Welcome to my fictional world, I'm Augustine—your typical literature student˙⋆✮
About me: She/her. I'm 26 years old and I live in Argentina. I've been writing my whole life, from journals to novels and fanfics. Die hard rom com lover and ocassional horror enjoyer.
— socials: ˙⋆✮ X | INSTAGRAM | KO-FI
♥︎ inbox always open!
˙MDNI! - MASTERLIST BELOW THE CUT ⋆✮
— ˙⋆✮ HONEY LOVE, DARK EYES
— Joel Miller has been your best friend for years. But one night after a heated argument, everything changes; in the blink of an eye, you're in a place you never thought you'd be: naked, beneath him, and with his eyes burning into you. Nothing will ever be the same.
Tags: no cordyceps outbreak, best friends to lovers, angst
HLDE MASTERLIST | AO3 | RE EDITING
— ˙⋆✮ A HAUNTED BODY
— You should've died that day. Instead, Joel Miller found you. After the Millers saved your life, you become something of a miracle. Now, you've been given a second chance, but the sweetness of your new home is overshadowed by the coldness of one of them: Joel. Unfortunately for him, Tommy assigns you to work by his side, as the assistant he claims he doesn't need.
Tags: Angst, so much angst, enemies to lovers (kinda?), joel has a big secret, smut, mental health!!!!, grief, explicit violence
AHB MASTERLIST | AO3 | ON GOING
— ˙⋆✮ THE MILLER METHOD
— Freshly thirty one, you've checked off almost every box on your dream-life list: a thriving career in publishing, loyal friends, and the apartment of your dreams. What you don't have? The family you thought you'd start with the man who just dumped you after seven years together. Fed up and determined to take matters into your own hands, you start mapping out every possible path to single motherhood. That is, until one too many drinks and one wildly ill-advised hookup with stranger Joel Miller send all your carefully laid plans spiraling down the drain. Now you're not just pregnant, but Joel has zero interest in staying out of the picture, dragging you into a relationship full of sparks, complications, and more drama than you ever imagined.
Tags: unexpected pregnancy, so much yearning, smut, joel is a good dad, alternative universe
TMM MASTERLIST | AO3 | ON GOING
— ˙⋆✮ONE SHOTS
LUCKY
— PART I: After a long, stressful week at the station, firefighter Joel Miller turns to the most natural form of stress relief: hitting the bar in search of a one-night stand. And as luck would have it, he finds you. wc: 8.3k
— PART II, "So lucky": Halloween has arrived, and for some reason, you feel lucky. Oh, so lucky. wc: 7.4k
AO3
— ˙⋆✮ THE BOYFRIEND ACT
— All you wanted was to get to Austin, but instead of your brother, it's Frankie (Santi's best friend, the one you can barely stand) who shows up in Dallas. He's just doing your brother a favor, but the trip takes an unexpected turn when a stop puts you face to face with your ex; the guy who broke your heart three months ago and is now about to get married. Out of the blue, you blurt out a lie: Frankie is your boyfried.
Tags: fake dating, enemies to lovers, brother's best friend, angst, smut, mental health!!!, grief
TBA MASTERLIST | AO3 | ON GOING
series masterlist. +18 (minors dni). reposting and/or translating is not allowed.
This story comes from a different time: centuries ago, a fable as old as time.
It says to not let a spark ignite, for it is dark, and the Empire loves to smother even the smallest flicker of light.
The sky cries, mourning with a princess who watches her home crumble like a castle―fade like a dying star.
The lesson is fear: Jedha, Aldeeran, Zitlala. Ghosts of planets, fragments drifting into the ether.
She promises herself not to believe: not even when the threat is gone and the galaxy breathes in hope. To not wish anymore―desire is caging, and she was born to be free.
But his love might be the only hoax she'll have faith in―the only religion she'll sink her knees in the dirt.
For Din Djarin? She might be able to let her heart beat again.
ㅤㅤㅤthe day your world ended has turned into entertainment for a child, a story before bedtime.ㅤㅤㅤ╱ -1k
warnings/tags: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, strangers to lovers, angst, slowburn, religious trauma, politics, mental health issues, violence, slight canon-divergence, eventual smut.
note. welcome to my mando fic! i'm so excited for this story as we're nearing tkyitly's middle. i promise not to let it die like i always do, as the lore for this fic is just ughghh I'VE REALLY THINK IT THRU OKAY hope y'all love it. don't forget to like, reply and rb, makes me really happy to see any type of support !!!!!!!
