#the Last Of us

[pedrohub]

PEDRO PASCAL as JOEL MILLER

The Last Of Us (2023 - ) I 1.09

[darknight3904]

buy me presents, baby!

Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: The holiday season is packed enough as it is. On top of it all, Joel has a cute little girlfriend he just can't seem to resist spoiling...

Warnings: 18+ Explicit Smut Unprotected p in v, literally one spank, riding, missionary, Joel's a bit of a tease, pregnancy mention (no ones actually pregnant, don't worry) No outbreak au, modern au, viagra mention, unspecified age gap (mid/early-20s reader in mind), Rich older bf Joel!! I don't know how Hinge works sorry.

Word Count: 2.7k

Based on the song buy me presents by Sabrina Carpenter

Masterlist

The local mall was a buzz with what you swore was the entire state of Texas. Everywhere you turned, someone was brushing by you, mumbling an excuse me or just grunting an apology.

"Maybe we should just go home...There's so many people here." You say as you stand off to the side.

"Oh c'mon we drove all the way here, don't you wanna take a peek at some things, darlin'?"

Joel's warm southern tone sent a tingle of warmth down your spine. He was always so charming, that's how he won you over in the first place, his charm.

You'd stumbled across his Hinge profile six months ago. Your friend, Jess had jokingly set your profile to look for men over ten years older than you.

"Trust me, Dilfs are a whole different ballpark, girl!"

You hadn't believed her, after all, who would want some old half-bald, blue pill-taking man sitting across from them at dinner?

Things of course changed late one Wednesday night when Joel, 40 popped up on your screen. Not only did he have all his hair (and teeth!) but damn it he was so hot.

For lack of a better word, Joel was the perfect gentleman. He'd picked you up for your first date right at 7, opened all the doors for you, and even pulled your chair out for you to sit at the restaurant. Conversation had flowed so easily with him, that you'd almost forgotten you had just met the man across from you.

Fast forward a few months and here you were walking the mall with the head and Co-owner of Miller Construction Co. Joel's big hand cradled yours as he opened the door to Sephora.

"Said you needed some more of that lip balm you like right? Let's get it now."

You nodded and let him pull you into the store. He always did this, pulled you into stores so you could look at things. Of course, that wouldn't be a problem if he wasn't always buying half the things you picked up to admire. Hell, one time you were at Macy's with him and made a joke about the adult Spiderman onesie that was being sold, two days later it was sitting in your lap in just your size.

Jess had told you to enjoy it, to let him buy you everything your little heart desired but you couldn't help but feel guilty. You already spent most of your time sleeping at Joel's place, showering there, and eating his food. What were you even working for if you couldn't buy a measly lip balm for yourself?!

You pulled the one you wanted from the shelf. You'd run out a few days ago and your lips had begun to crack without it. Your eyes fell down to look at the price that was beside the scent

Twenty-four bucks?! That was nearly two hours of working at the shitty secretary job you had down at the local library! Whoever was setting prices at this company needed a serious reality check.

Joel's back was turned as he was staring at an array of brushes, mumbling that no one needed that many things for their face. Perfect! You could sneakily set this back on the display and-

"What're you doin'? Isn't that the one?"

Shit.

"Well yeah, but..."

"Then put it in the basket."

Joel's outstretched arm came up to present the little black and white basket he'd taken from a worker when the two of you entered.

"I just think that twenty-four bucks is too much for a little tube of lip balm. I think I'll just switch back to Carmex or Burts Bee's."

"Darlin' I'll buy it." Joel gave you a warm smile, "Let me spoil you."

"No way! You just bought me dinner!" You shake your head, thinking of your leftovers that sat in the backseat of his car.

"And now I wanna buy you a lip balm," Joel says taking it from your hands to put in the basket.

"Nope. We're not getting it." You say, pulling it from his hands and tossing it back on the shelf, "Let's leave."

Joel protests but lets you pull him from the store and back to the car.

Three days later...

Joel never liked shopping. He'd always been the kind of guy who bought the same shirt in multiple colors just because it made sense in his mind. Even when the company had taken off and he and Tommy were living comfortably instead of paycheck to paycheck, he hadn't really found an excuse to indulge and spend a lot of his hard-earned cash. Sure, he'd dropped a lot on a new car after his poor pickup truck had gotten rear-ended two years ago, damn teen drivers. Then, there was the new roof that his house needed last summer. But, both of those were easily paid off and Joel often found himself with a bank account higher than necessary.

It never bothered him, after all, it just meant retirement would come quicker, and if he ever had kids they'd have a lot of inheritance. Yes, Joel was happy living his simple lifestyle. Of course, that was until he met you...

You were just perfect in Joel's eyes. From the moment he saw you on that dating app Tommy had stuck on his phone, he'd known you were the one for him. Initially, he'd felt weird when he'd swiped on you, after all, you were so young compared to him. His fears though, they'd vanished the moment you started laughing at his lame jokes, adding your own even worse ones to the conversation. Yes, you were just perfect for him.

Now, it was December, the holiday season was in full swing and Joel found himself itching to spend some of that cash that'd been sitting in the bank for ages. He'd spent the last six months trying to keep the spending to a minimum, you always scolded him despite enjoying all of his gifts and he'd hate to make you feel uncomfortable. But after today when you'd put that little lip balm back on the shelf, he'd felt sad for you. Joel hadn't missed your small frown when it clattered back onto the display next to the others. You wanted that lip balm and, you were going to get that lip balm.

It was as if he was a man possessed. Three hours had passed since he'd walked into this mall and his arms were begging to feel a bit sore. Sure, he'd bought you the lip balm but before he knew it, he was wandering into all the other stores, looking for things that'd make you smile and cover his face in kisses. As he loaded the bags into the trunk a bit of worry crossed his mind. Had he gone overboard?

No, there definitely could be more...

December 25th, Christmas Morning at Joel Miller's

The warm scent of coffee had your eyes slowly pulling open. You groaned and pulled yourself out of bed, fumbling to pull Joel's shirt on before finding your discarded panties from last night. Whoever told you that older men needed Viagra to get it up clearly hadn't met Joel.

You padded down the steps to see Joel hunched over the stove, flipping pancakes while his beloved coffee maker brewed.

"Morning." You chirp, wrapping your arms around him, and resting your hands on his soft belly.

"Good morning." Joel's deep voice filled your ears

You greedily let your hands slip under the waistband of his plaid pajama pants. Joel lets out a hum and scoots away from you.

"Keep that up and we won't be eating or opening gifts til noon."

You roll your eyes and go to pour him his coffee.

After a delicious breakfast, Joel pulled you into the living room where your jaw nearly met the floor. Last night when you'd passed out in bed after the third round, there had been six presents under the tree, three from him and three from you. Now there had to be over triple that.

"What did you do?" You ask, spinning around to face Joel.

"What? I'm not allowed to spoil you?" Joel asks, a boyish grin on his face.

"It's like you bought the whole damn store and put it in your living room." You point out

"Not the whole store, just some of it." Joel laughs

Nearly an hour later, you were sitting in a pile of wrapping paper and bows.

"Alright, last one," Joel says, pulling a small gift bag with a snowman on it out.

You sigh in fake exhaustion, "Hand it over, cowboy."

Joel snorts and hands you the bag which a moment later you find has the lip balm you'd put back the other day.

"Went back and bought it for ya. Got a little distracted though..." Joel smiles

"Oh, only a little? Is that why there's lingerie and a new pair of boots sitting in boxes next to me?" You laugh, "Not to mention you even bought me a new frying pan."

"Yeah, just a little sidetracked s' all," Joel says, looking at the many different things he'd found for you.

"Thank you, Joel." You smile earnestly, "It's your turn now."

"Why don't ya model this for me, darlin'?" Joel asks, pushing the red babydoll dress towards you

"But what about your presents?" You pout, "I put a lot of thought into the one with the green paper."

"Give me a fashion show, it can be part of the gift." Joel coerces.

"Ugh, you're lucky you're hot, Joel." You huff, scooping the fabric up and heading off to the bathroom.

Joel lets out a long whistle as you reenter the living room, "Well, would you look at that?"

"Pervert." You scoff as he pulls you into his lap

"Not allowed to appreciate my girl?" He asks, pressing a kiss to your cheek

"You just wanted to see what my boobs looked like in red lace." You point out

Joel gives you a grin, busted.

"Nah, what makes you think that?"

Joel's lips capture yours and his hands secure themselves at your waist. Your resolve loosens as your hands curl against the soft skin of his chest.

"What about your presents?" You ask breathlessly when he pulls back

"Got everything I want right here." He says, "Let's go upstairs, this old man needs a bed if he's gonna fuck you silly."

Joel's hands are back on you the moment he kicks the bedroom door shut. His lips find yours again as his hands begin to pull the straps of your outfit off your shoulders.

Your back hits the mattress and one of Joel's big hands snakes down between your thighs.

"Still wet from last night." Joel laughs into the kiss

"Mmm, I think it was from earlier. Seeing you shirtless, cooking for me was hot." You admit

"Yeah? Y'like me cookin' for ya?" Joel asks

"Course, who wouldn't wanna see a hot old man cooking pancakes for them on Christmas?" You tease

Joel delivers a sharp slap to your inner thigh, "Not that old, darlin'."

"Sure you aren't."

You push at his shoulders and straddle him, loving the way his hands gently rest on your thighs.

You hum in delight as his hips lift and he pulls his pants off, finally exposing the rest of his body to your greedy eyes. Joel's lips ghost over your nipples, teasing them with his tongue as he lifts you up so he's notched at your entrance. Eager, you move to push him in but he stops you.

"What do ya say, baby?" Joel teases

"C'mon Joel..." You groan, "I want it."

"Ask nicely then," he clicks his tongue, "Go on,"

You huff a small breath of frustration and Joel's hands squeeze your hips.

"Please," You mumble

"What was that? This old man needs some help hearin' ya." Joel prods

"Please, fuck me, Joel." You groan, wiggling your hips as the head of his cock teases your hole.

"S' what I wanted to hear," Joel says, pressing a wet kiss to your neck

Joel's loud groan mingles with your girlish one as he lets you go to take him in. Your mind goes blank as your hips begin to rock. Joel's hands roam your body as he pinches and teases the sensitive flesh of your chest.

"C'mon girlie, give it to me." He encourages

"I'm trying." You huff, the feel of your burning thighs was slowing you down

A loud slap rings out followed by a yelp from your mouth. Joel's big hand rubs at the reddened mark on your soft skin.

"Don't worry, I gotcha, sweetheart, let me."

Your world turns as Joel lays you back down on the soft mattress, pushing your knees to your chest you're practically folded in half as he pushes in again.

"Fuck me..." Joel groans in pleasure above you.

"Already am." You laugh breathlessly

Joel shakes his head but you see the smile playing on his lips.

Rough thrusts steal your breath away as Joel begins moving his hips in earnest. The softness of his belly meets yours as he leans over you and presses his lips to yours. A hand pushes into the middle of your shared mess and a finger toys with your clit. A whimper escapes your lips as Joel groans when you tighten around him.

"Gonna let me come inside ya hmm? It'd be the perfect Christmas gift for me darlin'..."

Your brain is mush as Joel's finger plays with you while his cock relentlessly slams into you. Your stomach tightens as he continues.

"I-I'm gonna-"

"C'mon let it out, soak my fucking cock." Joel commands

As if he's magic your body yields to him and you come. A strangled groan leaves Joel's lips while your eyes slam shut.

"Good girl." Joel coos down at you, his hips never slowing.

"Joel!" You gasp, the pain of overstimulation beginning to ebb at your brain.

Joel lets out a soft moan of his own, his brow furred in concentration.

"Where?" He asks

"I-Inside" You gasp

Joel smirks, "Yeah? Gonna take it like a good girl? Let me knock ya up, pop out a brat for me in nine months?"

"Yes!" Your hips arch off the bed when his hand comes down to grind at your clit.

Joel's hips stutter against you and a loud moan escapes him as he fills you. Gentle thrusts follow as he comes down, dropping your legs as he does.

Joel flops down beside you on the bed, his chest heaves a bit as the two of you catch your breath.

"Y'okay?"

"Always." You say looking over at him with a dopey grin on your face

"Wanna go finish those pancakes?" Joel asks

You laugh, Joel was such a typical guy, thinking with his stomach, "You just fucked me and threatened to knock me up but your first thought is pancakes?"

"Well, I was gonna get a washcloth and clean ya up first, if that matters," Joel says

"Wow, what a gentleman." You scoff

"Glad you think so." Joel mumbles

You lay next to him in silence, listening to his breathing and watching his eyes flutter shut in satisfaction.

"What if we did?" You ask

"Did what?" Joel asks looking at you, "If you're talking about round two, I'll need a few more minutes, I'm not twenty anymore."

You slap his shoulder and roll onto your belly, "No, perv. I meant a baby. You were just talking about getting me pregnant."

Joel looks over at you like you've lost your mind, "Are you being serious right now?"

"Totally. You don't want a mini us running around?" You ask hopefully

"Course I do baby, didn't ever think a pretty young thing like you would want that with me though," Joel admits, pulling you towards him so you're resting partially on top of him

"Really Joel?" You scoff, "You're like the hottest guy in the world."

"Now you're just buttering me up." He laughs his head hitting the pillows behind him

"I'm serious!" You smile as he presses a gentle kiss to your lips

Soft silence flutters around you as you watch the gears turn in his mind.

"Gonna have to marry you if you start popping my kids out." Joel grins

"Of course," You laugh, "You think I'm gonna go into labor without a ring on my hand?"

Joel's nose brushes yours as he leans a bit closer to your face, practically breathing in your scent. His hand grasps yours where it rests on his chest.

"Guess I gotta start looking at jewelry then, darlin'. You're gonna have the prettiest ring in all of Texas."

"Ugh, there you go again, plotting to spend way too much money on me again." You groan in embarrassment.

Joel leans in and steals a kiss from you, the taste of pancakes and syrup lingers on his tongue as he does.

"Gotta humor me here," He smiles into the kiss, "Let me buy you presents, baby."

Consider this a mini-rant against the people behind the prices at Sephora. I'm looking at you Summer Fridays...

Want more Joel? Check out my series All Too Well.

[celiababy]

Ain't Right part 2

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: It's the holiday season and Joel is a Scrooge.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI, age gap (56/20), swearing, p in v, unprotected sex, size kink, oral sex (m!receiving), SQUIRT, creampie, threats of violence, alcohol

Celia's note: uhm hello??? what the flip thank y'all sm for all the love on my first post!! I got so many requests to make a part 2 so dinner's ready y'all dig in!!!!

Read the first part! > part 1

Jackson looked so pretty this time of year. The Christmas lights, the snowmen, the comfy sweaters and chocolate chip cookies; you loved it all.

Especially gift-giving.

To you, there was really nothing better than seeing someone's face light up when they open a present.

This year, there was someone special you planned to go all out for.

It had been 3 days since Joel Miller fucked you in his house, on his bed.

You hadn't stopped replaying the moment in your mind, especially the part when he finished all over your stomach.

However, it just so happens that after those amazing thirty minutes, Joel was called away by Tommy.

He had to leave and do something that you weren't allowed to know about. Undoubtedly some dangerous mission that pained you to think about.

So your victory was short-lived.

But, like the gentleman he was, he walked you home and made sure you were okay before he left. You wanted to kiss him goodbye, but felt too nervous to do so.

You don't know why—he literally had his cock in you a few moments prior.

Yet you couldn't, and just had to watch him walk away.

Now, you haven't seen him in three days and were starting to get serious withdrawals. Whatever he was up to couldn't have come at a worse time.

You finally had the taste of his perfection, now he was gone, leaving you to deal with your desire alone.

You tried to preoccupy yourself with helping set up all the Christmas decorations around town as well as baking an absurd amount of treats.

You also managed to get him a little gift in the meantime, stuffing it in the cutest box with the prettiest wrapping paper.

God, you hoped he'd come back soon.

And luckily, he did!

You had heard from Maria that everyone had returned from their trip—safe and sound.

She had also told you that she was throwing a little Christmas get-together at her and Tommy's house to celebrate.

She was careful to mention that Joel would be in attendance.

So, that night, you whipped up your signature cinnamon apple recipe and put on your cutest outfit.

You topped it with some fuzzy reindeer antlers because you were in a very festive mood.

As you walked alone to Maria and Tommy's, you were freezing your ass off in your skirt and sweater. You wore tights with your skirt in hopes that it would help with the cold, but who were you kidding?

You didn't care, though. You just cared if Joel thought you looked pretty or not.

You pranced up the steps of their porch, letting yourself into the house and getting immediately bombarded by the hoard of people inside.

Maria made it seem like it was going to be a small thing, but the entire Jackson population seemed to be in her living room.

Thankfully, Tommy catches you come in and walks up to greet you. "Hey there stranger," He grins, looking down at the dish in your hands. "What you got there?"

"Brought desert," You chirp, handing it to him with a proud smile.

"Well well," He muses as he takes the glass container from you, looking it over with surprise. "Didn't think you could tie your own shoes, let alone bake anything."

You roll your eyes before scoffing. "You're just mad because I can tie my shoes and bake something before you can conjure a coherent thought."

Tommy fakes a wince before chuckling. "Alright, touché kid. We're gonna be playing charades in a little bit so stick around, alright?"

You nod, having absolutely no intention of 'sticking around' for charades. Tommy wanders off with your apples, finally giving you a moment to survey the party.

Obviously, you were looking for one person in particular.

You squeezed through all the crowds of people, scouring what felt like every room in the house.

But no dice.

Joel was nowhere to be found and sadness washes over you like a tidal wave.

Was he doing this on purpose?

Torturing you by depriving you of his presence? This was hell.

You plant yourself by the special eggnog and down several glasses to take the edge off.

You were tipsy in no time, it really didn't take much. It was like Maria just dumped an entire bottle of vodka in the bowl and splashed some milk in it. It was disgusting, really, but it was getting its job done.

As you hunched yourself over the bowl, someone tapped you on your shoulder.

You spin around, your hopes high.

"Joel!—Oh. Hi Connor." The disappointment you feel inside displays clearly in your tone.

You're now face to face with the boy who has been unsubtly trying to sleep with you for months.

"Hey there! You look fucking great tonight." He flirts, a smug grin on his face.

You grimace because you know he thinks he's so cool, even though you'd rather die than stand here with him right now.

"Thanks." You say flatly, turning back towards the eggnog and pouring yourself another glass. For some reason, Connor takes this as an invitation to step closer, now invading your space.

You don't even bother trying to hide your disgusted expression. His cologne is attacking your nostrils, and it doesn't even smell good.

"That skirt looks amazing on you." His eyes unabashedly drag along the skin of your legs, making you shiver in disgust. He takes it too far when his hand comes up to brush your arm.

"You come here with anyone?" He coos, leaning against the food table like he was hot shit or something.

You couldn't stand this douche. Just as you were about to tell him to fuck off or something, you feel someone looming over you.

"She did." A gruff voice comes from behind you, and you immediately recognize that it could only be one person.

You whip around, your face lighting up at the sight of Joel.

His expression is settled into a natural scowl, his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed at the boy in front of you both. Even though he looked scary as shit, he was so fucking hot.

You're instantly horny just at the sight of him.

Connor scoffs, looking between the two of you, but your eyes stayed glued to Joel.

"Really? Him? But he's like—an old man." Connor spits, which immediately earns a glare from you.

Just as you're about to cuss him out, Joel beats you to it.

"Walk away before this old man breaks your jaw." His voice is stern, not to be tested.

It makes your core tighten with need.

Hearing the threat that he assumes to be all too real, Connor doesn't waste time scurrying off.

You turn back towards Joel, a warm, relieved smile spreading across your face. “Hi,” You whisper, wanting to hug him so bad but holding yourself back because he wasn’t a big fan of PDA. “M'so glad you're back." You do, however, step closer into his personal bubble.

His face softens when he finally looks down at you, and you can almost swear you see his lips curling up into a smile.

"Yeah, me too, kid." He husks out, looking between you and the bowl of half-empty eggnog. "Enjoyin' yourself?" He asks with somewhat of a disappointed look on his face, clocking that you were a little tipsy.

"Now I am." You answer truthfully, beaming up at him. "Have you been here the whole time? I was looking for you earlier but I couldn't find you."

Joel shifted on his feet, sliding his hands in his pockets. "Just got here. Tommy was talkin' my ear off at the door." He explained, an exasperated look on his face.

You laughed and nodded, knowing you both shared that experience.

"Are you having a good time, though?" You ask, actually curious because he seemed like he would rather be anywhere else right now.

He shrugs, brushing a hand through his short hair. "This Christmas holiday crap is givin' me a fuckin' aneurysm." He huffs out with complete honestly, scratching the back of his neck.

"What? Really? Why?" The shock and bewilderment in your voice isn't lost on Joel.

He sighs out, knowing you're about to explain the magical spirit of the season or whatever.

"The blizzards, people spazzin' out over gifts, all 'cause some fat guy is coming down chimneys—s'all just ridiculous."

You want to giggle at how actually annoyed he sounded, but you hold it down.

Grouchy old man.

"I'd let you come down my chimney," you flirt, but then correct yourself. "I have let you come down my—"

Joel shoots you a glare, daring you to finish your sentence.

You know when to cut your losses, so you don't.

"Well, speaking of gifts," You start, rummaging in your bag to pull out your present for him. You hold it up, the pink wrapping paper making him cock an eyebrow. "Merry Christmas, Scrooge."

Joel feels an unfamiliar feeling swimming around in his stomach at the sight.

He slowly takes the box from you, looking at it like it was a puzzle.

He really wasn't expecting anything from you. But he supposed people who have had the other persons genitals inside them should probably give them something for Christmas.

He finds himself very pleasantly surprised.

After a moment, he finds something to say.

"Couldn't find some manlier wrapping paper?" He coughs, his voice low but it's obvious he's joking with you.

You roll your eyes and scoff. "Just open it!"

Joel somewhat grins at your impatience but finally starts to open the box.

That grin drops off his face after he sees the contents, an immediate bittersweet feeling swelling in his chest.

You're watching his face so intently, so scared that he didn't like it based on his reaction.

Joel pulls out the watch from the box, clutching it tightly. He's not saying anything, so you hear yourself start to ramble.

"Do you like it? I just saw that the watch you wear is broken so I figured I'd get you a new one. If you don't like it I can take it back."

You're starting to crumble underneath the weight of his silence, anxiety bubbling in your gut. Just as you're about to ask him if he's okay, Joel finally looks back at you.

"S'real great. Thank you." His tone is genuine, you can tell he's telling the truth. But why does he look so pained?

"Of course." Your murmur, your eyes searching his. After a moment of silence, you clear your throat. "There's one more thing, actually."

Joel's shoulder slump. "You got me another present?" He asked tiredly, looking at you with disbelief.

A guilty smile paints your face before you gesture for Joel to follow you. "It's upstairs. C'mon."

He doesn't know how much more his heart could handle.

Reluctantly, he follows you up the stairs, wondering why you had a gift waiting for him in Tommy's guest bedroom.

You open the door and close it behind you both, purposefully not turning the lights on.

Joel walks into the center of the room, standing aimlessly and confused as to why you hadn’t flipped the light switch yet.

But then he hears the rustling of clothes and when you eventually turn the lights on, you're wearing nothing but a bra and panties.

His cock immediately gets hard.

"What do ya think you're doin'?" He whisper yells, trying to keep his eyes on your face but that proves to be impossible because your tits looked so good in lace.

"What? You don't like it? I bought it for you." You give him a 360 and he has to brace himself against the bed.

Fuck you looked good.

He sits down on the mattress, dragging a hand down his jaw in thought.

He's debating if he's really about to fuck you in his brother's house.

Why were you always making him go against his morals?

A few seconds of silence pass between the two of you before Joel snaps his eyes back to your figure.

"C'mere."

Got 'em.

You squeal excitedly before running over, slotting yourself between his legs and placing your hands on his shoulders.

In turn, his large hands come out to hold your hips, his gaze zeroing in on your perfect-looking cleavage that he was now eye-level with.

Just as he was about to slide his hands up to grope your breasts, you sink down to the floor.

Joel's puzzled as he watches you get on your knees, looking up at him with those mischievous eyes. He truly has no clue what you're up to, that is, until you bring your lips to the bulge in his jeans.

You place the softest kiss on his clothed hard-on, earning a groan from him.

Now he knows what you're trying to do.

He juts his hand out, holding you firm by your shoulder.

"You ain't gotta do that, sweetheart." Joel says softly, probably the softest you've ever heard him say anything.

Your body erupts in goosebumps when you hear the endearing pet name slip so effortlessly from his lips.

"I want to—been wanting to since, like, forever." You murmur, nuzzling your cheek against his inner thigh.

Joel wasn't sure what to think right now.

His past romantic experiences taught him that blowjobs were a hassle for women—something that they did only if they felt they had to.

But here you were, looking up at him with those wide eyes and wanting nothing more than his dick in your mouth.

You surprise him everyday.

His dick has literally never been harder, especially when you finally start unzipping his pants to let it spring free.

You gaze up at him again, waiting for his green light.

Joel had one hand white-knuckling the edge of the bed, while the other gently caressed the side of your head.

He offers a short nod of approval, already trying not to come just by the sight of his cock so close to your face.

You waste absolutely no time in grabbing the base of his dick with both hands, gingerly licking at his tip to warm him up.

Joel throws his head back, groaning at the feeling.

You tilt it up so you can drag your tongue all the way up his shaft, then bring your mouth down on his tip.

"Fuck," Joel curses, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment before snapping back open, not being able to look away from you.

Tears are falling from your eyes the farther you go down on him, the sensation of his head poking the back of your throat was making you dizzy.

But you don't stop. You're eager to please.

Your hands pump at the length you can't reach, while your warm mouth and tongue swirl around him.

You're too good at this, and Joel knows he's not gonna last long.

He can't help it when his hand in your hair turns into a fist, tightly gripping the strands like he was afraid you might go somewhere.

You moan when he accidentally pulls your hair forwards, forcing you deep on his cock. You bet he didn't even realize what he just did, based on the way his chest was heaving and his face looked so lost in pleasure.

You gag and more tears spill from your eyes, but you don't even dream about lifting off. If Joel was getting off on this, you were going to do more of it.

You moan, still keeping his cock in your mouth as you try to go even deeper down on it.

"Oh fuck—" Joel suddenly yanks your mouth off his cock, breathing heavily as he stares down at you.

You cough and sputter at the loss, looking up at him with that same fucked out expression you had last time.

"Why?" You manage to whine, wondering why he stopped you before he came.

Joel doesn't answer—instead he picks you up by your armpits and places you on the bed.

The quick change almost gives you whiplash, but Joel's surprisingly steady and husky voice guides you.

"On your stomach, pretty girl." He mutters as he taps your leg in a gesturing manner.

...Was he trying to kill you with that bedroom voice of his?

A whimper crawls its way out of your throat, your body having an audible reaction to his sweet words.

You flip over onto your stomach, instantly arching your back for him.

Being the impatient man he was, he rips your panties and throws them to the side in a lust-driven blur.

You literally didn't even care. Sure, they were new, but you'd just find another pair. The only two thoughts in your mind right now was Joel and Joel's dick.

Something warm and soft prods at your entrance before slipping to wedge between your folds, gathering up your slick.

You try to push back on it, but Joel holds you still, making you lose the rest of the small amount of composure you had left.

"Joelpleasefuckme," You sob, your cunt weeping for his cock. "need you so bad it hurts,"

You reach back, your hand finding his that was holding your hip and squeezing it.

Joel didn't want to admit to himself how much he loved the neediness in your voice, your obvious desperation made him harder.

"M'gettin' there, don't gotta beg me baby." He mutters, his hand that you grabbed intertwining with your fingers. His other hand was rubbing circles in the skin around your hips.

You feel that same sensation of his tip, but then Joel also brings his chest down to engulf your back.

You're already trembling, but when he begins to pepper kisses down the nape of your neck and back, all while slowly sheathing himself inside your pussy...

You effectively lose your mind.

"OhFUCKJoelloveitsomuch," You blabber, not having enough strength to hold yourself up anymore so your head drops into a pillow, muffling your moans.

Effortlessly, he pulls you back up so that your back is flush with his chest, his one arm wrapped around your stomach to keep you secure.

You rest the back of your head on his shoulder as she starts rocking into you, letting your body go limp because you know he's got you.

"Can you take it or do I need'a stop?" He asks, his tone making you dizzier.

You frantically nod, turning your head to the side to look at him. "I can take it, promise I can," you muster out between moans. "please don't stop—want your cock in me forever-"

Joel chuckles.

God, he really never stood a chance against you.

"I don't know about forever sweet thing, but I'll see what I can do for tonight, yeah?"

You giggle airily, like you weren't all there, nodding your head in acknowledgement. Your eyes are closed for a second but you feel his lips on yours, hungrily taking whatever they wanted.

You passionately return his kiss, mewling into it because his lips paired with the slow thrust of his dick was enough to drive you crazy.

The stretch of his cock is as close to heaven as you're ever gonna get.

His speed picks up which means your moans get louder, and Joel has no choice put to bring his other hand up and cover your mouth.

There's still a party going on downstairs, after all.

"Gotta be quieter baby," he pants, even though he's not slowing down his speed at all.

You whine into his hand, surprisingly loving the feeling of it because it's like he's swallowing you whole.

You feel that tight coil in your stomach slowly start to come undone, and you know you won't last long now. You try to tell Joel, but his hand is muffling your noises.

All the sudden, he speaks in your ear—his voice low and raspy. "Don't want you doin' this with anyone else, hear me?"

...Well.

You weren't expecting that.

His words probably made you soak the sheets because of how wet you became.

He sounded so stern when he said it too, making your heart flutter even more.

You nod, tears pouring from your eyes. He lets his hand off your mouth for a moment and you immediately jump at the opportunity to speak.

"Only want you, only ever wanted you, Joel—m'all yours, always been yours," You mewl after gasping for air, your body jolting with each of his deep thrusts.

"Fuck," Joel swears, quickly but carefully putting you down only to flip you over onto your back. Now in missionary, he buries himself all the way inside you again before dropping down so your faces are centimeters apart. "All mine, huh?" Joel reiterates, and you can't tell if he's mocking you or maybe asking for clarification.

Probably the ladder.

You agree nonetheless, a string of yes's spilling from your mouth.

"Yeah, just for me." He pants, slamming into you with more vigor than before. Your cunt is constricting around him like a vice, he's—not planning to last much longer either.

"M'gonna cum," you whine, wrapping your arms around his shoulders for support.

When Joel hears this, he drops a hand down to rub at your clit, making you come undone altogether.

"Ohfuckohfuckohfuck waitwait Joel-" You feel something..unique boiling, but then Joel's expert fingers release the flood gates.

You scream as you squirt all over his cock, your entire body writhing with the overstimulating pleasure.

Your juices soak him. When he see's this, he comes immediately.

He groans as he finishes inside you, unloading into your snug cunt. The feeling is incomparable for the both of you.

Once the haze of perfect pleasure dissipates, Joel realizes what he's just done.

"Shit," he grits, pulling out and watching his seed drip from your hole. "Fuck."

You manage to sit up on your elbows, looking up at him with teary eyes. "Don't worry," Your voice is quiet and cracked—you just had the squirt fucked out of you, after all. "I've been on the pill since we had sex the first time."

Joel looks down at you, stupefied.

Eventually, he feels his heart start beating again and huffs out a sigh of relief. "Thank christ." He leans back against the headboard, raking a hand through his hair and thinking about how that was a fucking close one.

You're lying next to him, still trying to catch your breath. "That felt so good," You manage to murmur, your body still shivering from the after shocks.

After you catch your breath, you turn your head to look up at him. "M'serious about what I said, about bein' yours."

He looks at you and your serious face for a moment, then brings his hand down to gently ruffle the top of your head.

"Yeah, I know you are." His texan drawl prominent.

"I'd let you brand me with a fire poker if thats what you wanted." You say flatly, no joking tone in your voice whatsoever.

Joel is taken back by the sudden jump in intensity, assessing you to make sure you were being for real.

You were, and when he realizes this, he shakes his head. "You've lost your damn mind." He grunts, dragging a hand down his face.

You shrug.

"I think a ring would do the trick." Joel mutters, not meaning for it to have some kind of underlying message or anything. But you're quick to jump to conclusions.

"A ring?" You squeal, moving to lay on his chest which earns a huff from him. "Didn't know we were already goin' steady like that, Miller!" You tease, the giddiest smile on your face.

"I didn't mean—quit. You know what I was sayin'." Joel grunts, looking at you with an unamused expression.

You don't quit though.

"My ring finger is a size 6, would love 2 carats but if you can swing for 3 that would be perfect—also, I hate silver bands, it has to be gold—but make sure it's not that super yellow fake gold, I like more rustic looks, I mean, if that wasn't obvious-" You cast him a glance, alluding to the fact that he was rustic looking.

Joel rolls his eyes before gently nudging you off him, getting off the bed and walking over to your clothes that you discarded a long time ago.

You continue rambling from your position on the sheets, staring up at the ceiling as you recited, in extreme detail, how you loved oval shaped diamonds the most.

He walks back over and manhandles you to sit up. "Lift up your arms." He mutters, putting your sweater back on you.

"Hm, gettin' some serious deja vu right now." You murmur, smiling up at him.

"Yeah, yeah, hush." He grumbles before sliding your tights and skirt back on as well.

The act is so kind and heartwarming. You mumble a thank you before standing up, almost falling back down because your legs were still a bit weak.

Joel made a motion like he would've caught you, reaching his arms out. "Careful." He warns, planting a hand on your lower back for stability. You giggle and nod, regaining your ability to walk slowly but surely.

You guys tried to discretely walk back down the stairs, but with Joel's hand on your back and your happy expression--it wasn't hard for people to guess what happened.

***

A couple days had passed since Tommy and Maria's party.

You were finishing up some hand-made Christmas cards on your desk when you heard a knock at your door.

"Coming!" You shout, leisurely making your way to the front door.

When you open it, no one's there. You look around, only seeing a familiar male figure walking away in the distance. When you step outside to shout after him, you feel yourself kick something.

Upon looking down, a small velvet box lays at your feet.

You pick it up carefully, opening it to reveal a gold ring placed so delicately inside. The small note inside reads:

Merry Christmas. -Scrooge

[ellies-enrichment]

[pearlcigs]

Can we get more angsty dealer I BEG

the council has decided my fate it seems.. anyway reader crashes tf out

alludes to the sex they had in a previous part and ummmm tw masc nonchalant lesbain we’ve all been there

⋆ texts with dealer!ellie — tlou discord server

tags : @kokoch4nel @ellies1luvr @frillydolle @macaroni676

[stylesispunk]

"Our little mistletoe" day 2/4

no outbreak!joel miller x f!reader

summary: You got sick during the week of Christmas. Unable to leave home, Joel brings Christmas to you, and some feelings are confessed.

wc: 6,3>

warnings: just fluff. (Yes, no angst.)

a/n: welcome to the second day of my joel's fic christmas version event. Perhaps, PERHAPS I will add one more day to this mini event. Thank you so much for the love on the day one of this mini event! So glad you lived that one. ♥️♥️ It's funny that at the same time, I'm writing this, I'm sick, but instead of cozy blankets and cold weather, here it's hot. I need Joel to come and save me. I don't know if you're gonna like this one as much as the fic one, i hope you like it though. Happy reading 💌

By this time of the day, you would have been already on Joel’s house, helping him to get everything ready for tonight’s dinner. Setting some last-minute decorations with Sarah that he always had forgot to put on display inside the house.

You weren’t the biggest fan of Christmas or travelling during these holidays, but you always had put a show for him, especially for Sarah since she was a little kid.

And he loved that. He loved it so much.

The way you belonged to his house, the way your skin seemed to glow under the twinkling lights, the smile you grace when he was opening the gift you had delicately chose for him.

Or the way you smelled like sweet pastries

You, just you.

You were his favorite part of the holidays and of life itself. You were woven into every tradition, every memory that mattered. From the moment you stepped into his life, you'd filled spaces he hadn't even known were empty.

Joel watched as you carefully adjusted a wreath over the fireplace, your fingers lingering to straighten the ribbon just so. Sarah had darted into the kitchen to check on the cookies, leaving the two of you in the soft glow of the Christmas tree.

“Think it looks alright?” you asked, turning to him with a smile that knocked the wind out of his chest.

“Looks perfect,” he murmured, but he wasn’t talking about the wreath.

You laughed, shaking your head as if you could brush off his intensity. “You always say that.”

“’Cause it’s always true,” he replied, voice low and warm.

You turned back to the decorations, but Joel kept his eyes on you, taking in the way you fit into this moment as though you were meant to be here all along.

It wasn’t just Christmas. It was you. It had always been you.

Joel’s thoughts came back to the present moment as worry nagged him. He checked on his phone, the last message he had sent you remained there, not even seen.

Joel’s thumb hovered over the screen, his brow furrowing as he stared at the text.

You on your way yet? Sarah's been asking for you.

The read receipt hadn’t popped up, and that alone was enough to set him on edge.

You were never late, especially not for Christmas dinner.

The sound of laughter floated from the kitchen as Sarah shouted something about burnt cookies, but Joel couldn’t focus. His gut twisted with a sense of unease he couldn’t shake. He stood, pacing toward the window, glancing out at the driveway that remained empty.

He checked the time. It wasn’t like you to keep him waiting.

Pulling his coat off the hook, Joel stepped out onto the porch. The cold air bit at his skin, but it didn’t matter. He needed to do something, anything. The world felt too still, too quiet without you in it.

He dialed your number, pacing back and forth as the phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times. Then it went to voicemail.

Joel ran a hand down his face, gripping the back of his neck as his heartbeat picked up.

“Where the hell are you?” he muttered under his breath, glancing at his phone again.

Just as he was about to call again, the door behind him creaked open, and Sarah peeked out, a worried look on her face.

“Dad? Everything okay?” she asked.

Joel forced a smile he didn’t feel. “Yeah, sweetheart. Just...waitin’ for her. You know how the roads can get this time of year.”

Joel barely had time to answer Sarah’s question when the sound of tires crunching against cobblestones pulled his attention. He turned toward the driveway to see Tommy’s truck rolling in, headlights cutting through the early winter dusk. Relief warred in his chest.

Tommy stepped out of the truck, shaking off the cold as he made his way to the porch. "Merry Christmas eve, big brother," he called, his usual smirk in place. But it faltered when he got a good look at Joel’s face. "What’s with the long face? Something happened?"

Joel didn’t waste time. “I need you to stay here with Sarah.”

Tommy blinked, confused. “What? Why? Ain’t this the time we’re all supposed to be gathering’ ‘round the tree, singing’ carols or whatever?”

“I think somethin’ might’ve happened,” Joel admitted referring to you, his tone heavy with worry. “She isn’t here yet. Ain’t answerin’ my messages or calls, and that just...ain’t her.”

Tommy’s playful demeanor vanished, replaced by quiet seriousness. “Alright. I’ll stay. Go find her.”

Joel gave him a firm nod, patting his shoulder in thanks before grabbing his keys and heading for his truck. He was halfway down the driveway, his mind already running through the possibilities, car trouble, icy roads, something worse, when his phone buzzed on the seat beside him.

He swerved to a stop, snatching the phone up. It was you.

“Hey,” he answered, his voice sharp with worry. “Where the hell are you? Are you alright?”

There was a long pause on the other end, and then your voice came through, soft and raspy. “I’m so sorry, Joel. I overslept. I think I’m coming down with something.”

Joel exhaled sharply, a mix of relief and concern flooding through him. “Jesus, you scared the hell outta me. You could’ve called sooner.”

“I know,” you murmured, guilt laced in your tone. “I didn’t want to ruin your Christmas eve or worry you. I just...I feel awful.”

Joel’s grip on the phone tightened as he pulled off the road, parking his truck. “Ruin my Christmas eve?” he echoed, his voice softening. “You’re the only part of it I care about.”

There was a pause on your end, and Joel could imagine the way you’d be biting your lip at his words. “I’m sorry, Joel. I really wanted to be there, but I barely can keep myself up.”

“You don’t gotta apologize. You just sit tight, alright?” Joel's voice was firm but gentle, there was a lace of disappointment hanging there, but because of the thought of you spending all this night alone. "I’ll figure it out. Just rest, okay? I’ll check on you later."

You let out a tired sigh, tinged with a hint of guilt. "Okay. Merry Christmas eve, Joel. Tell Sarah I’m sorry."

Joel’s chest tightened at how small your voice sounded, the strength you usually carried replaced by exhaustion. "Merry Christmas eve, darlin’. Just take care of yourself, alright?"

He ended the call, staring at his phone for a moment before slipping it into his pocket. The engine idled quietly as Joel sat there, the glow of his truck’s dashboard lights illuminating his face. You might have been stuck at home, but that didn’t mean you had to spend Christmas Eve alone.

A plan had come up to his mind.

He swung the truck around, heading back toward the house with a sense of purpose. When he pulled into the driveway, Tommy was waiting on the porch, bundled in his coat, a questioning look on his face.

"Everything alright?" Tommy asked as Joel climbed out.

“She’s sick,” Joel said, already heading toward the front door. "Ain’t coming over."

Tommy frowned. "Then why are you back? Givin’ up that easy?"

Joel shot him a pointed look as he stepped inside. "Hell no. We’re taking Christmas to her."

Sarah popped her head out from the kitchen, her face lighting up when she saw her dad. "She’s not coming?"

"Not feelin’ well," Joel explained as he grabbed a couple of boxes of decorations from the living room. "But that don’t mean she’s missin’ out."

Sarah grinned, catching on to his plan. "You mean we’re bringing all this to her place?"

"Damn right we are," Joel said, already sorting through the things he’d need. "Grab the cookies, the rest of the food and some of the lights."

Tommy let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "You’re really doin’ this, huh?"

Joel shot him a look that said everything. "All of us, Tommy. Come on”

Tommy raised an eyebrow, his smirk fading as realization dawned. “Wait, me too?

Joel didn’t even pause as he grabbed another box of lights. “You’re comin’. You’re part of this family, ain’t you?”

Tommy smiled, following Joel into the kitchen, where Sarah was already busy wrapping up the food with a determined look on her face. “Fine, but don’t blame me if I eat half those cookies on the way.”

“You do, and you’re walkin’,” Joel shot back, his voice teasing but his pace relentless.

Within minutes, the truck was packed to the brim. Lights, food, decorations, everything that screamed Christmas was crammed into the back. Joel stood by the truck, taking a deep breath, his hands on his hips as he looked over the load.

“Think she’ll like it?” Sarah asked, her smile lighting up her face.

Joel turned to her with a small smile, his tone soft. “She’ll love it, baby girl”

“Alright, let’s go before I change my mind about this,” Tommy muttered, climbing into the passenger seat.

As Tommy settled into the passenger seat, he rummaged through one of the bags he’d grabbed last minute from the house. A sly grin spread across his face as he pulled out a small sprig of mistletoe, holding it up between two fingers.

“Don’t forget about this, big brother,” he said, his tone dripping with mischief as he waved it in Joel’s direction.

Joel glanced over, narrowing his eyes. “What the hell are you doin’ with that?”

Tommy shrugged, clearly enjoying himself. “Figured you’d want it. Never know when it might come in handy. You will Kiss her tonight, brother”

Joel rolled his eyes, though the heat creeping up his neck betrayed him. “Tommy, don’t start.”

“I’m just sayin’.” Tommy leaned back, twirling the mistletoe like it was some kind of trophy. “You’re doin’ all this for her, haulin’ Christmas across town like some kinda lovesick Santa Claus. Might as well seal the deal.”

“Tommy,” Joel warned, his voice low and pointed. “This ain’t about that.”

“Oh, sure,” Tommy said, his grin widening. “Just about spreadin’ some holiday cheer, huh? Totally normal to pack up half your house for a ‘friend.’” He made air quotes with his fingers, earning a laugh from Sarah in the backseat.

“Uncle Tommy’s got a point, Dad,” Sarah chimed in, her voice light but playful. “I mean, you like her, right? Why not just go for it?”

Joel gripped the wheel a little tighter, his jaw working as he tried to come up with a response that wouldn’t give Tommy and Sarah even more ammunition. “Ain’t the time for that,” he muttered.

Tommy leaned forward, mistletoe still in hand. “Oh, come on, Joel. You’re already playin’ the hero tonight. Don’t tell me you’re gonna chicken out now.”

Joel shot him a glare, but Tommy just laughed. “You’re impossible,” Joel muttered, snatching the mistletoe from his brother’s hand and tossing it onto the dashboard.

“Just keep it handy,” Tommy said with a wink. “You’ll thank me later.”

Joel shook his head, but the teasing didn’t stop the thought from creeping in. The mistletoe sat there, a quiet challenge he wasn’t quite ready to face, as they drove toward your house.

You had just started to drift off, the ache in your head and the warmth of your blankets pulling you under, when a knock at the door jolted you awake. At first, you thought you’d imagined it, but there it was again, a firm, familiar rhythm that made your heart stutter.

