a majority of the heavier cooking for the entrees as well as the garnishing before plates were deemed ready to go out onto the floor.

Everyone in the kitchen seemed to be under the impression that without a dishwasher until the service began and that it would be a collective effort to keep them in line and working through the washer and then added to the drying rack.

Except for yours.

The items you used and transferred out in the station were left in the bus tubs lining the intake area of the dish pit. You didn’t let it get to you, used to having to keep up with glasses and garnish cambros with the steady if not hectic business of the place. You were in the middle of rinsing out a giant bane when someone placed their own beside you directly in the dish pit and it knocked the ones in your hand enough to cause the spray of the nozzle to wash over you.

You cursed under your breath as it doused you from head to waist. It was a cold shock and you frowned as you continued to get the dishes from your prep cleaned and dried. As soon as it was all set and you double checked everything for the station’s workers for the night, you walked over to where the employee lockers were.

Thoughts of how things had been going overall swirling in your mind as you made your way over to the shared space at the back of the kitchen. Eyes followed you sometimes, people aware of the weird dynamic of someone working both front of house and in the kitchen. But people were outwardly friendly with you still, no animosity other than the business with the dishes. Joel’s eyes often caught your own as he handled his own prep and went about his supervision of things going the way they need to for him to run his kitchen. He would tackle the dishes every so often as well, telling people to line them up if he was able to spend time in the dish pit. Casual conversation were still an occurrence, more so now that you were in the kitchen with people you often talked to through the expo line and the width of the bar top. It was something that just wasn’t worth bringing up and potentially change the easy going dynamic that had been set.

You untied your apron, a black thing with a simple floral pattern that wasn’t really allowed as it didn’t match the uniform of the kitchen staff. But it had been allowed as it was a custom with your name stitched on the front pocket and the one you used to set up the bar. You tossed it into your locker, also labeled with your name, and moved to peel the wet black long sleeve you had worn for the day. Underneath it was a dark heather gray tank top that was lined with lace on the neckline, paired with black denim pants. Your belt was a little kitschy, the buckle a silver metal heart.

You were too preoccupied digging around in your locker for replacement to notice that someone else had come into the locker room. When you made a triumphant sound at finding another shirt, you pulled it out quickly only to come face to face with Joel.

“Oh!” You startled, feet taking you a few quick steps back, or they would’ve if you hadn’t been jammed in the middle of your back by the open locker door. The fabric fell from your hands as you exclaimed again in pain. “Oh, fuck!”

Expletives rained down from your mouth, some in English and some in Spanish, your mind getting tangled as you tried to deal with the pain.

You braced your hands on your knees and leaned down a little, trying to stretch the sharp pain out of your throbbing back before it could cramp and get worse. It was the wrong move as Joel had just leaned down himself to pick up the dropped shirt and your chest was practically in his face. The cleavage from your tank top allowed him an eyeful and he caught sight of the rose-colored bra that you had picked out that morning. He quickly stood back up and shoved the shirt back into your open locker and left the room as quickly as he had come in.

You straightened back up as well and felt the heat rush to your face as you realized what had just happened.

The rest of the shift went by well enough, though you had to be careful with twisting and maneuvering a little more than normal to avoid twinging your sore back. You were sure there was a large bruise that had bloomed to life on the skin but wouldn’t be able to tell for sure until you were home. The restaurant had closed, the last customers were walking out as you began to break down the bar.

You had all the mats in the washer and had started to replace bottles you had grabbed from the shelves lining the back of the bar above the small counter. A particularly full bottle of pomegranate liquor was a hard reach for you and your back spasmed with the effort to reach the middle shelf. Losing your grip on the bottle, you braced yourself for it to fall but a large hand was catching it by the middle before it could lose too much air and placed it atop the shelf for you.

You turned to see Joel standing unnervingly close, his body was a warm line beside you, his chest practically pressing up against your side as he had swooped in to save you from dropping the bottle completely.

“Would hate for it to have gone to waste.” Was all he said as he stood back, his hands resting atop both counters that made up your area, effectively blocking the entrance as he took up the space with his broad form. He watched you as you continued to put bottles away and placing stoppers the ones in the well, wiping them all down with a clean sanitizer rag as you did so. When you got to a good scotch that you had taken weeks picking out, you picked up two rocks classes and filled them with two fingers of the amber liquor each, you slid one over to him. He regarded you as he took a drink from it. His plush lips pressing against the glass in a tantalizing way despite the casualness of the action. “You didn’t eat anythin’ tonight.”

“No, I didn’t have much time. My barback called out and it was just me mixin’ and runnin’.” You explained as you took a sip from your own glass. His eyes traced the movement of the glass much like you had done with his own as he took a drink. Your fingers were adorned with a new coat of dip, having allowed them to grow out a bit and treat yourself to the splurge. The dark green of them adorned with small golden stars must’ve caught his eye as they glinted in the soft lighting of the dining room.

“Could’ve put in a takeout order to have something sent over. I woulda comped it for ya.”

“I’ll just have something when I get home.” You set your glass down on the back shelf, by the register and out of reaching hands should another employee come looking for a post shift treat. You had already made a last call for everyone, some people taking you up on it.

“It’s late.”

“Yeah, but I need to study anyway, so it’ll be okay.”

“Study?”

“I’ve got a midterm tomorrow. I’ll be up for a bit.”

“Didn’t know you were in school.” Behind the casual curiosity you could see a worry about your age, as did everyone when you mentioned school. But the reality was that you had taken a few years off to focus on family and get some personal things straightened out before returning.

“Hmm,” You absently responded as you wrapped up the tops of the squeeze bottles with cling wrap and gathered them in a large storage basin to put in one of the many coolers beneath the bar. “Only part time, graduate this fall.”