Groaning softly, you pushed yourself up, wrapping the blanket tighter around your shoulders as you shuffled toward the door. The pounding in your head didn’t do much to help the confusion swirling in your mind. Who would be here at this hour?

You opened the door a crack, peeking out cautiously, only to have your breath catch in your throat.

Joel stood there, snow dusting his hair and jacket, his arms holding a box full of things that looked suspiciously festive. Behind him, Sarah and Tommy were standing by the truck, each holding their own share of decorations and food.

“Joel?” you croaked, your voice rough from the scratchiness in your throat.

“Hey,” he said softly, his eyes sweeping over you with concern. “You look like hell.”

“Wow, thanks,” you muttered, pulling the blanket closer around you. “What’re you doing here?”

“Bringin’ Christmas to you,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. Joel took the opportunity to step inside, brushing past you gently as he carried a box of decorations toward your living room. Sarah and Tommy followed suit, grinning like conspirators as they set down their own loads of holiday cheer.

“Wait, wait,” you protested, your head spinning as you tried to keep up. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“No,” Joel said, turning to face you, his expression warm but resolute. “But I wanted to. You shouldn’t spend Christmas alone, sick or not.”

Sarah appeared at your side, holding a plate of cookies wrapped in foil. “We made these for you! Well, Dad baked them”

“Did you bake them?” You asked, recieiving the plate from Sarah.

“No, I bought them, really. I made Sarah believe I was baking” he replied, without giving himself credit.

“Such a fake” you said, but you couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you, though it quickly turned into a cough. Joel was at your side in an instant, his hand on your back, steadying you.

“C’mon,” he said, guiding you gently toward the couch. “Sit down. Let us take care of this.”

“Joel,” you began, your voice hoarse but filled with emotion, “you really didn’t have to—”

“I did,” he cut you off, his tone leaving no room for argument. His eyes softened as he looked at you, and for a moment, the chaos of the room faded into the background. “You’re part of this, part of us. Always have been. So, yeah, I did.”

You blinked at him, your chest tightening with something that wasn’t just the cold. Before you could respond, Tommy called out from the kitchen.

Before you could say anything, Tommy’s voice broke through the moment, his tone dripping with playful mischief.

“Well, look at this,” he drawled, stepping closer with the infamous sprig of mistletoe in his hand. “Y’know, I’ve been thinkin’. She looks at you like you’re her Christmas miracle, Joel. Might as well give her a reason to keep starin’.”

Joel groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Tommy, don’t—”

But Tommy was already moving. With the precision of a man who lived to be a menace, he slipped the mistletoe into the back pocket of Joel’s jeans, patting it smugly as if he’d completed a masterpiece.

“There,” Tommy declared, looking incredibly pleased with himself. “Now you’re carryin’ it everywhere, just in case the moment strikes. Plus,” he added with a wink in your direction, “I think someone else here might be on board with this idea.”

Your face burned as the attention shifted to you, and you quickly glanced away, pretending to be fascinated by the pattern on the blanket you’d pulled over your lap.

“Tommy,” Joel growled, his voice a low warning.

“What?” Tommy said, holding his hands up in mock innocence. “I’m just tryin’ to help. I mean, come on, big brother. Don’t act like she ain’t got that same look you’ve been sportin’ for years now.”

“Tommy,” Joel repeated, but there was a faint flush creeping up his neck now.

You managed to peek up at Joel, your heart thudding painfully in your chest. Tommy’s teasing words might’ve been delivered with a smirk, but there was truth buried in them.

Joel caught your gaze, and for a split second, everything else seemed to fade.

“Alright, enough,” Joel said finally, dragging a hand down his face as he shot Tommy a glare. “Don’t you have somethin’ better to do?”

“Not really,” Tommy quipped, sauntering off toward the pile of lights he’d been working on.

As the room filled with Sarah’s chatter and the sound of Christmas music Tommy had turned on, Joel lingered by your side, looking equal parts exasperated and amused.

“Don’t pay him any mind,” he murmured, his voice soft enough that only you could hear. “He’s just talkin’ nonsense.”

But when you glanced down at the faint hint of green peeking from his back pocket, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, Tommy wasn’t entirely wrong.

As the evening wore on, the laughter and warmth filling your small home was everything you hadn’t realized you needed. The twinkling lights Joel and Sarah had strung up bathed the room in a soft glow, and the scent of cookies and food mingled with the piney aroma of the small tree Tommy had managed to haul inside.

But as much as you loved the idea of them bringing Christmas to you, the pounding in your head refused to let up. You tried to hide it, smiling and laughing as Sarah excitedly talked about different things, but she was too perceptive for her own good.

“Are you okay?” Sarah asked gently, her brows furrowing as she leaned closer to you on the couch.

You waved her off with a weak smile. “I’m fine, sweetheart. Just a little tired, that’s all.”

Sarah wasn’t convinced. She glanced over at Joel, who was mid-conversation with Tommy about fixing the uneven lights on the tree. “Maybe we should let her rest,” Sarah said softly, her concern evident. “We can go back home. It’s been such a nice night already.”

“No,” you said quickly, sitting up straighter despite the dull ache in your head. “I don’t want you to leave. You’ve already done so much, and I couldn’t bear the thought of you packing everything up after all this effort.”

Joel turned his head at the sound of your voice, his eyes narrowing as he took in your pale complexion. “You sure, darlin’? You look like you could use some quiet.”

“I’m sure,” you insisted, though the words came out weaker than you intended. “You’ve made this place feel like Christmas. Stay. Please.”

Tommy smirked from where he was fiddling with the ornaments. “Guess that settles it. Looks like we’re havin’ a sleepover.”

Sarah’s face lit up. “Really? We can stay?”

You nodded, giving her a reassuring smile. “Of course. There’s plenty of room.”

Joel rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze flicking between you and Sarah. “Alright, but only if you promise to tell me if you’re feelin’ worse. I mean it.”

You nodded, touched by the concern in his voice.

“Well,” Joel said, clapping his hands together. “If we’re stayin’, how ‘bout a movie? Somethin’ Christmas-y.”

Sarah practically bounced in her seat. “Home Alone!” she suggested immediately.

Tommy groaned. “Haven’t we seen that one a hundred times?”

“Exactly,” Sarah retorted, grinning.

Joel chuckled and looked at you. “What d’you think?”

You leaned back into the couch, grateful for the blanket Sarah had draped over you earlier. “Home Alone sounds perfect.”

Sarah bounced up from the couch, eager to grab snacks and drinks for everyone. As she passed Joel, she flashed him a mischievous smile. "You can sit by her now, dad," she said, her voice teasing. "She's gonna need someone to keep her warm."

Joel gave her a mock glare, but there was a warmth in his eyes as he stood up and made his way toward the couch. He carefully settled beside you, just close enough that you could feel his presence, but not so close that it felt intrusive. He was getting really nervous about your company tonight in a way his heart seemed to explode at the thought of touching you.

“Comfy?” he asked quietly, his eyes scanning your face for any signs that you were still struggling. His hand rested on the couch cushion next to yours, as if he was just waiting for the right moment to reach for you if you needed him.

You smiled faintly, grateful for his care. “Yeah,” you whispered, your voice still a bit rough. “Thanks for staying. This... this means a lot.”

He glanced at you, his gaze softening. “You’re not gonna get rid of me that easily, darlin’.” There was a tenderness in his voice that made your heart flutter despite the headache.

You shifted slightly on the couch, the warmth of his presence comforting, and without thinking, you leaned in closer, resting your head gently on his shoulder. You could feel the muscles in his arm tense slightly, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he shifted just enough to make sure you were comfortable, his warmth enveloping you like a protective blanket.

For a moment, you simply listened to the sounds of the movie and the gentle chatter of Sarah and Tommy, feeling the steady rise and fall of Joel’s breath beneath your ear. The headache was still there, pounding softly in the background, but having Joel so near helped ease the tension in your body, his steady presence grounding you.

Joel’s hand, which had been resting on the cushion beside you, slowly moved. At first, it just hovered near your shoulder, but then, as though asking permission, it settled softly on your arm. His touch was gentle, a silent reassurance that he was there, that he wasn’t going anywhere.

"Is this okay?" he asked quietly, his voice low, barely louder than the sound of the movie.

You nodded slightly, not trusting yourself to speak. His presence, his warmth, it was exactly what you needed, even if you hadn’t realized it before. You allowed yourself to sink further into him, feeling a small sense of peace settle over you.

Joel’s hand tightened just slightly, not enough to be uncomfortable, but enough to remind you that he was there.

I’m here, and I’m not leaving.

The steady rhythm of Joel’s breath, the warmth of his body next to yours, and the gentle hum of the movie in the background all worked together to lull you into a calm, peaceful state. Your eyelids grew heavier with each passing second, the exhaustion from the day and the pounding headache making it harder to stay awake.

As you settled deeper into the couch, Joel’s presence became the anchor that kept you grounded, and before you knew it, you drifted off, your breathing slowing into a relaxed, steady pattern. The last thing you were aware of was the comforting weight of his arm around you, pulling you just a little bit closer, as if he too was holding onto this moment, savoring the peace and quiet that you shared together.

Joel didn’t say anything as you fell asleep. He simply let you rest, his hand lightly stroking your arm as he made sure you were comfortable, his gaze softening as he looked down at you. His heart swelled with a tenderness that made him afraid of his feelings.

As you slept peacefully, nestled against Joel, the soft glow of the Christmas lights cast a warm hue across the room. The only sound was the low hum of the movie playing in the background and the occasional shift of movement from the others.

Tommy, who had been lounging on the armchair, glanced over at the two of you with a smirk. He was doing his best to stifle a laugh, but it was clear he couldn’t resist.

“Well, well,” Tommy teased quietly, “You look adorable together.”

Joel’s eyes flicked to Tommy, a mix of annoyance and something else flickering in his gaze. He could get used to spend every day with you like this.  “Shut up, Tommy,” he muttered under his breath, but his tone was far from harsh. He didn’t want to wake you, not when you were so peacefully resting.

Joel shot him a warning look, but the corners of his lips tugged into a smile despite himself. “You’ve got a hell of a way of making things awkward,” he grumbled, but it was clear he wasn’t bothered by the teasing.

Meanwhile, Sarah had curled up on the floor with a blanket, her eyes already fluttering closed. She was tired from the day’s events, her excitement finally catching up to her.

Joel looked down at you again, his hand still lightly resting on your shoulder as if unwilling to move. But then he noticed Sarah, fast asleep on the floor, and a new thought came to him.

“Tommy,” Joel called quietly, nudging his brother once more. “Can you help me get Sarah to the guest room? She’s out cold, and I don’t want her sleepin’ on the floor.”

Tommy, not missing a beat, grinned widely. “I can’t believe you’re getting rid of your daughter to get a girlfriend,” he teased, winking at Joel.

Joel didn’t even respond to that, his attention already on you. “Just help me, damn it,” he muttered, trying to keep the playful teasing to a minimum.

With a sigh, Tommy got up and walked over to Sarah, carefully lifting her and making sure she didn’t stir. Joel remained on the couch, his heart still racing from the tenderness of the moment, silently praying that you wouldn’t wake up just yet.

As Tommy returned to the living room, he gave Joel a quick nod, signaling that Sarah was settled comfortably in the guest room. Joel looked down at you, still asleep on his shoulder, and a deep tenderness washed over him. He wasn’t sure if he could carry you without waking you, but seeing you so peaceful in his arms made him want to do everything he could to keep you safe and comfortable.

He carefully lifted you, one arm gently supporting your back and the other under your knees. His movements were slow and deliberate, trying his best not to disturb you. Your soft, steady breathing was a comfort to him as he began walking toward your bedroom.

Tommy, noticing the situation, gave Joel a teasing grin. “You sure you don’t need help, Joel?”

Joel shot him a look, his usual gruffness softened by the moment. “Just keep it down, alright? Don’t wanna wake her.”

Tommy’s grin only widened, but he stayed quiet, giving Joel the space he needed.

As Joel made his way into your bedroom, he gently lowered you onto the bed, making sure your head was resting comfortably on the pillow. He tucked the blanket around you, his fingers brushing against your skin for a brief moment. It wasn’t much, but the way you looked so peaceful made something inside him stir, and for a second, he just stood there, watching you.

His gaze lingered on your face, tracing the soft curve of your features, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Get some rest, darlin'," he whispered, as if the words could protect you from whatever might come next. "I’m right here."

Joel returned to the living room, his footsteps quiet but deliberate. Tommy, who had been half-leaning on the couch with his feet up, looked up at him with a smirk. Joel wiped a hand across his face, trying to shake off the quiet weight of the night.

“I’ll take the sofa,” Joel said, his voice low. “You can take the other bed in the guest room. It’s all set up.”

Tommy gave him an exaggerated shrug, as if to say he didn’t care where he slept. “Alright, alright. Guess it’s good to be the one on the couch for once.” He stood up and stretched, heading toward the guest room Joel had pointed out. “Night, man.”

“Night, Tommy,” Joel muttered, already turning back toward the bedroom.

Once everything settled down, the house was quiet again, save for the soft sounds of the holiday decorations swaying and the occasional crackle from the fireplace. Joel moved softly, making his way back down the hall to your room, checking the time briefly as he walked. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt the need to be near you, even if you were sleeping.

When he pushed open the door to your room, expecting to see you still sleeping peacefully, his heart stuttered in his chest. There you were, awake, your eyes wide, watching him from the bed. The soft light of the bedside lamp illuminated your face, casting a warm glow over your features.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, just taking in the presence of the other.

"Hey," Joel said quietly, leaning against the doorframe, his voice hoarse, like he was still trying to process the night.

You offered him a tired smile, but there was something else there too, an understanding, something deeper that only the two of you seemed to share “How did I get here?” you asked.

Joel stepped closer, his eyes softening. “I carried you to bed.” he confessed, his voice gentle. His gaze dropped to the bed, the warmth of your presence drawing him in. “You feeling better?”

You nodded slightly, even though you knew you weren’t completely alright. But there was something about having Joel near you that made you feel just a little more at ease.

“I’m alright now," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "But you should get some rest too. You’ve done more than enough."

Joel stood there for a beat, as if considering what to say next. Then, he smiled softly, a trace of that quiet tenderness in his eyes. “I’ll rest when I know you’re okay.”

With that, he pulled up a chair near the bed, sitting down so that he could keep an eye on you. He wasn’t sure how long he’d stay there, but he didn’t mind. He just needed to know you were alright.

You shifted slightly in the bed, glancing over at Joel, who was still sitting in the chair, watching you with that soft, protective look in his eyes. A small, tired smile tugged at the corner of your lips as you studied him for a moment.

"What are you doing?" you asked, your voice barely more than a whisper, the weight of the night lingering in the air between you. "You don't have to sit there all night."

Joel chuckled quietly, though it held a hint of disbelief. "I'm just making sure you're okay," he said, his voice low but reassuring. He leaned forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees, never taking his eyes off you. "I told you, I’ll rest when you’re alright."

You could see the exhaustion etched on his face, his shoulders slumped with the weight of the long night, but there was still that protective energy about him. You couldn’t help but feel grateful, though you also felt a small ache in your chest seeing him so worn out.

“You can sleep with me, Joel," you said, the words slipping out before you had a chance to stop them. You quickly added, "I mean, if you want to. You don’t have to keep sitting there."

Joel’s expression softened as he took in your offer. He hesitated for a moment, the vulnerability in the air palpable between you two. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, he finally nodded.

"Yeah," he said quietly, his voice a little rough with emotion. "I think I’d like that."

He stood up slowly, as if testing the idea, then moved to your side. You shifted to make room for him, pulling the blanket back slightly. As he lay down beside you, his warmth seemed to fill the room, and you could feel the tension in your chest loosen just a little.

Joel settled in beside you, not too close but close enough that you could feel his presence. His hand brushed yours, and you both let out a quiet, simultaneous sigh of relief. He shifted onto his side, facing you, his eyes scanning your face as if to make sure you were still okay.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The room was still, only the quiet sound of your breathing filling the space. Finally, Joel’s voice broke the silence, low and soft.

"You sure you're alright?" he asked, his thumb gently brushing over the back of your hand.

You nodded, your heart swelling with emotion as you glanced over at him. "I’m better now," you whispered. "With you here." You paused for a moment “What you did tonight…I can’t find the words to thank you.”

Joel smiled, a small but sincere curve of his lips, as he adjusted slightly, bringing you closer to him. “You don’t have to thank me,” he murmured softly, his voice warm and reassuring. “You’re important to me.”

His words, though comforting, didn’t stop the weight of your emotions from building up inside you. The closeness, the warmth of his presence, and everything that had happened tonight made your heart swell with something deeper than gratitude.

Taking a deep breath, you lifted your head slightly, your eyes meeting his with a vulnerability you hadn’t shown before. “I love you, Joel,” you said, the words coming out softly but with a sincerity that made your chest ache.

Joel’s expression softened even more, his thumb still brushing lightly over your hand. “I love you too,” he whispered, his voice deep and full of emotion.

You frowned, a little pout forming on your lips as you shifted slightly. “No, you don’t understand,” you murmured, feeling the weight of the moment grow even more. “I love you. I’m in love with you.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, almost too heavy to breathe through. Joel’s gaze softened, searching your eyes as if trying to understand what you meant. And when he did, his expression shifted, becoming more tender, more real. Before you could pull away, you buried your face in the crook of his neck, hiding from the intensity of the confession, but also seeking the comfort of his warmth.

Joel’s hand gently cradled the back of your head, his thumb still brushing through your hair as he held you close. The room was filled with a silence that seemed to stretch on forever, and then, in the softest of tones, he spoke.

“Can you repeat it?” His voice was a little rough, full of longing, but there was a hint of vulnerability there too.

You shook your head, keeping your face hidden in the crook of his neck, trying to gather the courage to meet his gaze again. The weight of your own confession was still hanging in the air, making you feel exposed and raw. You mumbled against his skin, “I can’t. It’s too much.”

Joel chuckled softly, the sound warm and comforting. He shifted slightly, pulling you back just enough to tilt your chin gently upward, so you had no choice but to look into his eyes. The tenderness there was undeniable. “That’s bad,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “’cause I’m in love with you too.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, you could only stare at him, eyes wide with surprise. The feeling of his words settled over you, warming you from the inside out, making your heart race.

“I—” You started, but the words stuck in your throat. The vulnerability between the two of you was overwhelming, and yet, it felt like everything had finally clicked into place. There were no more doubts. No more fear.

Joel smiled softly, the warmth of his eyes never leaving yours as he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “We’re here now.”

The weight of his words hung in the air between you, a promise, a shared truth. You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of his presence sink into your bones, the steady rhythm of his breathing grounding you. It felt like everything you’d hoped for was finally coming into focus.

Joel gently cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing the softness of your skin as he looked at you, his eyes full of tenderness and something deeper. His gaze was steady, searching for any sign of doubt, but all he found was you—vulnerable, open, and more than ready for what was happening between you two.

“You’re not alone,” he murmured, his voice low but full of meaning. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here, with you.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, your heart swelling with emotions too big for words. “I know,” you whispered, a smile finally tugging at the corners of your lips. “I know now.”

Joel’s smile deepened, and in that moment, it was like the world outside of your little bubble didn’t matter. All that existed was the two of you, tangled up in something more real and beautiful than you could have imagined.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours with the softest of touches, as if asking for permission. And when you responded, meeting him halfway, the kiss deepened, both of you tasting the sweet vulnerability of this new chapter.

You pulled away slowly, your forehead resting against his, your breaths mingling. “You’re gonna get sick now”

Joel chuckled softly, his breath warm against your skin as he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I’ll take my chances,” he murmured, his hands finding their way back to your waist, pulling you closer. “I’m not letting go now.”

You laughed quietly, feeling a sense of peace settle over you. “You’re stubborn,” you said, but there was no annoyance in your voice—just affection.

“And you love me for it,” he replied with a playful grin, his thumb tracing small circles on your back.

You smirked, rolling your eyes slightly, though your heart was full. “I do,” you admitted, your voice soft, the words carrying more weight than you’d ever thought they would. “I really do.”

Joel smiled, his expression softening as he leaned in once more, brushing his lips against yours, but you placed your hand up to stop him for a moment, hanging the little mistletoe over your heads.

Joel raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a grin as you held the mistletoe above your heads. "Where do you get that from?" he asked, amusement dancing in his eyes.

You smirked, your heart racing with a mix of excitement and mischief. "I stole it from you," you replied, your voice teasing, yet sincere.

Joel chuckled, the sound warm and full of affection. "I should’ve known," he said, shaking his head with a playful sigh. "You’re sneaky."

You shrugged, the mistletoe still hovering between you. "I had to make sure it was the right moment."

He chuckled again, and this time, his hands found your waist once more, pulling you close as he leaned in, his eyes softening. "Well, since you put it like that..."

With a grin, he pressed his lips to yours, the kiss deepening as you both shared in the quiet joy of the moment.

Joel pulled away just enough to look into your eyes, his expression soft and full of warmth. "You know," he said, his voice low and sincere, "you’re the best gift I could ever ask for."

You felt your heart swell, and a soft smile tugged at your lips. His words, simple yet heartfelt, made everything feel right. Before you could respond, Joel’s grin returned, playful yet tender.

"And," he continued with a teasing glint in his eyes, "I hope you’ll take care of me when I inevitably get sick from all this kissing."

You raised an eyebrow, a mischievous smile forming on your lips. "Oh, don’t worry," you replied, your tone light but affectionate, "I’m more than happy to take care of you."

Joel chuckled, pulling you closer again, his arms wrapping around you like a shield. "Good," he murmured, his forehead resting against yours. "Because I’m not going anywhere."

The warmth between you both felt like the perfect ending to a night full of new beginnings, and as he kissed you again.

And again.

And he thought he would never get tired of it.

[elflutter]

i need every possible version of joel miller. pre-outbreak!joel, no outbreak!joel, raider!joel, qz!joel, jackson!joel, soft!joel, mean!joel dom!joel, sub!joel, game!joel, hbo!joel IDC JUST GIVE HIM TO ME

[cameronwillow]

Warm me up

Joel miller x fem reader

Joel wakes to you coming into his room. You tell him how cold you are and he gives into his needs.

Warnings! Porn no plot! Age gap! (Reader is my age) oral fem receiving, unprotected sex, cum play, (?) degrading, praise and talk of male oral.

Written for my love @starkeysprincess I love you!!

“Joel? It’s so cold. Can I sleep in here with you?” He stirred from sleep, his shirtless body exposed from the messy blankets. He grunted a yes and you climbed underneath.

You were wearing an oversized tshirt, pair of black panties and knee socks. Joel felt his dick twitch. A pretty girl in his bed, something he hadn’t experienced in a long time. Your supple skin exposed as you moved closer to him, your arms looped around his waist, legs wrapped around his own.

Joel made a small noise and instinctively pressed you against him. His large hand splayed on the small of your back. His thick fingers feeling your cool skin.

“Better?”

“Still cold. Need you to warm me up.” Your soft voice caused Joel to groan. How could he refuse such a plea?

“C’mere.” He pulled you on top of him, your thighs caging his middle. Joel’s palms kneaded your legs, moving up to your hips and gently squeezed. “Is that helping?”

He felt a little guilt, the age gap between you both was large. Especially as you started rocking your pelvis, your pussy underneath your panties rubbing against his stomach.

“Mmmm, thank you, Joel.” He could see your smile even in the darkness. Joel broke, leaning up on his arm, he caught your lips in a searing kiss. Yours were soft, his tongue licked yours and he moaned deeply when you cupped his jaw.

You sloppily kissed each other and Joel put his whole body into it. He rocked his dick against your ass that pressed against it, his hand reaching to bury in your hair. He growled against your mouth and flipped you on your back.

“God, I don’t know if you know what you’ve done, little one. Rubbing your pussy on me.” He snarled and yanked your shirt up. Exposing your panties.

He dragged his fingers against your slit, feeling your arousal and smearing it on your clit. “Fuck, you’re wet. I bet you’re sweet,” He brought his fingers to his lips, sucking softly. Joel felt something unlock in him, an animalistic urge taking over and he pushed you back. You landed in a heap with your head on the pillow and he hauled your legs apart. He shoved your panties to the side, pressing his nose to your inner thigh and inhaled deeply.

“You smell so good.”

He shoved his face in your cunt, very gently nipping your clit before sucking it between his lips. You threw your head back, clutching his hair as Joel spit on your pussy and licked it up with his tongue. Whines and whimpers escaped you as he fucked your entrance with his mouth.

He was aggressive, moaning and palmed himself as he kept you against his face with his free hand. Your pussy was fluttering and leaking all over him. You were wailing, reaching your peak and finally it broke. You cried out and trembled.

“J-Joel!” You squeaked as he climbed up. Joel’s thick hands gripped your knees and pushed them up. He brought them over his shoulders and you noticed his boxers were gone.

His thick dick, throbbing between his legs was noticeable even in the haze. Joel slapped his tip against your clit, merging his precum with yours and then he pushed into you. The bulbous head straining and you mewled. Your nails dug into his shoulders as Joel thrusted into you.

“Atta girl, that’s a good little slut. Taking my dick like you have nothing else to live for.” He huffed and pounded into you harder. “Bet you’ll never be fucking cold again.”

Drool slipped from your mouth and Joel reached down to grip your jaw.

“Stay with me, baby girl. Need you awake so you can take it. Fuck, your pussy’s squeezin me. That’s it, yeah?” His vocal appreciation made you impossibly wetter and your eyes rolled back in your head.

Your second orgasm came embarrassingly fast and Joel grunted. He fucked you through it, still lasting as his hand wrapped around your throat. “Tightest pussy I’ve ever had. I know, I know, there you go.” He smirked as you jerked with aftershock.

“Gonna cum in you. Watch it spill out from that pathetic little hole then cover you with it.” He promised and amped up his depth. His balls slapped against your ass as he fucked you deeper.

Seconds went by and Joel let out a sigh. His cock twitched inside you and his cum coated your insides. You let out a shudder as he pulled out, jerking his dick and more cum sprayed on your stomach.

“Messy girl,” He chuckled and ran his hand through his hair. He let go of your legs but didn’t remove contact. Joel lifted you by underneath your arms and set you on his lap.

“Give me five minutes, doll and I’m gonna train your throat.”

“Who said I need training?” You giggled as he smacked your ass.

“Training for a man’s dick, sweetheart. And you’re gonna be a good girl and suck it clean.”

Tagging: @bloodibambiidoll @cxrrodedcoffin @userchai @stillwjk-channie-lixie

[seraphicsentences]

cooking smth up??!? 😋😋

the holy trinity: vampirism, lesbianism & homoeroticism

[milla-frenchy]

Dance with me, darlin'

3k6 | Joel Miller x fem reader | ao3 | masterlist Summary: You go to a club and want to fuck. So does Joel Warnings: 18+ mdni. age gap (reader is in her 20s, Joel in his early 40s), Joel is a menace, Tommy’s in the club too, no mention of Sarah. Pet names (darlin’, sweetheart, baby), pussy and dick pronouns, masturbation (f), oral (m/f), dirty talk, praise kink, size kink, soft dom!Joel, piv, creampie. Pic for mood only. Reader has no specific physical descriptions

a/n:  this is written for @sp00kymulderr 's dick pronoun fic challenge | masterlist thank you for the challenge, Gideon 🙏❤️ (I'm so late I'm sorry 😳) Thank you @aurorawritestoescape for beta-ing 😘💕 @/saradika-graphics for the dividers 🙏

Saturday night, finally. You had a tough week at work, and you were looking forward to this night, wishing to forget your worries. You had planned to go to a club with your two friends, Maddie and Anna, drink a few shots and let loose on the dance floor.

The place was already packed when the three of you arrived, and you headed to the bar and ordered a shot of tequila that you downed immediately.

“Just what I needed,” you told your friends, sighing in relief, as you felt some of your troubles disappear- at least temporarily, when the strong alcohol flowed down your throat.

You set the glass down, before turning toward the dance floor and placing your elbows on the counter. “Come on, let’s dance,” Anna said, motioning for Maddie and you to follow her. 

You danced and sang, your awful week finally behind you, and then headed back to the bar.

“Good evening, ladies.” All three of you turned around when you heard a masculine voice.

“Good evening yourself,” Maddie replied, smiling at the man. He was handsome, seemed to be in his late 30s, with dark hair and brown eyes, a moustache and a short beard. He was tall, his broad shoulders stretching his white t-shirt, its already short sleeves were rolled up around his biceps. His hair was tied back with a rubber band.

“I’m Tommy. Can I offer you drinks?”

The three of you looked at each other and agreed.

“Wanna join me and my brother? Over there,” he added, nodding toward a booth. Shamelessly manspreading,  the man sitting there gave you and your friends a vague nod with his chin. He was wearing sunglasses, which you found strange in this place, but his attitude was hot and you didn’t want to turn down a drink. Neither did your friends.

“Hi, Tommy’s brother,” you said loudly over the music as you sat down.

“Hey darlin’, I’m Joel. What did you order?”

“Tequila,” you replied, trying not to react to the pet name he already gave you, despite the giggles of your friends.

“Nice,” he said, scratching his beard with his thumb, as the corner of his lip lifted slightly. This man was exactly what you needed tonight: a hot menace.

Tommy came back with the shots, all emptied as quickly as the first ones you’d had after your arrival. He started to chat with your friends and you looked at Joel more closely. He was wearing a gray t-shirt, so tight that his biceps seemed to be begging for release.

He probably noticed you were checking him out and not paying attention to the conversation at all, considering the smirk he gave you.

“Dance with me, darlin’,” he said, standing up right away, as if he already knew you wouldn't say no. He held out his hand to you, while pushing his glasses up on his head. You stood up and met a pair of beautiful brown eyes. His flirty smirk didn’t go unnoticed either- he was full of confidence, and you liked it. 

He took your hand in his and you tried to stay focused on the music, the noises around, even though you felt like you were in a velvet box that muffled everything around you, since the moment his fingers touched you.

You started to dance and he was good at it, hips moving sensually. He rested his hands on your hips once or twice, and checked if you were ok with the way he was touching you. Feeling confident, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders while you were dancing, and resisted the urge to press your body closer to his.

When a second song started, you started to spin around to the rhythm of the music, swaying your hips lascively, and stopped when two hands settled on your hips.

“Already showing me your ass, baby? Lookin’ for trouble?” he said in a low voice, his mouth so close to your ear that his beard brushed your skin. His lips slid towards your pulse point and he kissed it, making you shiver.

You turned your face to look at him and held your breath. His stare, like yours probably, exuded sex. “Maybe I am, yeah. The good kind,” you replied finally, trying to keep a confident voice. 

“Always the good kind with me, sweetheart,” he replied, leaning against you slightly, but enough for you to feel the bulge in his jeans. Another shiver ran through your body filled with arousal.

You turned around, and Joel kept his hands on your hips, pulling you gently towards him, determinedly, and you faced him. Two motionless bodies in the middle of the dance floor, while everybody was dancing around you. It was like time stopped for a moment. 

He took your chin between his fingers, slowly tilting it left and then right. As if he was scrutinizing you.

“What? You’re gonna ask my age?”

“No. You’re over 21, that’s enough for me,” he said, and you started to dance again.

“Looks like you’re a damn menace, Joel…” you smirked.

He chuckled but didn’t answer.

A couple songs later, you excused yourself to go freshen up in the bathroom. You looked at yourself in the mirror, trying to slow down your heartbeat, to take your time before going back. Trying to stop yourself from asking him to join you in the bathroom so you could fuck him there.

When you came back, Joel was no longer dancing, or at the booth. You stopped dead in your tracks, disappointed. You obviously had been mistaken, thinking he was interested in you. You told your friends that you would call an Uber and go home.

When you walked out of the club, Joel was facing the exit, leaning against a truck.

“I was waiting for you,” he said, ogling your body from head to toe, with your dress not covering much, his lips curved in a confident smile.

“And you just left? I could have met another man and completely forgotten about you," you said, half teasing half provoking him, as you were walking towards him.

“No, you wouldn’t,” he replied, the confidence in his voice making your knees weaken. He pulled you towards him, his scent invading your nostrils again. You were drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

“Could almost hear that little pussy clench on nothin’, while we were dancin’,” he murmured against your ear while his hands grabbed your ass, pressing you against his bulge. You bit your lip, trying not to moan.

“Am I right? Coulda fucked you in the bathroom, but I wanna take my time with you.”

“So you want to fuck me in your car?”

“No. Not with my dick, at least,” he smirked.

“Shit,” you breathed. No one had ever spoken to you like that before, and heat rushed over your whole body. 

“Wanna come to my place, darlin’?”

“For ‘good kind of trouble’, like you offered? Yes… yeah.”

“‘Course you do,” he added, cockily. 

He grabbed your arms and spun you around, caging you with his broad body, your back against the truck door, his wide thigh between yours. Pressing against your throbbing pussy.

“Is she purin’, baby? This little cunt? She wants to be mine all night, doesn't she?”

“Fuck… yeah.” 

He brushed his nose against your cheeks and ear, then kissed your neck, his hands sliding from your ass to your waist.

You wanted to kiss him, but he seemed to enjoy playing with you. Tease you.

“That’s my girl. Get in the truck, sweetheart,” he said, moving away just enough to open the door.

“Oh, you’re a gentleman?”

He tilted his head to the side and gave you a look that seemed to mean “for now”, then he closed the door. 

“Fuck,” you mumbled. He was so hot and confident that you felt yourself drooling like never before.

“So you’re a contractor?” you said as he sat down, trying to cool off the atmosphere a bit.  “Miller bros,” written on your truck? It explains the arms.”

“You checked out my arms, darlin’?”

“Yeah, like you checked out my ass,” you teased. So much for the cool off.

“I sure did,” he chuckled. “Yeah, Tommy and I are contractors.”

He put his hand on your bare thigh while he was driving. As if you were his. His possessiveness made your core throb and you squeezed your thighs together, trying in vain to ease the tension you were feeling.

“Oh, baby… need it bad, uh? Don't worry, my place ain’t far. Now, be a good girl, and put your hand between your legs.”

You looked at him, surprised and even more aroused.

“You need some release, don’t you?”

You nodded and did as he said, you were here for it after all, and his soft dominant tone was exactly what you craved. You slid your hand between your thighs, down to your soaked panties.

“Two fingers. You can take them easily, I know you're droolin’.”

You bit your lip when you heard him, and slid your hand under the fabric.

That’s a good girl,” he praised. “Now lemme hear her.”

He watched you each time he could- at every red light, every stop, when it was safe.  

You were turned on by the fact that he was there, next to you, this man you had just met. Imagining how he would fuck you, aware that you were already under his control in some way. Under his spell, or whatever you called it. You brushed your folds then pushed two fingers in to let him hear how wet you were.

“Christ, that’s it, darlin’. Ruin my seat.”

You whined, keeping two fingers buried in your cunt, and brought your other hand in your panties to play with your clit and release the tension that was clenching your stomach.

“Oh shit, that’s it baby, two hands,” he said again. “Keep goin’, come in my damn car.”

“Yeah, I’m… I’m gonna come, fuck,” you whimpered, when your climax rushed over you, back arched, pussy clenching on your fingers, clit pulsing under your digit. You felt your wetness flow down to his seat.

“Shit,” he said, grabbing his bulge in his big hand, trying to ease his own tension now, before putting his hand on your thigh again. He didn’t release you until he pulled into his driveway. Then he got out of his truck and walked around to open the door, took your hand in his and led you to his house.

He slammed the door behind you and you finally kissed, your lips crashing against each other. There was no restraint, no reserve, just hunger for more. You moaned in his mouth, while growls were roaring from his throat. Bodies pressed in an impatient and greedy embrace, four hands roaming two bodies.

You pulled back to catch your breath, his hands not letting go of your waist, his eyes fixed on yours, full of desire. His lips found yours again, as he led you backwards to the table against which he leaned you. One hand still on your waist, the other on the back of your neck, he kissed you, holding you tight against him, his tongue brushing yours. 

Unable to hold back any longer, you slid your hand down to his crotch, just to touch him there, to feel its weight. Your breath stopped for a second and he wrapped his hand around yours, pressing it harder against his manhood, licking your tongue and lips.

“Take off your clothes, and show me that pussy, darlin’. Been teasin’ me for too damn long.”

He stepped aside, leaving you in charge of giving him a show that you gladly offered. You removed your dress, revealing your lingerie. The way he was looking at you took away any shyness or nervousness. You paused for a moment and he didn't hurry you, clearly enjoying it. You lost patience first and unhooked your bra then let it fall. You didn’t give yourself time to think about it and pushed your panties to the side, running your finger along your wet folds. Eyes still fixed on him, you brought your digit to your mouth and sucked it slowly.

“You're a naughty little thing,” he said in a husky voice, and you tried not to moan at this word, and kept teasing him. “You like it?” you asked playfully, feeling your wetness flowing down your folds.

He smirked, before adding “lie down on the table, sweetheart.”

You obliged happily as he walked towards you, and grabbed the hem of your panties, sliding them down your trembling legs then off the ankles. He spread your thighs as he stood between them, and brushed your folds with his thumbs, touching you there for the first time, eyes fixed on your glistening pussy.

“A naughty thing, with a really pretty cunt… looks like you’re gonna ruin more than my truck seat.”

“Fuck,” you murmured, and he leant down, hands clamped on your thighs, once again he didn’t wait and lapped at your cunt with one long stripe. His eyes fixed on you.

“Fuck me… you taste so good,” he growled before going back to eating you out, making you moan against the back of your hand. The emotion and the pleasure felt were so strong that your thighs tried to close instinctively. Growling, he spread them with his warm and firm hands, holding you open on the table.

“Joel,” you whined, feeling another climax already rising. His tongue left your folds, quickly replaced by two thick fingers, an she began fucking you with them as his lips surrounded your swollen and sensitive clit. The tip of his tongue played with it, teased it, before sucking on it, making you groan until you came on his tongue and squeezed his face between your thighs, whining his name.

He straightened up when you stopped shaking, pressed his crotch against your cunt, and wiped his glistening beard and moustache with the back of his hand.

You sat on the edge of the table, thighs spread around Joel’s thighs. His large, strong body took its place almost with authority as if it needed it, but every pore of your skin was more than ready to welcome him. 

Eager to return the favor, you unzipped his jeans and knelt down. 

“Needy girl,” he said, as if he wasn’t greedy too, his voice almost a growl of impatience.

You grabbed his jeans and boxers, struggling to free his cock that you felt hammering against the rough fabric of his clothes. You pulled them just below his balls and his cock sprang free, hard, and slapped against his lower belly.

He took your chin between his fingers, eyes full of confidence and how could he not be, given your inability to tear your eyes away from his fat tip, his thick shaft, and his heavy balls?

“I really love the way you look at my cock, but I’d like to see these lips around it, darlin’, if you want too. Before I fuck her.”

Your pussy was drooling again, calling for you to let him fuck her already, but you were craving of having your mouth and throat full of his cock.

“Needy boy,” you said, teasing him, and making him smile. “Yeah, I’m gonna suck him.”

“Him?” he asked, surprised.

“You called my pussy “her”, right?”

“Right”, he chuckled. “So, you’re gonna blow this big boy, baby?”

“You’re still talking about your dick? Or about you?” you asked mischievously, licking his shaft just to hear him growl.

“Darlin’, shit... Both I guess,” he replied, caressing your cheek with his thick thumb.

You grabbed his jeans and boxers, still mid-thigh, and with a sharp tug you pulled them down. Your thumb spread the precum over his tip then tasted it on your tongue, sucking your digit, head raised towards him. He growled, hand tightening on your cheek.

You placed your lips around his tip and started to suck it. His taste, his size, all of him made you moan, and he throbbed even bigger.

“Damn, baby…”, he said in a low voice, before you began jerking him off, your tongue sliding down his shaft towards his balls that you licked too and took in your mouth to feel their weight on your tongue. You sucked them and licked the thin skin behind them. Just to make him shiver, grunt. Just to make him think that you were a menace too.

“Shit, shit… darlin’...”

You took him back in your mouth, deeper and deeper, until his tip brushed the back of your throat. His grunts turned into the most greedy moans you had ever heard.

“Alright, alright, shit, baby… You’re way too good at this, c’mere,” he added, grabbing your elbow to help you up.

Then he spun you around, making you face the table. One hand on your shoulder, he growled “bend down for me, sweetheart.”

His voice was needy, much less in control than earlier in the evening, and you liked feeling him lose his chill.

“You're gonna let me fuck this little cunt, darlin’? Yeah? You’re gonna let me ruin you?”

“Or maybe I’ll ruin you, who knows?” you answered, head towards him. Hoping that he would only hear confidence in your voice, and not the need to welcome him inside you, mixed with the apprehension of wondering if you could welcome him.

“You’re a little menace, you know that?” he chuckled, nestling his cock between your thighs, and you leaned down, placing your cheek and hands on the table.

“Spread wide for me, baby,” he said in a low voice, “and let me in.”

He pushed in and then stopped, just the tip in, grabbed the back of your knee and propped it over the table to open your core. It was the hottest thing you had ever experienced, and your juices flooded his tip.

“We gotta get her used to him, right?” he said, his hand tightening on your shoulder. You could barely hear his words, waiting for him to sink in, to feel him completely.

“Fuck me, Joel. Please, fuck me,” you whined.

Slowly, he thrust in, leaving you breathless for a moment. 

“Oh my god…” you whimpered finally, as his tip, his shaft, were spreading your folds in a mix of delight and light pain.

“Shit, you got such a tight cunt. Tryin’ to swallow me whole.”

He didn't stop, pushing in until he bottomed out and you whimpered. His hand still on your shoulder, he pulled back leaving only his tip in your cunt, before pushing in again. He did this two or three times, to let you get used to him. 

“You’re ready, baby? Because he… wants to fuck, now,” he said, voice low, needy. 

“Yes, Joel,” you replied, and he began pounding into you, his hands clinging to your hips. Fucking you faster, harder, now that your folds had given way under his thickness, helped by your wetness that didn’t stop flowing from his shaft to his balls.

“Damn you’re so fuckin’ tight…”

“Told you…” you panted, “that I’d ruin you.”

He tried to chuckle, but it got cut in his throat. So he tried to calm his breathing, slowing down the pace, fucking you slower but deeper. 

“You’re doing so good, darlin’,” he said between two hip thrusts. “Takin’ me so well.”

You moaned, hands gripping the edge of the table, trying to keep yourself in position, your moans filling the room.

“You’re gonna come again, darlin’?” he growled, one of his hands running down your back from your shoulder to your waist, making you shiver. “Wanna come on my dick?”

“Yes,” you whined. You wanted to soak him, to make him lose his mind just like you knew you would lose yours.

He slid his hand up to your mouth for you to suck on his finger before sliding it over your clit. Stroking it perfectly, he pulled away slightly to watch his cock sink into you.

“Fuck, you’re perfect baby. Keep takin’ it, just like that.”

All you wanted was to keep taking it. Keep feeling him inside you. But soon your climax hit your core and you shook, clit pulsing.

“Oh shit,” he said, when your cunt clenched on him, and squeezed his shaft. 

Teeth gritted, he tried to hold on as much as possible, letting the heat of your pussy drive him crazy. You squeezed his hand in yours, saying “come inside Joel. Inside, please. I’m clean, and I’m on the pill.”

“Can’t do that sweetheart,” he panted.

“Please, Joel, wanna feel you… need you to fill me up,” you insisted, hand tight on his.

“Damn sweetheart,” he growled, still pounding you, as if he didn’t want it to end, just before he filled your cunt with his warmth, breaking the promise he had made to himself years ago for the first time. Unable to resist your hot, tight pussy, your moans, your pleas. He came inside, sending spurt after spurt of cum deep inside you, until he covered your back with his chest, and kissed your shoulder. 

“Darlin’,” he breathed finally, “you’re dangerous, you know that?” he almost laughed against your skin.

A few minutes later, you were watching him zip up his jeans, leaving them unbuttoned, while you were putting on your dress. 

“Can I have your phone, darlin’?”

You handed it to him, watched his thumb dance on it before handing it back to you.

“Now you have my number. I’d be glad if you called me.”

You looked at your phone and smiled, when you saw that he saved his number as Joel (menace).

“It reminds me that you didn’t ask my name once tonight,” you told him.

“Darlin’ suits you well,” he smiled. “But you’re right. What’s your name, darlin’?”

You asked for his phone, and added your contact before giving it back to him.

After your first name, there was “darlin’” in parentheses.

You smiled at each other, his cheek dimpled and your heart stopped for a moment.

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[joelsrose]

First Date? Part 4

it's finally here!!! she's a long one pookies i apologise so grab your popcorn!! also warnings !! no explicit smut, but contains very sexually implicit context so 18+ only!

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

All my work here :)

❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎

Since your fight with Joel—though calling it that didn’t feel right, not with all the unspoken weight hanging between you—it seemed like an uneasy truce had settled. It wasn’t something you talked about, and it wasn’t something either of you dared name. But there was something different now, something that felt like slow, careful mending, like stitching a torn seam with hands that weren’t sure they could hold steady. The mess with Tiffany and Toby felt distant now, like a shadow cast by someone else’s life.

But even still—today was different. You felt it in your bones, a tension that twisted sharp and restless in your chest as you stood in the stables, readying Winnie. Your hands moved out of habit—tightening straps, adjusting saddlebags—but your mind was somewhere else, stuck on the way Joel had stood silently beside you, checking his rifle with that same quiet intensity.

This patrol wasn’t routine. You weren’t headed to the outskirts of town or to some half-cleared route. This was farther—farther than you’d ever gone. The task was simple enough on paper: sweep a remote lodge and its surrounding area, catalog supplies, bring back anything Jackson could use. Tools, medicine, ammo. It didn’t matter. If it could help, you took it.

But nothing about today felt simple.

You could handle the infected—there was something almost methodical about their terror. A pattern to their madness. A predictability to their hunger. You’d learned how to read them, how to anticipate the movement of their broken bodies like reading the lines on a map. That small sliver of control made it easier to push through the fear.

But men? Men were different. Men could be quiet in their cruelty, their malice deliberate and personal. There was no pattern to their violence. No way to predict what they might do or who they might become when the world showed them it no longer held consequences. You’d seen it before—too many times to count—and the thought of it made something curl tight in your stomach.

The water crisis was worsening, stretching everyone dangerously thin. Resources were depleted, manpower spread too far, and urgency growing like a storm cloud on the horizon. Normally, a task like this would demand at least four, maybe five people—more hands, more eyes, more safety in numbers. But now, it was just you two.. Joel hadn’t said it outright, but you knew—he wouldn’t be taking you out this far unless there was no other choice.

Now, he stood across from you, his presence filling the quiet of the stable like a shadow that had always been there, steady and immovable. The faint light leaking through the wooden slats fell unevenly across him, catching on the lines of his face and the tousled disarray of his hair—soft in a way that clashed with the sharp edge of his gaze.

His arms were crossed tight over his chest, a tension in his posture that told you everything you needed to know: this wasn’t routine. This mattered.

“Alright,” Joel started, his voice low, the rough timbre of it carrying the weight of every unspoken warning. “This ain’t a normal sweep. It’s an overnight run—further out than we’ve gone. We can’t afford to mess around.”

His words landed heavy, final, cutting through the stale air of the stable. The rhythmic rasp of the brush in your hand was the only answer at first, the quiet sweep against Winnie’s coat grounding you more than you cared to admit. You paused mid-stroke, the bristles hovering just above her flank as your gaze drifted back to Joel, lingering longer than it should have.

“I understand,” you said finally, breaking the silence. You gestured toward the modest bag slung over your shoulder, forcing your voice to sound even. “I packed light. Just extra clothes, some rations. Not much else.”

Joel’s gaze flickered down to the bag, his brow furrowing slightly as though he were running calculations in his head—weight, distance, the chances you’d both make it back in one piece. He nodded, short and curt, but didn’t look away, his eyes lingering like he was searching for something he hadn’t quite found.

“Good,” he said at last, his tone clipped and matter-of-fact. “You don’t want more than you can run with.”

It sounded practical enough on the surface—just another piece of advice, one of the many Joel had given you over the years. But something about the way he said it made the words land differently, like they carried more than just instruction. No more than you can run with.

Joel took the brush from your hand with a movement that was firm but not rough, his calloused fingers grazing yours for the briefest moment before he set it aside. There was no room for softness now, not with what lay ahead. He stepped closer, close enough that the space between you felt tight, close enough that the faint scent of him—leather, woodsmoke, something unmistakably Joel—crowded your senses. His voice cut through the quiet, low and clipped, each word carved out with purpose. “Say it back.” His arms crossed tightly over his chest, his stance unyielding.

The demand hung in the air, sharp and immovable.

You exhaled sharply, the weight of his voice pressing down like a hand on your chest. The words were bitter on your tongue, a promise he’d drilled into you too many times this morning. Your gaze flicked to Winnie, as if the horse might somehow pull you out of this moment, but her dark eyes watched you, unbothered and unmoved, a silent witness to the tension that hung between you.

Still, Joel waited. His stare was relentless, pinning you in place like a blade to a board.

“I listen to what you say,” you murmured finally, the words quiet but clear. You swallowed hard, your throat tight. “If we’re in danger, I…” The rest of it caught, refusing to come. Your chest ached with the effort of holding onto it, of refusing to let the final piece fall, but Joel didn’t waver.

“Go on.”

His voice was gentler now, but that only made it worse—like it cost him something to say it, too.

You forced yourself to look at him, meeting those dark, unrelenting eyes. The words slipped out like splinters, each one sharper than the last. “I leave you and go get help.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, broken only by the soft sound of Joel’s boots shifting against the straw. He stepped even closer, the crunch of it grounding and disorienting all at once. When he stopped, there wasn’t much space left between you, and the line of his jaw was tight, like he was holding back more than he wanted to say.

“And?”

It was one word, soft but unyielding, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid.

Your shoulders stiffened, rebellion sparking somewhere deep inside you. You hated this—you hated him for making you say it, for forcing you to promise something you weren’t sure you could give. But Joel was staring at you with that steady intensity of his, like he could see right through you to the parts you tried to bury.

“And I don’t argue,” you bit out, the resistance lacing your voice clear despite your best efforts to hide it. The words tasted bitter, your jaw clenching so tightly you thought it might snap.

Joel’s gaze stayed on you, unwavering. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the tension in the air coiling tighter and tighter. “That last part’s not negotiable,” he said, his voice low but razor-sharp. “Out there, you listen. You don’t think twice. You don’t second-guess. Not if it’s between your life and mine.”

“I know, Joel,” you murmured, your voice small and subdued.

“Do you?” he pressed, his voice rough and edged with something that wasn’t just frustration. It was sharper, heavier, laced with the kind of urgency that came from experience—from loss.

“Do you really get it? Because this ain’t just somethin’ I’m sayin’ to piss you off.” He stopped, just shy of touching you, his eyes burning into yours as though the sheer force of his stare could make you understand. “If somethin’ happens out there, you don’t get to argue. You don’t get to waste time thinkin’ you know better.” His voice dipped lower, softer, but no less intense. “You leave. You get help. You survive. That’s the deal.”

The bluntness of it hit like a blow, scraping against every fragile edge you’d been trying to hold together. Your throat tightened, your pulse stuttering beneath the weight of his words. You looked away, the floor suddenly far more interesting than Joel’s face, his eyes too sharp, too knowing. “I get it,” you whispered, the words barely audible, the tremor in your voice betraying you.

Joel’s silence was heavy, stretching like a thin wire between you, so taut it felt ready to snap. You braced yourself for more, for another sharp command or a biting remark, but when he spoke again, it was quieter. Gentler.

“I’m not sayin’ it to be mean,” he murmured, his voice steady now, stripped of its earlier edge. “I’m sayin’ it because I need to know you’ll make it back. That’s all.”

The quiet plea in his words was enough to make you look up, your gaze meeting his again despite yourself. Joel didn’t beg. He didn’t plead. Hell, he barely asked for anything. But here he was, asking—with words, with that rawness he rarely allowed to show.

Your chest ached with something unnameable as you swallowed hard, steadying your voice. “I’ll make it back,” you said, stronger this time, every word laced with quiet resolve. “I promise.”

For a long, tense moment, Joel held your gaze. His eyes searched yours, looking for cracks, for hesitation, for anything that might betray you.

Finally, he nodded, slow and gruff, the tension in his shoulders easing—just enough to make you breathe a little easier. “Alright,” he muttered, stepping back and motioning toward Winnie. “Let’s get movin’.”

The spell broke, but something lingered in the space between you as you climbed into the saddle. Joel mounted his own horse without another word, and the two of you rode out into the chill of the early morning, the sky painted pale with dawn.

The cold bit at your skin, sharp and merciless, but it wasn’t the wind that made your hands tremble around the reins. It was the fear that burrowed deep and refused to let go.

Fear of what might happen out there.

Fear of what it would mean to live in a world where Joel didn’t come back.

─── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ───

The hours stretched endlessly as you and Joel rode through the dense, untamed woods. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but it carried a certain gravity—a weight that seemed to echo in the hushed whispers of the forest. No one from Jackson had ventured this far in years, and the wildness of the terrain felt as much a challenge as it did a threat.

He rode ahead, his shoulders broad and sturdy beneath the leather of his jacket, his frame bent slightly forward with the kind of quiet focus that only came from years of surviving. His sharp eyes never stopped moving—darting between the overgrown trail and the treeline, watching, waiting, always searching for something he’d never let take him by surprise.

Occasionally, his voice broke the stillness—gravelly and low, delivering a curt instruction or muttering an observation. Each word, clipped and measured, was so distinctly Joel that it filled the silence in a way that steadied you, though you couldn’t explain why.

“We’ll stop here,” Joel said abruptly, reining in his horse. “They’re tired.”

You glanced down at Winnie, her steps sluggish and uneven, her breaths heavier now, her coat dark with sweat. Concern flickered through you, and you leaned forward to press a soft kiss against the side of her neck. “Good job girl,” you whispered gently, your voice low and soothing.

When you looked up, Joel was watching. His gaze lingered, flickering with something that disappeared too quickly for you to catch, before he dismounted in one fluid motion. His boots hit the dirt with a thud that seemed louder than it should have been in the stillness, and he reached for his pack, already untying supplies from the saddle.

Sliding off your horse, your legs hit the ground stiff and aching from hours in the saddle. You stretched briefly, then sank down against the nearest tree, your back pressing into its rough bark. As you settled, a soft groan slipped free, the ache in your muscles easing just slightly. The earth beneath your boots felt unfamiliar, solid and strange after so long riding, but the air here—cooler, gentler beneath the shade of towering oaks—was a quiet relief. You closed your eyes, leaning fully into the tree, letting the hush of the woods settle over you.

When you opened them, Joel was close by as he sorted through supplies.

“Water.” His voice broke the quiet, low and rough as he held a canteen out toward you without looking up. The canteen was cool against your fingers as you took it, your throat burning with relief as you drank. “Thanks,” you murmured, handing it back. You had your own water in your pack—he knew that—but still, he offered you his, as if yours were somehow too precious to waste, as if the effort to keep you going outweighed his own needs.

Joel didn’t answer right away. He capped the canteen and stood, his gaze moving over the clearing with that practiced vigilance you’d come to rely on. And then, just for a moment, his eyes landed on you.

“You cold?” he asked suddenly, his tone flat but edged with something softer. “Too hot?”

You shook your head lightly, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “I’m fine,” you replied softly, though your chest felt tight at the way he was watching you, like he needed to see the answer, not just hear it.

He’s sweet, you thought, the words catching on something tender and fragile inside you, something you couldn’t quite name. It was the way his care came without flourish, without asking for anything in return, that made it linger—made it ache. It wasn’t fair, the way he did this, leaving pieces of himself in small gestures that stayed with you long after.

Joel’s gaze lingered a moment longer, his brow furrowing slightly like he wasn’t entirely convinced. “Alright,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

─── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ───

The woods were quieter here, almost serene. You stood, brushing the dirt and stray leaves from your pants, and let your gaze wander. The afternoon light filtered through the dense canopy, painting the forest floor in patches of gold and green. It was breathtaking in a way that made your chest ache—a fleeting moment of untouched wilderness, fragile and rare. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen something so still, so utterly removed from the chaos of survival.

Joel was nearby, crouched low, fussing with his rifle. His brow was furrowed in that familiar look of concentration, the kind of focus that made the rest of the world fall away. He hadn’t spoken in a while, his attention entirely consumed by the task at hand, and for a moment, you let yourself watch him—drawn to the way his hands moved, precise and practiced, the lines of his face set in a look of quiet determination that you knew well.

Your attention drifted, though, drawn to something else—a cluster of dark, plump berries growing just a few feet away. They stood out against the underbrush, rich and inviting. Curiosity tugged at you, pulling you closer. You wandered over, crouching down and plucking a small handful, the berries cool and smooth as you rolled them between your fingers.

“Hmm,” you murmured, holding them up to the light. A smile tugged at your lips, you raised one halfway to your mouth, your tone light as you added, “Yummy.”

“Stop.”

Joel’s voice cut through the stillness like a gunshot—sharp, commanding.

You froze, the berry hovering inches from your lips. His head snapped toward you, his rifle abandoned as he stood, moving toward you with a purposeful stride that made the leaves crunch like brittle glass beneath his boots.

“What?” you asked, blinking up at him, startled by the intensity etched into his features.

“Show me.” His tone left no room for argument.

You sighed, shooting him an exasperated look before opening your palm, the berries resting innocently there. Joel crouched slightly, his shadow falling over you as he inspected them, his sharp gaze narrowing like they were a threat to be neutralized.

“Open your mouth,” he said suddenly, his voice low but firm.

You pulled back slightly, incredulous. “Seriously?”

His glare flicked to yours, and you realized he was serious.

“Fine,” you muttered, sticking your tongue out in a dramatic show of obedience. “Ahh,” you said, exaggerating it, hoping it might earn you some amusement.

It didn’t. Joel just stared at you, his jaw tight, the muscle there ticking as though he was fighting to keep a lid on something darker, something far less restrained. His gaze lingered a beat too long on your tongue, the way you’d held it out for him without hesitation, obedient to his command. The air between you seemed to thicken, charged with a tension that left his thoughts wandering where they shouldn’t—where they couldn’t—imagining that same mouth, soft and ready, offering him something far more intimate. His hand twitched at his side, as if warring with the urge to reach for you, to feel the warmth of your skin beneath his touch.

“Good. Now throw ’em out,” he said, the gruffness in his voice doing little to disguise the way he avoided looking at you as he turned away.

“What?” You gawked at him, utterly indignant. “Joel, they’re blueberries. They’re not gonna kill me.”

His arms crossed over his chest, his stare harder than stone. “Could be poison berries. They look the same. You don’t know the difference, so don’t pretend you do. Toss ’em.”

You held his glare for a moment, your fingers curling defensively around the berries, but there was no arguing with Joel when he looked at you like that. With a dramatic sigh, you dropped the berries, watching them tumble unceremoniously to the ground.

“Happy?” you muttered, brushing your hands off against your pants.

Joel didn’t answer right away. He adjusted the strap of his rifle over his shoulder, his gaze flicking briefly to the trees before landing back on you. “Stay close,” he said, his voice gruff, tinged with that familiar note of exasperation. Then, quieter, muttering more to himself than you, “Do I gotta put a leash on ya or somethin’ to keep you outta trouble?”

The words were barely out of his mouth before you snorted, the laughter escaping before you could stop it. A grin tugged at your lips as you leaned against a nearby tree, playful mischief alight in your eyes. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” you teased, your voice dipping low, your tone laced with challenge. The insinuation hung there, bold and undeniable, a spark igniting the air between you.

Joel froze, his body going rigid. For a heartbeat, he didn’t move, didn’t breathe, his expression stuck somewhere between surprise and frustration. His jaw worked, his teeth grinding faintly as he glanced at you, then away, then back again—like he was trying to find words that refused to come.

And then, it happened. The faintest flush crept up his neck, blooming at the collar of his shirt and spreading up to the tips of his ears. He swallowed thickly, his gaze dropping to the forest floor like the answer might be buried there.

“Christ,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, almost a growl.

You watched him turn sharply, shoulders squared as he moved back to his things, muttering something under his breath that you couldn’t quite catch. The corners of your mouth curled up as you pushed off the tree, following after him with a bounce in your step that hadn’t been there before.

Joel didn’t look back, but his ears were still red.

─── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ───

The sound of the horses’ hooves echoed steadily beneath you, a rhythmic cadence that seemed to sync with the pounding of your heartbeat. The trail had narrowed as the hours dragged on, with Joel riding ahead of you, his broad shoulders cutting an imposing figure against the dimming light. The trees on either side stood like silent sentinels, their shadows stretching longer and darker as the sun dipped lower. The sunlight, once warm and golden, now barely pierced through the dense canopy, casting everything in muted shades of green and gray.

Every rustle of leaves or sudden snap of a branch had your hand twitching instinctively toward your weapon, your gaze darting into the underbrush as if the trees might shift and reveal something waiting there. Unease clung to you, winding tight in your chest and mingling with the steady rhythm of the ride.

“You’re quiet,” Joel’s voice cut through the oppressive silence, low and rough, like gravel against steel.

The sound startled you, yanking you sharply out of your thoughts. You blinked, your grip on the reins tightening for just a moment before your gaze lifted to his back. He sat tall in the saddle, his movements steady and sure as he guided his horse down the narrow path.

“So are you,” you shot back, your tone light but edged with something defensive. It was easier to focus on the banter than to acknowledge the gnawing knot of anxiety that had been building in your chest.

Joel huffed out a sound that was almost a chuckle, low and dry, the faintest tug of a smirk visible as he glanced back over his shoulder. “Yeah, well,” he said, his voice carrying just enough warmth to soften the bite, “I’m not the chatterbox.”

Any other day, you might’ve rolled your eyes. Maybe tossed a sharp quip back at him—something to tease out that rare flicker of dry humor.

But today, the woods felt heavier.

The isolation pressed too close, the silence too vast. Laughter felt out of place. Even the air seemed thinner, harder to pull into your lungs. You didn’t smile. Didn’t even try.

Joel noticed. Of course, he noticed.

Without a word, he tugged gently on his reins, slowing his horse until it fell into step beside yours. The sound of their hooves merged into one rhythm, steady and constant, but the quiet between you was anything but still.

He looked over at you then—really looked—his gaze dark and probing. Joel had a way of watching people that made it feel like he was peeling them apart, pulling back layers you’d much rather keep to yourself. His eyes flicked to your face, studying every shadow, every line of tension, and for a long moment, he didn’t say a word.

His voice broke through the suffocating quiet, softer now, gentler in a way that made your breath catch. “Hey.”

You hesitated, fingers tightening around the reins until your knuckles turned white, the leather biting into your palms. You didn’t want to look. Didn’t want him to see whatever it was clawing at the edges of your composure, threatening to spill over. But Joel’s voice—steady, unrelenting—left no room for refusal.

“Look at me.”

So you did.

And it hit you like a punch to the gut.

His eyes weren’t just steady—they were heavy with something raw, something stripped bare and unguarded that settled deep in your chest, stealing the air from your lungs. There was no mask this time, no shadow of distance in his expression. It was just Joel—staring at you, open and unhidden, and for once, you saw everything he wasn’t saying. Worry. Frustration. Something deeper, sharper, that you couldn’t name.

“Nothing’s gonna happen,” he said, the words slow and deliberate, carrying a weight that wrapped around you like armor. “You hear me? We’re fine. You’re fine.”

You wanted to believe him—God, you wanted to—but the creeping shadows in the trees, the silence that stretched too long, whispered otherwise. They sank their claws into your chest, cold and unshakable. “You don’t know that,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Joel’s jaw flexed, his gaze hardening, though not at you. The muscle in his cheek ticked as he looked past you, scanning the treeline like he might fight off the invisible threat himself.

“I promise,” he said finally, his voice quieter but no less steady, each word deliberate, like he was forcing them out against his better judgment. His eyes met yours, unrelenting in their certainty, and for a moment, it felt like the whole world had narrowed to that look—like nothing else mattered but the weight of what he was saying.

Joel Miller didn’t make promises. Not like this. He knew better than anyone that the world didn’t care about promises, that it didn’t hesitate to tear them apart, leaving nothing but regret in their place. He’d learned that lesson too many times, carried the scars of it. Promises were dangerous—they were traps, liabilities in a world where survival demanded detachment.

But this wasn’t about logic, and it wasn’t about the world’s cruelty. It was about you. About the way fear clung to you, raw and unspoken, written in the tightness of your shoulders and the way your hands trembled just enough to make him notice. He couldn’t bear to let you sit in that fear alone, to let it eat away at you when he could say something—do something—to make it stop, even for a moment.

So he broke his rule. For you. Because you needed to hear it, even if he couldn’t control what came next. “Nothin’s gonna happen to you,” he said again, the quiet steel in his voice daring the world to prove him wrong, daring himself to make it true.

Your head shook instinctively, the words a hollow comfort, because the truth—the real, aching truth—had already slipped past your lips before you could stop it.

“I’m not worried about myself, Joel.”

His expression shifted, like you’d reached inside and knocked the breath out of him. The words sat heavy between you, tangled with everything you hadn’t said before now. Joel stilled, his fingers flexing against the reins as though he didn’t know what to do with them.

And for a moment, the silence stretched out again, but it wasn’t empty. It was thick—with fear, with understanding, with something else.

“Hey.” Joel’s voice softened, a quiet plea that pulled your eyes back to his. He leaned forward just slightly, his presence grounding you as he held your gaze like it was the only thing keeping you both steady. “Nothin’s gonna happen to me either. You hear me?” He let the words settle, his brow furrowing like he was daring you to disagree. “Neither of us.”

The quiet stretched again, but it felt different this time.

Safer.

Joel watched you, his eyes searching, patient, waiting until you gave him even the smallest nod, until the tension in your grip loosened just enough for him to see the edges of your fear start to soften.

“I’ll make you dinner when we’re back,” he said suddenly, his tone quieter now, almost teasing, the rough edges smoothed by something gentler. He leaned back slightly in his saddle, the faintest twitch of a smile tugging at his mouth—small, but real. “How’s that sound? I’ll even let you pick what I make. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You nodded, the movement small but feeling monumental, like handing over a piece of yourself. Joel didn’t look away, his gaze holding yours, dark and steady. It wasn’t just a look—it was a promise, a quiet reassurance that he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Good girl,” he murmured, so soft it was almost lost to the stillness.

The words hit you like a spark catching fire, sudden and uncontainable. Your breath faltered, catching in your throat as heat flooded your cheeks, spreading like a slow, uncontrollable burn.

You felt it down to your bones, something raw and visceral that left you stunned, reeling. Joel must’ve noticed—how could he not?—but he didn’t say anything. Instead, his gaze lingered for one beat longer, the corner of his mouth twitching faintly before he nudged his horse forward.

“C’mon,” he said, his voice low, rough in that familiar way that grounded you, even now. His horse moved ahead, the steady rhythm of hooves against the earth filling the quiet he left behind.

You nudged Winnie forward, falling in line just behind him, your gaze lingering on the back of his broad shoulders, the steady rise and fall of his frame as he rode. The woods stretched endlessly ahead, the shadows still thick, the danger still lurking unseen—but for the first time, it didn’t feel so close.

You couldn’t explain it, not even to yourself, but it was there. The safety. The trust.

The quiet understanding that as long as Joel was there—this close—you would be ok.

─── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ───

The dense forest finally opened into a clearing, the trees pulling back to reveal a lodge at the edge of the horizon. The last rays of daylight stretched thin and golden across the landscape, pooling in the long shadows that crept toward the building. The lodge loomed, weathered and tired, its sagging wooden frame darkened by years of rain and neglect. It stood like a forgotten relic, its emptiness heavy, as if waiting for something—or someone—to disturb its silence.

Joel pulled his horse to a halt first. The shift in him was subtle but clear—the way his shoulders squared, his spine went ramrod straight, his jaw set in that way you’d come to know so well. He said nothing at first, his sharp eyes sweeping the clearing in a calculated rhythm, scanning for threats like he could feel something lurking just beyond the edge of sight. The air around you seemed to thicken, every rustling branch and distant creak amplified by the stillness.

“We’ll walk the rest,” Joel said finally, his voice low, the gruff edge leaving no room for discussion. Without waiting for your response, he swung off his horse, landing in a crouch with a practiced grace that belied his size.

You followed suit, sliding down from Winnie’s saddle. Your legs wobbled slightly, stiff and sore from the hours of riding, but you steadied yourself quickly, reaching for the straps of your pack. Before you slung it over your shoulder, your hand lingered on Winnie’s mane, your fingers brushing through the rough strands in slow, absent motions. There was something soothing about it—the rhythm, the warmth, the small bit of comfort she offered without knowing it.

“Bye, girl,” you whispered, the words hushed and raw, like you were leaving more behind than just your horse. Winnie let out a soft whinny, her dark eyes meeting yours with a quiet patience that settled somewhere deep in your chest, even as it made your throat tighten.

When you turned back, Joel was watching you. He stood a few steps ahead, the rifle slung across his back, his pack heavy over one shoulder. But it wasn’t the readiness of him that stopped you. It wasn’t the rifle or the sharp lines of his posture or even the way his fingers flexed restlessly at his side. It was his eyes.

There was something in them—something unspoken, unreadable, but unmistakably there. Worry, maybe. Or caution. Or something deeper. The amber light caught in their depths, softening the edges, but his gaze remained locked on you, unmoving.

Joel stepped closer, closing the space between you in an instant. The shift was so deliberate, so him, it made your breath catch. His hands came up to settle on your shoulders, grounding you with a steadiness that you didn’t know you needed until it was there. His grip was firm but not harsh, his palms rough against the fabric of your jacket, calloused from years of work and survival.

But it was the way his thumbs brushed the material—soft, fleeting, almost unconscious—that sent a shiver through you. A gesture so small, you might’ve missed it if you weren’t so attuned to him.

“Yes, Joel,” you said quickly, the frustration already seeping into your voice before he could even open his mouth. “I’ll do what you say.”

It wasn’t enough to satisfy him. His lips pressed into a hard line, the muscle in his jaw jumping as he studied you. He didn’t speak right away, and the silence between you became heavy, dense. His shoulders shifted just slightly, like he was bracing himself, and his eyes narrowed—not with anger, but with something closer to disbelief.

Like he didn’t trust you to listen. Like he couldn’t bear it if you didn’t.

He shook his head, the smallest motion, full of resignation. “Listen to me,” he said finally, his voice low and gravelly, a steady edge that made it clear he wasn’t giving you room to argue. “You follow me. You stay quiet. If I say run, you run. You take Winnie, and you leave. You don’t look back. Got it?”

You blinked, unable to speak, the weight of them clawing tight at your chest. Run. Leave.

The very thought of it felt like ice splintering through your veins. You couldn’t picture it—couldn’t imagine a world where you turned your back on him, where you left Joel behind in the dark while you ran ahead.

Your throat tightened painfully, and you shook your head, your voice cracking as you whispered, “Joel, I—”

“Got it?” he pressed, his voice soft but edged with steel. He stepped closer, close enough that the fire in his eyes became undeniable, that the space between you disappeared entirely. Joel had always been unyielding, but this? This was something more. A desperation failing to hide beneath the surface.

You swallowed hard, the words scraping against your throat like they didn’t belong there. “I’ll run,” you said finally, though it felt like a betrayal to even admit it aloud. “I’ll take Winnie. I’ll… leave.”

Joel didn’t respond right away. He just stood there, his eyes locked on yours with a searing intensity that made it hard to breathe. His gaze wasn’t just searching—it was prying, deliberate and unrelenting, peeling back the walls you’d built to keep yourself steady. And under it, you felt seen—exposed in a way you didn’t quite know how to protect yourself from.

Because he wasn’t looking at the stubborn mask you wore, the one you threw on when the world demanded you be strong. No, Joel was looking deeper, into that part of you that screamed a truth you refused to say aloud: You wouldn’t leave him. Not really. Not ever.

“Promise me,” Joel murmured, his voice rough but quiet, threaded with something you weren’t used to hearing from him. Not anger. Not frustration. Something worse. Something that cracked at the edges, barely holding together.

“Joel…” you started, your voice faltering, thin and soft like you might shatter right there.

“Promise me,” he said again, firmer this time, though it trembled just faintly at the edges. Like he was holding himself together by sheer force of will.

The ache in your chest deepened, spreading through every inch of you like a poison. He was breaking his own rules, showing too much, and it was undoing you piece by piece. Joel didn’t let his guard down. He didn’t falter. But here he was, standing in front of you like this—raw, exposed, and asking for something he needed.

Joel nodded slowly, his expression unreadable as he pulled his hands from your shoulders, the warmth of his touch lingering long after he adjusted the rifle slung over his shoulder. But his eyes—steady and unrelenting—gave him away. He didn’t believe you, not fully. You could see it in the way his gaze lingered, searching your face like he was trying to etch your promise into something solid, something he could hold onto when the time came.

You stayed rooted in place, frozen as you watched him move toward the lodge. Every step he took was deliberate, every turn of his head precise as he scanned the tree line, his hand hovering near his rifle. Ready for anything. Always ready.

And that’s what gutted you—truly gutted you—because you knew, with a clarity that scraped against your ribs like glass, that Joel wouldn’t hesitate. If it came down to you or him, he’d throw himself into the fire, step in front of the bullet, let his body be torn apart before he’d ever let harm come to you. And he’d do it without question. Without pause.

As you began following him, the words echoed in your head, unspoken but deafening. Don’t ask me to run, Joel. Don’t ask me to leave you behind. Each step felt heavier, the thought pressing against your chest like a weight you couldn’t shake. Because I won’t. I can’t.

You knew he felt it, even if neither of you said it aloud. He felt it in the way your pace never strayed, your steps falling in line just behind his, close enough that he could hear the faint crunch of leaves beneath your boots. He felt it in the way your breaths synced with his, steady but strained, like you were holding something back. He felt it in the moments you lingered too long when his gaze flicked over his shoulder to check on you, your eyes locking with his for a beat too long before darting away.

He felt it in the way your fingers clenched the strap of your pack, white-knuckled and trembling, as if anchoring yourself to the promise you hadn’t meant to make. In the way you hovered just behind his shadow, always there, always ready, like you were silently daring the world to try and take him from you.

And maybe that’s why he didn’t look back to meet your gaze.

Because he knew. Knew what you couldn’t bring yourself to say.

Knew the truth that tore at you with every step closer to the lodge—that no promise, no command, no amount of pleading would ever change it.

You’d rather die than leave him.

─── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ───

The lodge emerged from the shadows of the trees like a ghost, its silhouette jagged against the fading sky. Joel crouched low, signaling for you to do the same, his movements fluid and deliberate as he wove through the underbrush with the quiet confidence of someone who’d done this a hundred times before. You mirrored him without question, your weapon clutched tightly in your hands, though the prickling sensation crawling up your spine refused to settle.

The building was a monument to ruin—ivy clawed greedily at its sides, creeping through splintered boards and shattered windowpanes. The roof sagged under the weight of neglect, and its walls seemed to lean in on themselves, like they couldn’t bear the burden of holding anything upright anymore. Every creak of the structure, every shift of the wind, sent your pulse hammering against your ribs.

Joel moved closer, crouching low to inspect the ground near the lodge’s entrance. His fingers brushed over the dirt, scanning for prints or disturbances, but there was nothing—just layers of leaves and twigs undisturbed by anything more threatening than the wind. He glanced back at you, his expression unreadable but wary, before tilting his head toward the lodge.

You both edged forward, your eyes darting to the windows for movement, though the shattered panes reflected only the fading light. Joel stopped by a section of the wall, brushing aside ivy to check for signs of tampering or recent use, but the wood was damp and untouched.

He raised a hand, the gesture sharp and commanding, and you froze mid-step, holding your breath as his gaze swept the clearing with hawk-like precision.

Nothing stirred—not in the shadows, not in the lodge, not in the quiet woods that stretched around you like a living trap. Still, Joel’s hand hovered near his weapon, his muscles taut as he nodded for you to follow.

“Stay close,” he murmured, his voice low and deliberate, just loud enough for you to hear.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, your breath shallow as you fell into step behind him.

The front door hung crookedly on rusted hinges, groaning in protest as Joel nudged it open with the barrel of his rifle. The sound scraped through the silence like a knife, too loud, too exposed, and you couldn’t stop the way your fingers tightened around your weapon.

Joel stepped inside first, his silhouette a wall of quiet strength against the dim light leaking through the cracks in the boards. You followed, forcing yourself to move with the same care, though your heart thundered loud enough that you swore he could hear it.

Inside, the lodge was a shell of its former self. Dust blanketed the warped floorboards, and the air hung heavy with mildew and rot. Furniture lay upturned and broken, a chair leg splintered like a bone. The stillness was oppressive, a silence so deep it felt wrong.

Joel stopped, raising his hand again—split up, the flick of his fingers said. Be careful.

You hesitated, your chest tightening as your eyes locked with his. You didn’t want to split up—he could see it, clear as day, in the way your gaze lingered, pleading silently even as your jaw set with determination. But you were a big girl. That’s why you were here. You were his partner, and partners pulled their weight, even if the fear inside you threatened to tear you apart.

Joel’s expression shifted, his own hesitation flickering just beneath the surface. For a moment, it looked like he might say it—that you could stick together, that he’d shoulder this for both of you. But before he could, you forced yourself to speak.

Joel held your stare for a second longer, his eyes sharp and searching, as if making sure you were ok. Finally, he gave a short nod and disappeared down the far hallway, his boots making the faintest creak against the wood.

Then he was gone, and you were alone.

You turned toward what looked like the kitchen, your steps slow, deliberate. Every movement felt amplified, the sound of your boots on the floorboards bouncing off the walls like a warning. The cabinets hung open, their hinges rusted and warped, shelves stripped bare save for a few unidentifiable cans buried under layers of dust. Drawers yawned empty, their contents long since ransacked, and the grime clinging to the countertops filled the air with a damp, sour tang that made your nose wrinkle.

You pressed on, your breathing shallow as you opened door after door, each creak of the hinges slicing through the silence like a threat. Each room you entered felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for something to pounce the moment you let your guard down. But all you found were shadows and decay.

When you stepped back into the main room, your heart thudded as Joel appeared from the opposite hallway, his rifle still raised, his shoulders squared and tense. His sharp gaze swept the room first, scanning every corner, lingering a second too long as if he expected something to emerge from the shadows. Finally, his eyes found yours.

“Clear,” you whispered, your voice tight but steady, the tension in your chest easing just slightly under the weight of his presence.

Joel nodded once, his reply a low murmur. “Same here. No signs of infected or raiders.”

The stiffness in his shoulders loosened—just a fraction—but it was enough for you to catch. He lowered his rifle, the grip of his hand softening, though his gaze stayed sharp, cutting through the dim light as he glanced toward the darker corners of the lodge. The faint furrow in his brow lingered, betraying the quiet calculations still turning behind his eyes.

“Alright,” he said finally, his voice quieter but no less commanding. “Grab what you can. Then we move.”

You didn’t argue. There was no room for debate, just the quiet understanding that lingered between the two of you. With a sharp nod, you turned back toward the shadowed remnants of the lodge, splitting up again, each step deliberate as you scoured opposite sides for anything that might help you survive.

The finds were sparse but not useless. In the back of a closet, buried beneath a heap of moth-eaten fabric, your fingers brushed over something cool and familiar. You pulled out a small, dusty box of bandages—the edges frayed, but the contents inside still sealed and intact. “Bingo,” you murmured, though the sound barely broke the silence. In a drawer, you found a small box of ammo, the label faded but legible, and a pair of rusted scissors, their edges dulled but still functional with some effort.

Across the room, Joel worked with practiced efficiency. He knelt, his hand closing around something tucked behind a fallen shelf. Holding it up to the faint light filtering through the shattered windows, he revealed a hunting knife, its blade dulled with age but still capable of damage. Joel turned it over once in his hands, inspecting it with his sharp, calculating eye before tucking it into his pack without a word.

You met back in the main room, the eerie silence of the lodge pressing in around you.

“Not bad,” Joel said when he found you again, his voice steady and grounding, cutting through the quiet like a steady anchor. He turned a wrench over in his hands, the faint light glinting off the tarnished metal as he inspected it, then stowed it with the tools he’d collected. “Could’ve been worse.”

His eyes flicked to your pack. “What’d you find?” he asked, nodding toward it.

“Bandages, some ammo, scissors,” you shrugged, shifting the weight of your pack slightly. “Not a lot, but…”

“Good job,” Joel interrupted, his tone gruff but sincere. The simple words settled something in your chest, the heaviness easing just slightly as he gave a brief nod.

“Alright,” he said, his gaze shifting to the staircase that loomed ahead, its warped wood groaning faintly under the weight of the silence. “I’m gonna check upstairs quickly. You stay here—I’ll be ten minutes tops.”

“Okay,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes landed on you then, steady and searching, and you felt yourself stand a little straighter without realizing it. It wasn’t a look that checked for injuries or exhaustion—it went deeper, something quieter, something anchoring. His gaze carried a weight that pressed against you gently, like he was grounding you in a way words never could. It made the world seem to pause, holding its breath for just a moment.

“You alright?” he asked, his voice dropping lower, the gravel softened by a note of concern he didn’t manage to hide in time. It wasn’t forced, wasn’t just protocol—it was real, slipping through the cracks of his usual guarded demeanor.

You hesitated. “Yeah,” you said quickly, nodding. It wasn’t a full lie—you were fine enough. But there was something about the lodge, the way the air felt wrong, like it wasn’t meant to be this quiet. It stayed with you, tugging at the edges of your nerves. Still, the steadiness in Joel’s gaze was enough to hold you upright, to keep the words from cracking. “Yeah. I’m alright.”

Joel’s eyes lingered on you a moment longer, his brow furrowing just slightly, like he didn’t quite believe you but didn’t see the use in pressing further. He gave a small, tight nod. “I’m here,” he said simply, like it was a promise—because it was. It always was.

Before you could answer, Joel turned toward the stairs, his boots creaking softly against the worn wood as he began to ascend, his figure fading into the dim shadows above. You stood there, rooted in place, your fingers tightening instinctively around your weapon.

The lodge still felt wrong.

The air still felt thick.

The room too quiet.

─── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ───

You stood planted for a few minutes, your ears straining to track the faint sound of Joel’s footsteps overhead as he maneuvered through the rooms. The steady rhythm of his movements was oddly comforting, a reminder that you weren’t completely alone in this place. Still, the unease gnawed at you, curling tighter in your chest with every creak of the old wood.

You sighed, turning reluctantly. If you were waiting, you might as well keep looking for something useful.

As you moved deeper into the lodge, the air seemed heavier, like the walls themselves were pressing in. Your boots crunched softly over the debris littering the floor, your eyes scanning each corner with wary precision. A collapsed shelf caught your attention, leaning crookedly against the far wall, its splintered remains scattered like an afterthought. But it wasn’t the mess that made you pause—it was what was behind it.

A door.

Half-hidden, almost like it didn’t want to be found. The frame was warped, its paint chipped and peeling, the edge barely visible against the shadows.

You froze for a heartbeat, instincts tugging at you, warning you to wait for Joel. To call him. To let him take point, like he always did. But something—curiosity, stubbornness, or maybe just the restless hum of adrenaline in your veins—made you step closer instead. Your hand brushed the debris aside, and the door groaned faintly as it gave way under your touch.

A rush of stale, frigid air met you, sharp and sudden, crawling against your skin like unseen fingers. You swallowed hard as your gaze fell to the narrow staircase leading down into the basement. It was steep, shrouded in darkness, the light from above barely brushing the first few steps. Something about it felt wrong, ancient in its silence, like the lodge itself had buried it for a reason.

You lingered there, the weight of uncertainty pinning you in place. You could turn back. Go find Joel.

Just a look, you thought, forcing yourself to believe it.

Your fingers curled around the grip of your weapon, the metal cold and grounding against your palm. You took the first step down. The wood creaked under your weight, loud enough that you winced. Quiet, you told yourself. Be quiet.

The silence was unbearable, so thick and oppressive it almost buzzed in your ears. Without realizing it, you began to hum softly under your breath—a faint, wavering melody that meant nothing and everything, a trick to steady your pulse and force the tension back into something manageable.

Then you heard it.

Voices.

They slipped through the darkness, muffled and low, with an edge to them that turned your blood to ice. You stopped cold, your breath catching in your throat as your heart slammed hard against your ribs. You couldn’t make out the words, but they were unmistakably human. Not infected—humans. That realization did nothing to settle the nausea twisting in your gut. If anything, it made it worse.

You strained to hear, your head tilting slightly, every muscle in your body coiled tight. The voices were distorted by the walls and distance, but they were close. Too close. Your grip on your weapon tightened until your knuckles ached, sweat slicking your palms.

Turn back.

The warning flashed through your mind like a flare in the dark, but you didn’t move. Couldn’t. You flattened yourself against the wall, your breath shallow, your pulse thudding like a war drum in your chest. Slowly, carefully, you peered around the edge of the doorway, and there they were.

Three men stood clustered near a ring of dim lanterns, their shadows stretching long and jagged against the crumbling basement walls. The tallest of the three—a wiry figure with gaunt cheeks and a scar bisecting his right brow—commanded the space, his voice cutting through the stillness like the scrape of a blade against bone.

“She was a fuckin’ bitch,” he spat, his knife twirling restlessly between his fingers. The blade caught the flickering light, winking like a predator’s eye. His movements were sharp, erratic, as though violence lingered just beneath his skin, waiting for an excuse to break free. “Got what was comin’ to her.”

“Jesus, Tom,” the broad one muttered, his voice a low, gravelly drawl. He leaned against the wall with a forced laziness, one hand brushing the edge of the handgun strapped at his hip. Everything about him—his stretched vest, his patchy beard, the sneer that seemed permanently carved into his face—radiated menace. Even his stillness felt dangerous, like the coiled pause before a snake strikes. “That was your girlfriend.”

“Ex,” Tom snapped, his voice dripping venom, the scar over his brow twisting with his sneer. “Skank.”

The youngest of the group lingered just outside the lantern’s glow, his presence twitchy and uncertain. His rifle was clutched tightly to his chest, the whites of his knuckles visible against the stock, his eyes darting constantly toward the shadows as though they might swallow him whole. He wasn’t built for this. You could see it in the slump of his shoulders, in the way he flinched every time Tom’s knife flashed.

“How far’s the settlement?” the kid asked finally, his voice thin and hesitant, as if he already feared the answer.

Your stomach dropped like a stone. Jackson.

“A few hours,” Tom said, flicking his knife toward some vague point in the distance, his tone dismissive, almost bored. “If we don’t hit any patrols.”

The broad man scratched his beard, considering. His sneer deepened into something uglier, the edges curling with grim satisfaction. “They’ve got guards,” he said, the words slow and deliberate, as though he were savoring them. “Ain’t no easy pickings. We wait. Arm the rest of the crew first. Then we hit ‘em.”

The floor felt like it shifted under your feet. Ice pooled in your veins, spreading outward until you couldn’t feel your fingertips wrapped white-knuckled around your weapon. They weren’t scavengers. They weren’t drifters looking for a warm corner or forgotten scraps. These men were here for blood.

Jackson—your home —was in their sights.

The kid shifted uncomfortably, his boots scuffing against the concrete. “You sure this is a good idea?” he muttered. “We don’t know what they’ve got. What if it’s more than we can—”

Tom rounded on him in an instant, the knife snapping to a stop in his hand. The kid flinched as Tom stepped close, his scar twisting with his sneer. “What, you scared?” he hissed. “Gonna piss your pants, kid? You signed up for this, remember? Or you wanna end up like the bitch we left back there?”

The kid’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his knuckles somehow tightening even more on his rifle. “No,” he murmured. “I’m good.”

Tom turned away, a sharp, bitter laugh escaping his lips. “That’s what I thought.”

Your heart hammered so loudly you swore they could hear it. You couldn’t stay here—couldn’t listen to another second. The world around you narrowed to the single, desperate thought pounding through your mind.

Get out. Find Joel.

You moved, forcing yourself back a step, slow and deliberate. Another step. The floor beneath your boots creaked—loud, impossibly loud—and your breath caught in your throat.

The kid’s head snapped up. “Did you hear that?”

Shit.

You froze, pressing yourself hard into the shadows, your pulse so frantic it was a miracle you didn’t pass out right then.

The broad man sighed, disinterested. “Probably rats. Place like this, I’m surprised we ain’t wading through ‘em.”

Tom grunted, but his gaze lingered on the dark edges of the room for a beat too long before he turned back to his knife, twirling it once more. “We move at first light,” he said flatly, his voice sharp as flint. “Get some sleep. You’ll need it.”

They didn’t notice you. Somehow, they didn’t notice.

You exhaled shakily, forcing yourself up another step. And then another. Every nerve screamed at you to run, but you couldn’t risk it—not yet. You climbed the stairs, each step a slow, deliberate fight against panic.

When you reached the top, the cold air of the lodge hit you like a slap. You pushed the door closed with trembling hands, the sound of your breathing ragged in the stillness. For one long moment, you stood there, chest heaving, eyes wide as you fought to push down the panic clawing at your throat.

Find Joel.

That thought broke through the haze, sharp and clear. You exhaled slowly, steadying yourself, and turned back toward the main room. Each step felt deliberate, your movements careful as you attempted to stay as quiet as possible.

Joel. You needed to find Joel. Now.

─── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ───

Joel appeared out of the shadows like a ghost, his presence so sudden and silent that you didn’t register him until he was right there. “Hey,” he whispered, his voice low and startling in the suffocating quiet, his concern clear though he had no idea what you’d just witnessed.

You reacted instinctively—without thinking. Your hand shot out, fisting the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer with a force you didn’t know you possessed. The other hand pressed firmly over his mouth before he could say another word. Wide-eyed, trembling, you stared up at him, your silent plea screaming louder than any sound ever could.