“Lemme make you somethin’ to take home.”

It wasn’t a question, but a statement. You looked up from where you were now loading the guards for the drains that lined the bar top. Pausing as you had moved to put something into the washer on the other side of the space. Taken aback by the shift in his tone from casual to one he would adapt on the line.

“Oh, no, it’s okay, chef. Really.”

“Chicken or beef?”

“Chef, really, it’s okay.”

“Joel’s fine, darlin’. Chicken or beef?”

“You know, this is the most we’ve ever talked.” He didn’t take the bait, the comment a distraction from his attempt. The last sip of your own drink was quickly downed, and you turned to face away from him as you placed your own glass in the washer. When you turned back around, his eyes were still on you. There was a slight glint to them, something you couldn’t quite make out, but it had you crumbling all the same.

“…beef, please.” You sighed, rubbing your hand over the small of your back. A shy smile taking over your lips as you tried to avoid meeting his eyes with your own. The glass he still held in his hand was knocked back, the remaining liquor downed in a single swig and he was stepping into your space to load it into the open dishwasher. His arm brushed against yours and you felt your face heat up at the proximity.

“Comin’ right up.”

“Lemme know what you think,” He placed one hand on the hood of your truck, the other on the side of the open door and leaned inside the cab a bit. The scent of him filled the space, winning out over the dying air freshener you had yet to replace out of sheer laziness. His cologne was faint after a long shift but the cedar undertones of it were heady as they filled your nose. His lips were suddenly brushing the apple of your cheek, the contact brief. “Good luck on that midterm, see ya tomorrow.”

He took your shocked stillness as a sign to close the door, a smug grin taking over his features as he did so. You watched him through the glass of your window as he walked back to the building, turning to look at you once more with a wink before he disappeared inside.

You sat there for far too long, willing your heartrate back down before you turned the engine and took off toward home. For most of the drive, you found yourself pressing a hand to the skin his lips had touched and glancing over at the two takeout boxes he had secured in a tied-up plastic bag.

The campus was crowded, so incredibly crowded. You had to circle the various parking lots three times over before you were able to snag a spot. The sound of the truck door was loud as you pushed it closed and locked it up before rushing towards the main buildings. You were nearly late, but had just made it down the hall and could see the open door as the time for the beginning of class displayed on the small watch you had adorned today. You had actually been able to dress like normal, only going into the bar later to do inventory and place an order before your day off tomorrow and next. A little break, the manager had said, to help you relax after summer midterms.

Fall was around the corner in a few months and you needed to get things lined up and ready for the menu change that staff meeting had been about a few weeks ago. The skirt of your sundress, black patterned with sunflowers, swirled up as you rushed through the door and turned to take the first seat that was open. Your short sleeves not allowing you much warmth in the colder air of the classroom. As you sat, you pulled out a mustard cardigan and shrugged it on. You felt eyes track your figure as you had walked the entire length of the classroom to the back and took a seat in the back row and plopped down. The shift to the air of the building wasn’t the only reason you decided to don your little sweater, fingers shaking slightly as you buttoned it up completely.

“Alright, now that everyone is here,” The professor offered you a kind smile as they spoke, shutting the door and locking it to prevent anyone from entering from the outside. “Let’s tackle the exciting world of biological evolution.”

An hour and a half later, your hand cramping from writing so fast to catch your thoughts and theories down into tangible words, you turned in your small, stapled packet. You were one of the last ones in the class, everyone else rushing off to enjoy the rest of their day, thankful that class wasn’t running the typical three hours and taking advantage of the early hour before noon. Fingers brushed against your own as the professor reached out to take the paper from you. You felt a jolt of anxiety race up your spine and you offered a weak smile before taking your leave.

Your smaller sized backpack was placed in the heightened bar seat beside you. The laptop you bought for school last year open and glowing in front of you with the white blankness that was the ordering screen for the company the restaurant preferred to use. It was early, only Joel in the kitchen for early prep due to a lot of reservations and the manager doing the same as you, taking inventory before placing orders.

You looked over your notes, unsure of what you had scrawled down on one page, but it didn’t seem to matter. It was about the lamb special, something that Joel was still working on. Uncrossing your legs, you hopped down from the stool you had been sat it for far too long. The tingling of blood flow returning to your legs had you walking stiffly toward the kitchen, the thump of your healed boots louder than normal on the floor of the dining room as you crossed the space. Your hair was down, the scent of your shampoo calming you as you approached the door.

Thoughts of the man just on the other side of the door had plagued you all night. You tried to fight a heat that threatened to rise as you recalled the way you had called out his name in a loud whimper when you had come undone with the help of your vibrator. It had been all encompassing, recalling the heat of him as he had stood close to you and roped you into allowing him to cook for you after close, the brush of his warm skin along your arm, the plush give of his lips as he had leaned in to touch them to your cheek. The care he had put into the food he prepared for you, enough for dinner and lunch today if you hadn’t gotten so high and gave into the desires of your stomach and cunt so easily.

Taking a deep breath to settle your nerves, you pushed open the swing door, your nails clinking softly on the dark metal. As you crossed the threshold, Joel’s eyes snapped up from where he was on the line. You were suddenly self-conscious of the dress you were wearing, cardigan laid over the back of your stool at the bar.

“Chef, I had a few questions about the special. I know we went over it at the meeting but-“ The words cut off in your throat as you looked up to see his eyes hard and heavy on you. He had only glanced at you before looking back down at what he was doing but it seemed his attention was focused solely on you now and it made you squirm after the awkward morning you had had.  Maybe he was upset about food safety, your hair was down, and the dress had rather short sleeves and low cut. “Oh, I have a sweater I can put on and a hair tie if you’re worried about food safety.”