Joel stilled. Completely. His body went rigid beneath your touch, but his gaze—sharp as ever—locked onto yours. His expression shifted as he took you in, reading you the way only Joel could: the panic in your eyes, the tremble in your shoulders, the urgency of your grip. Then, as if following some invisible thread, his eyes flickered over your shoulder, narrowing on the dark, half-open basement door.

The change in him was instant. His entire frame tensed, his jaw tightening until you swore you heard his teeth grind. The flicker of soft concern vanished, replaced by something colder, harder—Joel the protector, Joel with the sharp edges and the deadly calm.

“How many?” he mouthed, his lips barely moving, his eyes locked on yours.

You swallowed hard, your breath catching as your trembling hand rose slowly. Three fingers. Three.

He nodded once, sharp and precise. They see you? his expression asked, his brow lifting just enough to push the question.

You shook your head, the words stuck somewhere in your throat, fear silencing you.

Joel’s eyes sharpened, calculating. His hand shifted slowly toward his rifle, every movement deliberate, measured, a man preparing for war.

He didn’t need to speak—his body said it all. Calm. Controlled. Lethal.

He gestured sharply, flicking his hand toward the wall behind you—a command, clear as day. Get out of sight. His eyes pinned you, unyielding, daring you to argue. Let me handle this.

But your body didn’t move. You couldn’t move.

Your feet felt glued to the floor, your fingers twitching against the grip of your weapon, your chest so tight it hurt to breathe. The idea of Joel walking toward that basement alone—that black hole of danger—sent ice shooting through your veins.

Joel turned back just in time to see you still standing there, your eyes flicking between him and the door. His expression darkened like a storm cloud. He adjusted the strap of his rifle, the motion sharp, almost angry, before his voice cut through the quiet like a whip.

“No,” he said flatly, his tone brooking no argument. “You’re not coming.”

“Joel—” You didn’t mean for it to sound so small, so pleading.

His head snapped toward you, his glare pinning you in place like a physical force. “No,” he repeated, harsher now, his voice a low growl that reverberated in the small space. “You said you’d do what I told you. You promised.”

Your lip trembled as you looked at him, your fear laid bare in a way you couldn’t hide. It wasn’t for yourself—you knew that. It was him. The idea of Joel walking down there alone, of you standing helpless while something happened to him—it gutted you. You couldn’t let that happen.

Joel saw it. Of course, he saw it. His eyes flickered to the whiteness of your knuckles around your weapon, to the way your chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, the tears brimming but refusing to fall. His jaw tightened, his shoulders coiled like a wire pulled too tight, but when he exhaled, it wasn’t anger that bled through. It was something quieter, rawer—something meant for you alone.

“Stay here,” he said again, but this time, his voice had gentled, as though he knew he was asking for too much. He paused, and then—just as you thought he might turn and leave—he stepped closer.

Before you could process it, his hands were on your face—broad and calloused, cradling you as though you were made of glass but still the only thing keeping him steady.

His thumbs hovered, the faintest pressure brushing your cheeks, anchoring you, grounding you. His presence overwhelmed everything, the lodge, the danger—it all faded away until there was only Joel.

“No matter what you hear,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with something so desperate, it made your stomach turn. “You do not come down. You hear me?”

His eyes bored into yours, dark and unyielding, as if he could carve the command straight into your soul. It wasn’t just a warning—it was an order, sharp and desperate.

You nodded, small and mechanical, because your throat was too tight to speak. Your eyes burned, blurring the lines of his face, but you couldn’t look away.

Joel didn’t move. His fingers stayed where they were, his palms warm against your skin, and his brow furrowed like he was trying to memorize you. Like some part of him was begging for more time. Then his thumb traced your cheek—so soft, so fleeting that it almost didn’t feel real.

His next words fell like a blow.

“If I don’t come back…” Joel hesitated, his voice breaking like he hated every syllable he was forcing himself to say. His grip on you tightened—barely, but enough to steady himself. “You take Winnie. You leave.”

“Joel—” you choked out, the crack in your voice making him flinch, but he didn’t let you finish.

“You leave,” he repeated, the word a command, a plea, everything in between.

“You get back to Jackson, and you don’t stop. You don’t look back.”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he wrestled with something unspoken. “You don’t wait for me.”

You shook your head, the tears finally spilling over, hot and silent as they ran down your cheeks. “Don’t talk like that,” you whispered, the words trembling out of you.

Joel’s jaw clenched, his eyes squeezing shut for the briefest moment like he couldn’t bear the weight of you breaking right in front of him.

“Promise me,” he rasped, his voice like gravel, his words breaking apart with the effort it took to say them. “Promise me you’ll go.”

Your chest ached, torn apart by the desperation in his voice, by the way he held you like you were the only thing left in the world. You couldn’t breathe past the tightness in your throat, but somehow, you found the words. Barely.

“I promise,” you whispered, the lie slicing through you like a blade.

Joel stilled, his gaze lingering on you—memorizing you, you realized—until you thought the weight of it might crush you. His eyes were dark, burning with everything he couldn’t say, everything he wouldn’t allow himself to feel. It was more than care. More than duty. It was him, all of him, tangled up in that look like a confession carved into silence.

He pulled back just enough to let you go, his hands dropping away with a slowness that made your heart seize. It felt wrong, like he’d taken something with him when he stepped back.

And then, without another word, he turned. His shoulders squared, his rifle steady, every step deliberate and heavy as he moved toward the basement door. He looked invincible, unshakable, a fortress built to protect—but you saw it. You saw the way his steps faltered, just slightly, right before he disappeared from view.

It was so small, so fleeting, but you caught it—the hesitation. The doubt.

And when he was gone, swallowed by the dark, you were left with nothing but the sound of your pulse pounding in your ears, the echo of his voice, and the truth you couldn’t ignore

You’d made him a promise.

But you already knew you’d break it.

─── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ───

You stood frozen, your weapon clutched so tightly your knuckles ached, staring at the empty space where Joel had been just moments ago. Your breath hitched as your chest caved inward, a frustrated whisper escaping you before you could stop it. “Fuck,” you murmured, wiping the tear that streaked down your cheek.

The silence that followed was suffocating—thick, heavy, pressing against your skin until you felt like it might crush you.

You strained to hear something—anything—beyond the shallow rhythm of your breathing. A voice, the creak of a floorboard, the sharp crack of a rifle.

But there was nothing.

You trusted him. God, you trusted him. Joel was the sharpest, most capable man you’d ever known, his movements precise, his instincts lethal. If anyone could handle this—three men, armed, their voices dripping with cruelty—it was him. But trust didn’t stop the fear.

Your mind spiraled, unbidden. Joel alone in that basement, the shadows creeping too close. Joel outnumbered, surrounded. The scarred man’s knife glinting in the flickering lantern light. Joel going down, because you—because you—

No. You shook your head sharply, forcing the thought back. Joel had told you to stay. Had made you promise. You clung to the memory of his hands on your face, his words—steady, pleading—cutting through the fear like a tether.

“Stay here.”

And then it began.

The first shot shattered the silence like glass, the sound so sharp it felt like it had punched straight through your chest. You sucked in a ragged breath, squeezing your eyes shut as your mind filled in the image: Joel, calm, unflinching, taking the first man out with lethal precision.

Then came the shouting, frantic and chaotic, movement as they realized they weren’t alone. The second shot cracked through the air, echoing with brutal finality, followed by the clang of metal hitting concrete. A rifle? A knife? You didn’t know. Another one down.

Joel was fast. He was sharp. He was—

But then the rhythm changed.

The sounds turned messier, louder. Boots scraping. A grunt—low, pained. The thud of bodies colliding, struggling. Your blood ran cold. Every nerve in your body tensed as you heard it: Joel’s voice. A noise that was undeniably him—guttural, strained, torn from somewhere deep.

Stay here. Joel’s voice echoed in your head, the quiet plea from earlier ringing like a hammer against your skull. You owed him this. He’d trusted you with this. You’d promised.

But that sound—his sound—kept replaying in your head, pulling tighter around your throat, suffocating you. Joel was down there. Fighting. Alone. And you were here. Frozen.

No. Your feet moved before your mind could catch up, instinct screaming louder than any promise you’d made.

You couldn’t. You wouldn’t stay here while he fought for his life. If something happened to him—if you let something happen to him—you wouldn’t survive it.

The old stairs creaked under your weight as you descended, slow at first, your boots deliberate against the wood. But then your pace quickened, reckless and raw, urgency pushing you faster than reason could hold you back. Each sound below sharpened with terrifying clarity as you drew closer: the crash of something breaking, the thud of heavy footsteps, the ragged cadence of Joel’s breathing.

When you reached the bottom of the stairs, you flattened yourself against the wall, your breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts. The cold concrete pressed hard against your back, grounding you even as your mind screamed at you to move, to act. Slowly, you edged around the corner, just enough to see—and the sight that met you stopped your heart cold.

Joel was locked in a brutal, desperate struggle with Tom, the leader. The raider’s knife gleamed wickedly in the dim lantern light, a wicked arc of steel that seemed to catch the room’s shadows and pull them with it. Tom lunged, his aim sharp and merciless, the blade slicing toward Joel’s ribs. Joel twisted at the last second, his hand snapping out like a vice to clamp around Tom’s wrist, halting the strike before it could land.

The two of them slammed into the wall with a thud that reverberated through the basement, bodies straining, muscles coiled like springs ready to snap. Joel deflected the knife again, his forearm cracking hard against Tom’s, the impact loud and jarring. But Tom was quick—too quick—and he broke free with a snarl, his lip curled into something vicious and ugly.

“Come on, old man,” Tom taunted, his voice drenched in mockery, his grin sharp and mean. “What’s the matter? Can’t keep up?”

Joel didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

His focus was absolute, his movements deliberate, honed by years of surviving men just like this. But you could see the wear creeping in—the slight falter in his step, the way his breath came shorter, sharper. The next swing of the knife was too quick, too cruel. It slashed across Joel’s side, the tear of fabric punctuated by a sickening bloom of red that spread dark and fast against his jacket.

Your breath caught in your throat, the sound choked and ragged as you saw him stumble back a step. Joel grunted, the pain flashing across his face before he swallowed it down, straightening with that same unrelenting resolve. But the blood—his blood—dripping onto the floor sent a bolt of panic through you, sharp enough to shatter any instinct to stay hidden.

“Joel!” The word tore from your lips, loud and unrestrained, a burst of desperation you couldn’t hold back.

Joel’s head snapped toward you, his eyes widening in shock—“No!” he barked, his voice hoarse—but the warning came too late.

Tom’s grin twisted into something crueler, something darker, as his gaze swung to you. “Well, look at this,” he sneered, his knife glinting as he straightened. “Didn’t know you brought a partner. Real sweet.”

He moved fast—too fast. Before you could blink, he was closing the distance, the blade flashing as he lunged. You fired, the crack of the shot splitting the air like a whip, but it was too close, too rushed. The bullet skidded off the concrete near his feet, sending up a burst of dust but leaving him unharmed.

“Too slow,” Tom hissed, and then the knife was slashing toward you.

Pain ripped through you, hot and searing as the blade bit into your thigh. You gasped, stumbling back, your vision blurring slightly at the edges.

But you didn’t let go. Your grip on your rifle tightened, and with every ounce of strength you had left, you swung it hard. The butt of the weapon crashed into his shoulder with a dull, heavy thud, the force of it making him stagger to the side.

But he recovered too quickly, his movements fueled by something feral and unrelenting. His eyes found yours again, narrowed with ruthless intent. He came at you once more, his steps predatory, the knife gleaming red.

You didn’t hesitate this time.

You steadied your breath, your hands trembling but sure as you raised the rifle again. Time slowed as you lined up the shot, Joel’s warning, the chaos, the fear—all of it fading into the steady pull of your finger on the trigger.

The shot rang out, louder than thunder in the small space, and Tom jerked back, the force of it ripping through him. The knife slipped from his fingers, clattering uselessly to the floor as his body crumpled. His eyes were still open, vacant and unseeing, as he slumped against the concrete.

The silence that followed was deafening.

─── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ───

Silence stretched thin, broken only by the ragged, uneven gasps tearing from your chest, the weapon still trembling in your hands. The sharp sting of the cut on your thigh barely registered, drowned out by the aftershocks of adrenaline flooding your veins. You sank against the wall, its cold, unyielding surface pressing into your back like an anchor, keeping you upright when your body felt like it might fall apart.

Across the room, Joel cursed—a low, guttural sound, tight with pain and something darker. When he moved, his steps were heavy, deliberate, like he was holding himself back, like he didn’t trust himself to close the distance without breaking something.

When he finally stopped in front of you, the air itself seemed to coil tighter, pressing down on your chest until it was impossible to breathe.

You looked up, your stomach twisting as his dark eyes locked onto yours. The weight of his gaze hit you like a physical blow, heavy and unrelenting, and you couldn’t stop the small flinch that followed.

“What did I tell you?” he bit out, his voice rough, his chest rising and falling as though he couldn’t quite catch his breath. “What did I make you promise me?”

Your back hit the wall as he stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. “Joel—”

“No,” he snapped, cutting you off. His palm slammed against the wall behind you, the sharp crack ringing out and making you flinch. “You don’t get to talk right now.”

The anger in his voice was volcanic, but there was something else beneath it—a crack, a tremor, something raw that made it hit twice as hard. He bent down so he was eye-level, his face inches from yours. His jaw was clenched so tight it looked like it might break, his dark eyes burning into yours with an intensity that sent a chill down your spine.

“You promised me,” he ground out, his voice shaking now. “I said don’t come down here. I said no matter what you heard—no matter what, you stay put.” His voice cracked on the last word, his brow furrowing like it was taking everything in him not to lose control. “Why is that so goddamn hard for you to understand?""

Your jaw tightened, the tears that had been burning in your eyes threatening to spill over. The knot of fear and frustration that had been choking you since this all started finally snapped, the words tearing out of you before you could stop them. “Joel, he would’ve killed you!”

“I don’t care!” Joel roared, the sound like thunder in the small, suffocating room, shaking the air between you. His voice wasn’t just loud—it was broken, raw, splintered with something too jagged to contain.

The sheer force of it made you flinch, but not because it scared you. It was what you heard in it—his anguish, his desperation, all of it bleeding through the cracks of his resolve. His chest rose and fell in uneven bursts, his breaths ragged and hard, like the words had been ripped from someplace deep and untouchable. “Do you hear me? I don’t care!”

“Well, I care!” you screamed back, your voice cracking under the weight of it all as the tears finally spilled free, hot and relentless. The floodgates had opened, and there was no stopping what poured out now, no holding back what had clawed its way to the surface.

“I care, Joel! You think no one does? You think no one gives a damn what happens to you? I fucking care!”

The last words hit like a gunshot, reverberating through the space, leaving the air thick and choking.

Joel stilled, like you’d physically struck him, his shoulders sagging beneath the weight of what you’d said. The fire in his eyes dimmed—just a little—but something else flickered there, something darker and heavier. Guilt. Regret. Maybe even shame.

His hands flexed at his sides, restless and uncertain, like he didn’t know what to do with the emotions you’d unleashed in him. His lips parted slightly, like he was searching for something to say, something to give back to you, but nothing came. His face softened in the slightest way, his fury tempered by the truth you’d thrown at him, but it was still too raw—you were still too raw—for either of you to move past it.

The silence between you pulsed like a heartbeat, heavy and unrelenting, until you swallowed hard, forcing down the sob lodged in your throat. Your voice trembled but carried a quiet, cutting edge as you pressed on. “And you—you—promised me.”

Before he could stop you—before you could stop yourself—you reached for him, your fingers curling around the edge of his coat. “You promised me nothing would happen to you,” you said, quieter now but no less fierce, no less shattering.

The torn fabric gave way easily as you pushed it aside, revealing the steady seep of blood from the shallow cut along his side. Your hands trembled as you let the coat drop, the image of the blood burned into you.

“So let’s just call it even,” you said finally, your voice small but heavy with the kind of exhaustion that only came after fear. You sank back against the wall, your head falling back to rest against the rough wood as you squeezed your eyes shut, like shutting out the world might hold you together for just a moment longer.

Joel’s gaze flicked down to the blood staining your jeans, the dark patch spreading too quickly for his liking. His jaw tightened, a muscle twitching in his cheek, and he let out a sharp, uneven breath through his nose—like he was trying to hold something back, something he didn’t trust himself to let out.

His hands hovered near your thigh, close but not quite touching, his fingers twitching at his sides. They curled and uncurled, restless and aching, as if he were caught in some invisible war with himself.

“You’re hurt,” he said finally, his voice low and hoarse, quieter now, like speaking it out loud might make the wound worse. He wasn’t looking at you—he was staring at the blood, his expression so tight it looked painful.

“I didn’t want you to get hurt.” The last part was barely above a whisper, more to himself than to you, as though he couldn’t reconcile it—like the fact that you were bleeding was something he couldn’t forgive.

“It’s just a graze,” you replied quickly, your tone sharper than you intended. It wasn’t just dismissive—it was defensive, a knee-jerk reaction to the way he was looking at you. Like the blood on your leg was his fault, like it was a wound he’d put there himself. “Joel, I’m fine. I’ve had worse.”

But Joel didn’t look fine.

His dark eyes stayed locked on the stain spreading across your jeans, heavy and unrelenting, as though he couldn’t look away. It wasn’t anger in his gaze now—it was something else. Guilt.

“That don’t matter,” he muttered, his voice low, gruff, but you could hear it—feel it—just beneath the surface. He wasn’t angry at you. He was blaming himself. “It don’t matter if it’s a graze or worse. I shouldn’t’ve let it happen.”

Joel crouched, pulling his knife free and slicing through the hem of his shirt without hesitation. “Hold still,” he said, pressing the clean fabric to your leg, his hands firm but careful.

He wrapped the strip tightly around the wound, securing it with a knot. His fingers lingered briefly, checking the tension before he leaned back, his sharp eyes scanning your leg.

“This’ll hold for now,” he murmured, quieter this time. “We’re goin’ to the safe house,” his voice dropping into that tone that left no room for argument. Commanding, but not unkind.

You tried to push yourself upright, to stand on your own, but your legs betrayed you, shaky from adrenaline and exhaustion. Joel was there immediately, his arms slipping around you with the kind of ease that made you think he hadn’t even considered letting you fall. One arm looped around your waist, steady and unyielding, while his other hand hovered near your shoulder, ready to catch you if you wavered.

“Easy,” Joel murmured, his voice softer now, though the crease between his brows stayed etched deep, carved by worry so heavy it made your chest tighten.

You let your eyes drift around the room then, your breath hitching as the scene unfolded in jagged snapshots: the lifeless bodies, the chaos Joel had waded through alone. Your heart clenched, a surge of guilt and helplessness rising in your throat.

“Don’t look,” he said, his voice a quiet command, his tone gruff but layered with something protective. It wasn’t just the violence he was shielding you from—it was the truth of it all, the weight of what survival demanded.

Your knees wavered, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned into him—more than you wanted to, more than you meant to. But Joel didn’t stiffen, didn’t flinch. You turned to him, burying your face against his shoulder, your sobs spilling out in jagged waves you couldn’t control.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. I’m right here,” Joel murmured, his voice rough but low, steady, the kind of sound that wrapped around you like a shield. His hand slid up to the back of your head, his fingers threading gently through your hair, grounding you with every careful touch.

You pulled back reluctantly, tears streaking your cheeks, your chest tight with the vulnerability you hated showing. You looked up at him, your eyes red and swollen, voice breaking as you asked, “Are you mad at me?”

Joel froze. It was barely a second—a hesitation so fleeting you might’ve missed it if you weren’t watching so closely. But his hands betrayed him, his grip on you tightening just a fraction, grounding himself as much as you. He didn’t answer immediately, his jaw working, chest rising and falling with an uneven rhythm. The question had shaken him; you could see it in the way his eyes flickered away for just a moment, like he needed time to collect himself.

“You’re mad,” you said again, your voice trembling, words spilling out unbidden, raw and unsteady. “Aren’t you?”

That pulled his gaze back to yours. His eyes—sharp, searching—locked onto you, and you braced for it. The anger. The storm. The hard words that would push you away.

But they didn’t come.

“No,” he said, his voice low and rough. “I ain’t mad at you.” The words hung in the air, weighted with a sincerity that made your heart squeeze. He hesitated again, his thumb brushing the edge of your jacket, the touch so light you weren’t sure it was real. “Could never be mad at you.”

Joel’s hand lingered a moment longer, his fingers twitching like he might reach up, like he might cup your face and hold you still, make you look at him, make you understand. But instead, he pulled back, his hand curling briefly into a fist at his side, as if he had to physically stop himself from touching you.

Joel nodded once, a sharp, subtle motion, like he was giving himself permission to believe you.

With a quiet sigh, Joel shifted, pulling you closer against his side, his movements gentle but decisive as he helped you toward the stairs.

You let him, your body too tired and your heart too heavy to argue.

─── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ───

The ride to the safe house was quiet, the kind of quiet that felt heavy—thick with all the words neither of you could bring yourselves to say. The rhythmic crunch of hooves against the dirt road was the only sound that filled the space between you, broken only by the occasional rustle of wind through the trees.

Every few minutes, Joel glanced back over his shoulder, his brow furrowed deep, his expression hard to read but unmistakably Joel. Protective. Unrelenting.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. “Joel, you’re gonna break your damn neck,” you called out, your voice cutting through the stillness, sharp enough to make him slow.

“Ride beside me,” he said, his voice gruff but steady. It was a command, sure, but you heard the care threaded beneath it.

You sighed, nudging Winnie forward until you were riding alongside him. Joel’s horse matched your pace easily, the two of you falling into a quiet rhythm together. He didn’t say anything right away, but his eyes drifted over you again, scanning you from head to toe with that maddening focus of his—like he was trying to convince himself you were still in one piece, like he could find a hidden injury just by looking hard enough.

“How’s your leg?” Joel asked after a long beat, his voice softer this time, the edge of his usual gruffness dulled by something heavier—something tender.

“Fine,” you replied quickly, maybe too quickly. You sat straighter in the saddle, biting back the wince that wanted to pull at your features. The throbbing beneath the bandage hadn’t eased, but you weren’t about to let him see it.

Joel’s jaw worked tight, his fingers flexing briefly around the reins, knuckles pale. He didn’t look convinced, though he held himself back, his voice dipping low as he muttered, “Should’ve stayed put.” The words came out soft, almost defeated, like he was speaking more to himself than to you. “You didn’t need to come down there.”

“Joel,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the quiet. “Are we really gonna do this again?”

The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy with the weight of unspoken things. His eyes lingered on yours, then followed your gaze as it drifted to the dark stain where his blood had seeped into the fabric of his jacket.

“I’m fine,” he said when he caught you looking. The words were clipped, dismissive, like brushing it off might make it disappear entirely.

“Sure,” you replied, raising a brow, the disbelief clear in your voice. “You’re bleeding, but you’re fine.”

Joel let out a quiet sound, somewhere between a sigh and a growl, frustration mingled with something else—resignation, maybe.

“I’ve had worse,” he muttered.

“So have I,” you said quietly, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

─── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ───

The safe house was as bleak as you expected: four walls, a fireplace barely clinging to life, and a draft that made your skin prickle.

It didn’t matter. It was shelter. It would keep you alive tonight.

Joel gritted his teeth as he shrugged off his jacket, tossing it over the back of a wobbly chair. His rifle clattered softly onto the worn table nearby, within arm’s reach, always within reach.

The room seemed smaller with him in it, his broad frame commanding the space even as he knelt by the fireplace. You could hear the low rumble of his voice—soft, agitated muttering—lost beneath the crackle of kindling catching flame.

You sank onto the faded couch, its springs groaning beneath you as your body gave way to exhaustion. The pull of sleep was strong, the ache in your leg reduced to a dull throb—manageable, but not forgotten.

You let your head tilt back against the threadbare cushions, your eyes slipping closed for what felt like the first time in hours. The warmth of the fire began to spread, chasing the cold from the air and unraveling some of the tension from your limbs.

“Let me see that leg.”

You blinked, the haze of near-sleep lifting as you tilted your head toward him. He was standing there, bottle of alcohol in one hand, a roll of bandages in the other.

“It’s fine,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

He lowered himself onto the couch beside you, a groan escaping him as he set the supplies on the dusty coffee table with a deliberate thud, the sound cutting through the silence. He didn’t look at you, his attention fixed on unrolling the bandages, his movements methodical.

“Didn’t ask if it was fine,” he muttered.

His hands were steady and deliberate as he reached for your leg, lifting it with a care that felt almost out of place against his usual rough exterior. He settled it across his lap, his touch firm but gentle.

Joel didn’t say anything as he began peeling back the bloodied makeshift bandage he'd tied earlier. The fabric clung stubbornly to the dried blood, and when the wound was finally revealed, he let out a low, rough sound in the back of his throat—a noise caught somewhere between relief and disapproval.

“Could’ve been worse,” he muttered, shaking his head, his fingers hovering near the edge of the gash but never quite touching. His voice dropped lower, as though he were speaking more to himself. “You’re lucky it wasn’t worse.”

“It’s not a big deal,” you said softly, your voice catching as you tried to wave him off.

“Don’t.” His voice was low, rough, but not unkind. “Don’t act like this ain’t a big deal.”

Joel shifted, pouring alcohol onto a scrap of cloth, and the sharp scent of it filled the small room. When he pressed it to your leg, the sting came quick, searing and unforgiving. You sucked in a breath through your teeth, your fingers curling tightly into the worn fabric of the couch.

“Shit,” you hissed, the curse slipping out before you could stop it.

“Easy,” Joel muttered, his voice dipping softer, gentler now in a way that made something catch in your chest. “I know it stings. Just—” He paused, his hands steadying your leg, his thumb brushing absently against your skin. “Just stay still. I’ve got it.”

It was such a small thing—his touch. Thoughtless and unintentional, but it lingered, warm against the ache spreading through you, grounding you in a way that made your breath hitch. Joel didn’t notice; he was too focused, his brow furrowed with that familiar look of concentration, like the world could burn down around him and he’d still finish what he started. But that only made it worse. Or maybe it made it better. You weren’t sure which.

“You don’t have to fuss, Joel,” you said finally.

“Yeah, I do,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “S’my job.”

“Your job?” you echoed, raising a brow in faint disbelief. “Don’t remember signing a contract for that.”

That earned you a huff from Joel—a sound that might’ve been a laugh if it wasn’t buried beneath layers of frustration and weariness.

He shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching, just barely. “You’re a fuckin' smart-ass,” he muttered, the words gruff but not unkind, and there was something almost fond threaded through the irritation, like he couldn’t help himself.

Joel’s hands slowed as he secured the bandage, his touch careful, deliberate, but heavy with exhaustion. When he finished, he leaned back with a quiet sigh, the sound deep and tired, like it carried the weight of more than just today.

He didn’t move your leg from where it rested across his lap. He didn’t push you away. So you left it there. His thumb traced slow, absent-minded patterns against the fabric of your jeans, like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

“Even though you didn’t listen to me…” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly, trailing off into a sigh. His hand scrubbed over his face, and when he dropped it, the lines of his features seemed deeper, etched with something too raw to name. “Never fuckin’ listen,” he added under his breath, but the edge in his tone was missing.

He turned his head to look at you then, “You did good back there,” he said, “Real good.”

Your throat tightened, and you dropped your gaze, your hands fumbling aimlessly at the hem of your shirt. “That was…” you started, but the words faltered, catching in your throat before you could finish.

“What?” Joel asked, his voice soft but firm, laced with that quiet insistence of his—the one that made it impossible to hide. His brow furrowed as he studied you, his sharp gaze narrowing like he could see right through you. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” you lied, the words slipping out too quickly, too softly to sound convincing. You didn’t dare meet his eyes, instead leaning forward, focusing on the task at hand.

Your fingers busied themselves with his jacket, brushing aside the torn fabric and smudges of dried blood as you dabbed gently at the wound. The quiet scrape of the cloth against his skin filled the silence, and you hoped—foolishly—that the distraction might be enough to make him drop it. But the weight of his gaze lingered, steady and unyielding, like he could see right through you.

It wasn’t.

“Hey.” Joel’s voice broke through the silence, low and steady, the sound grounding in a way that made your heart stutter. His hands moved to your wrist, his grip firm but careful, stilling your movements with the gentlest pressure.

The warmth of his skin against yours made your breath catch, and you froze, your eyes locked on where his fingers wrapped around your own. He didn’t let go. He didn’t move. “Look at me,” he said softly.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, his voice impossibly gentle.

“That was really fucking scary,” you whispered, barely able to force the admission past your lips.

Your eyes dropped immediately, your hands twisting nervously in your lap as you added, quieter still, “I thought… I thought I was going to lose you.”

You braced yourself for the gruff dismissal that always seemed to follow moments like this—Joel waving off fear like it wasn’t worth the air it took to name it. But instead, he stayed quiet, so quiet you thought for a moment he hadn’t heard you.

“Yeah,” Joel said softly, “It was scary.”

Your head snapped up at the admission, your breath catching in your chest. You weren’t sure what you’d expected—an argument, a dismissal, maybe even some clipped comment about how it was all fine now. But there was none of that. Joel’s expression was open in a way that made your heart ache, his eyes softer than you’d ever seen, the firelight painting the lines of his face with hues of gold and shadow.

He dragged a hand slowly over his face, the gesture weighted, as if trying to erase the tension coiling in his jaw. When he finally spoke again, it was quieter, rougher. “Ain’t no shame in bein’ scared.” He paused, his gaze flickering to yours, dark and steady, like he was trying to hold you there with just his eyes. “That kinda thing…” His voice dipped lower, softer, as if the admission was meant just for you. “It should scare you.”

You nodded faintly, unable to form words, though your lips parted like you wanted to say something—anything. But Joel wasn’t done.

“You scared the hell outta me,” he said, the bluntness of it landing like a blow. It was unpolished, unfiltered, and so distinctly him that it made your throat tighten. He shook his head, his mouth twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smile—more of a grimace. “When I saw your dumb ass comin’ down those stairs…”

You let out a shaky laugh—small, unsteady, but real. “My dumb ass?” you repeated, the words trembling on the edge of humor but not quite making it there. “That’s how you’re gonna put it?”

“Seriously,” he murmured, and the laughter fell away completely. . “You scared me.”

The words hit harder the second time, because you could hear everything he wasn’t saying in the way his voice cracked, just barely, on the last syllable. And when you looked at him, really looked at him, you saw it—the exhaustion, the vulnerability, the unspoken weight of how close you’d come to losing each other. It wasn’t just his usual guardedness—it was fear. Real, bone-deep fear.

“I’m not scared for myself,” Joel admitted, his voice so low it was almost a whisper. His hands curled into loose fists, his knuckles pale, like he needed to hold on to something solid just to say it out loud. “I’m scared for you.”

Your breath hitched, the confession sinking into you like a stone. “Scared one day I won’t be there,” he continued, his voice rougher now, like the words were being dragged out of him. “Or I’ll be too slow. Or someone’ll slip past my bad ear.”

“And as much as I’m still pissed off that you didn’t listen to me…” he started, the gruff edge of his voice undercut by the quiet, worn-out softness beneath it.

“…you saved my life back there.”

“Joel—” you whispered, your voice cracking, but he shook his head, cutting you off with a small, quiet movement.

“No,” he said softly, his voice low and rough but impossibly steady. “Don’t.” He swallowed, his jaw clenching faintly before he spoke again. “Not right now.”

His gaze stayed on you, unwavering, searching, like he was trying to commit you to memory, as if even blinking might make you disappear.

“You scared the hell outta me,” he murmured, his tone dropping even lower, the rasp of it pulling at something deep inside you. “You don’t even know.”

Joel wasn’t a man who admitted his fear. He buried it, pushed it down, locked it away behind walls of steel and silence. But right now, he wasn’t hiding anything. Not from you. Not in this moment.

Joel didn’t move, didn’t speak, and for a long moment, the world outside the safe house ceased to exist. There was no fire crackling softly behind him, no distant wind howling against the windows—there was only him, his hand on your leg, his eyes on yours, and the quiet, unspoken truth settling between you like a promise.

The tension was too much—thick and heavy, pulling at your resolve until a teasing grin tugged at your lips, breaking the silence like a spark cutting through the dark. “So,” you started, “since I saved your life, you kinda owe me, huh?”

Joel’s lips twitched, and for a moment, you thought he might brush it off, might retreat behind that stoic wall he wore like armor. But then it happened—a soft chuckle, low and warm, rolling through the room like a balm against the weight lingering between you. He shook his head faintly, his hand still resting on your leg as he squeezed it slightly. “That so?” he drawled, his voice rough around the edges, but tinged with something lighter, softer.

You nodded, settling back against the couch with mock seriousness, exaggerating the lift of your chin as you pressed on. “Mm-hmm. Now you’ve gotta do whatever I ask,” you said, letting the teasing lilt in your voice linger just a little longer than necessary. “You know, since I saved your life and all.”

Joel huffed softly, shaking his head again, but there it was—the faintest tug at the corner of his mouth, a shadow of a grin. It was barely there, so fleeting you almost missed it, but it made something flutter low in your chest all the same. When his dark eyes flicked up to meet yours, the firelight catching just enough to make them gleam, the teasing warmth you’d tried to ignite wavered. His gaze softened, though it didn’t lose its intensity, and you felt yourself sink under it, your breath hitching without permission.

“Thing is,” Joel said finally, his voice dipping low—low enough to send heat curling through your ribs, low enough that it felt like a secret meant just for you—“I’d already do whatever you asked.”

The words landed like a fist to your chest, knocking the air clean out of you. Your teasing smile faltered, disappearing entirely as the meaning of what he’d just said settled in. He wasn’t joking. He wasn’t playing along. He meant it.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he murmured, the words barely more than a breath, like they’d escaped before he could stop them. He shook his head, his voice low and rough, cutting through the quiet with the sharp precision of a blade.

Before you could respond, Joel exhaled hard, the sound tight, his chest lifting as if the next words were being torn from somewhere deep inside him.

“I’d die for you.”

The words sat there, heavy and unshakable, like they couldn’t be taken back. Joel wasn’t flippant—he never was—but this? This was something else entirely. It wasn’t said for comfort, wasn’t offered as reassurance. It was fact. Truth. Something that lived in him, unspoken until now, but so deeply woven into who he was that you couldn’t tear it out if you tried.

Your breath left you, a shaky exhale as you stared at him, unmoored and speechless. Your throat felt tight, the weight of his confession pressing against your chest until it ached.

Joel watched you, his dark eyes softening, as though he could see the effect of what he’d said written plain as day on your face. The flicker of vulnerability in his expression knocked you off balance all over again—like he wasn’t just offering the truth but handing it to you, placing it in your trembling hands, hoping you wouldn’t drop it.

Joel straightened slightly, breaking just enough of the tension to let you breathe. His gaze dropped to the floor as he gently moved your leg from his lap and stood, his movements slow and deliberate.

“Alright,” he said, the word clipped, as if he’d said too much, come too close to showing what he really felt. His tone dipped back into practicality, trying to mask the faint, unsteady edge that lingered, betraying him.

“You need rest,” he added, his voice quieter but firm. “I’ll take watch. We leave first thing.”

You frowned faintly, the heaviness still wrapped around you like a second skin. “You’re tired,” you said softly, trying to thread some sense of concern through the tension. Your voice barely rose above a whisper, like the fire’s quiet crackle might drown it out. “You need sleep too, Joel. I’ll take watch.”

He was already shaking his head, firm and unyielding, before you’d finished speaking. “No,” he said, the word final, resolute in a way that told you arguing was pointless.

“Sleep,” he murmured, the word gentler this time, almost like a plea.

“I need you to rest.”

─── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ───

The next day, you stayed home, cocooned in your little room. Normally, on your days off, you’d wander around Jackson, soak in the closest thing to normal life you might ever get again—listen to the kids laughing on the street, visit the stables, maybe stop by the tipsy bison and sit in the comforting buzz of other people’s voices. But after your yesterday, the thought of stepping outside felt overwhelming.

The weight of what could’ve gone wrong sat heavy in your chest. One misstep, one second slower, and Joel might not be here. You might not be here. That thought had rooted itself somewhere deep, growing heavier with every passing hour until it felt impossible to leave the bed.

So you didn’t. The hours passed in a haze of restless sleep, your aching muscles sinking deeper into the mattress every time you tried to drift off.

It wasn’t until a sharp, abrupt knock at your door broke through the fog that you stirred, groaning softly as you forced yourself to sit up.

You shuffled around the room, pulling on a pair of pants and the cleanest top you could find before dragging your hair back into something that vaguely resembled order. Anything to look a little less like you’d spent the day wallowing.

“Coming,” you muttered, your voice hoarse as you padded toward the door. You caught a glance at the clock in the hallway. 7:30 p.m. What the hell?

When you opened the door, you blinked in surprise. Joel stood there, his broad frame filling, he was holding a neat pile of firewood, the lines of his face unreadable as ever but his presence unmistakable, grounding.

“Joel?” you said, your voice caught somewhere between confusion and something you didn’t want to name. “What are you doing here?”

Joel tilted his head toward the firewood. “Brought you some extra,” he said simply, his tone casual, like he’d just happened to pass by. Then his eyes flicked back to you, lingering a beat too long as they swept over you, taking in the slump of your shoulders, the faint tiredness in your face. “Was gonna leave it, but…” He shifted slightly, his boots scuffing against the wood floor. “Figured I’d check up on ya.”

You forced a small smile, hugging your arms around yourself as you leaned against the doorframe. “That’s… sweet. I’m fine, Joel. Just tired, I guess.”

He nodded once, though his expression stayed skeptical, like he wasn’t quite convinced. “You eat yet?” he asked abruptly, his tone clipped but not unkind.

You blinked, thrown off by the question. “No,” you admitted, maybe too quickly.

Joel’s frown deepened, his eyes narrowing just slightly. “You plannin’ on it, or just gonna starve?”

“Joel,” you groaned, exasperated, but before you could finish, he was already stepping inside, brushing past you and heading straight for the kitchen.

“Hey!” you called after him, your voice rising in disbelief as you turned to follow. “What are you doing?”

“Making dinner,” he muttered, the words gruff and final, like they left no room for argument. He rolled up his sleeves as he opened one of your cabinets, pulling out pots and pans with an ease that suggested he’d done it a hundred times before.

“Why?” you asked, baffled, hovering uselessly near the door as you watched him root around your kitchen.

Joel paused, his hand braced on the counter, turning just enough to glance at you over his shoulder. His gaze was sharp, a little too knowing, and it pinned you in place. “Because you don’t eat,” he said plainly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Then, quieter, with a subtle edge of irritation he didn’t bother masking, “And you wonder why you’re tired all the time.”

He turned back to the counter, resuming his task, but not before adding, almost as an afterthought, “And I promised you yesterday I’d make you dinner.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the bluntness. “Fine,” you said, your tone clipped as you turned toward the stairs. “I’m going to go shower.”

But as you reached the bottom step, an idea sprung to mind, and before you could think twice, the words tumbled out. “Can you make pancakes?” you blurted, your grin already forming.

Joel’s brows lifted, his expression somewhere between exasperation and disbelief. “Pancakes? For dinner?”

“Yeah,” you said, unfazed, the prospect of pancakes more exciting than his skepticism. You didn’t catch the way his eyes darted toward the pantry or how he muttered under his breath, “Baby, I don’t think you even got the stuff for pancakes.”

“What?” you called, already halfway up the stairs, a skip in your step like you’d already decided it was happening.

Joel shook his head, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “God help me” as he crossed to the fridge, pulling it open with a sigh. You could almost hear him grumbling, counting the odds that there’d be eggs or flour or anything remotely pancake-adjacent in your kitchen.

From the landing, you glanced down, catching the faint clink of bowls being moved around, the shuffle of Joel’s boots against the floor. “So?” you called, leaning over the railing with a teasing lilt in your voice. “What d’ya say?”

He didn’t look up, but you could hear the smirk in his reply. “Go shower. You’re stalling.”

You sighed dramatically, “Fine,” you said, gesturing vaguely toward the kitchen. “You… figure it out or whatever.”

Joel chuckled low, the sound curling warm in the space between you. “Go on,” he said, flicking his wrist to shoo you off, his voice laced with that familiar gruffness that somehow always felt like home. “Ain’t gonna burn the place down.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at your lips as you turned away. His voice followed you upstairs, the faint sounds of the kitchen already coming alive—clattering pots, the scrape of a knife on a cutting board, all as if he belonged there.

And maybe he did.

─── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ───

The bathroom was a quiet refuge, the steady rush of the shower drowning out the noise in your head. You tilted your face up to the water, letting it pour through your hair, down your back, washing away the ache in your muscles and the lingering tension you hadn’t been able to shake.

By the time you’d dried off and tugged on an old sweatshirt and soft, worn sweats, the scents drifting from the kitchen had completely chased away the last of the day’s haze.

Padding downstairs, you were greeted by the faint clink of a spoon against a pot, Joel standing with his back to you at the counter. His sleeves were pushed up, his broad shoulders hunched slightly as he worked—familiar, steady, like he’d done this a thousand times.

“Smells good,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the quiet as you pulled out a chair at the table.

Joel turned slightly, his gaze flicking over you—first the clothes, then the damp strands of hair sticking to your cheeks. His lips twitched in something that wasn’t quite a smile, but it softened him all the same. He didn’t say anything at first, just picked up a steaming dish and set it in front of you.

“Eat,” he said simply, like it wasn’t up for debate.

You smiled despite yourself, your lips quirking up as you reached for your spoon. “Yes, sir,” you teased, a playful lilt in your voice as you tilted your head, your eyes flicking to the plate. The corners of your mouth tugged higher as you raised an amused brow. “This doesn’t look like pancakes.”

Joel scoffed, his brow raising just enough to make the gesture feel pointed. “If you’re gonna complain, I can take it back,” he said, his hand moving to grab your plate with mock seriousness.

“Hey!” you yelped, smacking his hand lightly, your grin widening despite the way you tried to keep it in check. “I’m joking, geez. Don’t you dare.”

Satisfied, Joel settled back into his chair, his own plate sat untouched in front of him, but his focus wasn’t on the food. His gaze lingered, steady and intent, watching you as you took another bite.

“You’re like…” You paused, swallowing down a bite before gesturing vaguely at your plate. “The stew king.”

Joel’s spoon froze midair, his brows knitting together as he shot you a skeptical look. “What now?”

You grinned, shrugging one shoulder like it was obvious. “The stew king. This is the best stew I’ve had since—well, probably forever. Better than the shit they serve in the dining hall, that’s for damn sure.”

Joel let out a low, exasperated huff, shaking his head. “Didn’t know I was competin’.”

“You’re not,” you said, all matter-of-fact as you shoveled another bite into your mouth. “It’s an uncontested victory.”

He muttered something under his breath that you couldn’t quite catch, but you heard the word ridiculous and couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up from your chest.

Joel stilled. He didn’t look at you—not at first. His hand tightened around his spoon for just a moment, like he was trying to keep himself steady. But then you saw it: the corners of his mouth twitched, a small, quiet smile breaking through despite his best efforts to hide it.

He ducked his head, pretending to focus on his plate, but you didn’t miss the way his shoulders eased, the way his usual guarded edges softened just a little.

─── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ───

After dinner, you settled on the living room floor, the cool wood grounding you as you leaned back against the edge of the couch. You thought he might leave after dinner, but he didn’t, and that spoke louder than anything he could’ve said. A glass of whiskey sat in your hands, the amber liquid catching the flicker of the fire Joel had just lit.

He sank onto the couch above you with a low groan, the kind of sound that came from tired muscles and too many years spent carrying the weight of the world. Without a word, you passed him his glass, your fingers brushing his as he took it.

Joel nodded in thanks, his grip firm on the glass.

“You full?” he asked after a moment, leaning back into the worn cushions with a sigh, his eyes half-lidded and fixed on the flames licking up from the hearth.

“Stuffed,” you replied, satisfaction curling your lips into a small smile.

“Good.” His voice was low, almost content, a deep hum that vibrated through the quiet. “So… pancakes, huh?”

You turned your head to look at him, caught off guard. A small smile tugged at your lips. “They used to be your favorite or something?” he asked, his tone lighter than usual, almost teasing.

“One of my favorites,” you admitted, resting your glass on the floor beside you. “Pancakes, sushi, pizza—oh, my God, pizza. I miss pizza.”

A low chuckle escaped him, rough but genuine, and the sound caught you by surprise. “You’re easy to please, huh?”

“What was your favorite food?” you countered, curious now, leaning in just slightly.

Joel shrugged, the movement casual but somehow carrying a weight you couldn’t quite name. “Didn’t really have one.”

“Jesus, Joel,” you scoffed, fully turning to face him, an incredulous smile breaking across your face. “Surely there was something.”

He paused, his eyes distant, lingering somewhere in a memory you couldn’t see. “Maybe…” A faint smile curved his lips, faint enough you almost missed it. “Barbecue. Tommy used to drag me to some hole-in-the-wall joint. Meat so good it’d fall off the bone.”

You smiled softly. “That sounds good.”

“It was,” he said, a note of nostalgia creeping into his voice. His expression softened, his gaze warming, but behind it was something heavier, a shadow of loss that never quite left him. “I remember Sarah…”

You froze. He’d mentioned her only once before, and even then, it had felt like he was handing you something delicate, something fragile and sacred. Hearing her name now felt the same—a glimpse into a part of him he kept locked away.

“I remember Sarah,” he repeated, quieter this time. “Tommy and I’d go, and she’d…” He paused, his lips twitching with a faint, bittersweet smile. “She’d have sauce all over her face. Every damn time. Couldn’t eat a rib without wearin’ half of it.”

A smile tugged at your lips, though your chest felt tight. “Sounds like she had good taste.”

“She did,” Joel said, his voice steadier now, though his eyes glimmered with something the firelight couldn’t explain. “Always wanted the biggest plate. Thought she could finish it all.” He shook his head, the smile lingering but faint. “Never could.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you said nothing, letting the moment hang between you. It wasn’t a silence that demanded words; it felt sacred, like it would break if you spoke too soon.

Joel glanced at you then, his gaze meeting yours with a flicker of vulnerability you hadn’t expected. “She’d have liked you,” he murmured, so quiet it was almost lost in the crackle of the fire.

The most cherished person in Joel’s life, and he believed she would’ve liked you—it was a thought that wrapped around you, warm and profound, settling in a place you didn’t even realize needed it.

“I think I would have liked her too,” you offered, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Joel nodded, his expression softening in a way that made your chest ache, before you turned back to the fire, letting its flickering warmth fill the quiet that lingered between you.

You sipped your whiskey, the burn familiar, grounding, as the silence stretched between you. It wasn’t heavy, not at first, just there—the kind of quiet that only existed between two people comfortable enough to not fill the space with words. But then, as if the fire itself drew it out of you, you broke it, your voice soft and thoughtful, eyes still fixed on the shifting orange glow. “I was in bed all day.”

Joel tilted his head slightly, a subtle movement but enough to catch your eye. His gaze shifted down to you, a faint glimmer of teasing in the way his lips almost quirked. “Really? Couldn’t tell,” he said, the dryness of his tone laced with just enough warmth to make it feel light. You knew exactly what he meant—the half-tangled hair, the tired eyes, the oversized sweater that swallowed you whole when you opened the door earlier.

“Ha, ha,” you deadpanned, rolling your eyes as you took another sip. The corner of your mouth twitched, threatening a smile that you quickly tucked away. “I just… didn’t feel like leaving. Seeing people. Couldn’t do it.”

Joel’s expression shifted, that guarded softness breaking through for just a moment. He didn’t rush to fill the space this time, letting your words hang in the air, safe and untouched. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, steadier, like he’d weighed each word before giving it. “I get it,” he said, the rough edges of his tone smoothed by understanding. “Sometimes you just… need to sit in it.”

He leaned forward slightly, the glass in his hand catching the light as his fingers tightened around it. “I’m sorry if me comin’ by was—”

“No,” you interrupted, the word escaping you with a firmness that surprised even yourself. His brows pulled together slightly, his gaze sharp and searching, but you pushed through, needing him to hear this. “You’re…”

The words caught in your throat, and for a moment, you hated how vulnerable they felt. You hated how much it mattered that he understood, but you couldn’t let it sit there, unsaid.

“You’re the only one who could’ve come by,” you admitted, softer now, but no less certain. Your eyes flicked to his, the weight of his attention steadying you. “I didn’t mind. I needed…”

A pause, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe, but you swallowed past it, your voice quiet but resolute. “I’m glad you did.”

Joel’s gaze lingered on you before returning to the fire, the flames reflected in his dark eyes as he spoke, his tone low and deliberate. “You gotta take care of yourself.”

You turned to face him now, drawn by the weight in his voice. He glanced at you, his brow furrowed just slightly. “First thing,” he said, leaning back against the worn cushions, “you gotta start with eatin’ some damn food.”

“I just ate dinner,” you protested, setting your whiskey glass down with an exaggerated huff.

Joel’s gaze slid to you then, steady and unrelenting. “And if I hadn’t come by?” he asked, his voice quieter but no less firm. “Would you have?”

You blinked, your retort catching in your throat. Damn. He’d clocked you there, and you both knew it. A flicker of something soft and self-deprecating crossed your face as you looked away, your lips twitching. “Well,” you said finally, your voice quieter, “I’ll just have to hope you always come by then.”

Joel shook his head, a small, rueful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He leaned forward before meeting your gaze again, this time holding it with a seriousness that made your chest ache. “I’m not always gonna be around to check in on you,” he said, his voice steady but laced with something that felt like regret. “You gotta promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”

The words hung between you, not a demand but a plea, simple and raw. You swallowed, the lump rising again, and nodded. “I’ll try,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Not try,” Joel pressed gently. “Promise.”

A weak smile tugged at your lips. “I think we both know we’re not great at keeping promises,” you teased, your voice wavering slightly.

His eyes didn’t leave yours, sharp and unyielding, ignoring the deflection. He searched your face, his gaze cutting through your hesitation until you felt it crack. Without thinking, you nodded again, this time with more conviction.

“Okay,” you said finally, your voice firmer now. “I promise.”

Joel nodded, his movements slow and deliberate, before leaning forward to set his whiskey glass on the coffee table. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, the curse slipping out low and rough.

His other hand moved to the nape of his neck, his fingers digging into the tight muscle there with practiced ease. His jaw tightened as he twisted his head faintly to one side, a quiet grimace flickering across his face.

“You alright?” The question came instinctively, concern threading through your voice before you could stop it. You set your whiskey aside, shifting onto your knees as you turned to face him more fully.

“Yeah,” Joel muttered, the word clipped but gruff around the edges. He leaned back against the couch again, exhaling a breath long and slow. His hand stayed at the back of his neck, rubbing absently like the ache had been there for days. “Just gettin’ old.”

“Joel,” you pressed gently.

He froze mid-motion, fingers still kneading the back of his neck, his brow furrowing as his dark eyes flicked to yours. For a moment, he just looked at you—like he was trying to decide whether to give you the truth or deflect it like he so often did.

“Just my back,” he said finally, the words slipping out reluctantly, rough and low as though admitting it made it worse. His fingers stilled for just a second before rubbing over the spot again, his gaze drifting toward the fire. “Probably from pullin’ that damn horse outta the mud the other day… and, well, yesterday.”

Yesterday.

The word landed like a blow, heavier than he intended. Your breath hitched, the memory flashing unbidden across your mind—Joel, pinned and struggling, his face pale with strain, the sound of his ragged breaths tearing through the air. The raw desperation in his eyes as you’d fought to pull him free. You swallowed hard against the ache in your throat, forcing the image back down.

“Hm,” you murmured softly, as though the quiet sound could soothe him as much as yourself. Your eyes drifted over him—the tight line of his shoulders, the way his hand lingered over his neck.

You hesitated, the idea flickering faintly in your mind, tentative and uncertain. The fire popped in the silence, embers snapping softly, but the moment stretched, and before you could stop yourself, the words were already tumbling free.

“Well,” you started, fumbling as you sat up straighter, suddenly hyperaware of how close you were to him. “I could, um…” You hesitated, heat blooming in your cheeks as you met his gaze. “I mean… I could maybe… give you a massage?”

Joel’s head snapped toward you, his brows lifting slightly, the expression on his face caught somewhere between surprise and disbelief. “A massage?” he echoed, like the word itself was foreign to him.

Your cheeks burned under his stare, but you pushed forward, trying to keep your voice steady even as your hands twisted nervously in your lap. “Yeah,” you said, quieter now but no less resolute. “To help. With your back. Since you’re so…” You paused just long enough to let a teasing smile pull at your lips, hoping it might soften the moment. “Old.”

For a split second, he didn’t react. Then, Joel let out a deep, rumbling chuckle that broke through the tension like a wave crashing onshore. “You’re a piece of work, you know that?” he muttered, shaking his head as though he couldn’t believe you, though there was the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“Just offering my services,” you quipped back softly, trying to keep the teasing light, but the truth of it sat heavy in your chest. You wanted to help. You wanted to ease some of the burden he carried, even if it was something as small as this.

The humor faded quickly, though, replaced by something quieter, thicker, as Joel’s expression settled. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than it should have, dark and searching, like he was trying to find the catch in your words—like he didn’t quite believe you could mean it.

Finally, he broke the silence, his voice quieter now, rougher. “You don’t gotta do that for me,” he said, almost gruff, but there was no bite to it. His hand flexed faintly on his thigh, the tension in his shoulders pulling tighter. “I’m fine.”

“Joel,” you said again, softer this time. You leaned forward just slightly, closing the space between you, your hand slipping to rest on his thigh. The fabric beneath your palm was worn and rough, but his warmth bled through it, steady and grounding. You squeezed gently, almost instinctively, your touch a silent plea.

“Something’s better than nothing,” you murmured, your voice soft but certain, coaxing. “And I want to. I want to make you feel good.”

The words hung in the air, You could see the fight in his eyes as he stilled, his jaw tightening, his gaze narrowing as though he was fighting a mental battle. The warmth of your palm on his thigh, your fingers curling ever so slightly, made his skin hum with a longing he hadn’t let himself feel in years.

His thoughts dipped lower, filthier, no matter how hard he tried to push them away. He imagined those fingers trailing higher, your lips murmuring words he shouldn’t want to hear, your touch unraveling him completely. His breathing hitched, a low, uneven rhythm he couldn’t quite control, and he clenched his jaw, forcing himself to look away before he let the fantasy swallow him whole.

If Joel was a good man��if he was honest, whole, and decent—he’d stand up right now. Put some distance between you. Tell you that this couldn’t happen, that it wasn’t right, that you deserved better than what he had to give.

His eyes betrayed him, sweeping back to you almost involuntarily—quiet, considering—lingering just a moment too long. You were sitting so still, your damp hair framing your face in soft, loose strands that shimmered in the firelight like something out of a dream. The glow caught on your skin, kissed your cheeks, and made you look like you didn’t belong in this world, like you were something holy, something untouchable.

God, you looked like an angel.

And he wanted to ruin you.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, his voice thick and rough, like he was cursing himself for even considering it, for teetering on the edge of something he couldn’t take back. But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t crave it—didn’t crave you. And now, you were offering it to him, your touch, your care, your everything, on a silver platter.

Who the hell was he to deny you? To deny himself?

“Alright,” he said finally, the word escaping with an exhale, low and reluctant. He cleared his throat, refusing to meet your eyes again. “But only if you’re sure.”

The corner of your mouth lifted into the smallest, most unassuming smile, the kind that made Joel’s heart stumble in his chest before he could pull himself together. “I’m positive,” you said softly.

He sighed again, muttering something about “pushy” under his breath, but there wasn’t any real heat to it. Slowly, with the careful stiffness of someone who didn’t trust their own body, Joel lowered himself onto the couch, bracing his weight on his arms before settling with his stomach against the cushions.

His broad shoulders shifted as he adjusted, arms folding beneath his head. The soft creak of the couch was the only sound for a moment, punctuated by the faint hiss of Joel’s breath as his body sank into the cushions.

You stood up and hovered for a second, nerves buzzing beneath your skin as you watched him settle in. Then, without meaning to, you spoke—your voice cutting through the quiet. “Wait.”

Joel’s head lifted slightly, his face half-turned into the cushion. “What?” he asked, his voice muffled but carrying that familiar edge of impatience.

You froze under his gaze, your hands twisting nervously in front of you, your courage faltering under the weight of what you wanted to say. “Would you… can you… if you don’t mind—” The words tangled on your tongue, awkward and shaky, and you cursed yourself for not just spitting it out.

Joel shifted, turning his head enough to look at you with a mixture of confusion and exasperation. “What’re you mumblin’ about?” he grumbled, his brows furrowed as his dark eyes scanned your face.

You exhaled sharply, steeling yourself. Just say it.

“Can you… take off your shirt?”

Joel froze.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The space between you—already too small—felt suffocating now. Joel’s back, which had just begun to relax under the promise of your touch, went rigid again.

Slowly, he turned, his shoulders tense as his head tilted just enough for his dark eyes to find yours. His hair was tousled, falling forward in a way that made him look softer, but his expression was anything but. It was unreadable—his brow furrowed, his gaze sharp and searching, as though he was trying to make sense of what he’d just heard.

“What for?” he asked finally, his voice low and rough, cutting through the stillness like gravel underfoot.

Your cheeks burned under the weight of it, of him. “I just—” You swallowed hard, hating how shaky you sounded. “It’s harder with the shirt. I mean, it’d be easier if—” Your hands gestured vaguely toward him, helpless as the words tangled and fell apart.

“Forget it,” you blurted, your voice flimsier than you intended, a weak attempt to recover some semblance of dignity. “It’s fine. You don’t have to.” The words tumbled out too quickly, and you winced internally, wishing desperately you could rewind time. Erase the last thirty seconds, undo the heat climbing up your neck, and take back the way you’d all but unraveled in front of him.

Joel didn’t respond at first, just looked at you. Then he exhaled, a long, quiet breath that sounded both frustrated and resigned. His head dipped slightly, his eyes falling shut for a beat before he muttered, “Christ.”

Without another word, Joel shifted. He pushed himself up just enough to reach for the hem of his shirt. His movements were slow, deliberate, like he was giving you time—giving you a chance to stop him. To tell him it wasn’t worth it. To look away.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

The fabric rasped softly as it peeled away from his skin, loud in the stillness of the room. He tugged the shirt over his head in one smooth motion, his broad shoulders flexing beneath the firelight before he stilled, holding the shirt in his hands like he wasn’t sure what to do with it. For a moment, you thought he might change his mind—might pull it back on—but then he tossed it aside, letting it fall to the floor without ceremony.

He settled back onto the couch, folding his arms beneath his head and turning his face into the crook of his elbow.

You didn’t see the flush that crept up his neck and into his cheeks, the way his jaw tightened with something close to self-consciousness. Joel hadn’t bared himself like this in years—not to anyone, and certainly not to you. He wasn’t sure what possessed him to do it now. Maybe it was the way you’d looked at him when you asked—so open, so earnest. Or maybe it was something deeper, something he didn’t want to name—the way you’d quietly carved out space for yourself in parts of him he thought had long gone numb.

But even as he lay there, back bare and unguarded, he couldn’t stop the worry gnawing at the edges of his thoughts. What if you saw him differently now? What if you looked at the scars, the weathered skin, the way his body—so strong once—now bore the weight of a lifetime? What if it was too much, and you turned away?

But you weren’t thinking any of that.

You were staring.

Helplessly, shamelessly staring, your breath caught somewhere in your throat as your eyes moved over him, taking in every inch, every detail, every moment of him completely bare before you.

The firelight danced across his skin, casting flickering shadows that seemed to embrace the planes and ridges of his back. It was like watching something sacred, something meant to be admired but never touched—broad, powerful shoulders tapering into the graceful curve of his spine. That line, so achingly perfect, made your stomach twist tight, heat curling low and deep inside you.

Your gaze caught on the scars scattered across his back, each one like a whisper of a story he hadn’t told you. Then your eyes drifted lower, and everything shifted.

There, at the small of his back, where his skin softened, the faint dimples just above the waistband of his jeans made your breath hitch. They were so unexpected, so disarmingly tender, that they hit you like a fist to the chest. Your lips parted as your gaze lingered there, following the curve of his body where denim clung to his hips in a way that made your pulse hammer.

And then you saw it—the faint glimpse of his side where the firelight caught the gentle slope of his stomach, the soft trail of hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans.

It wasn’t just the sight of him; it was the intimacy of it, the way he seemed so unaware of how devastatingly beautiful he looked in that moment. That single glimpse struck you like a match to gasoline, the heat rushing through your veins so fast it left you lightheaded.

You wanted him. God, you wanted him.

You wanted to press your lips to the curve of his spine, to trace the path of those scars with your tongue, to kiss your way down his chest, his stomach, lower—until there was nowhere left to go.

You wanted to feel the weight of him beneath your hands, the heat of his skin, the way his breath might hitch if you let your lips linger in all the places that were his undoing.

Him. You wanted him. All of him, in every possible way, until nothing else existed.

You wondered what he was like when he came undone— was he loud, or did he keep it all locked inside, biting back every sound, every moan, like he was too proud to let go completely? Did his hands grip the sheets like they might anchor him, or would he let himself give in, surrender to the feeling? The thought made your pulse quicken, your panties growing damp as your imagination ran wild, unrestrained.

You wondered when the last time was that he let himself feel good—really good. When was the last time someone touched him with care, with reverence? Had it been years? Decades?

And then, unbidden, the thought came: Does he think of me?

The question burned through you, igniting something reckless, something needy, that you couldn’t quite smother. Late at night, when the world fell silent and the weight of the day pressed heavy, did his thoughts drift to you? Did he let himself imagine you in those moments when he chased the edge—your hands, your lips, your body guiding him there?

The thought left you breathless, heat flushing through your body as your heart raced. You could almost picture it—his head tipped back, jaw clenched, the firelight catching the sharp lines of his face, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths as he gave in to thoughts of you.

Your cheeks burned as the images flooded your mind, vivid and unrelenting, but you couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to stop. Because the truth was, you didn’t just want him to think of you—you wanted to be there. You wanted to touch him, to make him feel things he hadn’t let himself feel in years. To make him forget everything else, even if it was only for a moment.

God, you wanted him. And you wanted him to want you just as badly.

You wondered if he’d make you wait, if he’d tease you until your breath hitched and your body ached with the need for him. If he’d draw it out on purpose, his voice low and rough as he asked you to say it, to tell him just how much you wanted him. And you knew you’d beg if he wanted you to. You’d let the words fall from your lips, trembling and raw, if it meant he’d touch you the way you craved.

And God, how would he taste? Would his skin taste of salt and heat and Joel, the flavor of him lingering on your tongue like something you could never get enough of? Would his hands tighten in your hair, his breath hitching against your mouth as you kissed him deeper, harder–

“Hope you’re not charging by the minute,” Joel muttered suddenly, his voice muffled against the cushion.

The comment jolted you back to reality, snapping you out of the haze you hadn’t even realized you’d fallen into. You’d been standing there, still as a statue, lost in the illicit fantasy of Joel Miller—of him touching you, holding you, taking you. A rush of heat climbed up your neck, settling in your cheeks as your thoughts scattered into disarray. “Oh,” you stammered, voice higher than you intended. “Right. Sorry.”

Joel huffed softly, the sound more of a low, gravelly exhale than a laugh. He didn’t lift his head, but you noticed it—the faintest movement in his shoulders, the ripple of tension that suggested he wasn’t entirely unaffected by your hesitation.

He stayed there, though. Waiting. Trusting.

Swallowing hard, you forced yourself to focus, to gather your frayed thoughts and channel them into steadying your hands. You hovered for a moment, brushing lightly over his shoulders, your fingertips barely skimming his skin as you fought to steady your pulse.

God, he was warm. Almost too warm, the faint heat of him seeping into your palms. Your hands began to move again, pressing carefully into the firm muscles beneath your touch. You could feel him—really feel him—the tautness of the knots woven into his shoulders, the quiet strength beneath the surface.

But you weren’t doing a very good job—you could feel it, your hands faltering as you tried to work against the unyielding knots in his shoulders. Your stance was off, your angle awkward, and Joel’s frame was just too much—too solid, too broad, his muscles stubborn beneath your touch like they’d been built for this kind of tension.

You pressed harder, determined, your lower lip caught between your teeth as you focused, but your movements still felt clumsy, too light, like you were trying to push against a wall that wouldn’t budge.

And then Joel’s voice, rough and gruff, snapped you back to reality. “Let me know when you start,” he said, the faint teasing lilt in his tone sending a jolt through you like a live wire.

Your gaze snapped to the back of his head. The nerve of him.

You exhaled sharply through your nose, narrowing your eyes even as your cheeks burned. Your hands pressed back down, firmer this time, your movements more deliberate. “Shut up, Joel.”

Joel chuckled low in his throat, a rumbling sound that vibrated through your hands where they touched him, and damn if it didn’t do something to you.

“Just sayin’,” Joel drawled, voice rough and faintly teasing, but there was something beneath it—something that made your pulse skip. “Feels like you’re petting me, not fixin’ me.”

“I know that,” you muttered, frustration threading into your voice as you shifted awkwardly on your feet. You hesitated, your fingers curling into your palms as if anchoring yourself against the words caught on your tongue. “It’s just… the angle. It’s awkward. It’d be easier if…”

Joel shifted, a subtle movement that made your breath catch.

God, why did he have to look so handsome? His face, so rugged and worn by time, somehow managed to soften in the light. His brown eyes, deep and warm, carried a tenderness that cut through the tension like a knife. Puppy-like, almost, but still so distinctly him. And his lips, pink and full, slightly parted like he might say something else—or like he was just waiting for you to close the gap.

“If what, darlin’?” he asked, his voice low and slow, the word rolling off his tongue with a warmth that sank straight into your chest.

Darlin’.

Joel Miller didn’t say things like that—not to you, not like this. You were used to the exasperated “kid” when you annoyed him, or maybe the clipped “missy” when you pushed his limits. But this?

The way he said it was enough to make your knees feel weak, enough to send a shiver up your spine that you couldn’t control. Was he trying to kill you? Because it sure as hell felt like it. You could’ve let out a whimper if you weren’t fighting so hard to keep it together, to stop yourself from falling apart under the weight of his gaze and the slow, deliberate cadence of his voice.

Oh God. Now a new wave of thoughts flooded your mind, unbidden and unstoppable. Would he say that again? Would he call you something softer, something sweeter, if you were beneath him, breathless and trembling? Would he murmur baby, sweetheart, darlin’ in that same low, gravelly drawl, his lips brushing against your skin, his hands gripping your hips as he made you his?

The thought sent a flush of heat racing through your body, pooling low in your stomach as your heart pounded in your ears. You couldn’t stop it now, couldn’t stop picturing the way his voice might hitch, rough and wrecked, as he whispered your name like it belonged to him.

Joel’s gaze flickered, and for a moment, you swore he saw right through you. That twitch at the corner of his mouth—barely there but unmistakable—felt like something he was trying to hide. Like he knew exactly what he was doing. Like he’d slipped on purpose, just enough to let you catch a glimpse of what he was keeping locked away.

His voice broke through the haze of your spiraling thoughts, cutting clean and sharp. “You alright there? Look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” you lied, but your voice wavered, too quick, too thin. Your cheeks burned hot, and you cursed yourself for letting your mind wander there again. Were you really that wound up? Had it been so long since you’d felt someone else’s touch that the smallest bit of attention from Joel Miller had you unraveling at the seams?

He tilted his head slightly, studying you, the weight of his stare making your stomach twist. He wasn’t buying it. “What were you sayin’?” he asked, his tone low, steady, but threaded with that edge of authority that left no room for escape. “Finish your sentence.”

You looked away quickly, heat climbing up your neck as your voice stumbled out. “If I could, um… maybe… get on your back?”

The words tumbled into the room, rushed and awkward, like you were trying to rip off a bandage.

Joel stilled. Completely.

His body didn’t move, not even the rise and fall of his chest, like he was processing what you’d just said—every syllable replaying in slow motion. His head turned slightly, enough to catch you in his gaze, one brow lifting so slowly it sent a thrill through you. His face was unreadable, but his eyes—steady and intense—made you feel like he was peeling you apart, word by word.

“You wanna…” he started, his voice low, disbelieving, “…straddle me?”

The way he said it—rough, incredulous, and yet tinged with something dangerously close to amusement—made your heart stutter.

“Yes—I mean—it’d just be easier!” you blurted, the words spilling out in a rushed, frantic tumble. “You’re too big for me to—” You flailed a hand at his back, gesturing vaguely, as if it could explain the absurdity of the situation. “It’s just practical, Joel. That’s all.”

Joel blinked at you, deadpan, his face impossibly still except for the faintest twitch of his mouth. “Practical,” he repeated, the word rolling off his tongue slow and deliberate, like he was testing it out.

And then, he chuckled.

It was low and brief, more of a quiet rumble than a laugh, but it sent a shock straight through you—warm and dangerous, curling low in your stomach like smoke. He turned his head back into the cushion, shaking it faintly like he couldn’t quite believe this conversation.

Your face burned, and you crossed your arms defensively. “Joel,” you groaned, the sound of your exasperation only making him huff out another low, gravelly laugh. “If it’s weird, we don’t have to—”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted, his voice gruff but steady. “Just go on. Get it over with.”

“Are you sure?” you asked softly, quieter now, your voice uncertain, like you were afraid of pushing him too far.

“I said it’s fine,” Joel muttered, the words clipped and rough, but the faint flush creeping up the back of his neck betrayed him. His face turned further away, burying against the shelter of his folded arms, as if retreating might somehow shield him—from what, you didn’t know. From the moment? From you? But the tips of his ears, dusted pink in the firelight, gave him away, whispering the truth that his gruff exterior wouldn’t allow.

Slowly, carefully, you climbed onto the couch, your knees sinking into the cushions on either side of him, bracing your hands on his shoulders for balance. The motion was awkward and clumsy.

Joel tensed instantly, every muscle in his broad back coiling tight beneath your hands, like his body couldn’t decide whether to fight or flee. It wasn’t resistance, not exactly—it was more like instinct, like even now, with you above him, his guard refused to drop completely.

“You alright? I’m not too heavy, am I?” you murmured, your voice barely above a breath, the quiet intimacy of the moment making you afraid to speak louder.

“Heavy?” Joel grunted, his voice rough and low, though his hands flexed briefly against the couch, his grip tightening just enough to make the leather creak faintly beneath him. “Don’t be fuckin’ ridiculous.”

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice faltering slightly as your fingers hovered uncertainly above his back. “Just… let me know if I hurt you.”

Joel let out a low, humorless chuckle. “Ain’t likely,” he muttered.

You started slow, cautious, your fingers pressing into the firm muscles knotted beneath his skin. Joel didn’t relax—not yet—but as you worked, your touch finding a rhythm, you felt his breaths shift beneath you, deepening just slightly, like he was letting out something he hadn’t realized he was holding.

You pressed your thumbs along the edges of his shoulder blades, tracing the lines of tension there. The silence stretched around you, warm and heavy, the crackle of the fire filling the space where words might’ve been. You let it linger, let it be, your hands working lower along his spine, kneading the hard knots hidden there.

It was intimate, so intimate. The kind of closeness that shouldn’t feel this profound but did. You wanted to press down and kiss his skin, tan and golden from years in the sun, warmed now by the flicker of the firelight.

Slowly, deliberately, Joel was letting go, loosening piece by piece, as if surrendering was a language he’d forgotten how to speak. And maybe it was.

“Christ,” Joel muttered, his voice rough, muffled against the couch cushions. “You’re good at that.”

The compliment hit you like a physical thing, stealing the breath from your lungs. He sounded wrecked already, and you weren’t sure how to handle the way it made you feel—how it set your nerves alight and sent heat pooling low in your belly.

“Yeah?” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly, breathless with the weight of his words. “That feel good?” The question was soft, almost tentative, but there was something else there too—something daring. Like you wanted to see just how far you could take him, how much you could unravel him under your hands.

Joel didn’t answer with words—just a low, drawn-out hum, deep and gravelly, vibrating through his chest and into your hands. The sound felt intimate in a way that made your cheeks burn, your thighs pressing together instinctively as something heavy curled low in your stomach.

Tension coiled in him—not the kind you were kneading away, but something else, something darker, more primal. He shifted subtly, his hips pressing into the cushion as if to ease the ache building there, but you weren’t naïve. You couldn’t stop the flush creeping up your neck, your lip caught between your teeth as you dared to imagine it. Joel Miller, gruff and unshakable, hard under your touch—and it was you who had done that to him.

You imagined how he’d react if your hands dared to drift lower, past the curve of his belly, your fingers slipping beneath the barrier of his waistband to explore the heat waiting there. Would he gasp, sharp and guttural, as your touch made contact? Would his hips lift instinctively, pressing into your hand, his body betraying just how much he wanted this—how much he wanted you?

Your fingers moved carefully, deliberately, tracing the tension along his shoulders and finding a particularly stubborn knot beneath your palms. You pressed deeper, slower, and Joel shifted under you. “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice wrecked, the word rough and guttural, unfiltered in a way that made your stomach twist with want, the ache in your chest spreading like wildfire.

God, you wanted more of that. You wanted to pull more of those sounds from him, to know what they’d feel like when they weren’t muffled against the couch, but pressed against your skin.

Your hands trembled as you pressed into the knot again, harder this time, like you couldn’t stop yourself from testing his limits. Joel groaned, the sound deep and rough, and it sent a ripple of electricity through you, hot and consuming. Your body screamed for relief, the ache so deep it nearly pushed you to grind against his back, consequences be damned. Your breaths were ragged, your chest rising and falling, and the slick heat pooling between your thighs had already soaked through.

“Right there,” he murmured, his voice softer now, but no less wrecked. The way he said it—low and thick, like the words had been dragged from somewhere deep inside him—made your breath hitch. “Yeah, just like that,” he added, the rasp in his voice laced with something almost dangerous.

“Jesus, Joel,” you murmured under your breath, barely loud enough for him to hear. But even as the words left your lips, you wondered if it was more a prayer or a curse.

What would his voice sound like if you leaned down and kissed the scar along his shoulder blade, your lips dragging slowly across his skin? If your hands slipped lower, teasing, inviting him to lose control? Would he moan your name, low and ruined, the sound breaking apart as your touch consumed him? Would he groan against your mouth, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as he thrust into you, his words filthy and breathless, begging you to take everything he had to give?

And then you heard it.

“Good girl,” Joel muttered, the words barely audible, low and gravelly, like they’d slipped out unguarded—rough, raw, and utterly devastating.

You froze. Completely.

Your hands stilled where they rested on his back, trembling slightly, and you felt the heat rush up your cheeks, down your neck, down to your aching core in a way that made it impossible to focus.

You couldn’t stop yourself from imagining what it would sound like if he said it again—what it would feel like if he growled it against your ear, his hands gripping your tits, his breath hot against your skin.

Finally, when you were satisfied with your work—or maybe just too overwhelmed to keep going—you eased off Joel carefully, your hands trembling slightly as you pushed yourself to stand beside the couch.

Joel let out a low, deliberate grunt, his shoulders rolling as he pushed himself upright, his hands gripping the cushions like he needed a moment to steady himself. H

He reached for his shirt, tugging it back on in one swift motion. The fabric stretched over his broad shoulders as he avoided your gaze. His focus stayed fixed somewhere just past you, as though he couldn’t trust himself to look at you directly.

But little did he know, you weren’t meeting his eyes either. Against your better judgment, your eyes betrayed you. They drifted down, hesitant but hungry, until they landed exactly where you knew they shouldn’t.

Your breath caught in your throat.

The worn denim of his jeans was taut, straining against the undeniable evidence of his arousal. There was no mistaking it—the hard outline pressing against the fabric, the way he shifted slightly like he was trying to find relief but didn’t want to make it obvious. Your stomach flipped, heat flooding your cheeks and slick pooling between your thighs as you realized what you’d done to him.

He wanted you.

That knowledge hit you like a freight train—overwhelming, intoxicating, impossible to ignore. You couldn’t look away, no matter how much you tried to convince yourself to. The sight of him, hard and straining against his jeans, burned itself into your mind, your heart thundering so loudly in your ears that you almost didn’t hear him clear his throat.

Your breath came faster, your chest heaving as the thought consumed you. You wanted to help him. God, you wanted to. Wanted to take away that tension, to make him feel good in a way you knew he hadn’t let himself in far too long. The idea of his release—of you being the one to give it to him—had your thighs clenching, a needy heat coursing through you.

What would he do if you sank to your knees right now, positioning yourself between his thighs? Would his body tense in shock, his breath catching as he looked down at you, torn between pushing you away and pulling you closer? Would he mutter something low and strained, about how this couldn’t happen, how it shouldn’t?

Or would he give in? Would his breath hitch as he whispered your name, rough and almost reverent, his hands tangling in your hair, guiding you with a quiet desperation? Would he let you take control, let you explore him at your own pace, or would he seize it, the tension breaking as he pressed you deeper, showing you exactly what he wanted, exactly how he needed you?

Joel must have noticed the faraway, dazed look in your eyes, the way you lingered in the heavy silence between you both. “Well,” he said finally, his voice quiet and rough, almost hesitant, as though he was testing the waters. “Thanks. That was… that was good.” His hand dragged through his hair, mussing the curls even further.

You forced a small smile, your chest tight and aching as you tucked your hands behind your back, hoping it might steady you somehow. “No problem,” you murmured, your voice quieter than you meant it to be. Your eyes flicked to his, and then, almost without thinking, you added, “I like making you feel good.”

The words hung in the air, soft but deliberate, their weight landing squarely between you. Joel froze for a moment, his breath catching audibly as his Adam’s apple bobbed with a sharp gulp.

Fuck, Joel thought. You were making a damn mess of him. He should leave—really leave—go home, take care of the growing ache in his pants, and swear off ever talking to you again. It would be the right thing to do. The smart thing. But, of course, he didn’t.

How could he, when you looked like that? Wide-eyed, red-cheeked, lips slightly parted like you were holding back something that could ruin him completely.

“Did you…” He trailed off, his voice rough and hesitant, his fingers rubbing the back of his neck in that way he always did when he was unsure.

“Did I what?” you asked softly, your tone careful, coaxing, almost gentle.

Joel sighed heavily, shaking his head like he regretted even starting. His hand dropped back to his knee, his jaw tightening as though he was debating just walking out. For a moment, you thought he might.

But then, finally, he said it.

“Did you want me to… y’know, help you out?” His voice was quieter now, gruff and uneven. His eyes darted to you briefly, then away, like he couldn’t quite face whatever was stirring between you.

“Your back,” he clarified after a beat, clearing his throat. “I remember you said somethin’ about it the other day, when you were ridin’ Winnie. Twinge, or somethin’.”

Joel cleared his throat again, the faintest pink creeping up the sides of his neck as his gaze flicked to you and then away. “But, uh, no big deal,” he added gruffly, his voice rough and low, like he was backpedaling, trying to give you an easy out. “I can just head out.”

He was trying to play it off—acting like it didn’t matter, like he hadn’t just offered to touch you, to take care of you in a way that mirrored what you’d just done for him. But the way his voice faltered, rough and quiet, told you everything. He cared—more than he wanted to admit.

Finally, you managed a small smile, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’d like that.”

Joel stilled for a moment, his hand dropping away from his neck to rest in his lap. He hesitated, his dark eyes flicking back to yours. “You sure? I can leave if you—”

“I don’t want you to leave,” you interrupted, your voice soft but steady.

Joel inhaled deeply, the sound heavy and deliberate, before slowly pushing himself to his feet. The movement made him seem taller, broader, as if he took up all the space in the room at once.

“Uh… can’t promise it’ll be any good,” he muttered, a faint vulnerability beneath his words that made your chest ache.

“That’s okay,” you replied quickly, too quickly, your voice rushing out as you offered him a small, nervous smile. You hesitated for half a second, biting the inside of your cheek as your heart hammered in your chest. Then, finally, you asked, “How do you want me?”

The words left your lips before you could stop them.

How do you want me?

God - If only you knew. If only you understood the way those four words hit him—hard and unrelenting.

Joel’s chest tightened, his cock hardening as his thoughts spiraled, unbidden and entirely indecent, leaving him gripping for control. He pictured you asking that question with a different tone, a different look in your eyes, and it wrecked him. On your back, your legs tangled with his. On your knees, your hands gripping his thighs as you gazed up at him with those wide, innocent eyes. Bent over the arm of the couch, his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer.

He swallowed hard, his throat working against the heat rising in him, and his hands curled into fists at his sides, nails biting into his palms in a desperate attempt to stay grounded. Christ, what the fuck is wrong with me?

“I, uh…” His voice was rough, strained, his words catching as though they didn’t want to leave. “Just, uh… wherever you’re comfortable. On the couch, or… wherever.”

You nodded, though you couldn’t ignore the way his eyes darkened, his lips parting as he muttered a low, almost inaudible fuck under his breath. The sound sent a ripple through you, your body buzzing as you followed his direction, sinking slowly into the cushions with your back to him. You angled your body slightly away to give him space, though the air between you felt anything but distant.

“Uh… keep your shirt on,” he mumbled, his voice rough and uneven, like he was struggling to get the words out.

“Oh,” you replied, the disappointment creeping into your tone before you could stop it. Your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your shirt, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. Maybe he didn’t want to see you like that. Maybe this wasn’t what you thought it was.

But God, were you wrong.

Joel knew the truth—knew it with every ounce of restraint he was clinging to. If he saw you topless, in nothing but your bra, he’d lose it. Completely. If he saw your breasts, the curve of them rising and falling with each unsteady breath, if his eyes traced the slope of your bare shoulders, your bare back, he’d be done for. His control would snap like a thread pulled too tight, and he’d ruin everything—you.

So, for now, you had to keep your shirt on. Not because he didn’t want you, but because he wanted you too much.

“I, uh…” Joel started, his voice low and faltering, his hands hovering awkwardly at his sides, twitching slightly with hesitation, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you.

Without thinking, you reached up, gathering your hair and sweeping it over one shoulder, baring the curve of your neck to him. The movement was small, simple, but it felt intimate—like offering something unspoken. Your skin prickled with anticipation, the charged air between you thickening as you turned your head slightly, glancing back at him with wide, steady eyes.

“It’s okay,” you murmured, the words threading through the heavy stillness between you. “You can touch me.”

Fuck. Joel’s chest tightened, his mind spiraling as the words echoed between you. Touch you. God, he wanted to. More than he should. More than he could admit to himself.

He stared at his hands—rough and calloused, worn by years of work and hardship—and for a moment, he faltered. These weren’t hands meant for softness. Not for you.

Finally, slowly, Joel lifted his hands, each movement deliberate, as if he was crossing a line he couldn’t uncross. The hesitation was written in every breath, every twitch of his fingers, a quiet war waging inside him even as he reached for you.

When his hands settled on your shoulders, they were tentative at first, his palms warm against your skin, rough but somehow gentle. Joel’s thumbs pressed carefully into the tight muscles of your shoulders, moving in slow, deliberate circles.

A soft, unbidden sound escaped your lips, barely audible, but enough to make his hands falter mid-motion. His grip loosened slightly, and his breath hitched audibly, like the sound had caught him off guard.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly, every word dragged out as though speaking them took effort. His hands hovered, poised to pull away if you gave even the slightest indication of discomfort.

“No,” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper as your eyes fluttered shut. The tension in your shoulders began to melt under his touch, leaving you pliant beneath him. “You feel good.”

Joel exhaled then, a quiet, shaky sound that carried the weight of something unspoken—something he didn’t know how to put into words. His hands settled back into their rhythm, more assured now, his thumbs sliding down the line of your shoulder blades with purpose before gliding back up, tracing the curve of your neck with a reverence that sent your pulse skittering.

It was steady, methodical, almost too careful, but there was something else beneath it—something deeper, darker, like he was learning you, memorizing you with every pass of his hands. His jaw tightened, his thoughts spiraling as the weight of your words replayed in his head—you feel good.

You let your head tilt forward as Joel’s hands found a tight spot at the base of your neck, your body instinctively yielding under his touch. Relief washed over you, a soft sigh slipping from your lips before you could stop it. Joel froze, his hands hesitating, until you murmured hazily, “Fuck, Joel…”

His hands slid lower, kneading the muscles along your upper back with careful precision. “Feels good,” you murmured, the words slipping out, soft and dreamlike, unbidden. You melted further into the couch, into him, your body pliant under his touch, like you were made for it.

Joel clenched his jaw, his hands faltering for the briefest moment before finding their rhythm again. He wanted to tell you to quit it. To stop saying all these things to him—these words that wrapped around him like a vice, squeezing until he could barely breathe. To stop making those noises that made his resolve waver, that made him ache in ways he hadn’t allowed himself to in years.

But how could he?

How could he tell you to stop when the sound of your voice, soft and wrecked, was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard? When the way your body leaned into his touch, so trusting, so vulnerable, felt like the closest thing to heaven he’d ever known?

You held your breath, heart pounding wildly as Joel’s thumbs pressed—just slightly—into the tight muscles near your lower back. The pressure was perfect, and before you could stop yourself, a soft, unbidden moan escaped your lips.

Joel froze instantly, every muscle in his body going taut, coiling like a live wire as that sound echoed in his head. It hit him hard, sharp and visceral, sinking deep into his chest and sparking a fire he couldn’t control.

That moan—soft, breathless, and so fucking sweet—was seared into his memory now, unraveling every thread of restraint he’d been clinging to. Would you whimper for him? The thought tightened his chest, his jaw clenching hard as his hands faltered against you, his grip tightening briefly before he forced himself to ease up.

Would you gasp his name, needy and wrecked, if his lips pressed to the curve of your neck? If his hands slid lower, over the gentle slope of your hips, past the thin fabric separating him from you? Would you beg for him? For him?

If he touched you now—if his fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your pants, sliding lower to feel the heat of you—would you be wet?

God, would you be ready for him? The question burned through his mind, relentless and vivid. He could almost feel it—the way your body might arch into him, the way your breath would hitch when he touched you there. Would you moan again, that same soft, wrecked sound, but this time louder, fuller, edged with need?

The images came faster now, vivid and impossible to suppress. He could see it so clearly: your body trembling beneath him, your lips parted in a breathless plea, your eyes half-lidded, hazy with the kind of need he didn’t deserve but craved all the same.

Joel took a deep breath, sharp and ragged, before abruptly pulling his hands away from you, dropping them into his lap like they’d burned him. “That’s all I got,” he said finally, his voice low and strained, the edge to his words making it sound almost like he was angry—at himself, at you, at the fragile control he was barely holding onto.

Your eyes fluttered open slowly, as if waking from a dream you weren’t quite ready to leave. Turning just enough, you caught sight of him leaning back against the couch, a pillow now strategically draped over his lap, his hand covering his eyes as though shielding himself from the sight of you—maybe from the way you made him feel.

“Thanks,” you murmured, your voice soft, still tinged with the haze of his touch, the weight of his hands lingering on your skin like a memory. “It was good. Really good.”

Joel’s only response was a single nod, curt and clipped, his jaw tight as though he didn’t trust himself to say more. “Yeah,” he muttered, the word rough, almost bitten out, as though forcing it past his lips was a battle. “Glad it helped.”

The silence stretched between you, heavy and tense, the crackle of the fire the only sound in the room. Finally, Joel cleared his throat, shifting as if to stand, his voice low and hesitant. “Look,” he said, his words slow and deliberate, like he was trying to steady himself. “I should… I should really get going. I—”

“Wait,” you interrupted, turning fully toward him now, your voice soft but insistent.

Joel turned to you slowly, his movements deliberate, like he was fighting every instinct telling him to stay right where he was. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, everything in him seemed to fray at the edges. Please don’t ask me to stay, his mind begged, the words unspoken but screaming in his head. Because I don’t know if I can control myself any longer.

You faltered, suddenly shy, your gaze dipping for a moment before finding his again. “I wanted to ask you something I noticed earlier… when your shirt was off.”

Joel’s brow twitched, the lines on his forehead deepening as his eyes sharpened. His shoulders tensed ever so slightly, the weight of your words settling over him.

What was she gonna say?

Was it about the way his stomach wasn’t as flat as it used to be, softened by the years and the hardships he carried? Or maybe the way his body groaned with every movement, the weight of too many fights, too many scars etched into his bones? Or was it the silver streaking through his hair, glinting in the firelight, betraying just how much time had carved itself into him?

The look he gave you was cautious, expectant—like he was waiting for you to confirm the insecurities he worked so hard to bury. His voice, when it came, was quieter than usual, softer but guarded. “Yeah?”

Your fingers moved before you could stop them, trembling slightly as they reached out, grazing the edge of his shirt near the collar. Joel went utterly still, his breath slowing, like he was waiting—letting you. You hesitated, your heart pounding, before gently tugging the fabric down just an inch, revealing a little more of his skin.

Your gaze caught on it immediately: the scar.

It was jagged and pale, stark against the warmth of his skin, carved into his collarbone like a brand from another life. Your breath hitched, a shaky exhale escaping as your eyes lingered on the mark. Your fingers hovered close, just near enough to feel the heat of him, but you didn’t dare touch.

“What… what happened?” you asked finally, your voice soft, trembling.

Joel’s gaze followed yours, his face unreadable. He expected the worst—a comment about his body, about the way time and hardship had worn him down. But how could he expect that from you? You, the sweetest woman he’d ever met. This was almost worse, though. Because you cared. And that care, that softness, felt like it would undo him completely.

Slowly, he leaned back, putting a sliver of distance between you as if he needed the space to steel himself. “Knife,” he muttered, his voice rough and clipped.

Your eyes flicked to his face, searching for something in his expression—a trace of the story written into that scar, an emotion he didn’t want to reveal. But Joel didn’t look at you.

“Some guy,” he continued after a beat, his tone measured but guarded. “Long time ago. Tried attackin’ me.”