“No.” It was quick, the word flying from his lips and followed by the sound of him clearing his throat rather harshly. You could practically feel the heat of his gaze in the metal of the necklace around your neck, the simple chain reacting to his eyes on you much like your skin was. His next words weren’t as harsh as that first one. “No, don’t worry about that, should be fine.”

“Um, okay.” Fingers wringing around each other, you took another couple of steps into the kitchen, closer to the expo line you were peering at him through. “Did-did you decide on the balsamic for the fall special?

“Testing it out today, want to help?”

“Oh, oh no, I couldn’t!” You put a hand on the empty space of the expo line, nails clinking as you did so, and the sound drew his attention to it. You worried he was going to tell you to remove them before your next shift. But he had seen them yesterday and not said anything. “It’s your kitchen, I don’t want to intrude on prep time when I’m not even on schedule.”

“You’re here off the clock?”

“No, I clocked in, but it was…supposed to be my day off. Mary- she gave me the weekend off to relax after midterms.”

He didn’t say anything, his eyes going over your attire again in a sweeping gaze. The way your chest was slightly pushed up as you leaned against the slightly higher counter. His gaze moved back to what he was doing, out of your line of sight.

“Hop back here and we can figure it out together.”

“I-I can’t, really, I’m just here to do the order.” You didn’t want to turn down the offer, something he wasn’t keen to hand out to people in the kitchen let alone anyone else. But his close proximity was a heady thought and your body hummed with the prospect of being behind the line with him. It was dangerous, a line that shouldn’t be crossed and he was sending you such inviting signals. You didn’t need gossip to start, focused on you and how you seemed to soften the man in charge of the kitchen though you hadn’t really done anything.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

“Chef-“

“Joel, thought I told you to cut that chef crap out?” His lips twitched up slightly, the hint of a dimple appearing in his right cheek through the scruff along his face. You closed your eyes in a long blink as you felt a pulse of desire underneath your dress. He was so enamoring, the hint of his true personality peeking through the work persona he took on, or maybe just another facet of the man who you couldn’t seem to get out of your head.

“Joel, I can’t. I have stuff to do today after the order. I’m sorry, I’m not trying to offend you but it’s-“

The openness of his expression and the light behind his eyes dulled, slipping back to the normal emotionless one he wore when service started.

“Got it,” His hands became rough with what he was doing, and you realized he had been chopping up the brussels and sweet potatoes you were asking after. The knife was making a fast-snicking sound as his eyes focused on the cutting board in front of him, his focus on the task at hand. His voice had lost the jovial tone he had taken up, now rough and no nonsense. “Balsamic will most likely be a glaze thrown on before they roast.”

“Heard, chef.” You found yourself pushing off the expo line, feeling small, and made your way back into the dining room. Quickly shutting the laptop, not bothering to wait for it to save anything or power down, you shoved it into your bag along with your cardigan. You swiped your keys off of the counter beside the glass of water you had poured for yourself and took hurried steps toward the entrance. You scrambled for the handle of the door and pushed it harder than necessary, tears springing up in your eyes at the thought of confrontation as you heard the kitchen door swing open.

Heavy, even footsteps through the dining room had you forgetting to lock the door back up and you were throwing your bag into the passenger seat of your truck parked on the curb, having been told you could do so since the place wasn’t due to open until regular hours. The sound of your driver’s side door slamming was loud even to you as you jammed the keys into the ignition and the engine roared to life.

You didn’t spare a glance up at the outline of Joel standing on the curb you could see out of your peripheral, jerking the gear shift into drive and taking off with a sob bubbling up from your chest. His signals were so confusing, making it hard to figure out how to act around him. Work was supposed to be work, easy. Clock in, prep, make drinks, clean, clock out. Not this mental game of gymnastics with a man who seemed to warm up to you one second and then ice you out the next.

You were called early Sunday morning by an apologetic Mary. Saying that the bartender on shift for the brunch service had called out. You calmed her down, knowing it would be good to get the hours and tips and said you would be there in time to open the bar. Brunch was an earlier ordeal, the only day that the restaurant wasn’t open for dinner service. An easy shift, only a few hours between nine and three. A baby shift, and you would have the opportunity to order something sweet to go. A treat to enjoy on the couch with a dumb comedy playing on the screen of your living room.

The service went by quickly, jugs of orange juice and bottles of champagne piling up in your trash bin in a whirlwind of orders. Mimosas were easy money, strawberry syrup an easy upcharge to get people excited about. You had spilled tomato juice on your apron earlier and the cloying acidity was making waves of nausea roll in your stomach every time you caught a whiff of it. Things were winding down with only an hour and a half left of service. Another forty-five for kitchen orders, but you would be pouring until about ten minutes to close. You rang in a to go order of French toast and a side of scrambled eggs.

You had forgotten all about it until you were wrapping up the takeout order of someone at the bar, realizing yours had never made it over to you at the bar. It wasn’t as if you were about to eat it during service but still, it would’ve been nice to close everything down and have it ready to grab on your way out the front door.

You locked the door for the customer as you followed them to the front door. The last of the day and turned the lock after they safely across the public parking lot. With a sigh you turned toward the kitchen and braced yourself to interact with the man who had weaved his way into every one of your thoughts.

He had been professional throughout the shift, allowing you to pass clearance on dishes that needed to be run when you had come back to check on the lag created by servers flooding the sparse kitchen with orders. Allowing you the ability to do so as he always had done.

“Um, chef?” His eyes snapped to you for barely a second before he went back to gathering the stuff he needed to clean the grill. He made a grunt of acknowledgement to show he heard you. “I was wondering if my ticket was ready? I put it in before the cut off but-“

“We sold the par for what you ordered. Didn’t have enough for it.” His back tensed as he raised a hand to pour a good drizzle of oil over the entirety of the grill, grill brick ready in his other hand. The black gloves looked tight over his knuckles, like he was tense.

“Oh, um, okay.” You shuffled on your feet, aware of the two other cooks glancing between you both at the interaction. They were busy wrapping things and storing them into their respective stations, gathering dishes and things that needed to be washed. A grumble from your stomach urged your next question, too tired to attempt grocery shopping or cooking yourself. “Is-is there anything I can swap it out for?”

“We’re already shut down, can’t you see me cleaning the grill?” He turned around, items still in his grip as he finally faced you head on. “Shoulda come and checked before service closed. It ain’t my job to look after mistakes made by the front of house.”

The heat climbing up your face startled you, shame bubbling up alongside embarrassment. But you ignored it as your teeth ground against each other with the pressure of your jaw clenching. Eyes flicking over the items on the line in front of you. There was plenty he could throw together for you; he just didn’t want to. You nodded once before speaking in an even, professional tone. Your own mask falling into place.

“Apologies chef, it won’t happen again.”

You tried not to let the whispered words of the other two cooks hurt too much as you moved through the door. The two of them followed slightly as they came out from the line and made their way over to the dish pit.

“I thought I saw a second tray prepped in the walk in.”

“Me too, she must’ve done something to piss him off.”

You wallowed on the couch until late, the brightness of the screen playing across your blank face, eyes not really seeing the movie playing across the screen.

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[penvisions]

garnish {chapter 7}

Pairing: Chef! Joel Miller x Bartender! Reader

Summary: Reeling from a tense encounter with your professor, your emotions get the best of you. Self-destruction always makes for a good show to coworkers who don't have the whole picture.

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: violence, language, threatening behavior, misogynistic behavior, sexist language, threatening ultimatum, abuse of power, academic stress, academic anxiety, degrading talk from male characters, self-destructive behavior, home invasion, attempted break in, description of injuries, blood, injuries in the kitchen, dangers of sharp knives, intense emotions, readers internal monologue gets apathetic, reader has depressive and isolating thoughts, talk of injuries, self-depreciation, secret relationship, work relationship, power dynamics (due to job rankings), sexual content, allusions to sexual content, allusions to past feelings of inadequacy, reader gets in her head about life path, reader is having a tough time ngl, invasion of personal space, restaurant lingo, triggers associated with the food industry, smoking, cigarettes, use of tobacco, childhood trauma, reader reveals parentage issues, abandonment issues, past trauma, major angst

A/N: been struggling with this chapter for real, y'all. but the remainder of this fic is outlines and i'm beyond excited to get down to the nitty gritty with it. hope this feeds you well and happy holidays ♡

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || kofi

“Yes, my brother. He’s been keeping a low profile lately, trying to avoid suspicion that could land him in the hands of the authorities. He’s explained to me that you’re under the impression that he came onto you too strongly for your comfort and decided to submit a police report against him with the help of your boss.”

Surprise colored your features, not expecting this to be the reason why you weren’t being considered for something that would further your academic career, help you to establish yourself in your field of study.

“He put his hands on me in two different situations. He didn’t back off when I verbally told him I wasn’t interested. Then he proceeded to put his hands on me, attacked me outside of my place of work.”

“That’s what he said you would play it off as, but seeing the way that you interact with the gruff boss of yours, playing hard is what seems to be your prerogative.”

“If you want the internship, you need to drop the report. Tell them it was a lover’s spat or something, I’m not really too concerned with how you spin it. But drop it, or I will deny your application and tell my colleagues that while you’re a gifted student, you stir up trouble.”

You watched your phone ring for the umpteenth time. The name of the restaurant popping up, Millie’s name, Joel’s name, Mary’s name. A text from each of them in quick succession.

But you were numb, still seated in the chair across from the desk in the classroom. The sun had set already, the warm lights of the lampposts scattered around the campus the only source. The door still resolutely closed after your professor had left after delivering his two choices for you.

Scrambling as if waking up from a dream, you rushed through the campus and made your way to work.

“Use your safety words!” You shouted, disguising the rising of your voice at the sharp sting of the knife blade slicing through your skin in the heated words. You watched as the slice from the knife turned white before the cells caught up and blood began to bead, spilling from it quickly. The cutting board became stained, and blood made a sticky webbed pattern of splatter on the blade.

“I said behind, it’s not my fault you didn’t hear me!” The new guy had the audacity to raise his voice back at you. His face contorting into something ugly as he dropped the façade of keeping his cool.

“I would’ve heard you if you did say it!” You snarled as you whipped around, the towel normally kept tucked at your hip wrapped tight around your hand. Blood blossomed through the fabric almost immediately. You brandished it at the man. “This wouldn’t have happened if you had proper etiquette!” 

“Don’t blame me for not knowing what the hell you’re doing!”

You took a step toward him, good hand about to fly out and grip the front of his shirt. But you were stopped by the sound of the office door opening. Joel Miller filled out the doorway completely, his broad shoulders nearly brushing each side and it would be so easy a reach for him to touch the top of it. He glared around the kitchen, eyes hardening when they landed on the sight of you clutching a towel to a bleeding hand.

You had snuck in the day before, after the stressful interaction with your professor. The restaurant had been too busy to steal away any time with him and you were gone before he had been able to step outside of the kitchen. Overwhelmed and on autopilot for most of the night as the words of your professor echoed in your mind. You had texted him a perfunctory message, saying you had a migraine and would see him the next day and then proceeded to call Nia and vent to her over two bottles of wine that had been too sweet for your empty stomach.