You hummed softly, the sound filled with a quiet empathy you didn’t know how to put into words. For a moment, you pictured him—Joel, younger but still so unmistakably him. Less gray in his hair, more fire in his eyes. Sharper around the edges, all raw survival and steady hands that had learned how to do what was necessary.

“Had to stitch myself up,” Joel added after a long pause, his voice low, each word deliberate, like it cost him something to say.

Your chest ached with the weight of it, and when you spoke, your voice was barely more than a whisper. “Ouch.”

He huffed a quiet, humorless sound, his lips twitching for the briefest second before settling back into a thin line. Without thinking, you shifted closer, the space between you narrowing until your knees brushed his. Joel stilled at the contact, but he didn’t pull away.

And then, quietly, carefully, your hand reached out.

Your fingertips grazed the edge of his temple, tracing the faint curve of a scar that rested just above the bone. It was subtle, easy to miss if you weren’t looking closely, but now that you’d seen it, you couldn’t look away.

Joel didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. His eyes, dark and unreadable, flicked to yours, his jaw tightening as though he wasn’t sure if he could let himself breathe. But you saw him—really saw him. You always did.

“And this one?” you asked softly, your voice low, reverent, as if afraid to shatter the fragile stillness of the moment.

He didn’t move, didn’t pull away, but when he spoke, his voice was rough and uneven, your name slipping from his lips like a plea. “Don’t.”

The word was soft, almost broken, and the way he said it sent a pang of something deep and aching through you. There was no bite to it, no command—just Joel, asking for something unspoken.

“What?” you whispered, your hand stilling but refusing to pull away. Your eyes searched his face, lingering on the tight line of his jaw, the way his lashes brushed his cheekbones as he closed his eyes.

“It’s nothin’,” Joel muttered gruffly.

“I want to know,” you urged gently, your voice steady but soft, carrying the kind of quiet insistence that could slip past defenses. “Please.”

“Took a hit to the head,” he muttered finally, the words clipped and bitter. “Made a dumb mistake. Should’ve seen it comin’.”

Slowly, you pulled your hand back, the motion deliberate, leaving a trail of phantom heat in its absence. Joel’s hand twitched, halfway between you, like it wanted to reach for you but couldn’t quite make it.

“Why d’you care ‘bout this?” Joel asked finally, his voice low and rough. It wasn’t an accusation. It was confusion, like he genuinely couldn’t comprehend why anyone would care enough to notice, let alone ask.

His dark eyes flickered over your face, searching for something he wasn’t sure he wanted to find.

You stared at him, your lips parting as you tried to find the words, but nothing came at first. How could you explain it? How could you tell him that every time he let his guard slip, even just a fraction, it felt like he was handing you something sacred, something no one else had been allowed to see?

How could you tell him that you cared because he mattered.

How could you tell him that you cared because you loved him?

“Because it’s you,” you said softly, the words slipping free before you could stop them.

His expression faltered—just for a second. His eyes flickered, dark and searching, like he couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard. Like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to believe it. His chest rose and fell in slow, deliberate breaths, like he was holding something back—something too big, too fragile to name. Then he shook his head, the motion slow, deliberate, like he was trying to will the moment away.

“Don’t say somethin’ you don’t mean,” he muttered, the words rough and low, swallowing against the literal pain that burned in his throat as he forced them out.

Your brows furrowed, your chest tightening as you shifted closer to him, the air between you thick and charged. “Joel you told me a while ago,” you began, your voice steady despite the thrum of your heartbeat pounding in your ears, “that you cared about me.”

Joel’s gaze snapped up at that, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a sharp, almost wary intensity. He looked like a man cornered, searching for an angle, a way out of a conversation he hadn’t realized he’d walked straight into. But there wasn’t one. You both knew it.

Finally, after a long, loaded silence, he nodded once. It was curt but deliberate, his jaw tightening as his Adam’s apple bobbed in a reluctant swallow. “I do,” he said, his voice gravelly, like the words dragged themselves out of him against his will. “Course I do.”

"Then why can't you believe me when I say I care about you too?" The words spilled from you before you could stop them, your voice softer now, trembling with the mix of pleading and frustration that had been building inside you. Vulnerability bled through, and your chest ached as you forced yourself to hold his gaze. Don’t look away.

"Why is that so hard for you to accept?"

Joel's jaw clenched, and his lips pressed into a thin, pale line. His eyes flicked down, unable to meet yours. His hand moved absently, rubbing the worn denim of his thigh, the restless motion betraying the storm brewing just beneath his skin.

"It ain't..." he started, his voice faltering, so low it felt like a confession. "It's not the same."

"Not the same how?" you pressed, leaning forward. Your voice was steady now, firm, as if the calmness might coax him into staying—into answering. "I don’t get it, Joel. I don’t understand why it’s so hard for you to just… let me care about you."

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. His gaze stayed fixed on the ground, unwilling to face you.

You couldn’t take it any longer. Slowly, you reached out, your hand finding his face, gently tilting it toward you. The contact was soft, tentative, but the gesture felt like an unspoken plea, like you were begging him to let you in.

"I don’t think I’ve ever trusted anyone like I trust you." Your voice cracked, just barely, as you took a breath, searching for the courage to say what you hadn’t said aloud. "You make me feel safe. Joel... I don’t know what I’d do without you."

Joel’s head snapped up at that.

“Look,” you began softly, leaning forward, your voice threading through the heavy quiet between you. “I’m not fighting you on this. It’s not a battle, Joel. It’s just the truth. Whether you believe it or not, I care.”

“And I know you’re stubborn,” you added, your lips quirking in a small, fleeting smile, an attempt to lighten the moment before it swallowed you both whole. “Maybe even more stubborn than me.”

That earned you something—a tilt of his head, just barely, his brow furrowing as his eyes flickered to you, guarded but curious. “I’m the stubborn one?” he asked gruffly, his voice rough and low, though the faintest thread of incredulity cut through it.

“Yeah,” you replied, letting the smile tug a little wider as you leaned back, arms crossing loosely over your chest. “You can be just as bad as me. Maybe worse.”

“But it’s true,” you pressed gently, the teasing giving way to something deeper, something unshakable. Your gaze caught his, steady and unyielding, holding him there even as you saw the flicker of resistance in his eyes. “I care, Joel. I really do. And it’s not gonna change just because you’re too damn stubborn to believe it.”

Joel’s head lifted fully then, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a focus so intense it made your breath catch. The walls he’d fortified so carefully, so stubbornly, seemed to waver, crumbling at the edges. And for the first time, you didn’t just feel like you were talking to Joel—you felt like you saw him.

The space between you felt smaller, sharper, like gravity was pulling you together. You became acutely aware of how close you were, your knees brushing his as the firelight flickered against his face. And then, his gaze dipped—to your lips.

Oh my god. Is he going to kiss me?

The thought slammed into you, leaving your heart racing in your chest. Time seemed to slow, his gaze lingering there just a beat too long. The air felt charged, thick with something unspoken. Your breath hitched, and for a split second, you thought he might.

But then Joel’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his gaze dropping abruptly to his hands. He shifted against the couch, the movement slow and deliberate, like he was forcing himself to break the spell. “Well,” he said finally, his voice rough and uneven, cutting through the fragile quiet. He cleared his throat, his hands smoothing over his jeans in a nervous, practiced gesture. “I should probably get goin’.”

The words hit harder than they should’ve, a sharp pang settling in your chest. “Oh,” you murmured softly, the sound escaping before you could stop it.

“Yeah, okay.” Your lips curved into a small, fleeting smile, the best you could manage. “Thanks for, uh…” You gestured vaguely toward the kitchen, your voice light but thin. “…the dinner. And the firewood.”

Joel nodded once, his eyes flickering anywhere but you—the door, the fire, his boots—like looking at you might undo him entirely. “Yeah,” he muttered, his voice low and strained. “No problem.”

He hesitated, the pause stretching longer than it should’ve. His hand came up to rub the back of his neck, the familiar, disarming motion drawing your attention to the tension still coiled in his frame. His bicep flexed subtly, and you hated how that flicker of movement sent heat curling in your stomach even now, when all you wanted was for him to stay.

“And… thanks for, uh… the back thing,” he added gruffly, his voice a shade quieter, more uncertain.

The words caught you off guard, and a soft, unsteady laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “The back thing?” you echoed, arching a brow at him, the teasing edge in your voice betraying the weight pressing on your chest. “That’s what we’re calling it?”

Joel’s lips twitched—just barely—a flicker of something lighter that tugged at the corners of his mouth before disappearing as quickly as it came. His gaze finally lifted to meet yours, warmer now but still guarded, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to let it linger. “You know what I mean,” he muttered, the words rough but softer this time.

“You’re welcome,” you said gently, the teasing fading from your voice as you watched him.

When he stood, you followed him toward the door, the sound of his boots against the floor punctuating the silence between you. Every step felt heavy, the space around you thickening with all the things neither of you could bring yourselves to say. He reached the door and paused, his hand resting on the knob, his broad shoulders shifting just slightly like he was caught between leaving and staying.

For a beat, he didn’t move. And then, slowly, he turned back to you, his dark eyes flickering to yours with an uncertainty that made your heart stutter. “Good night,” he said finally, his voice low and rough, but there was something in it—something more—that he didn’t let himself say. His fingers curled tighter around the knob, knuckles pale from the tension. “Lock up after me, yeah?”

You nodded, your voice steadier than you felt. “Good night, Joel.”

But you wanted to say more.

Don’t leave.

Don’t walk out that door. Stay. Stay here with me.

Let me show you that I care.

Let me show you that I love you.

For a moment, you held your breath, your pulse pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. Please. Just say something. Stay.

But he didn’t.

He gave you a small, almost imperceptible nod, his face shadowed in the soft glow of the firelight, and turned away.

The door creaked softly as it opened, the cold night air rushing in, biting against your skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the room. For a heartbeat, you saw the stars outside—endless, distant, uncaring—before the door clicked shut behind him, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the sudden stillness.

You exhaled shakily, the sound unsteady as you pressed your forehead lightly against the door, your eyes fluttering shut. The house felt too big without him, the fire behind you too quiet to chase away the chill that crept into your bones now that he was gone.

“Don’t go,” you whispered, the words breaking like a secret in the empty room—soft and fragile, meant for him but swallowed by the night.

Outside, the stars stretched on forever, distant and silent, but you stayed there, rooted to the spot, the ache of all the words you hadn’t said pressing heavy against your chest.

And you let them linger.

─── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ───

The next day, you found yourself trudging toward the dining hall with Maria, trying—and failing—to suppress a yawn. Sleep hadn’t come easy after last night. The weight of Joel’s touch, the sound of his voice murmuring your name, lingered stubbornly in the quiet of your mind, replaying like a song you couldn’t shake.

“Late night?” Maria asked, her tone teasing but curious as she nudged you gently.

“Something like that,” you murmured, rolling your shoulders in a vain attempt to shake the ache that still clung to them.

Stepping into the dining hall, the low hum of conversation and the clatter of trays greeted you, a comforting sort of chaos that momentarily distracted you from the exhaustion curling behind your eyes. Maria stopped short and turned to you, motioning vaguely.

“I’m gonna hit the bathroom,” she said, jerking her thumb toward the back. “The boys are over there.”

At her words, your gaze followed her subtle nod—and your heart stilled.

As you made your way toward them, it was Tommy who spotted you first. His face split into a wide grin, his arms already opening before you reached him. “Hey, darlin’,” he drawled warmly, his Southern lilt wrapping around the word like it belonged there, soft and easy. “Joel was just tellin’ me how you saved his old ass the other day. You’re somethin’ else, you know that? A damn badass.”

Your heart gave a sharp skip at the mention of Joel, your gaze flicking instinctively to him. He stood just a step behind Tommy, his tray in one hand, the other tucked loosely into his pocket. He was watching you—quiet, steady—but there was a softness in his eyes, the kind he reserved only for you. Without a word, Joel reached for an extra tray and handed it to you, his movements deliberate but natural, like it wasn’t even a question.

“Thanks,” you murmured, your voice quiet and shaky, betraying you. The faintest blush crept into your cheeks, and you watched Joel’s jaw tighten as he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. His gaze dropped, flicking away shyly—a softness so uncharacteristic of him that it pulled at something deep in your chest.

“You sleep alright?” he asked, his voice low, quiet enough that it felt like it was meant only for you.

You nodded quickly, gripping the tray a little tighter as you found your words. “Yeah. Your, uh… back thing helped, I think.”

Joel hummed, the sound deep in his chest, approving but subdued. “Good,” he said, his voice warm, his eyes flickering up to meet yours again—and then lower, to your lips. It was brief, almost imperceptible, but enough to make your breath catch.

Tommy’s brow furrowed, his tray hovering in mid-air as he looked between you both, confusion clear on his face. What the hell are they talkin’ about? he wondered, his lips twitching as if he might interrupt.

Before you could even process it, the moment shattered.

“Hey, lady,” a sharp, abrasive voice cut through the air behind you.

Startled, you turned sharply, the tray wobbling slightly in your hands as you found yourself face-to-face with someone you didn’t recognize. He was large—towering, broad-shouldered, with a head shaved so close it gleamed under the lights. His scowl was deep, a permanent mark etched into his face, and the way his eyes raked over you felt dismissive, hostile.

“Oh,” you stammered, caught off guard as your pulse quickened. “Hi.” Did you know this guy? No, you decided, swallowing hard. He was new—one of the recent arrivals who hadn’t yet settled into Jackson’s quiet rhythm.

You felt it before you saw it. Joel.

He hadn’t moved, not yet, but you could feel the change in him—subtle but unmistakable. The air between you shifted as if the temperature had dropped, the warmth of his earlier softness disappearing in a heartbeat. His posture stiffened, shoulders squaring, and Tommy turned too, his expression darkening as he registered the tension.

“Not sure what you think you’re doin’, cuttin’ in line like that,” the man sneered, his voice rough, laced with something sharp and ugly. His eyes flicked over you again, dismissive in a way that made your stomach twist. “Think you’re special or somethin’?”

“I’m—” you started, flustered, the words sticking in your throat. “I didn’t realize—”

You felt Joel move before you saw him.

“Hey,” Joel’s voice cut through the hum of the dining hall like the edge of a blade—low, deliberate, and unyielding. It wasn’t loud, but it didn’t need to be.

Joel stepped forward, his broad frame eclipsing yours completely as he inserted himself between you and the stranger, shielding you with a movement so instinctive, so deliberate, it made your chest tighten. Without turning his head, his hand found your waist—firm but gentle—as he nudged you back toward Tommy.

Tommy let out a quiet, resigned “Oh boy,” under his breath, his grip on your arm steady, like he already knew where this was headed. Around you, the energy shifted. Conversations dimmed to nervous murmurs, trays clinked against the tables, and chairs scraped as people turned to watch.

Everyone in Jackson knew better. They knew Joel Miller. His name carried weight—a reputation forged in blood and grit, etched into every line on his hardened face. He didn’t need to bark orders or shout threats; his presence alone did the talking. Joel was a man who didn’t bluff, and everyone who’d lived here long enough understood that much.

But this man didn’t. Or he was too new—too reckless—to realize what kind of line he’d just crossed.

“She’s with me,” Joel said, his voice quiet and cold.

The stranger scoffed, his lip curling as he stepped forward, puffing out his chest in a challenge that only made him look smaller next to Joel’s unflinching presence. “Does it look like I care?” he spat, his tone dripping with mockery.

You flinched instinctively, but Joel didn’t react—not at first. He stood stock-still, his profile unreadable except for the faint tick in his jaw, the slow curl of his fingers into a fist at his side. His stillness was terrifying, the kind that signaled restraint—restraint that could snap at any moment.

When Joel spoke again, his voice dropped lower—deadly and cold, each word a warning wrapped in a promise. “It does,” he said, and his eyes sharpened like twin shards of glass. “If you wanna keep breathing.”

The newcomer didn’t take the hint—or worse, he did and chose to shove it aside with all the grace of a bull in a china shop. He rolled his eyes, his scowl twisting into something cruel and sharp, a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, whatever, man. Tell your brat of a girlfriend she can’t just go around cutting in line. That’s not how things work.”

Brat.

The word struck like the crack of a whip, each syllable biting deeper than the last. A flare of heat surged through you—anger, humiliation, a wild tangle of words clawing their way up your throat. Who does this guy think he is? Brat? Your mouth moved on instinct, the retort already forming, sharp and searing: “Who do you think you’re—”

But the words never landed. Tommy’s hand found your arm, firm and grounding. His grip wasn’t harsh, but it carried weight, his presence a tether against the storm building inside you. His voice was low, a quiet murmur meant only for you, but the warning in it was unmistakable.

“Don’t,” he said, his tone a weary drawl laced with a hint of something heavier. Experience. Resignation. “Trust me. Don’t.”

It happened in a flash—so fast you could barely process it. One moment, Joel stood beside you, his presence solid and unyielding like a dam holding back a flood. The next, that flood broke.

Joel surged forward with a force that was all precision, controlled fury, and raw intent. His hand shot out, gripping the man’s collar with a strength that sent him stumbling back. The motion was seamless, deliberate, like the inevitable force of a storm bearing down on its target. The man’s back slammed against the nearest wall, the impact reverberating through the dining hall like a clap of thunder.

“What,” Joel growled, his voice low, dangerous, and deadly, “did you just say?”

It wasn’t a yell. Joel didn’t need to raise his voice. The menace in his tone—the quiet, simmering fury—was far more terrifying. His grip on the man’s collar was ironclad, his knuckles white against the fabric.

The man squirmed, his bravado already cracking like thin ice. “Get the fuck off me!” he barked, shoving weakly at Joel’s chest. His hands trembled with effort, but it was like trying to move a mountain. Joel didn’t budge—not even a flicker of motion.

“Say it again,” Joel snarled, his voice dropping to a whisper that coiled through the room like smoke, suffocating and inescapable. He yanked the man closer, their faces level now, his grip tightening like a vice. “Go ahead. Say it again. And see what happens.”

“I didn’t—” the man started, his voice hitching, but Joel slammed him harder against the wall, the sound louder this time, sharp enough to make a few people in the crowd flinch.

“You don’t talk to her like that,” Joel snarled, his voice low and venomous, each word laced with a fury that could melt steel. “Hell,” he growled, his breath steady but deliberate, like he was holding back a storm, “you don’t talk to her ever. You don’t look at her like that.” His grip tightened on the man’s collar, knuckles white, and with a sharp shove, he slammed him against the wall again. The dull thud of the man’s head meeting the surface reverberated in the tense silence.

Joel leaned in, his face inches from the man’s now paling one, his voice breaking through the quiet like a crack of thunder. “And you sure as hell don’t get to call her—” His voice cracked, raw and seething, but he pushed through it, his hand jerking the man forward only to slam him back again, harder this time, the impact leaving no room for argument.

“Anything but her goddamn name.”

The man’s bravado shattered completely. His eyes widened in panic, his breath coming in short, frantic gasps. “I—I didn’t mean it, okay? I didn’t mean—”

“That doesn’t sound like an apology,” Joel cut him off, his voice quieter now but no less menacing. His gaze burned into the man, and his grip didn’t falter. “Try again.” He yanked him closer, the venom in his words unrelenting. “And look her in the eye while you do it.”

The man’s head jerked toward you, his movements jerky and frantic, his voice trembling. “I’m sorry!” he blurted out, the words spilling over themselves in his panic. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry!”

The dining hall felt like it had frozen in time. Conversations had ceased, forks hung mid-air, the faint crackle of the fire in the corner the only sound to break the silence. Joel was unyielding, a pillar of unrelenting fury. You could see the man squirm beneath his grip, his panic rising with every second that passed.

And then Joel’s gaze shifted.

His head turned slightly, just enough to look at you, and it was like the air shifted entirely. That sharp, cutting edge in his expression softened—not fully, but enough that you felt it like a physical thing. His dark eyes searched yours, asking a silent question, his brow lifting just slightly in that way only you knew meant he was waiting. Not for the man’s apology. Not for Tommy to intervene.

For you.

The vulnerability in that look was enough to unravel you. Joel wasn’t questioning whether he should let go, wasn’t trying to justify the raw, unyielding force behind his actions. He was asking you—quietly, silently—trusting you to decide if the apology was enough, if you were satisfied.

It was such an intimate thing, so deeply personal, completely at odds with the way his knuckles had gone white from the force of his grip, his forearm trembling with restrained fury. The contrast was stark—his quiet deference to you and the raw, unrelenting protectiveness that radiated off him, daring the world to push him further.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding as you held his gaze. “Joel,” you said softly, your voice steady but laced with something tender. “It’s okay. Let him go.”

For a moment, he didn’t move. His eyes stayed locked on yours, like he needed to be absolutely certain. His shoulders rose and fell with a sharp, deliberate breath, the tension rolling through him in waves before he exhaled slowly through his nose.

Then, finally, his hand loosened. It wasn’t abrupt—it was deliberate, controlled, as though every motion carried weight. Joel released the man with enough force to send him stumbling forward, his knees nearly buckling beneath him.

The man’s breath came in quick, panicked bursts as he scrambled to steady himself, his trembling hands clutching at his shirt like it might protect him. But Joel didn’t even look at him now. His gaze stayed on you, his eyes still softer, still yours.

“Go,” Joel said simply, his voice low, quiet, but no less commanding. The word carried the same weight as if it had been shouted, and the man didn’t hesitate. He muttered something incomprehensible under his breath, his steps hurried as he all but fled the dining hall. The door swung shut behind him with a sharp creak, the sound punctuating his retreat.

Joel turned fully to you now, his broad shoulders relaxing by degrees, though you could still see the tension coiled beneath his skin. His gaze softened further as it met yours, and for a moment, the rest of the room faded away. There was a question there, unspoken but loud enough to feel in the air between you: Did I do right? Are you okay?

Joel’s voice broke through the hum of the dining hall, rough but quieter now, carrying an edge of concern so sharp it sent a pang straight to your chest. “You good?” he asked, his gaze fixed on you in a way that felt like the rest of the room had disappeared. There was something about the way he stepped closer, his body angled toward you as though nothing else mattered—like the entire world could crumble around him, and he’d still be here, making sure you were okay.

You nodded, swallowing against the lump forming in your throat. “Yeah,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m fine.”

Joel didn’t look convinced. His dark eyes scanned your face, his jaw tightening as if he could will the truth out of you, even if you didn’t want to give it. His chest rose and fell in steady, deliberate breaths, but his hands flexed at his sides like they were still fighting the urge to reach for you, to pull you behind him and keep you safe.

Behind him, Tommy let out a low whistle, the sound breaking through the suffocating quiet like a crack of thunder. “Damn, Joel,” he muttered, shaking his head as a faint smirk tugged at his lips. “Didn’t know you still had that in you. Hell, remind me not to get on your bad side.”

But Joel didn’t react. He didn’t turn. Didn’t even flinch. His focus remained on you, unwavering, like he couldn’t spare even a second to acknowledge anything else. And when he spoke again, his voice was softer, quieter, almost tender in its roughness. “You should sit,” he said, nodding toward a table in the far corner of the hall. “I’ll get you somethin’ to eat.”

“Joel” you started, your voice trailing off as you searched for the right words. “You didn’t have to—”

“Yes, I did,” he interrupted firmly, his tone leaving no room for doubt. He motioned toward the table again, his hand brushing lightly against your arm as if to guide you. “Sit.”

Joel turned back to the line without another word, his broad shoulders tense and Tommy’s chuckle following him like a low rumble of thunder. You noticed the way the people behind Joel in line stood a few paces back now, their movements cautious, like they were navigating the aftermath of a storm.

You exhaled slowly, forcing your shoulders to relax as you glanced around the dining hall. The noise had returned to its usual rhythm—a soft din of clinking trays and overlapping conversations—but the weight of what had just happened still lingered in the air. Without waiting, you slipped toward the back of the hall, seeking the solace of a quiet corner where you could collect yourself.

Sliding into the farthest seat, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The tension in your chest eased, though the moment was short-lived. Maria appeared almost out of nowhere, her movements fluid as she took the chair beside you. She crossed her arms, her sharp gaze sweeping the room before landing on you. Her brows arched in silent curiosity, but her expression carried an edge of amusement.

“What did I miss?” she asked, “Why’s everyone looking at you like you just threw the first punch?”

You couldn’t help it—a laugh escaped you, bubbling out unexpectedly, light and tinged with disbelief. Maria’s brow furrowed deeper, though her lips twitched as if fighting back a smile. “What?” she pressed. “What’s so funny?”

“Joel,” you said, shaking your head and gesturing vaguely toward the front of the hall where the line stretched out. “He… handled a situation.”

Maria’s brow arched higher, her interest visibly piqued. “Handled a situation?” she echoed, leaning forward like a cat ready to pounce on juicy gossip. “Do tell. What kind of situation are we talking about here?”

You hesitated, the memory of Joel’s fury still fresh in your mind. Your fingers traced idle patterns on the wood grain of the table as you searched for the right words. “There was this guy. New, I think. He said something, and Joel—” You paused, the image of Joel pinning the man against the wall flashing in your mind. “Joel made sure he regretted it.”

Maria tilted her head, her lips quirking into a knowing smirk. “Made sure, huh?” she said, her tone teasing. “Let me guess—intimidation, maybe a little bit of his special brand of physical persuasion?”

You smiled despite yourself, the corners of your lips tugging upward. “Something like that,” you admitted quietly. “He grabbed the guy, slammed him against the wall… scared the hell out of everyone watching.”

Maria’s eyes widened slightly before a grin spread across her face. “Classic Joel,” she said with a laugh, shaking her head. But her expression softened as she watched you, her gaze turning pointed. “And I’m guessing it wasn’t just for show.”

Before you could respond, movement caught your attention. Joel was weaving through the dining hall, two trays balanced carefully in his hands. His face was set in that familiar stoic expression, his jaw tight and his steps deliberate. But then his eyes found yours, and for the briefest moment, they softened.

“Here,” Joel said simply, setting the tray down in front of you with the kind of care that felt oddly out of place in the bustling, noisy dining hall. “They didn’t have any more of that cornbread you liked, so I grabbed you this instead.” He slid a warm muffin onto your tray, its golden top glistening faintly, the scent of honey and cinnamon wafting up.

“Oh,” you breathed, your fingers brushing the edge of the tray, feeling the lingering warmth of the muffin. You glanced up at him, the words catching in your throat before finally tumbling out. “Thanks, Joel.”

He didn’t respond right away, just gave you a slight nod. Joel lowered himself into the chair beside you, the scrape of wood against the floor loud in the quiet corner you’d tucked yourselves into. His knee brushed yours briefly under the table as he adjusted his seat, but he didn’t move away. Neither did you.

Tommy arrived seconds later, sliding into the chair next to Maria with his tray in tow, his face lit up with a grin that was equal parts amused and mischievous. He stabbed a fork into the potatoes on his plate, leaning back with an exaggerated sigh.

“Well,” Tommy drawled, glancing between you and Joel, “guess we’re sittin’ at the safest table in Jackson now.”

Joel’s head snapped toward his brother, his brow furrowing in that familiar way that signaled his patience was wearing thin. “Knock it off,” he muttered, shoving a spoonful of stew into his mouth like he could end the conversation by sheer force of will.

Tommy chuckled, undeterred. “Can’t help it,” he said, leaning back in his chair with an unapologetic grin. “I mean, I’ve seen you get protective, Joel, but that back there?” He gestured vaguely toward the line where the earlier incident had unfolded. “That was somethin’ else.”

“Tommy,” Joel growled, his voice dropping into a warning. But instead of snapping, he glanced at you, his expression softening just slightly before his gaze darted back to his tray.

Maria finally chimed in, her voice carrying that same sharp amusement. “Well, Joel, if nothing else, you’ve definitely set the tone for how new arrivals should behave.”

Joel let out a soft huff, his head dipping as he dragged a hand over his face. “For the last time, I don’t wanna hear about it,” he muttered, though his tone lacked any real bite.

Then you felt it—his hand, warm and solid, squeezing your knee under the table.

You didn’t look at him. You didn’t need to. The weight of his hand, the silent reassurance in the way his fingers pressed gently but firmly against you, said everything he couldn’t. It wasn’t just a touch—it was a message. I’m here. I’ll always be here. I’m yours.

─── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ───

My other works!

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[joelslastofus]

[SUMMARY: Joel teaches Marlene’s younger sister about how a man cums.]

Smut smut smut

“What did you mean by…you didn’t pull out? Last night after we-“

“Had sex” he cleared his throat.

“I wonder if he was always this grumpy”

You raised a brow to Ellie as Joel walked off to check the perimeter.

“My guess is yes” she shrugged.

Had you known who your older sister Marlene had sent you off with, you would’ve never agreed. Had it not been for Ellie, you definitely would’ve never gone along.

Your sister knew you developed a closeness with Ellie and asked you to go along with her and Joel to eventually meet at the destination. Never had you met him before but you definitely heard of him.

“You both will be fine with him, he knows what he’s doing” was all Marlene told you privately, yet you still felt some doubt. After all, she was the only one who had met him prior.

Without explaining much Joel led you to what seemed like some kind of a trap. Standing by a gate as it opened you looked ahead curiously.

“Where are we?” Ellie asked.

“A friend’s house” was all he responded with.

Silently following him to the door, you watched as he let himself in and followed.

“Don’t touch anything” he uttered low before he stopped in his tracks to find a letter on a table by the front door. Whatever the letter said, you could see the disappointment linger in him. He swallowed uncomfortably and silently tore the letter into pieces before walking away.

“So what are we doing?” Ellie asked eagerly following behind him.

“We stay here for the night, gather some supplies, fill up the tank and take the car-“

“You’re gonna take their car?” Your question making him turn to you.

“Mhm” he responded flatly and turned away.

He wasn’t one to explain much, you either went along with what he said or you didn’t.

Marlene warned you about this but assured you whatever it was would be for your best.

Once you learned the house was filled with food and water, you each excitedly took a turn taking a shower.

Well, you and Ellie seemed the most excited.

Looking around the house wearing a bath robe you found, you almost didn’t feel like any of this was real.

Grabbing a bottle of wine that was on the table you poured yourself a glass as Ellie watched.

“Might as well” You shrugged when she suddenly raised her brows looking behind you.

“Woah look at you!” You turned to find Joel freshly showered in a button flannel with his wet hair slick back. For just a second he seemed a bit bashful until he laid eyes on you and took a quick glance at what you were wearing and at the glass of wine in your hand.

“Don’t mind me” Ellie’s playful tone making you and Joel look at her as she grabbed the bottle of wine.

“Put it down” Joel ordered.

“Gosh ok, fun killer” she rolled her eyes with a chuckle as Joel stood awkwardly looking back at you before he walked into the living room.

For just a moment you found yourself overcome with a heat you had never really felt before.

An attraction you didn’t expect.

To say Joel looked insanely hot fresh out of a shower, was an understatement.

“Helloooo” Ellie’s voice distracted you from your thoughts.

How long had she been talking?

You looked over to see Joel enter a room and close the door behind him as you turned with Ellie and walked to the opposite side of the house.

“I’m getting tired” Ellie sighed on the couch.

“So go to sleep” you yourself yawned sitting opposite from her. She was quick to fall asleep as you found yourself struggling to find a comfortable position, you refused to sleep on a chair and went off to another bedroom.

It was another long lonely night for Joel, his cock pushing against the tough material of his jeans as he lay back in bed with his hands behind his head.

Thoughts of you crossing his mind.

He tried to fight those thoughts the best he could, but the frustration of not having had a woman in what felt like years was getting harder for him to ignore.

He wasn’t close to Marlene, frankly he didn’t give a shit about her but he made a promise to protect her younger sister, not fantasize about fucking her. His lust for you becoming harder to ignore he gave in and roughly unzhipped his pants far enough where his cock was completely out. Spitting on his hand he began to slowly tug at his cock, staring at the ceiling thinking about what your body must look like beneath that heavy bath robe you wore.

Closing his eyes he let his very vivid imagination take over him when suddenly the sound of the door opening made him jump.

You had walked in and froze at the sight before you.

“The hell you doin?!” He attempted to grab a sheet to cover himself but wrapped so tightly beneath the mattress he failed at pulling it out.

You could’ve sworn Joel went to the other room, did he not?

Obviously he didn’t.

Still, you stood in shock…amazed at the sight of a grown mans erect cock.

Of course, you had seen many in pictures, you weren’t a virgin but…you did only have sex once. It was months ago and for you it didn’t count, you couldn’t even tell when it ended, the man didn’t care to pleasure you nor show you anything. All you knew was that a man would thrust into a woman’s cunt until he came, whatever that meant..

Closing the door behind you not taking your eyes off of what was before you, you walked towards him.

“What are you doin’? Get out of here-“ he pushed himself half way up struggling to cover his erection with his hand.

You could feel the sensation of flutters between your thighs, your cunt pulsating to feel something.

To feel him.

He watched your hands take hold of your robe and he knew what you were about to do.

“No-“ he faintly shook his head looking directly at you as you let the bath robe fall to the ground.

“Jesus….honey, please...” he whispered focusing on every part of your body, better than what he could imagine

Looking down at him, it was as if he couldn’t move. He seemed in a trance focused on your plump breasts before you slowly pushed him completely back onto the bed. Pressing his lips together he breathed deeply watching as your fingers swirled downward around the buttons on his shirt before stopping at his erect cock. His eyes darting between you and his cock wondering what you would do until you took hold of his thick length in your hands.

“Honey-“ he panted just as you felt him place his hand on the back of your thigh. You knew what you wanted to do next and without saying a word you took him fully into your mouth. His body instantly tensing at the feel of your warm mouth, your head bobbing in a rhythm until you felt yourself about to gag.

All you could hear was noises coming from him that you couldn’t make out.

Isn’t this what your friend said men loved?

Pushing yourself to continue, you had no idea how focused he was watching you. His jaw tense as you felt his hand creep up your back until he stopped on the back of your neck.

He was hesitant to hold your mouth on him but you felt him slightly squeeze you, a part of him somehow still trying to resist something he knew he couldn’t. Coming up for air you gagged as he said something incoherently through heavy breaths. Your jaw slightly sore as you struggled to catch your breath.

His chest falling and rising deeply, he watched as you began to unbutton his shirt one by one. His cock jerking wanting to feel your lips once more, wanting to feel you. You had no idea just how weak your touch made him, how long he had yearned for the feel of a woman.

Never had you been on top during sex but you remember your friends talking about it and even sharing pictures they had found from magazines. You remembered one photo specifically, the way the woman straddled the man and something in you pushed you to try it. Joel had no idea how inexperienced you truly were as you climbed over him and balanced yourself guiding him to your entrance. He could feel the heat of your wet cunt hovering over him and as you lowered yourself you were met by the unexpected girth of his cock.

“I don’t know how long I can go baby”

He tried to warn you but you not knowing exactly what he meant and listening to your own urges simply nodded. His hands on your hips he helped guide you taking him completely in, your lips open in shock as you balanced yourself on his chest. You noticed his jaw tense, a crease between his brows deepening feeling how you tightly wrapped around him.

Without saying a word, you did just as the magazine showed and began to ride him slowly. His fingers imprinting into your skin as he looked down watched himself disappear in you. His cock glistening from your juices building up around him, Joel had completely lost himself in the pleasure.

Was this the way sex was suppose to feel like?

A moan that even surprised you left your lips much louder than you meant to making Joel quickly look up at you.

“Tell me how it feels” he demanded watching your expressions change with each stroke.

Yet you almost couldn’t speak.

“Tell me-“ he spoke through clenched teeth. He needed to hear it.

“You feel so..good” you panted.

“Oh baby” he squeezed your hips thrusting upward until he felt an intensity he hadn’t felt in forever taking over him.

“Fuck-“ his body tensed, he almost looked as if he was in pain.

“Joel?” You whispered confused.

“Get off-“ he barely could speak clearly.

“What?” You gasped as his grip on you tightened, he threw his neck back squeezing his eyes shut letting out the loudest deepest groan you’ve ever heard a man make. Lifting both your bodies off the bed Joel in that moment felt every inch of his body over come in ecstasy; as if the world had stopped around him.

“Fuck-“ he breathed his eyes still closed. Looking down at him cluelessly, your hands on his chest, you didn’t know what to say.

“Did I..did I hurt you?” You whispered.

His eyes slowing opening, still in daze, his lips parted attempting to speak but before he could a knock startled you both.

“Joel? Are you okay?”

It was Ellie, his moan waking her up out of her deep sleep of course.

“Yes!” He choked out.

“Bad dream!” Was all he could say.

“Oh uh, okay” Ellie walked off back to the couch and closed her eyes again.

Still struggling to catch his breath, Joel looked up at you a bit confused himself. Why on earth would you think you hurt him? Here you still sat on him, feeling him throb inside you.

“You mind, honey?” He asked making you jump.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry-“ you quickly got off him taking a few steps back.

Joel knew he fucked up, he knew he shouldn’t have fucked you, let alone cum in you.

But god dammit you felt so good.

“Are you okay?” You whispered.

With a frustrated glare at your question he pushed himself up. Not saying a word he cleaned himself off and buttoned his pants back up.

“Why do you keep askin’ me that?” He stood up buttoning his shirt.

“Because….it looked like I hurt you…you were in pain” Joel furrowed his brows puzzled with your words.

“Pain? I beg your pardon”

“So I didn’t hurt you?” Each time you spoke it only left Joel more confused. It was as if you knew nothing about sex and how it worked.

“If it wasn’t for the way you rode me, I would’ve thought you were a damn virgin with the way you’re talkin’” he noticed you stood silent and his expression changed.

“Shit…don’t tell me you’re a-“

“I’m not” you quickly intervened as you put on your robe.

“I mean…I only had sex once but-“

Joel took a deep breath brushing his hand over his lips. You really didn’t know what the fuck just happened.

“I don’t know…some things…” you spoke hesitantly. Joel looked down at you still out of breath, his hands on his hips not exactly sure how to go about this.

“What do you know?” You could hear the frustration in his voice.

“You’re mad-“

“I ain’t…mad” he noticed his tone and spoke calmer.

“Tell me, whaddyah know?”

“I mean, I know how sex works…I know um…-“

“How’d ya know how to get on top of me?”

He blurt out.

“Some friends I had, had shown me some magazines and-“

“Did you read what those magazines said?”

“Not really…” you whispered. Taking a deep breath he looked down realizing he somehow got stuck in explaining to you exactly what sex was, explaining to you what he had just done.

“Well…as for me being in pain-“ he cleared his throat awkwardly. Quite frankly you had taken him out of his misery.

“You just…you made me cum” you looked at him blankly still unsure what that meant.

“Is that a good thing?”

“Yes-no…yes” Joel himself looked flustered.

“So why did you look like I hurt you?”

“I just hadn’t felt that in a long time, it was…a lot”

“I felt you…you were throbbing when you-“

“Alright that’s enough” he turned away.

“Why are you acting like this is a bad thing?” You walked towards him as he stopped in his tracks.

“It shouldn’t have happened” he turned back to you rather serious.

“But it felt good… What’s the problem?” The more you spoke the more frustrated he became.

“What are you afraid of, my sister Marlene?-“

“I ain’t afraid of your sister” he cut you off coldly.

“So then-“

“God dammit, I came in you!” He yelled louder than he meant to as you looked up at him confused. Grabbing your arms as he looked back at the door making sure Ellie hadn’t heard, he pulled you close to him.

“I didn’t pull out” he spoke low.

“You could get pregnant-“

“Pregnant?” Joel had no idea how naive you were, the innocent fear in your eyes making him feel a wave of guilt.

“I-…I can’t get pregnant” you shook your head.

“That can’t happen, Joel. I…I can’t…my sister would kill me-“

“Your sister should’ve informed you better, didn’t you get schooled?”

“Marlene rather I had focused on training instead of school work. I mean, I knew…I knew sex could lead to pregnancy I just didn’t know how and-oh my god” he could see the panic in you rise.

“I should get out of here” you ran out the door before Joel could even stop you. Your mind running a mile a minute, everything made sense now. You heard about women around you speak about their menstrual cycle, some mentioning being late…

Women still did fall pregnant regardless of what was going on, you just didn’t think it would happen to you.

The next day you met Joel and Ellie in the living room gathering supplies. Joel took a double look at you as you entered the room, your presence easily distracting him.

“Morning” you whispered to both.

“What have you guys found?” You asked looking down at the table.

“Everything and more” Ellie grinned.

“He’s even letting me have my own gun”

You quickly looked at Joel who shook his head.

“Aw come on, could’ve pulled a prank on her with me” Joel remained serious, focused on all he was taking.

“I’m gonna go check out the car, see what stuff they have in the garage” Ellie walked off leaving you two alone for the first time since last night.

“You alright?” He asked without looking up.

“Mhm”

“Look, I’m sorry I freaked you out last night. It’s something you should’ve known, it ain’t your fault” his eyes eventually met yours making your heart skip a beat.

“I just want you to know that if…if that ends up happening…we’ll deal with it together…somehow. Alright?” You felt some kind of relief although you had no idea how any of it would even play out.

“Ok” you whispered.

“Can I ask you something?” You continued, Joel nodded.

“What did you mean by…you didn’t pull out? Last night after we-“

“Had sex” he cleared his throat.

Adjusting himself in his chair, his feet’s widely apart from each other he sighed.

“Um, usually…I mean-“ he raised his brows unsure of how to explain what you asked.

“Usually men wear a condom to prevent a pregnancy.”

“A condom?” You raised a brow.

“Mhm. Somethin’ a man puts on but I wasn’t wearing one and the next resort is to pull out before…before cummin’”

“Why didn’t you? Did you know you were gonna cum before you did?” Joel rubbed the back of his neck, droplets of sweats building up on his forehead.

“Uh…yes-“

“So why didn’t you pull out?” You whispered.

“I couldn’t.” He looked up at you biting his bottom lip.

“Why not?”

“Because I couldn’t god dammit, it felt too good and I couldn’t get you off in time and it’s my damn fault and I apologize, alright? Enough with the damn questions.” Joel left you speechless, what could you possibly say to that?

Joel went back to going through things he had found, he seemed to be in the middle of working on screwing something back on as you watched. Putting full force into twisting something he made a similar sound to the night before. A groan that caught your attention. He noticed with the corner of his eye the way you looked at him and instantly stopped what he was doing.

“What is it?”

“Uh…nothing”

Joel looked back down continuing what he was doing until he did it again. Instantly flooding your mind with thoughts from last night.

“Can you stop doing that?” Your sudden tone made him look up.

“Stop what?”

“That sound…that damn sound you make”

He furrowed his brows putting down what he had in his hand, his eyes still on you.

“I beg your pardon”

“It just….it sounds like when…”

“Like?”

“Like when…when you came” you blurt out.

Joel stood silent in that moment struggling to fight back thoughts he was having. Curiosity eating up at him as you stood innocently in front of him, he couldn’t help himself but wonder...

“A man ever make you cum?”

“What?” You responded almost embarrassed.

“Me?”

“Yes you”

You shook your head silently.

Joel looked over his shoulder making sure Ellie was no where near before he made his way to you. Cornering you against the wall you looked up at him confused.

“What are you doing?”

“You know, darlin’? You talk an awful lot sometimes” he pulled you by your belt unbuckling it.

“Joel-“ he unbuttoned your pants.

“Wait-“

“I thought you said we shouldn’t have done what we did last night” you whispered.

In his mind Joel was battling what was right, what was wrong…what he wanted and he couldn’t stop himself.

“I just think it’s fair I make you feel how you made me feel…at least once” his voice was tempting, his eyes making you melt. Slowly you nodded and allowed him to stick his hand in your pants. His foot making you part your legs, sliding one foot farther away from the other. Joel moved slowly, first allowing his fingers to feel you over the soft fabric of your underwear. Somehow just a simple touch sent shivers down your spine, his tongue sliding over his bottom lip as he felt your pussy lips agonist his fingers. He watched your eyes almost roll back, you felt yourself aroused by his touch. Slowly he pushed your underwear aside, letting his fingers pry apart your lips to instantly feel you were already wet.

“Oh honey..” he whispered as he pushed you against the wall with his body. You felt his finger begin to do something you’ve never felt, he began to move it in a circular motion right on your clit. Tingling sensations shooting up your abdomen, your breathing became harder to control. He watched as the pleasure built up inside you, your body sinking into his as you let out a soft whimper. Joel took your arm and placed it over his shoulder, allowing you to hold on to him as he moved his finger faster.

That’s when you noticed he was hard ready to burst out of his pants. Reaching to his crotch area he caught your arm before you could touch him.

“Mm mm, I’m workin’ on you right now, honey”

You could feel the pleasure begin to grow as if something would burst inside you. Your legs quivering you moaned as a pressure you had never felt increased.

“Oh my god” you dug your nails into the back of his neck making him move faster, his other arm holding you up around your waist as you struggled to stay balanced.

“Don’t fight it, baby, let it go” he demanded in a rough whisper. You couldn’t stop it if you tried, an overpowering rush of pleasure consumed you making you cry out like you never had. Joel’s eyes filled with instant fulfillment watching as the intensity took over you.