You had snuck in today too, knowing he had to make an order before service started. This was your first time seeing him directly in nearly three days.

“What’s with all the hollerin’?” His eyes were hard, the brown of them dark as he took in the scene, the emotion and tension in the air. The sight of you worked up and a snarl pulling up one corner of your lips.

Before you could even open your mouth, the new guy was speaking in a mocking tone.

“Little miss bartender herself, chef.”

“I wouldn’t have if you had used your fucking safety words.” The words were low, vicious as your patience wore thin. You didn’t need this, especially not today. It had been hard enough to get into the headspace for work, let alone show up, and now you’re injured because some asshole thought he didn’t need to let people know where he was at as he moved around the kitchen space.

The already silent kitchen seemed to grow even more quiet at the harsh words that had fallen from your mouth. Taken aback by the breaking of your normally cool and collected demeanor, in face of the attack all those weeks ago, this was the only instance where you showed your raw emotions. Joel had taken a few steps from the doorway and began to make his way toward your station. His feet stilled when you spoke, the way you did so giving him pause. The manner in which the words had fallen from you stoked real worry deep in his chest. You never raised your voice, let alone spit words out in such a heated way.

Save for that one time you ripped him a new one about his inappropriate behavior when you had first started helping out in his kitchen. You were always polite and professional, cordial and jovial with those you were on closer terms with. This….this was foreign and it had warning bells going off in his head immediately. He hadn’t even seen you slink into the kitchen, the last concrete contact he had with you about maybe being late for work.

He was about to say something, to break up the confrontation when the new guy decided to dig his heels in and make an even bigger mess out of the situation. Joel noticed the way you didn’t step back as the younger man’s features morphed into a cocky grin and he took a step closer to you, getting into your personal space.

“You knew I was behind you, sweetie, you always have an eye on me and push that nice ass out toward me. Don’t play dumb. I know you like what you see. Too bad I don’t waste my time on pathetic, easy girls like you.”

The silence in the kitchen was deafening, the tension thick as everyone stopped what they were working on and watched you two stare each other down. It was no secret he hadn’t made any friends in the three weeks he had been here, too full of himself for people to want to talk to him. From the glares being aimed at him now, the feelings of ire flowing from everyone else in the kitchen. Joel felt the nerve in his jaw jump as he accessed the scene alongside everyone. He wanted to step in, but he felt frozen on the spot, his emotions a whirlwind inside of him and his anger making his mind blank out.

“Fuck this.”

His words stung, as much as you wish they didn’t. The entire week taking its toll on you and culminating  into an overwhelming tidal wave that finally crested and made an impact. You felt angry, hot tears prick at your eyes. You hated that they were visible in the fluorescent lights of the kitchen and that everyone could see the shine of them as you felt your face heat up. That Joel could see them when you frantically glanced around the room, trying to keep them at bay.

A smug grin on the man’s face was the last thing you saw before you turned on your heel and walked out the back door. You let it slam behind you as you walked past the dumpsters and the recycling bins lined up along the back of the building and some of fence that lined the back lot for employee parking.

Digging the keys out from underneath your apron, you unhooked them from your belt loop and unlocked your car. You didn’t look back when you heard the door open, just hopped into the driver’s seat and drove off from the restaurant.

The waiting room was crowded with screaming children and crying babies. An assault on your already overwhelmed senses. At the sight of blood dripping down the length of your arm, a nurse at the front desk hopped up from her chair and tended to you before taking your information and telling you to wait for a room to get stitches. That it would be wait, they were busy. You nodded, taking your injured hand and pride and settled into a vinyl chair with silent tears trailing down your cheeks.

Alone.

Always alone.

Fighting for the smallest things, always fighting, always trying, always pushing yourself.

Seemingly for no reason.

Everyone had someone, waiting with them, waiting for them. But your apartment was empty, your friends at work. No text sent out to let them know what had happened because it would be hours before anyone saw it. Evening, before you would inevitably return to wallow in the confines of your own apartment to nurse your bruised ego and aching heart.

I think I need some space, I’m sorry.

The woosh of the message sending was lost in the sounds of the waiting room. A couple close by, whispering to each other. Looked like the guy had broken his arm, holding it tight to his body. The girl fussing over him in a way you wish someone would pay attention to you. Joel was…he was great. When not at work, when in your own little bubble of connection and creation together. But he was an absent texter, would call and leave messages on your phone during class times, but they were mostly silence followed by a huff before the dial tone.

You weren’t sure what that was about. He had far more going on in his life. A restaurant to run, family in town, family out of town, an old business he kept up with, friends he would see on a semi-regular basis.

But you?

Alone. No family nearby or in general. Nothing but school that seemed to have been a giant mistake to continue. A job field you hadn’t wanted to return to. A man who could only seem to give you half of himself when not at work. Different personal spaces and paces of life, shared moments that always came to an end far too soon only to be swept under the rug when clocked in.

And it hurt, dammit.

He didn’t respond. And you hadn’t expected him to. It was service hours, after all.

It hurt, even as your heart pleaded at you to give him a call and ask him to come sit with you.

You called the manager as you turned into your apartment complex parking lot. The gate squeaking as it closed behind your truck. The hospital had seen you in three hours, the tirage taking a while despite actively bleeding. But you had shiny new stitches that stretched from the top of your left index finger knuckle to the middle of your palm in a painful way, twelve all in all.

You explained to her that you didn’t want to file any complaints or for workers comp but would need the week off to get stitches and let the injury heal a bit before you handled anything confidently. She agreed to pay you for the missed shifts, not taking it out of your PTO as they hadn’t had any issues with your attendance in the year you had worked there. You thanked her and apologized for any inconvenience once again.

You ignored the sound of a car pulling up along the curb outside the gate, used to random people parking around to get to the concert hall a few blocks away or a visitor for one of the other many apartment buildings lining both sides of the street.

“Just…expect to be taken off of prep. Chef doesn’t take lightly to people who bail, you know that.”

“Heard, see ya in a week.”

You were just out of the shower, having tried to keep your injury out of the spray of the hot water. You had asked them not to wrap it up as you got discharged, telling them you were going to shower the second you got home. They sent home the appropriate dressings and instructions on how to keep it all clean and avoid infection.  You were comfy in a large T-shirt with some hiking graphics on the back of it and a pair of boy shorts, just stepping into your slippers when there was a knock on your door.

You sauntered over to it, tired from the day and a little loopy from the cortisone shot they had given you at the hospital. When you pulled the door open you were greeted by the large figure of Joel. The crown of curls around his head lit up from a light post further down by the curb.

“Wh-why are you here?” You let your shock show in the slight parting of your lips, the heavy exhale at the image of the man you were yearning for displayed right in front of you. As if you had summoned him with thoughts alone.

“You got hurt,” He shuffled on his feet, bringing a hand up to rub at the back of his neck as he looked at the visible stitches on your left hand. His other one held a large paper bag, but you were more focused on the nervous energy he was exhibiting. As if he was worried he wasn’t supposed to be here, knew he wasn’t supposed to be here and hadn’t been able to keep away. You had been holding it close to your chest, not wanting to accidently knock it on anything as you walked around. “Wanted to check on ya.”

“I told you I needed some space.” You moved to begin swinging the door shut but his free hand shot out and stopped the motion easily, thick fingers and wide palm spanning the wood.

“I came to check on you.” He said with a little more force, reminiscent of him being in the kitchen as calling for hands or for dishes right that fucking second. When you didn’t move or say anything he cleared his throat and talked on, softer now. “Brought you some food. Your stomach is prolly turning from havin’ nothing in it when they gave you the shots needed for stitches. I know you might not be hungry or able to eat but it’ll be there for you when you want it.”

“How-“ You found yourself stepping back as he advanced into the doorway and then a few paces into the apartment. The front door opened up directly into the living room, the kitchen just beyond it, separated by a breakfast bar and the small doors that kept the washer and dryer hidden. He set a hefty paper bag on the couch underneath the window beside the door. The scent of greasy Chinese food made your stomach gurgle to life and your mouth water.

“Used to be a contractor, seen my fair share of bad injuries. There was a lot of blood left on the cutting board, just figured.” He looked around over the top of your head and took in the colorful but controlled palette of your belongings before his gaze landed back on you. Reading something in the space you couldn’t quite figure out. “Didn’t get a text from you, but if you really want me to, I’ll leave right this second.”

Your eyes softened, seeing how earnest he was. All you could do was shake your head, heart thudding in your chest at the realization that your text hadn’t been sent. A silent thank you to shitty hospital cell service.

The sound of the door shutting and locking behind him was the beginning of a quiet evening curled up on the couch with him and whispered words of comfort against your temple as his moustache tickled against your skin.

The shattering of glass was loud, jolting you from your sleeping position curled up in front of Joel, his arms around you and his legs tangled with your own. He was up on his feet in seconds, telling you to stay in the bedroom while he cautiously peered into the small living room. He shuffled on his feet as Sweet Pea came hurling into the room, puffed up as big as she could get, eyes blown out. She jumped atop the bed and you watched Joel’s back disappear in what little light from the street lamps filtered in through your sheer curtains and thick blinds.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Joel was hollering, the bat you had set aside just outside the bedroom door all those weeks ago still there. He grabbed a hold of it and you could hear him swinging, making contact with something metallic. The crack of the wood was loud, making you jump to your feet and you scrambled to get your phone from where it was buried in the sheets.

There was a yelp, followed by the crunching of glass and harsh breathing. The operator was calmly trying to get your attention, hearing the commotion from the other side of the line as you had put it on speaker. The sounds of heavy thuds on the metal stairs outside rattled the walls and your dizzy head. Joel seemed to have followed them, a second set of steps sounding right behind the first.

“Ma’am, are you safe? What’s going on?”

“B-break in, someone broke into my apartment.”

“Is the person still there?”

The line was silent as she waited for an answer, the heavy footsteps of someone coming back up toward the apartment startled you. Hands flailing to catch Sweet Pea as she jumped into your arms. The phone clattered to the hardwood floor.

“Ma’am? Are you still there? Are you okay?”

“My-my boyfriend is-“ You bent down to pick it up, cuddling the small creature close to your chest as she shook in your arms. Joel walked back into the room then, blood smeared on the bat and sporting a gash to his cheek. “He scared them off.”

“Ma’am, I’m sending a police car, what’s your address?”

Joel took over the situation as they arrived, meeting them down at the gate. He walked them through the event, told them the car he had seen the guy rush to and then sped off in. The glimpses of dirty blonde hair underneath a cap, the sound of his voice reminiscent of the one he had protected you from at a bar all that time ago. Of the open investigations you both had over the encounter at his restaurant.

They seemed to take all the crumbs and piece them together, saying it was most likely a stalking situation and you had dropped the mug of tea you had just made at the word. It had been advised that a car were to patrol the street on a more regular basis, but ultimately that you should stay with someone for a while, until things calmed down and your window was repaired.

Hours later, as the sky began to lighten from the deep blue of nightfall to the pastel oranges of early morning, you and Joel found yourself tucked back into bed and curled up with each other. Shielding each other from the rest of the world.