“Good girl” his hand caressed your neck, his forehead on yours, you panted as your pussy throbbed against his fingers. You couldn’t speak as he carried you onto a table against the wall.

He wasn’t done with you just yet.

He pulled your pants completely off and unzipped his as you still sat in a trance coming back from cloud nine. Placing himself between your legs, he watched your eyes widen as you slid himself in you. Holding your body up against him Joel fucked you as if he had something to make up for, as if you both were running out of time together. Grabbing onto him for dear life you moaned with each deep thrust, you never knew something could feel so good. His hands dug into your hair, pulling your neck back forcing you to look up at him. That’s when he kissed you, his tongue danced around yours as he moved his hips slowly. Muffling your moans he made sure every inch of him left you wanting more. Parting his lips from yours he didn’t take his eyes off you, his pace growing fast once more, your eyes rolling back.

“Oh god, it’s happening..again”

“Mhm” he thrusted harder, tugging at your hair with more force until he felt you tighten around him and your body jerked against his. Your moans making him reach his climax before he quickly pulled out and came on your thigh.

You panted looking down as he jerked himself off and watched his cum pour out of him. A deep breath of relief he closed his eyes before you heard the garage door close.

“Oh shit, she’s coming-“ you whispered as you both jumped to fix yourselves back to normal as fast as you could when she appeared at the door. Your back to Joel as you struggled to catch your breath, you pretended to be looking through a random book laying around as Joel continued packing.

“What’s wrong with you, Joel?” Ellie asked curiously noticing how out of breath he was.

“Huh? nothin’”

“Why are you so sweaty?”

“Cause I’m the only one putting every damn together, here-“ he threw her a small bag.

“Why don’t ya take that to the car, I’ll be right there” Ellie silently grabbed the bag, shrugged and walked out.

“Think she noticed?” Joel spoke looking over his shoulder before turning back to you realizing you didn’t respond, only to see you struggling to keep your balance by the wall.

“What’s wrong?” He quickly stood up walking towards you.

“I um-“ your voice trembled.

“My legs can’t stop shaking” you whispered. Joel couldn’t help but smirk.

“Are you gonna laugh at me? I can’t help it”

“ I ain’t laughing at cha”

“Sure seems like it”

“You have my word, I really ain’t. But now you know how you left me last night, guess we’re even.” Joel turned away with a chuckle as he grabbed another bag and walked to the car.

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[capuccinodoll]

Honey love, dark eyes

♡ Chapter nine ♡

Summary: You confront Travis, and with each passing day, you begin to feel more like yourself. The company of your favorite girls fills your days with warmth and laughter. Someone knocks on your door. WC: 12.0k A/N: OKAY. I had planned to post this over the weekend, but I just couldn’t waittt lol and since I didn’t post for two weeks, here’s part 9 as a little gift for you <3 Don't forget to follow me on capuccinodollupdates for updates!

Monday. Your knuckles throbbed as you hammered on the door, the echo reverberating through the hallway. Three times, then another six—or was it seven? You weren’t sure. All you knew was the sharp sting in your hand as you finally dropped it to your side. Your breath remained steady, but you could feel emotion clawing its way through your calm exterior. Your foot betrayed you, shifting restlessly against the wooden floor.

Something had shifted, something you couldn’t quite place. You’d spent the entire night staring at the ceiling, your mind racing while the hours stretched endlessly. By the time your alarm screamed to life in the morning, you felt more wired than exhausted, like your restlessness had seeped into your bones. At work, nothing held your focus. The papers on your desk blurred together, the words losing their meaning as your thoughts wandered elsewhere. You checked the clock obsessively, willing the minutes to pass, but even when the day finally crawled to an end, the unease clung to you.  

What the hell was going on with Joel? His behavior had been erratic, disjointed—like he was holding something back. Every glance, every word from him felt layered, deliberate, but never enough to give you clarity. It was maddening, the sense that there was a piece of the puzzle you hadn’t been given, something vital he wasn’t saying. 

“Ask him,” he had said yesterday, brushing you off with a cryptic shrug. But you weren’t someone who could just let things go.

Now, the door creaked open, and there stood Travis, his expression a mix of curiosity and something softer, almost tentative. His damp hair clung to his forehead, droplets still glistening at the edges. He looked freshly showered, the scent of soap faintly wafting in the cool air between you. His gray T-shirt was inside out, the seams and tag clearly visible, as if he’d thrown it on without much thought. He wore dark blue sweatpants that hung loose around his hips and no socks or shoes, his bare feet planted firmly on the hardwood floor.

He blinked at you, his eyebrows knitting together when he caught sight of your face.

“Hey,” he said, your name falling from his lips with a question mark at the end. “Are you okay?” His voice held genuine concern as his eyes flickered over your face, trying to decode your expression.

Your mouth felt dry, your throat tight. You couldn’t bring yourself to smile or reassure him. Instead, you stood frozen, your arms wrapped around yourself as if bracing against an invisible wind.

“Did something happen?” he asked again, stepping slightly closer. He tilted his head, his gaze searching. “Come inside. It’s freezing out here.”

But you didn’t move. Your feet were rooted to the ground, defying his invitation.

“What happened between you and Joel?” you asked, your voice steadier than you felt inside. 

He paused, the question clearly taking him off guard. “What?”

“You talked to Joel, didn’t you?” You tightened your arms around yourself, your tone low and deliberate, trying to keep your emotions in check. “I know you did. He told me.”

That wasn’t entirely true. Joel hadn’t told you much of anything, just enough to leave you spinning. Blurry fragments of his words had lodged themselves in your mind, their edges sharp enough to cut. Still, you had pieced together enough to confront Travis now.

Travis’s eyes narrowed slightly, his body shifting against the doorway.

“What exactly did he tell you?” he asked, his voice cautious but far from confused. He wasn’t lost—he knew exactly what you were referring to.

“Enough,” you replied, your voice hardening despite yourself. The anger that had been simmering beneath the surface was beginning to bubble over. “Don’t play dumb, Travis. What did you say to him?”

For a long moment, he didn’t respond. His lips pressed together, his jaw tight. Then he exhaled through his nose, glancing briefly at the floor before meeting your gaze again.

“Look, I… I talked to him, okay? He... we had a conversation.”

“What kind of conversation?” you pressed, taking a small step forward. “Why would he tell me to ask you if nothing happened? What did you say to him?”

Travis leaned against the doorframe, rubbing the back of his neck as if trying to work through the tension there.

"He showed up late Saturday night,” he admitted, his voice softer now, carryin’ a hint of regret. “While you were sleepin’, I answered the door. Didn’t wanna wake you."

Your stomach twisted at his words. You could picture it too vividly—Joel standing on the other side of the door, his face shadowed by some unspoken emotion. You swallowed hard, pushing the image away.

“What did he want?”

“He wanted to talk to you,” Travis said simply, though the hesitation in his voice suggested there was more to the story.

“And?” You tilted your head, your eyes narrowing. “What did you tell him, Travis?”

"I told him you needed some space,” he said, the words spillin’ out in a hurry. “That you didn’t wanna see him.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening. “That’s it? You expect me to believe that’s all you said?”

Travis’s gaze faltered for a fraction of a second. He straightened slightly, squaring his shoulders.

“I might have… implied some things,” he admitted reluctantly. 

“Implied what?” Your voice was sharper now, your frustration cracking through. “What the hell did you say to him, Travis?”

His jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

“I told him you were movin’ on,” he said at last, his tone a bit defensive. “That you and me… that we spent the night... you know, uh—”

A sharp laugh escaped you, though there was nothing humorous about it.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, shaking your head. “So you lied to him? Why? To hurt him? To make yourself feel better?”

“’Cause he deserves it!” Travis snapped, his voice risin’. “After the way he’s treated you, the way he’s acted… He don’t get to just waltz back into your life like nothin’ happened. Someone needed to put him in his place.”

You took a step back, your arms dropping to your sides.

“And you thought that someone should be you?” you asked, your voice cold. “Do you even realize what you’ve done? This isn’t your fight, Travis. It never was.”

“Why do you care so much about what that prick thinks?” Travis’s voice was tight, each word laced with frustration. “Why does it matter if he thinks somethin' happened between us? We’ve been dating for weeks, haven’t we?”

“Because even if something had happened, it would be nobody else’s business,” you shot back, your voice trembling, though whether from anger or disbelief, you weren’t sure. “You had no right to talk about us behind my back, Travis, to talk about me that way. That’s a line you don’t cross. If there’s anything between us—anything at all—it stays between us. That’s how respect works. But you… you just threw it out there like it was some weapon to hurt him.”

“Respect?” Travis repeated, his eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. “Joel don’t respect me, so why should I give it to him?”  

"I know, you’re right," you said, your voice steady but firm. "I know Joel’s been awful to you from the start, but that's not the point!” you snapped, takin’ a step closer. “Why’d you even say it, Travis? To piss him up? To win some kind of imaginary contest? What exactly did you think you’d accomplish?”

His face darkened, the accusation hitting a nerve. “You’re really asking me that?” he said, his voice rising slightly. “Why the fuck did you agree to go out with me, anyway? I think we both know it’s not me you want to be with.”

The words hung in the air like a sudden drop in temperature. You felt your breath catch, your pulse roaring in your ears.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you demanded, but your voice lacked the sharpness you’d intended.

“It means you never stopped wantin' him,” Travis said bluntly, his jaw set. “You say you like me—liked me—but let’s be honest. That’s not enough, is it? You’re still hung up on Joel, no matter how much you try to pretend otherwise.”

“I liked you because I thought you were decent,” you countered, your voice quieter now but no less firm. “Because I thought you wouldn’t pull shit like this.”

“Decent,” he repeated bitterly, the word dripping with sarcasm. “That’s what you look for in someone? Decency?” He let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Guess that explains why Joel’s still got a hold on you.”

“Don’t turn this around on me, Travis,” you warned, your tone icy. “This isn’t about Joel. This is about you, and the fact that you dragged me into your petty grudge match with him. You told him we slept together to hurt him, didn’t you? That’s all this was to you. Some sick way of proving a point.”

“Maybe I did,” he admitted after a long pause, his voice defiant, though his eyes gave away the guilt behind his words. “Maybe I wanted to see him squirm for once. God knows he deserved it. And truth be told, I sure did enjoy watchin’ him die a little inside.”

“Deserved it?” You laughed sharply, shaking your head in disbelief. “At my expense? You really enjoyed pissing him off, didn’t you? You thought it was worth it to drag me into the middle of your shit, just so you could watch him lose it.”

“I wasn’t trying to drag you into anything,” Travis argued, though his tone lacked conviction. “I was protecting you. Standing up for you. Again, Joel doesn’t get to just walk back into your life after everything he’s done and act like nothing happened.”

“Protecting me?” you repeated, incredulous. “You think lying to him about us is protecting me? If you wanted to protect me, you would have stayed out of it completely.”

“I didn’t lie,” he shot back, his voice rising again. “Not really.”

“Oh, give me a break,” you said, throwing your hands up. “Don’t try to split hairs with me, Travis. You knew exactly what you were doing, and it had nothing to do with me. This was all about you and your bullshit rivalry with Joel. What’s next? Are you going to pull out a ruler and measure dicks with him? Honestly, If you’d just punched him square in the face, it would’ve been far more decent.”

Travis’s face fell, the anger draining from his expression in an instant. Guilt settled in its place, heavy and unmistakable. He opened his mouth to respond but then closed it again, the silence between you thick and suffocating.

You took a step back, your arms crossing over your chest again. “I don’t even know what to say to you right now,” you said quietly. “I thought I could trust you. I thought you were better than this.”

“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “I screwed up. I was angry, and I let it get the best of me. I didn’t mean to—”

You let out a slow breath, feeling the weight of his words press against the knot already forming in your stomach. You shook your head, trying to hold onto the edges of your resolve.

“You had no right to meddle in my business with Joel,” you said, your gaze fixed on the floor. The words felt sharp, final, as though speaking them aloud might make them easier to believe.

When you looked up, his eyes were on you, calmer now but no less intense. The familiar shade of blue in them seemed darker, clouded with something unspoken. He stood there, silent, watching you like he was waiting for something—permission, maybe, or understanding.

“I know everything with him is… difficult,” you continued, your voice quieter now, tinged with something softer. “And I know it’s been unfair. But it’s between him and me. It always has been.”

Travis sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He pushed himself off the doorframe and took a step forward, then stopped, his hands hovering awkwardly by his sides. His lips curved into a faint, bitter smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“I just don’t get it,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t get why you even agreed to go out with me in the first place. Why drag me into all this? You could’ve just spared me the trouble, saved me from wastin’ my time, from wastin’ energy on somethin’ I was never gonna win.”

The words hit you harder than you expected, cutting through your carefully constructed armor. You forced yourself to meet his gaze, your voice softer now, though still firm.

“Why would you need to win anything, Travis? This isn’t a competition. It never was.”

“Really?” he asked, his voice cold, though the hurt behind it was unmistakable. He laughed quietly, shaking his head. “Doesn’t feel that way.”

You took a step closer, trying to close the gap—not just the physical space between you, but something deeper.

“I liked you, Travis,” you said, your words deliberate, each one carefully chosen. “I’ve always liked you. Don’t doubt that for a second. And don’t think I used you. That’s not what this was.”

He looked at you for a long moment, his lips pressed tightly together, his expression unreadable. Then, finally, he nodded, his jaw tightening.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice softer now. The words carried something heavier than before, as though he’d just realized how little they could do to fix this.

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening.

“Me too,” you admitted. The weight of the moment hung heavy in the air between you, thick and oppressive. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like you didn’t matter. Or like you were… caught in the middle of something you never signed up for. That was never my intention.”

“But?” he prompted, his voice quiet but firm, like he already knew what was coming.

You smiled faintly, though there was no humor in it. Only sadness.

“But this is as far as it goes,” you said, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. “And it needs to stop here. For both of us.”

Travis nodded slowly, his lips pulling into a thin, resigned line.

“You’re right,” he said, his voice barely audible. He looked at you, his eyes heavy with something you couldn’t quite name—regret, maybe, or acceptance.

You didn’t say anything else. There was nothing left to say. Instead, you turned and walked away, your footsteps soft but deliberate. You felt his gaze linger on you as you left, heard him murmur another apology under his breath, though it did little to dull the raw discomfort still settling over you.

The walk home felt interminable. Each step dragged, your feet moved mechanically while your mind spun, heavy with the weight of what had just happened. The crisp air bit at your cheeks, and the faint hum of distant traffic filled the silence you carried. When you finally reached your home, you shut the door behind you with a soft click, leaning against it longer than you should have. The quiet of your home surrounded you, thick and expectant, as if it had been waiting for you to process everything.

You shrugged off your coat and kicked off your shoes, leaving them in a messy pile near the door. Your fingers paused on the hem of your sweater as you headed to the bathroom. The mirror caught your reflection, and you froze. You were startled by how tired you looked—your hair tousled from the wind, shadows ringing your eyes. You didn’t feel like yourself, and seeing that weariness staring back at you was jarring.

The shower’s hot spray offered a small reprieve. You stood under it longer than you probably should have, letting the water drum against your skin and the steam fill the room until it was hard to breathe. You tried to think, to pin your feelings down, but everything slipped away, as if you were trying to hold water in your hands. Anger at Travis still simmered under your skin, but there was something else, quieter and harder to name—a gnawing mix of pain and confusion.

When you finally stepped out, your skin was pink from the heat, your hair damp and sticking to your neck. You wrapped yourself in your thickest robe and walked barefoot into the kitchen. The house felt colder now, the chill seeping through the floor and nipping at your ankles. You filled the kettle and set it to boil. The small ritual of making tea steadied you. The soft whistle of steam was oddly soothing, a thread of normalcy in the chaos of your thoughts.

Back in your bedroom, you sat on the edge of the bed, wrapping your hands around the mug as if its warmth could sink into your chest. You sipped slowly, your eyes locked on a spot on the wall you weren’t really seeing. Travis’s words played on repeat in your head, each one sharp and heavy, making your chest ache. But then your thoughts drifted to Joel—his voice, his face, the way he lingered in your mind even when he wasn’t there. You tried to untangle your feelings, to make sense of them, but everything was a mess. You felt stuck, suspended between anger, regret, and an ache you didn’t want to name.

By the time your tea had cooled, you set the mug on the nightstand and crawled under the covers. You curled into yourself, as if trying to protect your body from the storm inside your mind. Sleep came in fits and starts, your dreams restless and fragmented.

When you woke, pale winter light filtered through the curtains, and the clock on your phone read 5:00 p.m. The realization sat heavy in your stomach, though you weren’t entirely sure why.

You lay there, staring at the ceiling, as a decision started to take shape. You needed to talk to Joel. You needed answers—clarity—something to cut through the fog that had settled over you. The thought filled you with both dread and determination, but you knew it was the only way forward. Avoiding this had only left you feeling more tangled.

Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you headed into the kitchen. The quiet of the house felt like both a comfort and a weight pressing down on you. You grabbed a glass of water, leaning against the counter as you tried to gather the resolve for the conversation you had been putting off. After a few seconds, you forced yourself to stop thinking about it.

Then, after pacing your home for what felt like hours, the walls pressing in closer with every loop around the living room, you decided you needed air. Staying inside had begun to feel suffocating.

You didn’t have a plan when you left, not really. The streetlights buzzed faintly in the cool dusk, casting a yellow haze on the cracked pavement. The air had that sharp, metallic chill of autumn, biting at your cheeks and pinching your nose. You pulled your scarf tighter as you walked, hands buried deep in your pockets, letting your feet lead without much thought.  

Eventually, you found yourself standing in front of the small, unassuming cinema tucked between a bookstore and a closed bakery. The marquee flickered with a mix of indie titles and old classics. You chose something without paying too much attention, just handed over your card and took the ticket without caring about the plot or reviews. It wasn’t about the movie, really—it was about the act of sitting in the dark, of letting someone else’s story take up the space in your head that Joel’s had been occupying for too long. 

The air inside was warm and thick with the scent of buttered popcorn, wrapping around you like a familiar embrace. With your snacks in hand—popcorn and chocolate, the perfect blend of sweet and salty—you found a seat near the back, where the dim glow of the screen felt like a shield from the outside world.

The movie began: 16 Candles. Molly Ringwald appeared, her face falling as her family forgot her birthday. You watched, though your focus wavered, the story blurring into the film’s grainy texture. For long stretches, you weren’t even sure what was happening, your mind slipping in and out of the narrative.

But none of that mattered. For those few moments, tucked away in the darkness, you weren’t thinking about him. And that was enough.

When the credits rolled, you stayed seated for a moment longer, watching the names scroll by in white letters against the black screen. There was something soothing about the rhythm of it, the anonymity of all those people who had come together to create something for strangers to sit and lose themselves in. Finally, you stood, stretching your legs as you shuffled out into the night.

Your stomach growled as you stepped onto the street, and you realized you hadn’t eaten since lunch. Without much deliberation, you turned toward your favorite restaurant, the one you always went to when you craved a little indulgence or comfort. It wasn’t far—just a few blocks away—and the walk, though cold, felt like a balm. The restaurant’s warm light spilled onto the sidewalk, a beacon against the deepening dark.  

Inside, you slid into a familiar booth by the window, the worn leather cushioning a kind of second skin to your movements. The server greeted you by name, smiling as they handed you a menu, though you barely glanced at it before ordering your usual. The predictability of it felt steadying, a ritual that didn’t demand any extra thought.  

As you waited, you let your eyes wander. The restaurant was only half-full, a quiet hum of conversation blending with the clink of silverware against plates. You imagined snippets of lives that weren’t yours—a couple arguing softly over shared appetizers, a man engrossed in his phone, a table of friends laughing too loudly. You didn’t envy or resent any of it.  

When your food arrived, the first bite was a revelation, reminding you just how hungry you were. You ate slowly, savoring every forkful, letting the warmth spread through you like a kind of healing. You didn’t check your phone once, didn’t let your thoughts circle back to Joel or any of the messy, unresolved tangles waiting for you at home. Instead, you let yourself exist in this small, fleeting moment of peace.  

By the time you left, your body felt heavy with contentment, your mind quieter than it had been in days. The streets were quieter now, too, the city winding down into its nighttime lull. You took the long way home, the cold air stinging your cheeks but waking you up in a way that felt good. And for the first time in what felt like ages, you felt good.

That night, you slept like a baby.

*

Tuesday. The afternoon found you typing away at your laptop, the steady rhythm of keys filling the otherwise quiet living room. The soft knock at the door startled you out of your focus. You paused, turning your head toward the sound, squinting as if that might help you see through walls.

Resting your palms on the table, you pushed yourself up and walked to the door, curiosity flickering. Who could it be? You weren’t expecting anyone. When you opened it, a warm smile tugged at your lips before you even realized it.

“Hi,” Sarah greeted, her usual brightness dimmed slightly by a rare shyness. She stood there, clutching a paper bag against her chest, the faint rustling hinting at its contents. “I was home alone and thought… I don’t know, maybe I could come over? Hang out for a bit? They just put 13 Going on 30 back on Netflix, and I thought we could watch it. I brought snacks.” She lifted the bag slightly, a hopeful grin spreading across her face. "Just if you can, obviously."

You tilted your head, stepping aside to let her in. “Of course. That sounds perfect.”

She walked in, brushing past you with an air of quiet confidence, though her smile betrayed how pleased she was.

As she made her way to the kitchen, you asked, “Does your dad know you’re here?”

“He’s working,” Sarah replied casually, already unloading her treasures onto the counter. “I left him a note. He won’t mind.”

You followed her, leaning against the counter as she spread out an array of treats: chocolates, chips, two popcorn bags, Doritos, and a generous stash of her favorite sour gummies. She seemed so at ease in your space, like it was as much hers as it was yours.

“Wow,” you remarked, surveying the haul with mock astonishment. “This is a feast.”

Sarah grinned, shrugging like it was no big deal. “I wasn’t sure what you’d be in the mood for, so I brought everything.” She paused, holding up a bag of popcorn. “You can’t watch 13 Going on 30 without chocolate, right?”

“Absolutely not,” you agreed, reaching for the bag to help her. As you moved around the kitchen together, the air between you felt light, easy. She chattered about her day, slipping seamlessly between topics, while you found yourself laughing at her sharp, funny observations.

By the time the snacks were ready, the living room was glowing softly in the dim light of the TV. Sarah settled onto the couch, pulling a blanket over her legs, and patted the spot next to her. You joined her, the warmth of her presence a quiet comfort.

As the opening credits rolled, she glanced at you, her expression serious for a moment. “Thanks for letting me come over. I just… I didn’t feel like being alone today.”

A sharp pang settled in your chest at her words. You realized just how much you’d missed her these past few weeks. The two of you hadn’t spent much time together lately, and the thought of Sarah passing her afternoons alone tugged at you in a way you couldn’t ignore. 

You remembered how it used to be. How she’d spend hours with you while Joel was at work, her chatter filling the silences in the house, her presence a comfort you’d come to treasure. You loved those afternoons—the way she’d casually sprawl on your couch, teasing you about your tea obsession or insisting on picking the music. But then, gradually, the visits stopped. She probably sensed something was wrong between you and her dad. Sarah was perceptive like that. Too perceptive.

It killed you to think she felt caught in the middle of something she didn’t fully understand. And because of that, you hadn’t pushed her to come back. You didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable or burdened.

You met her gaze, offering her a small, reassuring smile. “You’re always welcome here, honey. Always. I've missed you a lot.”

Sarah’s expression softened, but she hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the candy bar in her hand. “I missed you too,” she admitted quietly, her voice almost tentative, as if she were afraid of saying it out loud. “I wasn’t sure if… you know, if things were okay.”

“Of course they are,” you said quickly, stepping closer and resting a gentle hand on her arm. “With me and you? They’re always okay. I hope you know that.”

She looked up at you, her lips curving into a faint smile, though a flicker of uncertainty lingered in her eyes. “It’s just… I didn’t want to bother you, especially with everything going on. Dad doesn’t say much, but I can tell something’s been… weird.”

Your heart squeezed at her honesty, and you took a steadying breath.

“Things have been complicated,” you admitted, choosing your words carefully. “But none of it changes how much I care about you. You mean so much to me, and I’m glad you’re here, really.”

Her smile grew a little wider, the vulnerability giving way to a familiar brightness. “Okay,” she said softly. Then, almost teasingly, she added, “You’re stuck with me tonight, by the way. I brought enough snacks for a sleepover, just sayin'.”

You chuckled, the sound light and easy, as if a weight had lifted from the room. “Good. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

The movie played on, its quick-witted humor keeping the two of you entertained. You couldn't count the number of times you'd seen it, though you'd guess it was well into double digits. One of your favorite comedies, it had been an instant hit with Sarah when you'd introduced her to it on a lazy Saturday morning. Since then, she'd occasionally tug at your sleeve, asking for another watch, usually with the promise of snacks you both knew you'd overdo.

As the credits rolled, you noticed the remnants of your indulgence: a half-eaten chocolate bar in your hand and Sarah carefully organizing the bag of sour gummies on the coffee table. She tucked the gummies away with an air of exaggerated responsibility, declaring it a strategic move to ensure there were enough left for another movie night soon.

Feeling the sugar settle uncomfortably in your stomach, you pushed off the couch, announcing, “I need water. Want some?”

Sarah stretched, her arms flopping dramatically onto the cushions. “Yeah, please. But a small glass. I don’t want to explode.”

The kitchen light felt sharp after the dim glow of the TV. You grabbed two glasses, filling one as Sarah called your name from the other room. Her tone was curious, a little tentative. Before you could answer, you heard her feet padding toward you. She appeared in the doorway, her hands fluttering slightly as though brushing off invisible crumbs from her shirt.

“Can I really sleep over?” she asked, stepping closer.

You handed her the glass of water. She accepted it but didn’t drink, her bright, questioning gaze fixed on you.

“Of course,” you said, leaning back against the counter. “But your dad has to be okay with it. Don’t you have school tomorrow?”

She shrugged one shoulder, sipping the water. “Yeah, but I’ve done it before. He won’t care.”

“Well,” you said, tilting your head, “you should still ask him.”

She tilted her head right back at you, mirroring your expression. “Why don’t you ask him? You’re the adult.”

You almost laughed at her logic. “If he’s at work, I doubt he’ll answer a call. Just text him.”

Sarah shook her head decisively, the same way she did when you suggested vegetables for dinner. “He hates texts. Besides, I don’t have my phone with me. And anyway,” she added, spinning on her heel toward the bathroom, “you’re the one who’ll need to explain it if he says no.”

Her retreat left you holding your glass of water, staring at the space where she'd stood. You glanced at the clock on the wall: just after six. Joel would probably be home soon. You could wait and let her handle it, or maybe save yourself the hassle and send him a quick text yourself.

From the bathroom, Sarah's voice floated out. “Hey! Don’t forget to ask, okay? But, like, be convincing. Say we’ve had so much fun.”

“Oh my God,” you muttered, half-laughing, Sarah’s earlier comment still replaying in your mind.

The kitchen was dim, and your eyes rested on a blank patch of wall, thoughts moving like syrup. Dinner. You needed to decide. Pasta sounded good—something carb-heavy, comforting. Maybe that spaghetti recipe you loved but hadn’t made in ages.

The refrigerator door creaked open, releasing a blast of cool air that brushed your face as you leaned in. You scanned the cluttered shelves, the faint hum of the appliance the only sound filling the quiet kitchen. Your fingers absently scratched your cheek as your eyes drifted over jars, old takeout containers, and a tangle of half-used bags of ingredients. 

A bottle of soy sauce caught your attention, slumped in the door shelf, its label peeling at the edges. You stared at it for a moment, trying to recall when you’d last used it. Christmas before last? Maybe even earlier. It looked so out of place now, like a forgotten relic from some half-hearted attempt at cooking you'd long since moved on from. Had it really lasted this long? You wondered if it was still good.

You were still debating dinner options when Sarah returned, her footsteps soft against the tile. She was drying damp hands on her jeans, smearing faint water trails on the dark fabric. Sliding onto the stool at the kitchen island, she leaned forward, resting her chin in her hands.

“So?” she asked, her tone equal parts casual and sharp. “What did he say?”

“Huh?” You straightened, caught off guard.

“You called him, right?”

“I... no, I didn’t.”

Her brows lifted slightly, the edges of a smirk tugging at her lips. But when you didn’t follow up, her amusement faded. A shadow of something more serious crossed her face.

“I knew it,” she said flatly, her voice quieter now.

“Wh—”

“I knew something was wrong with you,” she interrupted, her words deliberate. “But no one ever tells me anything.” Her face scrunched into a frown, the kind that tugged at your chest because it was so distinctly hers—and so distinctly Miller.

“No, honey,” you said softly, stepping closer and leaning your elbows on the counter. Now at her eye level, you tried to hold her gaze. “It’s not that simple. What’s been going on between your dad and me... it’s just complicated.”

Her frown deepened, her lips pressing into a hard line. “It’s always complicated. That’s what you grown-ups say when you don’t want to explain anythin'.”

You sighed, your nerves making your voice tight. “It’s something between adults.”

She leaned back slightly, crossing her arms in a way that made her look older than twelve. “Yeah, but you got involved, didn’t you? And now it’s all weird.”

The directness of her words landed like a jab, though there wasn’t anger in her tone—just sharp observation. She had that way of cutting through pretenses, seeing things for what they were, or at least how they felt to her.

“I heard you guys the other day,” Sarah said, her voice cutting through the quiet like a blade.  

Her words sent a cold rush up your spine, landing squarely at the nape of your neck. You froze, unsure of how to react.  

“Sunday,” she clarified, her tone even but pointed. “When you came to my house. I heard you. I was on the stairs, and my dad didn’t notice. Neither did you.”  

Your mouth felt dry. “What... what did you hear?” The question came out faster than you intended, betraying your nerves.  

Her eyes, sharp and unblinking, stayed fixed on you.

“I heard my dad,” she began, carefully measuring each word. “He was saying a lot of... angry stuff. About Travis. About you. Accusing you of—of going off with him.” She paused, hesitating before adding, “And he said you told him you didn’t want to be friends with him anymore. He sounded hurt.”  

The mention of it made your stomach twist, and your eyebrows gave away your unease before you could school your expression.  

“Did you?” she asked, her face an uneasy mix of curiosity and sadness.  

You took a breath, looking at her and realizing there was no point in lying.

“Yeah,” you admitted quietly.  

“Why?” Her voice wasn’t accusatory, just earnest, like she truly wanted to understand. “What did he do to you?”  

You bit the inside of your cheek, unsure how to condense the mess of emotions into something a twelve-year-old could grasp without oversharing. The words churned in your head, bumping into each other, refusing to settle.  

“We argued,” you said eventually, each word feeling like a step on unstable ground. “And your dad said some things. Mean things. And... I said some things too. We hurt each other.” You paused, swallowing hard. “But it hurt me a lot. Too much. And I told him that.”

Sarah studied your face for a long moment, her expression softening into something thoughtful.

In a quieter voice, she asked, “Was it because you guys like each other?”  

The question caught you off guard, and a laugh bubbled up despite yourself—a small, surprised sound that you tried to stifle.  

“Something like that,” you said, glancing at her with a faint smile.  

She mirrored it, her lips curving up in a way that felt both hopeful and uncertain.  

You exhaled, your gaze dropping to the counter.

“We’ve been friends for so long, and... it’s complicated when something else happens. Or even when you think something else might happen.” You paused, trying to find the right words. “There’s a lot to figure out. A lot to fix, I think.”  

Sarah nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful, as if she were piecing together a puzzle. Then she scratched the back of her neck in a way that was both casual and deliberate, like she was working up to something.

“He’s been downright unbearable lately,” she said, her tone more matter-of-fact than annoyed. “In a bad mood most the time. And when he’s in a good mood, it’s like... I dunno, feels kinda fake or somethin’. Not real convincing.” She shot you a glance, her face lit up with that mix of mischief and sincerity. “Usually, I like teasin’ him—it’s fun. But lately, I just... I dunno, I can’t bring myself to do it. He looks so bad. I feel sorry for him.”

Your eyebrows lifted, and you tried to hide your amusement at how bluntly she was painting Joel’s misery. Poor guy didn’t stand a chance under her scrutiny.

“Well, that’s probably for the best,” you said, smiling as you reached out to rest a hand over hers. “Don’t bother him too much. Go easy on him, okay?”

“Yeah, I guess,” she muttered, her fingers tapping lightly against the counter. Then her gaze lifted to yours, her bright eyes sharp and curious. “But it all kind of makes sense now.”

You tilted your head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I knew something was wrong right after his birthday,” she explained, her voice gaining momentum. “He wouldn’t tell me anything when I asked, though. So I tried Tommy. But he wouldn’t tell me anything either. He said Dad wouldn’t want him to.” She paused, looking almost shy now. “And I didn’t want to ask you. I thought you might get mad.”

“That could never happen,” you assured her gently.

She nodded, but there was still a flicker of hesitation on her face. “It’s just... it was obvious something was up. I dunno, you guys never fight. At least not like that. So I figured it had to be something big. Something... weirder.”

Her words hung in the air for a moment before she continued, her voice lighter now, like she was sharing a secret.

“Then I went to Irina’s house and told her about it. She said it was obvious—it had to be because you were in love, like in Love, Rosie.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. The thought of Sarah sitting with her friend, dissecting your tangled mess of emotions, was almost too much to process. The tenderness you felt was quickly overtaken by guilt for dragging her into something so complicated.

“I hadn’t seen the movie, though,” Sarah added quickly, shrugging like that detail was crucial to the story. “So we watched it that afternoon. Dude, I think she’s right.”

Her tone shifted, turning serious but hopeful, her eyes sparkling with a kind of naive certainty. “You have to leave Travis.”

Her sudden declaration caught you completely off guard, and a laugh burst out of you before you could stop it.

“Sarah!” you said, still laughing, covering your mouth as you tried to collect yourself.

She grinned, looking more pleased than embarrassed. “What? I’m just saying what everyone else is probably thinking.”

You shook your head, still laughing, and reached over to ruffle her hair. “You’re too smart for your own good, you know that?”

Sarah ducked away from your hand, smoothing her hair with exaggerated care, as if the ruffle had ruined her carefully curated look.  

“Yeah, I know,” she said with a little shrug, her tone light but pointed. Then she glanced up at you, her eyes sharp. “So, are you gonna leave him? I mean, I’m pretty sure Dad would be thrilled.”  

“Oh my God,” you gasped, caught between surprise and laughter. 

She didn’t miss a beat. “He’s the obstacle, isn’t he?” she said, gesturing broadly with one hand, as if the answer were painfully obvious. “And you love my dad. It’s simple.”  

“Uh—I... I think this is a bit too much to unpack,” you stammered, feeling the heat creep up your neck.  

“Why?” she asked, her face falling slightly into an expression of disappointment. “What’s wrong with it? I already know everythin'. I’m not stupid. I’m not a baby.”  

“It’s not that,” you said quickly, softening your tone. “It’s just... there’s a lot of stuff you don’t know, and it’s complicated.” You shifted uncomfortably, trying to find the right words. “Look, I’m not dating Travis. Not anymore. But even so, I thought your dad was dating Sienna.”  

“Sienna?” Sarah repeated, tilting her head in confusion. “You mean the one from the bank?”  

“Yeah,” you said, nodding.  

Sarah snorted, like the idea itself was absurd. “Dad’s not dating Sienna. I overheard him and Tommy talkin' about it, like, a month ago.”  

“You love spying on your dad, don’t you?” you teased, glancing at her with raised eyebrows.  

“I wouldn’t have to spy if everyone didn’t keep secrets from me,” she shot back, mimicking your tone with a smirk. Then she added, “Forget about Sienna. He stopped seein' her right after his birthday.”  

“Oh, really?” you said, arching an eyebrow.  

“Yup,” she said, leaning forward, her expression turning mischievous. “Oh, what a coincidence, right? Right after your fight.” She reached out to poke your hand, a playful glint in her eye.  

You froze for a second, smiling faintly, but your mind was racing. Joel had stopped seeing Sienna? Over a month ago? Why hadn’t he said anything? He’d had plenty of chances to mention it, plenty of openings to set things straight. But he hadn’t.  

“Well,” you said finally, straightening up and brushing the thought aside. “It’s his life. And you,” you added, pointing an accusatory finger at her, “have nothing to do with this. Got it? You and me, we're okay. Always.”  

“Okay, okay,” Sarah said, holding up her hands in mock surrender. She raised her glass to her lips, pausing before she added, “But you have to let him know I’m staying over. Now.”  

“Fine,” you said with a sigh. “But I’m texting him, not calling him.”  

Sarah rolled her eyes dramatically, like you’d just suggested the most tedious thing imaginable.

“Okay,” she said, drawing the word out. “Apparently, we’re doing this one step at a time.”  

You smiled despite yourself, turning to open one of the wooden cabinets on the wall.

“One step at a time sounds about right,” you said, more to yourself than to her.

“What do you wanna eat?” you asked, your voice carrying lightly across the kitchen as you moved to open the fridge.

Sarah leaned against the counter, considering. “Anything but those frozen pizzas. You always burn the edges.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “That happened one time.”

“More than once,” she corrected, raising an eyebrow.

“Fine,” you conceded. “How about spaghetti?”

Her face brightened instantly, a flicker of excitement breaking through her otherwise composed demeanor.

“Yes! And I’ll help, right? You look like you might need it.”  

You gasped in mock offense, reaching for a pot. “Excuse me, what’s that supposed to mean?”  

She shrugged, a playful grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

It was settled. You gathered ingredients while Sarah volunteered herself as sous-chef, which meant chopping the vegetables in the most chaotic but enthusiastic way possible. You handed her a knife with explicit instructions to please be careful.

“You sound like my dad,” she teased, carefully slicing a bell pepper.

You turned to the speaker on the counter, deciding that cooking deserved a soundtrack. Soon, music filled the small space, bright and upbeat, shifting the energy in the room. Sarah hummed along while you stirred the pot.

When she seemed distracted, her focus entirely on the bell pepper, you slipped out of the kitchen and grabbed your phone from the coffee table in the living room. Unlocking it, you scrolled through your messages until you found Joel’s name.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, the words forming and dissolving in your mind. You didn’t want it to sound too formal or hesitant. Just normal. Neutral.

Finally, you typed:

Hi Joel. Sarah’s here, spending the afternoon. She wants to know if it’s okay with you if she stays over. Let me know.

Short. Concise. Clear.

You hit send and placed the phone back on the counter when you returned to the kitchen.

“All done,” you said, gesturing toward your phone with a tilt of your head.

Sarah glanced up, a satisfied smile spreading across her face. She gave a small nod before turning back to her chopping.

Minutes passed, filled with the clatter of knives and the soft simmering of the sauce. You reached for your phone to change the song—Sarah had requested something from her playlist, Just like heaven by The Cure—and just as you did, it vibrated in your hand.

A message popped up at the top of the screen:

Joel. Tell her I said yes, but I want her home early. She’s got school tomorrow.

You turned the phone toward Sarah so she could read it. She gave a mock salute, grinning. “Thumbs up for Dad,” she said, returning to her vegetables.

“Baby steps,” she added after a moment, a little quieter, her back turned to you.

The words hung in the air. You watched her for a beat, the ease of her movements, the way she navigated the kitchen like she belonged there. Something about the moment felt fleeting and important, though you couldn’t quite pin down why.

*

Wednesday. You glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall as you took your first sip of coffee, the warmth of the mug seeping into your cold fingers. 6:32 a.m. The early light was still soft, casting a pale glow through the window where you’d cracked it open just a few centimeters. The cool morning air was refreshing, carrying with it the earthy scent of dew and dawn. It was one of those little rituals you cherished—the quiet, the crispness of the day unfolding just for you.

Sarah was sitting on the stool at the kitchen island, her eyes still half-closed in that sleepy haze. She rubbed them with her left hand, the fingers of her right curled around a steaming cup of tea. The warmth of the tea contrasted with the chill in the room, and she looked small and vulnerable in that quiet moment, as if she hadn’t quite yet fully woken.

You moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, still wearing your pajamas under a soft, worn robe. You set a plate in front of her, the familiar breakfast she loved—toast, scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and strawberries, their juicy red flesh cut into generous chunks. She didn’t even need to ask; you knew she’d devour them, just like when she was little. Joel had always been the one to pile up bowls of fruit for her, and she’d always gobbled them down, leaving a trail of sticky fingers and bits of fruit on the house’s surfaces. He used to scold her lightly, but it was always with that soft tone of affection, as if he couldn’t help but love the chaos she brought. Her favorites had always been strawberries and grapes—nothing else really compared.

Sarah took a bite of bacon, chewing contentedly, and looked up at you, her expression curious despite her full mouth.

“When do we watch another movie?” she asked, the question spilling out before she’d even swallowed.

“What movie do you wanna see?” you asked, keeping the conversation light.

“I dunno, one I haven’t seen,” she replied with a shrug, her eyes flickering to her fork. “A love one, or a horror one.”

You chuckled and nodded. It seemed like Sarah’s movie preferences had always swung between the extremes—either something heart-wrenchingly romantic or something terrifying enough to make her jump. You could see the appeal in both, honestly.

You’d gone to bed early last night, after a quiet dinner. Sarah had somehow managed to wriggle her way into your bed before you even realized it, and when you’d turned off the light and whispered goodnight, she hadn’t been quiet for long. She’d started in, talking about everything on her mind. The dramas at school. The boy Irina liked. A teacher she hated, mostly because she was rude and had bad breath. Her upcoming science project, which she was convinced was going to be her masterpiece. And then came the questions—questions you knew had been lingering in her mind all evening.

“Since when do you like my dad?” was one of the first ones, and you froze, unsure of how to respond. If you were being honest, the answer was probably “since forever,” but that didn’t seem like something you could just say to a twelve-year-old.

“How do you know if you like a friend?” she had asked next. “Do you wanna get married, anyway?” and “Does anyone else know about this?” The questions had kept coming, innocent yet sharp, until your tired eyes could barely stay open. You had asked her, gently, to go to sleep. She’d needed to get up early too, after all.

Now, Sarah was hugging you tightly at the door as she left, her face still warm with sleepiness. School started in an hour, and you knew Joel was waiting for her next door, probably with a mug of coffee in hand, ready to help her get through the morning rush.

After she left, you went back upstairs to your room and found yourself standing in front of your closet longer than usual, picking out what to wear. You couldn't really explain it, but something about spending time with Sarah had recharged you. The normalcy of it—her chatter, the comfort of your shared space—it gave you a sense of balance.

Then, as you stood there with your clothes half-chosen, a thought popped into your head, and a smile tugged at your lips. It was perfect—next movie night, you’d introduce Sarah to Twilight. The whole saga. You were sure she’d love it. She adored stories like that, all angsty romance and supernatural drama.

With that thought, you finished getting ready and went off to work, feeling lighter, more cheerful. It was one of those mornings that made the whole day seem a little bit brighter. You were sure it would fly by.

*

Thursday. It was quiet, one of those days that seemed to pass without making much noise but still felt like it had been worthwhile. The morning was calm, and there was something almost comforting about the gentle rhythm of the hours.

At work, you moved through the usual tasks, keeping busy without feeling overwhelmed. You found yourself drifting in and out of conversations, but one particular subject caught your attention: the interns gossiping in the break room. They were whispering about one of the assistants, the one who’d caused a scene in the kitchen last time with a very public meltdown over a misdelivered order. You overheard snippets of their conversation as you nibbled on your sandwich, hearing that the assistant was apparently having an affair with her boss’s husband. You couldn’t help but listen, half-amused, half-worried for her and her boss. The way they spoke about them, with such casual cruelty, made you feel bad for the two women, but at the same time, it was hard to not be intrigued.

You chuckled to yourself as you returned to your desk, but that quiet moment of levity was soon overshadowed by something worse. Later in the afternoon, you saw the same assistant leave the office in tears, her eyes red-rimmed as she hurried past your cubicle. You heard the boss, loud enough for the entire office to hear, scream in her wake, "How ungrateful some people are!" It hung in the air long after she had gone, an uncomfortable silence settling in as everyone pretended to be busy.

When you finally got home, you decided to go for a run. The cool air outside felt refreshing as you laced up your shoes and hit the pavement. It wasn’t a long run, just enough to stretch your legs and clear your head. By the time you returned, sweat on your brow, you felt more awake than you had all day. You took a hot shower, the steam washing away the weariness from your muscles, and for a moment, you felt light.

It was around mid-afternoon when Sarah knocked on your door, her face slightly flushed from the brisk walk over. She held a notebook under her arm, her usual look of determination replacing the exhaustion from earlier in the week.

"Hey, can you help me with my lit homework?" she asked, a bit sheepish but trying to hide it with her usual confidence.

"Of course," you said, gesturing for her to come inside.

As she set up at the kitchen table, she launched into a detailed account of the latest school drama. It was the same pattern—some new gossip or rumor, something about a classmate or a teacher that she found funny or ridiculous.

"Guess what?" she asked, leaning in conspiratorially. "Irina and Julian almost kissed in the hallway today."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Irina and Justin? No way."