“You gonna tell me what happened at your meeting?” Joel’s voice was careful as he regarded you across the cab of his own truck. He was driving toward his house just outside the downtown area. A suburb that hadn’t felt the effects of gentrification that had so many others had fallen into. It was quant and cozy, neighbors friendly with each other after living there for so long. A good home for his daughters as he raised one and then adopted the other in their teens, sharing the safe place he had crafted for one daughter with another who had never known such a thing. A kind and caring man, now offering to take care of you in the wake of your personal space feeling tainted.

Sweet pea was in your lap, curled up in your crossed legs, preventing Joel from being able to rest a hand atop your thigh while he drove, both hands firmly on the steering wheel. He had been stealing glances your way since you both loaded up, along with three packed bags. Two for you and one for the small cat, with the promise to get her a little box after dropping her off.

Your demeanor shifted from relaxed and boneless in his passenger seat to rigid, shoulders pulling taught as you sat as straight as you could, lower back aching with the pressure after having sat for so long in cheap, hard waiting room chairs the night before. The hot sensation of embarrassment and shame bubbled up your chest to your throat, preventing words even if you had them.

You shook your head, focused on the world passing by in a blur outside the window.

He seemed to realize it was the wrong moment, to have asked such a thing from you because one of his hands was reaching over and tangling with your own.

“That’s okay, whenever you’re ready, yeah?” He chewed on his bottom lip, coming to a stop at a red light. “Or even not at all, okay, if you don’t want. Whatever you need, baby, I’m gonna try my best, alright?”

You nodded, not able to meet his earnest stare, you both startled when a horn honked behind his truck, urging him to drive through the now green light.

“I’m here for you, you gotta know that. Even if you don’t ask me.” He spoke as he turned into a quiet neighborhood, just outside the bustle of the city. A suburb that reminded you of the one you grew up in, the one you hadn’t been back home to in a decade. Wasn’t welcome back to in wake of family drama and endless fighting.

“Did you know my dad got remarried when I was young?”

“No, darlin’, I didn’t.” He said softly, unaware of why this was what you decided to tell him. But he listened all the same, as he parked in a clear drive and helped you down out of the passenger side of the truck. Making sure that Sweet Pea was cuddled tight to you and safely ushered through the doorway into his home.

“She didn’t like me, the woman my dad had been dating. Said…said I was so smart it was blinding. That I’d never find a man who would want to be with me because I always intimidated people. Too independent, too heavy to attract anyone, too much of all the wrong things.”

You stood in the threshold of the living room, watching as your small cat explored the new space. With a cautious curiosity, as if worried about hidden threats behind every corner. Chirping as she went, looking back at you every few minutes to make sure you hadn’t abandoned her.

“I don’t know who this woman is, but she’s wrong, darlin’. She had no business telling you those things at such a young age.”

“If only she could see me now,” You scoffed as your stitches throbbed underneath thick bandages, pain dulled but breaking through the medicine you needed to take once again. “Got a stalker who won’t leave me alone and a professor who deals in ultimatums.”

The bags he still held dropped to the floor and he was suddenly in front of you, his hands on your shoulders as he gave you all of his attention.

Your eyes met his and the words came tumbling out in a rush.

“I was so stupid to think that she was just spewing bullshit, because she’s right. Smart mouth getting me in trouble, getting me into situations where I’m sleeping with my goddamn boss, barely scraping by for a degree that doesn’t mean anything now. He’s-he’s going to tell the entire board that I’m trouble and they’re both right. I always mess everything up, it’s why I’m alone. Can’t disappoint people who aren’t in your life, right?”

You chuckled wetly, face hot and hands shaking as Joel carefully took them in his own.

“Hey,” Joel’s voice was firm, his eyes focused as he brought you to his chest and held you. “Don’t go saying any of that alright. She’s not right. She don’t know you, what you made of yourself. It doesn’t matter what she thinks, what matters is how you feel.”

“I feel like she’s right, she got my dad to believe her. Haven’t spoken to him since I moved out at eighteen. But not from their house, I had been dumped with my grandparents because she wanted kids of her own and it was either space for me or space for them.

A-and it feels like all the hard work I spent years focusing on is all up to a man who has all the power. The ability to spin this entire situation to his needs and wants, to protect those in his care. Everyone has someone looking out for them, helping them, guiding them. But…but, I don’t…I don’t have anyone…”

Your breathing was slow and deep. Controlled as you calmly spiraled, mania from the past few days winding down into a resolute conclusion of bitter acceptance for the things that have happened and taking the blame for them because there was nowhere else to place it.

“You have me,” Your name was a plea on his lips and all you could do was cling to him as he pulled you into his chest. It was easy to fall into him, but you pulled away just as quickly as you had reached out. For his warmth and reassurance, his kind words that you didn’t deserve. “You have me, okay?”

“You-you’re my boss. And he was right, told me I’m just a messy girl who likes to play hard to get. That’s why he’s going to tell the entire board that I’m unfit for the internship, that I’m trouble to have in class, a risk that shouldn’t be considered. A waste of potential crumbling because I’m too self-righteous and tried to stand up for myself in that bar.”

“Look. No, you look at me and hear me okay.” He grasped your shoulders again and pivoted you from where you had begun to turn your attention away from him, feeling utterly hollowed out and bared for him to see all the ugliness you hid inside the beneath your skin and bones. All laid out for him to pick through like a predator to find the best parts and take take take what he wanted. But it was all rotten, it was all tainted, turned. Bad.

“I will file the appropriate paperwork in both our files, have Mary look it over and sign as a witness, stating that we are in a consensual relationship. That there were no contingencies of promised payment, position, or promotion regarding the development of it. I swear to you, baby, I will do it. To show you that it’s important to me, that you’re important to me. That this isn’t just some fling.”

“I was so close,” Your voice broke, hoarse and tapered off into a sound that didn’t sit right in your ears. It was startling how foreign it sounded. As if the woman speaking was someone else and not yourself, feeling small and childish and helpless as you watched your bags get taken from a car and placed around you by a woman smiling brightly and a man who wouldn’t look directly at you. Spoken words of, ‘this is for the best’.

“I was so close.” The woman repeated, and you felt your knees give as the weight of her words hit you and your vision faded out.

This is for the best.

previous chapter || next chapter

dividers by the lovely @/saradika / saradika-graphics

[penvisions]

garnish {sneak peek}

with only two chapters left of this fic, i've been focused on another to delay the inevitable. i'm not good with endings, i skip the last fifteen minutes of movies, i skip the last season of shows, but with fic, it's different. i devour them, i inhale them, i write them until my eyes are blurry and my fingers cramp. but this one, will be the first i've ever finished and for that i am worried. here's a spicy snippet below the belt to help me feel better about it, yeah?

[penvisions]

y'all

today at work, i got inspired to begin plotting out a head chef joel miller x bartender who gets roped into helping out in the kitchen and is amazing at it reader

at first joel will be kinda mean and say reader is just a bartender, what the hell would you know about fancy food. but reader will show him up (and impress him but he won't admit to it), help out a new line cook when he messes up bc he doesn't want joel to yell at him, cover for someone who does mess up and joel won't buy it bc he grudgingly knows you know what your'e doing etc. etc.

i got some scenes swimming around in my brain while driving around doing errands and the line i'm most excited about is from a younger, kinda naive worker who hates getting their hands dirty and says "what is something that is sticky and weird that is fun, anyway?"

and lemme tell you, the internal monologue of reader and the whispered, 'oh i can name a few things but at risk of being an hr nightmare, i'm gonna refrain." and joel will stab his knife down so hard on what he's working on as he overhears

[penvisions]

garnish {sneakie peek}

been working every day this week so far to catch up and get a full first check now that i'm back at wfm, but here's a little snippet of the next chapter for y'all:

“Didn’t know about.” You repeated it evenly, attention focused on the act of scrambling four eggs in a bowl. Your heart was beating fast in your chest. Anxiety trying to claw its way out of your ribcage as you stood in your small kitchen with a talented, established chef with a decade or so of experience you were getting a glimpse of as he opened up. And you were frying up left over taco steak and eggs. “Don’t know a lot about you.”

“All you gotta do is ask, I’ll try my best to answer.”

“Sounds an awful lot like first date talk.”

The hiss of the eggs hitting the pan was the only sound for a moment.

“…is that somethin’ you would like?” His eyes trained on you as you padded around the small kitchen to gather up salsa and tortillas you had made the other day from the fridge. “To go out…on a date?”

[penvisions]

garnish {sneakie peek}

You were rushing toward the office with quick steps, your heart beating painfully in your chest and your ears roaring with the sound of blood rushing. Ignoring the way Joel’s head followed you as you sped through the kitchen, you pushed through the way your skin felt like it was itching, too tight over your body. You reached for the closed handle and turned it, stepping inside without thinking and the door clicked behind you as you leaned back onto it. Your breathing was heavy, and your hands were shaking and when you looked up to see Mary in her desk chair, a bite of food frozen midway to her mouth you let out a stuttering gasp.

“Oh no, honey, what’s wrong?” Food forgotten, she stood up and ushered you into Joel’s empty chair beside her own.

The words you wanted to say wouldn’t come out, stuck in your still burning throat and you feared you would throw up again in the middle of the small office. The longer you tried to force the words, the more your chest hurt. Reaching up to lay a palm flat over your chest, you could feel the rapid pace your heart was beating at, and you just shook your head as your skin continued to feel too tight and your temple began to throb in time with your rapid pulse.

[penvisions]

garnish {sneakie peek}

Joel Miller’s eyes seemed to snap to you, he had offered his new rotation of dishes for the fall menu and promptly spaced out. He never seemed to pay attention to anything else in the higher up meetings for the restaurant you worked at. You had been here for a year now. Having been hired as a general bartender and then bumped up to manager around two months in. You had to do an order on the fly for the bar when it was revealed that the manager had made a faux one and pocketed the money for themselves. To say they had been fired would be an understatement. They were no longer allowed to work for any part of the company.

You don’t think you had ever met his eyes before and you were beginning to think that was a blessing in disguise. His eyes were such a warm, chocolate brown that lit up into an amber wonderland that you could find yourself getting lost in when they caught the light. It took you a moment to realize that he was answering your questions.

[penvisions]

garnish {sneakie peek at what's coming}

i've got the rest of the fic planned out and idk if y'all are ready (it's a roller coaster lemme tell ya that much, but it ends happily, i promise)

here's a little sneakie at what's goin' on hehe ♡

[penvisions]

dev's writing update

my take home exam is nearly complete, it's due tonight and then it's time for me to get a start on a research paper for my other class. it should be easy, it's a breakdown of various explorations (such as genre, what type of film it could be considered in terms of framing and execution) on blue velvet.

with that being said, my main focus on fic writing will be shifting toward {of beskar and kyber}, {return the favor}, and {garnish}.

i will be taking a short pause with {the melting point} until further notice. the next couple of chapters focus on something that is rather triggering in light of what is happening across our country in the way of gun violence and i need to take a step back from it for my own mental health. frankie is so dear to me and i want my writing to reflect that and do the fic justice rather than forcing words with it.

updates should be next week, when i'm past this rough patch of assignment after assignment for school.

thank you all so much for being here, love you ♡