"Yeah, I saw them, but then they just... didn’t." Sarah smirked. "I think Julian got scared. You know, like how he does when he talks to girls."

You couldn’t help but smile at her observations. She was so sharp, so aware of everything around her. You had no idea how she’d gotten so good at reading people, but it was impressive. Once you helped her finish her homework, she packed up her things, her expression shifting from casual to slightly more serious.

“I gotta go home,” she said, glancing at the clock. “I still need to work on my project. I’m not done yet.”

“Alright, I’ll text you later,” you replied, smiling at her as she grabbed her bag. “Good luck, love you.”

“Thanks, love ya too,” she called over her shoulder as she left. "I’ll let you know if I need anything else. Bye!”

With Sarah gone, you spent the rest of the afternoon in quiet solitude. You curled up on the couch with a bowl of snacks and started watching Bridget Jones’s Diary. The jokes felt like old friends, and by the time you’d gone through half of the movie, you were feeling light and at ease, the stresses of the day melting away.

For dinner, you opted for the ease of take-out. The thought of cooking felt like too much effort after such a peaceful afternoon. You ordered your usual—Chinese food, always comforting. After the long workweek, it was exactly what you needed. You ate in silence, savoring each bite, the day’s quiet moments stretching into the evening as you let your mind wander.

*

Friday. “No way!” you shouted, your voice coming out louder than you’d meant, and your eyes went wide as saucers. You stepped through the doorway, disbelieving for a moment, before you saw her standing there, grinning like she hadn’t a care in the world.

Without thinking, you wrapped your arms around her neck, pulling her into a tight hug. The warmth of her body against yours felt so familiar, and the sudden surge of emotion made your chest tighten in the best way. You squeezed her just a little harder, like you were trying to absorb her energy, like she could somehow make everything else feel lighter again.

“What are you doing here?” you finally breathed, pulling back just enough to look at her face. You searched her eyes, needing some explanation, still a little stunned.

Cassie’s smile spread wider, her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling with that same irrepressible energy you remembered. She still had that look—like she was always on the verge of something exciting, something unexpected.

“I ran away from home!” she declared with an enthusiasm that made her words feel even bigger. She placed her hands on your shoulders, bouncing on her heels like she couldn’t contain the rush of whatever had made her do this. “I just left. I needed to come back. I can't even begin to explain how much I've missed you!”

Her words hit you in a way that made your heart swell, the kind of feeling that caught you off guard, leaving you without a response at first. You just stared at her, as if trying to piece together what she was saying, still not quite believing it.

Without hesitation, you stepped aside and ushered her in, the familiar comfort of her presence filling the space in a way only she could. You watched her, feeling that strange mix of happiness and disbelief, as if she were an apparition you hadn’t expected to see again. It was like time hadn’t passed at all, and you were suddenly back in a world that had felt a little emptier without her.

As she settled her things around the room, Cassie started talking, filling in the blanks of her sudden arrival. She told you everything.

Bruno, her boyfriend, had been cheating on her with a coworker. Cassie had suspected it for weeks—finding a couple of odd messages on his phone was the first hint. But two days ago, she'd gotten the proof she needed when she came across a receipt for an underwear purchase. The whole thing felt so cliché, like something out of a bad rom-com, but the more she thought about it, the more she couldn’t ignore it. That’s when she started searching through his things. She rifled through his office, checking drawers, until she found a stack of small, folded notes hidden in the back. One of them had a kiss—bright pastel pink lipstick, the kind she hated. That color felt like an insult, like it was mocking her. So, in her frustration, she waited for him to come home, gathered everything up, and laid it out on the bed—evidence, neatly arranged like a cruel puzzle. Bruno denied everything at first, of course. He always did. But after a while, he cracked. She didn’t need to say much. The lies tumbled out of his mouth, and she just listened, her blood boiling. In the end, she destroyed every suit he owned—ripping them to shreds before kicking him out of the apartment they’d shared.

That night, in a mix of fury and disbelief, she impulsively booked a plane ticket, packed her things in a hurried mess, and left. Twenty hours of travel later, and now she was lying in your bed, talking a mile a minute. She had no concept of jetlag, or maybe she just didn’t care. The adrenaline was still running through her veins, and the weight of everything that had happened was only starting to sink in.

You both lay there for a while, and then, out of nowhere, Cassie asked about Joel. The question caught you off guard, and for a long moment, you didn’t answer. You tried to collect your thoughts, but when you finally spoke, your voice came out softer than you expected, almost muffled by the weight of it all. You told her about Sarah’s news, about Joel and Sienna. 

Cassie’s expression didn’t shift much at first. She seemed unsurprised, but a little relieved.

“Told you she wasn’t a real threat,” she said, nodding as though confirming a private thought.

But then you mentioned Travis. His name hung in the air, and Cassie’s reaction was immediate. Her eyes widened, her lips parted slightly. She sat up in bed, her posture tense, like she hadn’t expected that at all.

“That son of a bitch,” Cassie muttered, her voice muffled by the pillow as she shook her head. “Who does he think he is, running around talking about you like that?”

You sighed, frustration bubbling up again. “I don’t know. I really don’t. It caught me off guard. I never thought he’d be that kind of person.”

Cassie sat up slightly, propping herself up on her elbow, eyes narrowing in a way that was both intense and oddly endearing.

“And why the hell didn’t Joel ask you about it? Why the hell did he believe some man he loathes?” She made a sharp gesture with her hands, as if dismissing the very idea. “Lately, his brain’s working like a mashed potato.”

You couldn’t help the short laugh that escaped your lips, but it was more out of frustration than amusement.

“That’s exactly what I thought! Why didn’t he just ask me? I asked him a million times, ‘What the fuck are you talking about, Joel?’ and he wouldn’t tell me a thing. Nothing!”

Cassie closed her eyes for a moment, a deep sigh leaving her, as if trying to pull herself together before speaking. When she opened her eyes again, her expression softened, but there was a sharpness in her gaze.

“Because he was hurt. And angry. And he clearly didn’t feel like working things out with you at that moment. The best he could come up with was to blow up at you and make you feel as bad as he felt.”

You stared at her, the weight of her words sinking in slowly, and the room seemed quieter, somehow, as if everything was still in that moment.

“But why? Why did he go that far?” you asked, almost to yourself. The silence lingered.

Cassie shrugged, a look of genuine sympathy in her eyes.

“People are dumb when they’re hurting. But that doesn’t make it any easier.”

You leaned back, exhaling slowly, your thoughts swirling in frustration and confusion. Then, as if a weight had settled in your chest, you found yourself asking, “Why didn’t you come sooner? It would’ve been so much easier to figure this out if I had you here with me.”

She looked at you, her smile softening before she hugged you tighter, her voice quiet.

“Stop, you’re gonna make me cry,” she teased, but there was a genuine warmth in the way she held you. “I was going to come for Christmas anyway, as a surprise. I didn’t plan on running away from Bruno first.”

You laughed, shaking your head, the tension easing just a little.

“I’m glad you came early, though. I missed you so much.”

Cassie grinned, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Are you telling me it’s a good thing Bruno cheated on me? That’s why I came early?”

You playfully swatted her leg, laughing again.

“No, I’m not saying that. But I’m glad you dumped him. You deserve someone who actually knows how to treat you.”

Her grin widened, and for a moment, everything felt right again. But then she leaned in, her expression turning serious.

“And you need to patch things up with Joel,” she said bluntly, her voice just a little too firm. “Or I’m going to lock you two in a room and force you to talk. Honestly. And stop acting like kids.” Her eyes narrowed slightly, but not at you—more like she was holding herself back from giving you a motherly lecture.

“I know,” you confessed, sitting up straight and running a hand through your hair. You knew this conversation wasn’t over. “I’ll talk to him. I promise.”

The rest of the day passed in a blur of endless conversation, the kind that felt both exhausting and comforting in equal measure. Cassie had so much to tell you, her words tumbling out one after the other like she couldn’t stop once she’d started. She spoke about her life in Italy—how she’d adapted to everything, how much she missed the simplicity of being back here, with you, in the same bed, talking about everything and nothing, like when you were younger. Her laugh was the same, a little higher pitched when she was genuinely happy, and it made you feel like time hadn’t passed at all.

As the hours drifted by, the conversation shifted seamlessly into memories. You both laughed and sighed as you reminisced about the time you first met, when you were both eleven, so awkward and unsure of yourselves, and how you’d ended up in Austin, drawn by your own separate pulls, yet still somehow close enough to see each other almost every day. Cassie had lived in a small downtown apartment back then. You had found a place nearby, just far enough to need a car to see each other, but close enough to drop by without any effort. You spent hours together in those days—sometimes talking, sometimes just existing in the same space. You never lived together, though. 

Cassie was too social, too often hosting friends and acquaintances, always surrounded by people. You, on the other hand, had always been quieter. You preferred solitude, the peaceful comfort of being by yourself in your own space. It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy Cassie’s company—quite the opposite. But you liked the balance of your lives: hers filled with chatter and life, and yours with quiet and space.

Now, with her sitting across from you, it felt like nothing had changed. You were still as close as you’d always been, still managing to keep the balance between her vibrant energy and your calmer, quieter presence. You felt a warmth spreading in your chest, the kind that came from having the best of friends beside you when you needed them the most. The fact that you didn’t know how long she would be staying only made you happier. It was a gift, this unexpected visit. 

Cassie’s voice broke through your thoughts. She’d stopped talking for a moment, her gaze softening, eyes closing briefly as she leaned back on the couch, a contented smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. 

“I feel better here,” she said, her voice quiet, as if the weight of her words was grounding her.

You didn’t respond right away. Instead, you smiled, letting the moment linger. You picked up your glass of wine and took a sip, letting the music fill the space between you before returning to the thread of your conversation. You started talking about old friends—those people you used to see all the time but had drifted away from. Faces and names from a past life, now reduced to half-remembered moments.

After a while, Cassie went to the bathroom, and for the first time in hours, you were left alone with your thoughts. The soft hum of the music seemed louder now, the words settling into your mind like an unspoken invitation. 

You needed to talk to Joel. You had to. 

The thought was like a knot in your stomach, tight and anxious. How could you even approach him? How could you talk to him again without feeling humiliated? 

This was it. The last chance. If he treated you badly again, if he shut you out again, you wouldn’t try anymore. If he didn’t want to listen to you, then fine. You weren’t going to beg. You weren’t going to chase after someone who didn’t care enough to meet you halfway. You could feel your resolve hardening, the idea of giving up no longer feeling like a loss, but a relief. You had done everything you could. The rest was out of your hands.

If he didn’t want to listen to you... well, that was his problem. Fuck him, then.

*

Saturday. “I’ll get it!” Cassie shouted from downstairs, her voice carrying easily through the house. 

You were in your room, towel drying your hair after the shower. Cassie had spent half the afternoon thrusting bottles of creams, serums, shampoos, and hair treatments at you, insisting with dramatic conviction that they were, and you quoted, “the best thing in the fucking world.” Reluctantly, you’d agreed to try them, and now your entire being smelled like vainilla and coco.

Downstairs, the door creaked open.

“Joel,” Cassie said, surprised but not unpleasantly so, a smile spreading across her face as she took in the figure on your doorstep. 

Joel blinked, visibly startled. His brows furrowed before relaxing, his expression softening into something almost amused. A soft smile.

“Cassie? What are you doing here? When did you get back?” 

She stepped aside slightly to greet him with a quick, casual hug that he received.

“Yesterday,” she said with a shrug, her eyes narrowing just enough to hint she was already gathering pieces of a puzzle Joel didn’t know existed. “Last-minute decision, you know. Want to come in?”

Joel hesitated, shifting his weight awkwardly. “No, I—uh, is she—” 

“She’s here,” Cassie interrupted, her tone smooth, deliberate. She tilted her head toward the stairs and called your name in a shout. Then, turning back to Joel, she grinned. “She’ll be down in a second. How’s Sarah? She must be huge by now!” 

Joel’s face lit up at the mention of his daughter, the tension in his shoulders loosening.

“She’s great. Yeah, she’s huge—almost taller than you,” he teased, lifting a hand to indicate Cassie’s height. 

Cassie rolled her eyes but laughed. “I want to see her. We should steal her for a girls’ night soon.” 

“Anytime,” Joel replied with a small smile, genuine now. “She’d love that.” 

Cassie zipped her coat with theatrical precision.

“Perfect. Let’s plan it.” She reached for her beret and adjusted it snugly, her gaze flicking briefly toward the stairs. 

You appeared at the landing, one foot on the top step, dressed in black pajama pants and an oversized sweater that hung loose on your frame. Your hair was dry, neat, and slightly glossy—courtesy of Cassie’s insistence. 

“Who is it?” you asked, taking another step before freezing halfway down. 

Your eyes landed on Joel. He stood stiffly, his posture uncertain. The smile he’d worn moments ago dissolved into something more unreadable, almost guarded. You felt a small knot tighten in your stomach.

“I’m going for a walk,” Cassie declared suddenly, breezing past Joel with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Nice seeing ya, Joel.” 

He nodded, but his attention stayed fixed on you. 

In less than a moment, Cassie was gone. The silence she left behind felt sharp, almost heavy. You forced yourself to move, descending the final steps slowly, deliberately, until you were close enough to meet Joel’s gaze without leaning forward. 

He looked different somehow. The dark jeans and heavy green flannel shirt he wore felt familiar, but his expression didn’t. His face was etched with something hard to place—nervousness, maybe, or regret. 

His eyes - oh my God, his eyes. 

You crossed your arms, leaning slightly against the doorframe, forcing yourself to sound steadier than you felt. “Joel, what happened?” you asked, your voice almost a whisper, though the question felt louder than anything you could have said. "Need somethin'?"

He exhaled, a sharp, controlled breath, his gaze flicking briefly to the floor, as if searching for something to say, then back to you. His brows flickered with indecision before he spoke, his voice low and careful, like each word was a step he wasn’t sure he could take.

“I... I know you probably don’t wanna see me,” he said, his voice low, almost strained, his eyes dark and heavy with something blue. “But I... I... can we talk? Please?”

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Exactly.

[arcanefox207]

The Wolf You Feed (Part 5)

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Word Count: 7.3k

Part 5 / ? (Ongoing) A O 3 | M A S T E R L I S T

Summary: Set in a fictional New England town, you fall for your handsome, intense and outdoorsy neighbor while renting out your parent's vacant summer home during a brutal winter.

Chapter Warnings: ANGST. Smut. POV-Switching. Rated Explicit. 18+ MDNI. See series masterlist for general warnings.

A/N: Hang in there friends. I will ease your pain soon 🧡

The next day you were, for the most part, unconsolable. Marlene let you lay around in her guest bed while you faded in between sleep and numbness. 

The pain was unfamiliar. Hurt because it was so unexpected. Amplified because you were falling so hard for him and thought he felt the same way. Hurt by the immense weight of betrayal and deception that he dumped on you last night. Hurt by the thought that he didn’t want you to know. Hurt because despite the pain you still felt a longing and prayed to just wake from the nightmare like it was all just a bad dream.

The early afternoon sun gave its best attempt to bring some life to you, but you simply rolled away from the window and wrapped yourself up in your warm cocoon. Your phone screen lit up on the nightstand for the umpteenth time and you ignored it.

The apathy you were feeling was weighing you down, paralyzing you from moving from your safe haven. It felt like time wasn’t moving either, and you were just trapped in this moment and helpless to do anything about it.

The 360 your emotions took in the span of 24 hours was unprecedented. It took everything out of you and you can’t stop ruminating on what was and what could have been. Where do you go from here? 

Last night, you don’t remember much of what happened when you left Coppers. You were inconsolable and Marlene felt too responsible for you to let you go home by yourself in your condition. She insisted you get in her car and she brought you to her apartment which was not too far away. 

She didn’t ask you any questions, and you could only assume what she could possibly be thinking about you now. You felt embarrassed and sick to your stomach whenever flashes from the night before popped into your mind. 

How could you have been so stupid?   

A tiny knock on the door caught your attention and Marlene meekly poked her head in. She wandered over to the bed and sat at the edge.

“Come on. I made us lunch and you are going to eat.” She patted your bundled up shoulder and got into your face to glare at you. This request was not optional at this point. You owed her big. She placed a bottle of water on the nightstand and you saw her eye your phone lighting up.

“Fine. Give me a minute?” You didn’t sound very convincing. “I promise.”

Marlene left you some clothes to borrow while you were there. An oversized long sleeve shirt and some sweatpants. Comfortable.

Marlene had lunch fixed for you both and slid over a hot cup of coffee as you approached the kitchen table. 

She was being far too kind to you. On the way home you remember little beyond the haze of being drunk and your breakdown. You remember sobbing and telling her you didn’t want to be alone. She ended up bringing you back to her place in town and babysat you through the night.

You were grateful to have made a friend in her and her kindness was the light guiding you through the turmoil. 

You manage a few bites from your sandwich out of consideration but don’t touch your coffee. The awkward silence is broken after a few moments, you knew the conversation was coming.

“So…” She pauses and then just comes out with it. “You and Joel, huh?” She attempts to drop the topic casually and friendly.

“Not anymore.” You feel your eyes well up again. Tears from anger, sadness and heartbreak. A trifecta of emotions that you don’t recall ever feeling before. Everything about Joel was intense and had been from the moment you met him. 

You realize that since meeting him it had all been mostly bottled up inside you. Except for some vague chatter at work, your life with Joel was mostly a secret. Something you kept private because you were shy about being judged for falling for a man so much older than you.  

You tell her everything. 

“Babe, he isn’t worth the tears.” she said so confidently, like she had so much knowledge about him that you didn’t know. 

“I had no idea about Tess.” The words spill out. “I just assumed it was only me. I would have never… How stupid-”

“Joel is an asshole” she cuts you off. Her tone is getting more heated as she gets frustrated that you are blaming yourself for anything in all of this. “What he did was wrong.” Marlene tried her best to keep her judgements to herself, but she always had been very outspoken. You knew she would be an open book if you would just ask. She seemed to harbor some resentment that was starting to slip out.

“How long have they.. You know. Been together?” you choke on the words.

“As long as I’ve known them.” she catches the way you react and takes a step back to explain. “They used to be close. Really close. Over the years they have grown apart. I think nowadays they just fuck around with each other when they are feeling lonely.” 

Your heart is in your throat and you want to throw up. You go to speak but can’t find the words, only more tears. 

“Sorry. I mean, you should know this.”

She's right, you should know this, and Joel should be the one telling you. You think back to how he was so quick to push you away at the bar and wanted to talk later. You knew something was up and he wasn’t ready for you to find out. Even if you never really defined anything between you both, he led you on. He used you. 

“Tess isn’t a saint either.” She interrupts you as if she can hear your thoughts. “This has been a long time coming. They are both toxic.” 

You wanted to know what she meant by that, but your mind couldn’t get past his wrongdoings. From where you sat last night, it looked like Tess was caught off guard by him too. 

You felt sick to your stomach the moment you realized you were the other woman. Tess didn’t deserve that.  

The tears were flowing again. You drag the back of your hand across your face to quickly wipe them away. 

“You deserve better.” She reassures you.

Do you, though? You wonder. 

You never had the best luck with men. The way Joel made you feel was not something you would be able to replace or move on from easily. He awoke something inside you that you needed to feed. He had a darkness that you were drawn to. A sexual energy that you never sought out before. It was so perfectly hidden behind some neighborly deeds and a tired man’s body.       

“Despite it all, and I know how stupid this sounds. How stupid this is. I still… can’t stop thinking about him.” You confess out loud. 

You were not a stupid person by any stretch, but you were feeling blinded by how he had been making you feel up until last night. Even after you confronted him, before you really learnt what was going on, you still felt like he was doing this for you. He wasn’t acting like the same person, but you could feel the Joel you knew was still there inside him. Like the face he was putting on was for everyone else, but your Joel was waiting in the wings.

When he had you alone by the bathrooms you could feel how much he wanted you. See how much hurt there was in his eyes when you were crying. He told you it wasn’t about you and you really wanted to believe that was true.

When he held your face in his hand and wiped your tears you knew that whatever was going on, his feelings for you were not something to question. He wanted you on a primal level and you wanted him to take what he needed from you. 

You weren’t in a formal relationship with him. You never had that talk with him. You never asked if there was anyone else. These thoughts were creeping in and making you feel stupid and partially responsible. Your conscience was desperately looking for any excuse to help Joel’s case. 

Marlene rolls her eyes. “Joel is nothing but bad news. Look at what he already did to you. Forget him.” 

Easier said than done, you think to yourself. The truth is that up until his performance he had been the first guy in your life that made you feel truly desired. It couldn’t have felt so real if it wasn’t true.

He needed you, but you also needed him.   

“Marlene…” You pause, trepidation in your tone. “I was falling for him. I think I was in l-”

“Stop.” She cuts you off. “You liked his… handsome charm, don’t confuse it for something more.” An annoyance peaks in her voice. 

You had fallen for people before and had relationships based purely on lust and attraction, but this was not it. It was something so unique that you couldn’t even put into words or feelings. A high that he gave you that you had to chase because you needed that next fix so badly. 

“And…” She pauses before cautiously saying more. “He is old enough to be your dad. Come on, this wasn’t going anywhere!” She was trying to make you see the obvious things without sounding too critical. 

You actually liked that he was older. It was so attractive if not a little bit taboo which just made it that much more exciting. He was worn on the edges but he was so confident and capable with everything he did. Not to mention no one had pleasured you like Joel Miller. You were absolutely smitten by everything he gave to you. He made you insatiable for him in every way. 

You brushed off her comments about his age. It was something you loved about him. Something that turned you on that you didn’t feel like defending.

Still, by all counts she was right. You knew the right thing to do would be to move on with your life, without Joel. 

“I’m sure whatever you had was fun, but that is all it was ever going to be.” Her matter of fact way of stating things helped to make the reality hit a little less hard. 

Maybe the reason it felt so good with Joel is because you wanted it to be something more than it was. The pit in your stomach reminds you of its presence and how this whole ordeal makes you feel sick.

There is a long silence between the two of you, and she no doubt can tell how heavy the words are hitting you. She finishes her coffee and clears the table, taking away your hardly touched plate. 

You sit with your thoughts for a moment before joining her at the kitchen sink. You hand her your mostly full coffee mug to pour in the basin.

The elephant in the room is getting too big to ignore.

It didn’t matter how you felt or what you wanted when there was someone else involved.

“What am I going to do now?” You ask her with teary eyes and a meek voice.

“I know Tess pretty well, and she can be scornful. I don’t think she knows about you and Joel, and you should keep it that way.” 

You feel yourself disassociated and want to just disappear. Go back to your Boston life and pretend you never met Joel Miller. Find a new job.  A new place to live and start fresh, again. 

“I like you, and I think you got put in a real shitty situation.” That was an understatement. “I’m not going to say anything to her, ok?” 

You nod, and believe her words.

“You are done with Joel, right?” She looks at you for confirmation. “Right?”

“Yeah. Of course.” You look away from her as you answer and the tears flow again. You weren’t sure if you were lying to her or lying to yourself, but you knew it wasn’t truthful. Whatever path you carved out next would be wrong if it wasn’t leading away from Joel.  

“Then cry as much as you need to now and put this behind you.”

She brings you in for a comforting hug and you sob into her shoulder.   

The worst part of it all is that you still have feelings for him.

—

JOEL POV - The Night Before

As he walked towards the stage to play, he was a wreck inside. Looking calm and composed was just a facade. He was nervous enough to be playing tonight with his carefully thought out song, but now knowing you may very well still be around was tipping him over the edge. There was no turning back at this point and he had to stay the course. He had to get this off his chest and had to wash his hands of Tess. Whatever comes next he would have to take it as it comes. 

The thought of hurting you in any way made him sick. 

Taking his seat he was grateful for the bright lights on him, making the audience look like anonymous shadows. At least in his mind he could pretend it was a room of nobodies. He never was one to have stage fright. He was a talented enough musician and most of the audience was drunk. He didn’t care what they thought anyways.  

He drags his hand along the neck of the guitar, feeling the strings under his calloused fingertips. Taking in a deep breath he adjusts the guitar in his lap. The light reflects off his watch and the shiny, polished wood of his instrument. The stage feels lonely as the room silences with all eyes on him.    

He strums his guitar and flexes his hand to loosen up. There is no turning back now and this is something he has to do. 

“This one’s…. for Tess.” his voice shakes as the words leave his mouth. 

This moment the only thing that mattered was that she heard this. He never was one with words or talking about his feelings, but he always had been able to lean on music when it mattered. It was the only time he truly let himself be vulnerable.  

As he started playing, he blocked out everything around him. His mind was just filled with the memories of Tess. What he loved. What he wanted. What he never got and never will. What he would always mourn but no longer desire. His time with her was over for him. He could feel his heart aching as he sang, but also getting lighter, not realizing how heavy this all was weighing on him for such a long time until he was letting it go.

As the song progressed it felt cathartic. Letting some of his anger slip into his tone and fade out into the ether, taking along his frustrations. Confronting all the feelings he had been holding in for so long. The sadness he felt was mourning, and he knew it would only get better now that he was moving on. He had already been mourning her loss for a long time without truly acknowledging it. Until now.       

Living in the memory

   Of a love that never was

He was feeling bolder and confident that his decision to be done with Tess was the right one. It didn’t erase their history or make her impact on his life any less significant. What they had was special and always would be. It didn’t have to overstay like it was in order to preserve that history. It was time to move on and stop feeding the resentment that was overtaking everything left that was good.

He would always love her for their history and she had to know so that she could move on too before the damage between them was too great. He knew she would understand and accept it; in time. 

Then you crept back into his mind. Finally he was giving himself permission to allow it to, properly. 

You filled in all that empty space that was vacant for just mere moments. Another realization that he wasn’t giving everything to you and how much he wanted to. He had been indulging in your companionship with trepidation. Reluctant to open himself up and fearful that it would be another road to nowhere. 

Afraid you might not want him and his darkness that came along once you really knew him. 

His eyes were finally adjusted to the lights just enough to make out the details in the shadows in front of him. 

He couldn’t help himself to look up and scan the audience, searching for you passively. Deep down, he knew you were still out there. He could sense that unexplainable feeling when someone is watching you intently. It made his heart race as he struggled to fight the distraction and finish his song. 

'Cause I've done everything I know

To try and make you mine

And I think I'm gonna love you

As if by instinct, he zeroed in on you standing towards the back of the room with tears in your eyes. An invisible rope tethering you together against the odds in the sea of shadows. 

When he caught your eyes he had to look away in shame. Disgusted with himself that you were collateral damage in his situationship. He choked on his final words, and they came out low and shaky.  

For a long, long time.

He strummed the last chords of his song and fought back the feeling in his throat that was bubbling up. He felt like he couldn’t breathe and the weight of his actions was crushing him. The silence in the room filled him with dread and it felt like time was standing still, like he was in front of everyone naked with his emotions raw and exposed before them. His chest was tight, bursting with an anxious heart beating rapidly with heavy thuds.  

A conflicting wave of emotions tears through him and it takes everything not to lose his composure. He takes the deepest breath, closes his eyes and it isn’t Tess that comes to mind. 

It’s you. 

With his final strum of the guitar it felt like he was releasing himself from Tess. Free after so long and fighting so hard for their relationship. Free to bring his full attention to where his heart was calling him.

Finally the room erupts in applause and he feels the tiniest pang of relief wash over him and snaps him back to reality. He sneaks off the stage and makes his way towards the back. He needed to hold you and tell you how sorry he was and at this point he didn’t care who saw him.

Familiar faces and acquaintances slapped him on the back and boasted to him about how great he did and the gauntlet of drunken patrons slows him down significantly. When he manages to break away and gets eyes on where you were standing you are nowhere to be found. 

A hand grabs his sleeve and he turns but his heart sinks when it’s Tess.

“Joel..” she whines through a shaky voice and pulls him to look at her.

He didn’t want to be cruel to her or disregard whatever feelings she was going through but he also didn’t feel obligated to her anymore. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like he was on her leash. He was done putting her first.  

“Tess, not now.” His voice was low and gentle. He really did feel for her out of habit, but he also knew he couldn’t let her try to reconcile. Not yet, anyways. He was open and hopeful to remain friends with her, but she needed to get over him first. He knew her reaction would be anger until she had time to cool off. 

“Really? After that you are going to ice me out? What the hell, Joel?” Her anger was increasing with every sound leaving her lips. The last thing he wanted was a blow up with her and he wasn’t going to let her control this narrative any longer. 

“Stop it.” He unintentionally uses his size to intimidate her as he steps closer. Silencing her as the remaining empathy leaves his eyes. He was never confrontational with Tess, and this was something new that she did not expect or know how to react to.   

A few nosy people nearby get quiet as they try to watch the drama unfold in front of them and pretend to be minding their own business. Joel takes a step back from Tess and furrows his brow.  

“I told you. I’m moving on. We’re done now.” He says firmly and sharply points his finger towards her. The tears in her eyes almost make him soften, but he holds firm. “Done.” He reiterates through gritted teeth.

He hated being so cold, but he had to or else nothing would change.  

Tess bites her lip and for the first time has no words. She was so used to being the boss and calling the shots and for the most part Joel let her. Not this time. She wipes the wetness that starts to fall from her eyes and walks off, angry and hurt.

“What are you looking at?” He snaps at the prying eyes watching him be a total asshole and then proceeds to walk towards the exit to continue his search. He was quickly running out of fucks to give by this point in the evening.

The bar was starting to clear out a little now that the live entertainment was done for the night. He doesn’t see you and starts to worry you left without allowing him a chance to explain himself. 

Truthfully, he didn’t know what he was going to say, but he knew he needed to see you. To apologize at the minimum and beg you to hear him out. There was so much you didn’t know that he needed to tell you.

He collects his guitar, dons his jacket and makes his way outside. There is a gentle snow falling and a coating on the cars and walkway. Footprints heavily littering the path into the parking lot and fanning out. It would be a fool's errand to pick out your prints or your car under the blanket of winter. 

He makes his way to his truck, and carelessly brushes off his windshield with his sleeve. 

He pulls out his phone and calls you, but it goes unanswered and to your mailbox. He sends you a text.

Joel: Im so sorry baby

Joel: Please can we talk? 

He leans on his truck, ignoring the cold and tries to call you again. And again. The relentless ringing is only silenced by the robotic voice of the generic voice mail operator.

After the 3rd call he left a message.

“Please answer the phone baby girl. I know I don’t deserve it, but I need to talk to you. Please.” His message was delivered with a low, calm tone, barely masking that he was afraid. 

Afraid he lost you.  

—

READER POV - Saturday Afternoon

Marlene dropped you off at the bar to pick up your car. No one was around this time of day and it felt surreal being back at the scene of the crime, so to speak. She gave you a hug and just nodded to you as you left. Urging you to believe you would be ok, and you had to move on. 

When you got home you didn’t even dare look to see if Joel was home. You went inside, took a shower and wrapped up in a blanket to watch TV on your couch.

Whatever was on you didn’t really pay attention. Your mind was just filled with Joel. You wanted to wake up from this bad dream. 

You had been vulnerable with him. You were ready to give yourself to him so quickly because you craved that intimacy only he could give. He worshipped your body and made you feel something you never felt before. 

Was that enough? Surely not to a self respecting person. It makes you feel sick to be so hesitant to do the obviously right thing.  

You so badly wanted him, and knew you couldn’t just let him treat you this way. You felt guilty about still wanting to give him a chance.

You finally gave in to looking at your phone. 

You had 34 unread messages from Joel. 9 missed calls and 3 voicemails. You fought the urge to see what he had to say and instead gave notice to your other missed calls. Your mother. She had tried to call you 3 times. You had barely talked to her this past week and didn’t really want to but you also knew she would worry if you continued to ignore her. You were afraid she might also reach out to her precious neighbor too if you gave her any reason to panic. It didn’t take much with her. 

You called your mom, lied that you were sick with the flu and that you just wanted to sleep. She didn’t make you talk long thankfully and she didn’t say anything about her handyman neighbor.

The night was getting late and you mustered up enough energy to move into your bedroom. 

Seeing Joel’s flannel shirt laying at the foot of your bed hit you hard. You had been so happy and flirty just a few nights before and you wanted that back. It felt like it was taken from you unfairly.

You hugged the shirt to your chest and breathed in his masculine scent that still lingered. The scent that drove you wild with desire.  

How were you going to get over this man who made you such a mess?

You tossed the shirt into your dirty clothes pile and got into bed, lamenting how cold and empty it was and wishing you were wrapped up in Joel’s navy blue sheets and stealing his heat. Feeling his heartbeat against your cheek as he holds you close. The ghost of his touch on your skin makes you tear up again. 

Fuck you Joel Miller. You mumble out loud to yourself. It wasn’t fair.   

You lay there for what felt like hours, your mind firing on all cylinders with no hope of slowing down. 

Curiosity won in the end, and you opened up the text thread with Joel. You scanned it quickly and saw a recurring theme of him asking if you were ok, apologizing and worried that you were not home.  

Joel: Please just tell me you are safe

Joel: I’ll leave you alone just let me know

Joel: Where are you? 

Those were texts from the morning. After your car was back home and signs of life his messages were back to apologizing and what you can only imagine to be a descent of drunken texts from this evening.

Joel: I’m so sorry

Joel: We need to talk

Joel: Please n

Joel: I m fucknig srry

Joel: Just let m tel you and ill stpo

Joel: /

Joel: I ned to talk to you

You wanted to talk to him. You needed some clarity, but you also didn’t want to be tricked into forgiving him because of your body betraying your mind. There was a nagging you could not shake that his actions at the bar didn’t undo the way he made you feel. There had to be more to it or else it would be so easy to wash your hands of him and never turn back. 

You started typing a reply and deleting until finally settling on just leaving him on read. 

You listened to his first voicemail, and hearing the pain in his voice made your heart break more. He was worried about you and he sounded like he was doing his best to be composed, but you could see through it. That southern drawl makes you melt when you hear him call you baby girl.

You slammed your phone down and regretted giving in to his attempts. It only made it harder to be mad at him.  

As you drifted off to sleep with tears leaving wet stripes on your cheeks you decided that tomorrow you would go see Joel. You would go in person and get a true gauge of where things stand. You would also try to do the right thing.    

—

JOEL POV - Saturday Night

Midday and he was worried about you. Not only were you not answering him or reading his messages, but you also had not been home. Of course you were an adult and clearly could do whatever you wanted, but he felt entirely responsible for whatever you were up to. 

He paced to his bedroom window, looking out through the blinds to see the same snow covered drive. Untouched. He was getting restless.  

He flips through your messages and can’t help but look at the pics you sent him during your bedtime photoshoot.

He could feel himself harden and palmed himself through his denim to get some relief. It felt wrong, but he couldn’t control the way his body reacted to you. He unzips his jeans to let his cock breathe as he takes a seat in the living room. 

Scrolling through the photos you sent and seeing more and more of your body made him swell. The pressure in his groin became too much to handle with a casual touch. 

Fuck he mumbles under his breath. 

He spreads his legs wider and slides a hand inside his boxers to stroke himself, imagining it was you and your gentle hands wrapped around his shaft. 

The guilt of what he did weighed heavy on his mind but didn’t hinder him from getting aroused. He needed to have you again. Feel your tight pussy gripping him and listen to your sweet moans. 

It eats away at him. It was wrong to get off to you especially after what he had done to you. 

But it didn’t stop him.

Settling on the second picture you sent, he focuses on how deranged and needy you looked. Hungry for his cock. Your breasts were perfectly in view and still partially clad in his shirt. His scent was all over you in that moment. You were his.  

His labored strokes quicken as he fucks into his fist and he comes with a stifled groan. 

Sitting alone with his release dripping over his knuckles made him feel like a dirty old man. Getting off to a woman that didn’t want him anymore.   

He woke later that evening, awkwardly slumped against the arm of his chair. The house was completely dark except for some embers from his wood stove about to give it’s last breath. He was groggy and sore. His neck ached from the awkward position. 

After getting his wits about him, he opened his phone to see you still had not replied. He stumbled over to his window and to his relief your car was parked in the yard. 

At least you were home. You were safe. Clearly you did not want to talk to him yet. 

He wanders off to his kitchen to pour himself a stiff drink and downs it way too fast before taking a shower and drinking again and again. 

As the whiskey clouds his mind and fills him with nothing but remorse for what he did, he sloppily sends you some desperate texts before passing out for the night.

—

READER POV - Sunday

The Sunday afternoon energy was heavy. You had been avoiding Joel in every possible way since Friday night. The exception being your moment of weakness and reading his texts. Instead you buried yourself in a book trying to focus your mind on another world with characters struggling with simpler problems.

The time spent alone had given you some peace to think about what your next move was going to be, but you were still battling with what to do.

If you were not so smitten with him it would be so easy to just walk away. You never questioned his character before and now it’s all you can do. Weighing the damage he did with what you had come to know about him before was not an easy task. It also made you question your own character. What kind of a person would it make you be to continue on with this? Maybe you battled with failed relationships all your life because you never found the one to balance who you really are. Maybe you are just hopelessly lusting over Joel Miller and telling yourself anything that can make it feel ok. 

Your anger and hurt was stinging less and making you feel more numb than anything. Marlene’s words of advice were lingering in the front of your mind constantly. You felt guilty for entertaining the idea of talking to him and even more guilty for settling on actually doing it. 

Looking out your front window you see his truck parked in his driveway. No fresh tire tracks and covered in snow. You had not seen any signs of life since you returned home other than some smoke from his chimney and a light or two.

The text messages from him did still trickle in at a slower pace, but you continued to ignore them. Wiping the notification off your lock screen.

Marlene also texted you periodically to check in and you assured her you were doing just fine and would be ok. 

You made an impulsive decision to go over now before you changed your mind again, not sure what you were going to say or do, but you couldn’t ignore him forever. The more you thought about what your gameplan was the more you started to talk yourself out of it.  

You freshened up in the bathroom, applying some light makeup to mask the bags under your eyes and hide the fact that you have been crying for days. You knew deep down you also just wanted to look really good for him. You wanted to spite him and make him want you but not let him have you as some sort of punishment. At least that is what you told yourself.     

You bundled up in your boots and winter jacket. Wrapped a scarf around you and put on some mittens and a hat. Your hair falling loosely around your face. You looked cute but completely covered up. 

The sun was just starting to set, but there was still plenty of light left to venture outside.

You wandered over to your mailbox and picked up the scent of burning wood. A smoky, campfire smell. It smelled inviting. You heard a chopping sound coming from the direction of Joel’s house and guessed he was outside working. Typical Joel behavior to be outdoors. 

As you make your way to his house the campfire smell intensifies and you see some smoke coming from the side of his house. There is a footpath going from his driveway and you decide to follow it to the sound.

As you round the corner, the sight is enough to make you forgive all his wrongs.

Joel’s back was to you and his silhouette is bright and familiar. You could recognize his figure in a lineup with ease. Broad and commanding.  

The frame of his body was muscular but not bulky. Toned from his manual labor lifestyle. His broad shoulders and tapered waist were perfectly illuminated by the burning fire next to him.  

He was dressed in some dirty jeans that hugged him perfectly and heavy work boots. His torso clad in a rustic, plaid flannel not too different from the one you stole. The sleeves are pushed up and bunched on his forearms and his hands protected with leather gloves. 

You see his jacket discarded on a pile of chopped wood and a small brush pile burning next to him, keeping him unnecessarily warm. It looked like he had more than enough body heat radiating off him. Uncomfortably toasty.  

The area between his shoulder blades was damp and dark with sweat. The curls in his hair were an unruly mess, especially where they met the hot perspiration on his neck. 

Seeing Joel in lumberjack mode unlocked something inside you that you didn’t even know existed. He was so primal in his ability to handle whatever task was at hand. Just as he had been when intimate with you. He could take you away and live off the grid someplace in the wilderness and you wouldn’t bat an eye. He was more than capable of taking care of all your needs.  

You feel it deep inside you. That intense heat building that only Joel can make you feel. An arousal coiling up inside you and ready to burst out if given the chance.   

He turns to place a section of wood in front of him and makes a grunt sound as he lifts it into place. No doubt it was heavy and judging by his pile, and the sweat on his body, he had been at this for a while. His outstretched arm had his flannel tightly choking his bicep as he moved to adjust the log in front of him. It was obscene to see his body flex and demonstrate his strength. The desire to have his arms on you in this moment and feel the full force of his body against you.

He picks up the axe and throttles it down again with a grunt, wood splintering in front of him as the force from his axe splits the wood into two.

He is nearly panting from the exertion, moving the split wood over to the pile only to repeat it all over again. He pulls his shirt up to wipe his brow. The hard ridges of his muscles taunt you as they shine in the light of the fire. As he wipes his sweat and pauses for the briefest moment to rest against his axe you decide to make your presence known before he realizes you are watching him.

“Hey Joel” you announce softly.

He is startled by you and turns quickly, letting his shirt fall back over his stomach. His expression softens when he meets your eyes. He tosses the axe next to him and pulls off his gloves as he steps towards you. 

The heat of his body and his smoky scent hit you all at once as he stands just in front of you, unsure if he should touch you or not.  He hesitates but you can see the desire in his eyes to touch you. 

“Sweetheart, I’m–” he pauses, and rakes his hand through his hair. “I’m so glad to see you. Lord knows I don’t deserve it.” He gives a side smirk and his best attempt at looking innocent. It almost works.

He steps towards you but you reluctantly hold your hand up. He ignores it and pushes his chest into your palm. His innocence was replaced with cunning intentions. His damp and hot chest sending a wave of desire through you, making you even more wet. You were certain he could sense it too despite your attempts to act put together.  

Before you can protest he has his hands on your waist. His fingers wrapping around you and positioned to pull you in close. His needy energy is not something you have seen before. Not like this. Assertive but stepping over a line you put out. 

“Joel, stop.” You weakly protest and take a step back from him. His hands slide off your hip as you step away and you can see some panic in his eyes that he misread what this was. 

He could clearly see how mixed you were feeling. He was letting his raw desire take the lead and hoped it would help sway you to give in to him and soften your resolve. Whether it was wrong or right, he knew that sexual tension you both had was not going silently.

He also knew that he cared about you more than just as a hookup. Truthfully you had made him feel things he hadn’t felt in a long time. He was so scared to lose you before he even got to properly have you. His fear was making him act stupid and desperate and he didn’t know how to reign it back. Especially with you being just within your reach. He was tailspinning.      

“I’m sorry, baby.” He pauses. “I should have told you about her. It’s not what it looks like. I mean, it is complicated and–”

You swallow back your feelings and look him straight in the eyes. How much more cliche could he get?  

“It’s too late for that now,” you countered, realizing that confronting this now was not something you were ready for after all. 

Joel chewed his lip, wiping his hand on his chin as he fought back the urge to unleash some of his anger that he had been harboring. Anger he had towards himself that needed to escape. He was getting agitated.

He knew you were right, but he knew he couldn’t just let you go. He lets out a deep breath as he pinches between his brows, releasing a little tension as he exhales and composes his next words carefully.

“I want you to… need you to know I never did anything with her while I was with you.” His words come out desperate, pleading with you to understand. To forgive him even. 

You weren’t sure if you believed that. You couldn’t exactly trust him anymore now that the trust had been broken.     

“I swear it. There is a lot you don’t know about Tess and-”

Hearing her name on his lips is the last straw and it enrages you, reminding you that you are not here for second chances and apologies. You are here to tell him to leave you alone.

“I don’t think we should see each other anymore.” You declare coldly and emotionless. 

Joel stares, he looks like he wants to speak but he isn’t sure what to say. He isn’t sure he heard you right, or didn’t want to believe that he did. 

You go to turn but he grabs your sleeve and holds you to face him.

“Please, I need to… don’t go.” He stumbles over his words, grabbing you harder than he meant to, desperate to make you stay.  

“You hurt me.” The tears start to fall again as you speak your truth to him. You look him straight in the eyes so he can see your pain from what he did. There was no misreading your tears. 

“I know. Never meant for you to get hurt. I can explain-” He panics, realizing you are leaving him and his chance is fleeting.

You struggle to pull your arm away but he isn’t listening and just brings you closer with his strength. He was blind to your obvious demands to stop. Clouded by his panic.  

“I owe you an explanation. Let me-” His eyes penetrate into you, begging you to look at him. 

“It's too late.” You cut him off. “Lose my number.” Your words bite. 

You pull your arm away sharply and continue to walk away. You feel him staring at you and you swear he can hear your heart beating out of your chest. It took every ounce of restraint to hold firm with what you set out to do. You were not going to let him talk you into changing your mind.

With tears welling up in your eye you continue walking forward. You hear him begging you to stop and listen to him. 

“Sweetheart, please.” he calls out after you. Pleading with you but you put more distance between him and his words as they get quieter.

Under his breath, Joel whispers “I’m sorry.” When your pace quickens and you don’t look back you swear you can hear him speak those words again and again, but you keep walking. 

To be continued...

A O 3 | M A S T E R L I S T | N O T I F I C A T I O N S

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