ㅤㅤㅤprev | masterlist | next
"Aunt Beru?"
She stops at the door, looking back at the child tucked in the bed.
"Yes?"
His eyes shine bright as he pleads:
"Can you tell me that story again?"
She walks back, sitting at the end. The kid jumps out of the sheets, drawing closer to her.
"Which?"
"The one of the princess in the sky"
She smiles softly, patting his hair.
"But I just told it to you yesterday"
"I don't mind," the boy replies, "I want to hear it again"
And she can tell it's genuine, her niece's eyes glimmering with that larger than life curiosity that runs in the family.
"You must've been quite impressed by it"
"It's all I have been thinking about" is his sincere reply.
"I shouldn't have told you the story. I don't want you to have nightmares," she pretends to ponder. "What if you show up again at our bedroom because you can't sleep? You know uncle Owen won't be very pleased"
He jumps on the bed. "I won't! I promise!"
She laughs. "Alright, then. Let me tell you the story"
«Long ago, in a planet far, far away, lived a princess in the sky. Among the stars and the night, she was born out of the cosmos centuries ago, long before you and me.
They were the first to master the art of traveling through space. Zitlalans used to say stars could be read and spent a lifetime studying them. By the time the princess was born, everyone knew that if you wanted to know space, Zitlala was the place.
She lived in Zitlala, the Place of Stars. The Zitlalans were ancient beings with stardust in their blood. They're not like us, you see, even if we might look the same. Up in the sky, they lived and were made of things no one understood, so it was up to them to.
It happened on her birthday, the day the princess was meant to take over the throne.
Zitlala was covered in light, celebrating the future days ahead. It was the shiniest and biggest celebration in the galaxy. Folks used to say you could see the stars dance, no matter what place of the galaxy you were at.
But you know what they say: the Empire doesn't like it when they're not invited to a party.
I heard it was because they were allies of the Old Republic. Others say because their blue blood was a threat to the rising power. But, the bad tongues say it's because their power came from the Force, not from the stars.»
The child chimes in.
"Like... The Jedi"
She nods solemnly. "The Jedi were still a thing back at that time. But I don't think that's the truth, you know. There's always more than what meets the eye. Zitlalans were not warriors, just people with secrets to keep"
«The Princess lost her home the day she was supposed to heir it. The Empire arrived at dawn, and then, Zitlala was no more. All was gone.»
There's a brief pause, as if he's meditating the words, ever the contemplating kind.
"I hate the Empire," he says, a little too certain for such a small child.
She sighs, "Must of us do, even if we can't say it"
"What happened to her?" he asks. He hadn't before.
A heavy atmosphere falls on them. That doesn't stop her niece.
"Did she die?"
Yesterday, all he wanted to know was how light shined through her dress and other sparkly thing she shared from which she had heard back in the Old Days.
His aunt seems to ponder what's the best answer for a child.
"Not exactly. The princess' tears of grief for her people condensed her into a star. She's now up in the sky, traveling through space"
The kid seems content with that by the way he yawns, falling into bed.
"I want to do that too," he mumbles, drowsy.
"What?"
"Travel space," her niece lets himself be tucked in without a protest, "that's why I want to be a pilot when I grow up―to explore the galaxy"
She smiles, sadly so.
"I know." her hand runs through his locks, "You're very much like your father"
i did moodboards for my favorite ppcu fics! you can check it on my twitter -> here ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
below are some of my favorites. without seeing the thread, can you take a guess to what fic they belong?
answers: 1. sweet sweet baby by @foxtrology / 2. a haunted body by @capuccinodoll / 3. all the sinners rise by mrpotato25 (ao3) / 4. swept away by @punkshort / 5. a little sunshine by @auteurdelabre / 6. terms & conditions by @followyourfleart / 7. purple rain by @xoxostarfire
What a beautiful gift !!! 🤍 Of course I already retweeted it and everything on twitter, but I'm sharing it here so you can see the rest. It's lovely to be included alongside other amazing fanfic authors. I f love this community. Thank you, baby 🤍
a03 | taglist open .⋆♱ | fic masterlist | playlist | Father Miller | Previous | Next
.⋆♱ summary: After your tense push and pull, you find refuge in your fiancé’s arms, while Joel—after an argument with his boss, the same man who seems to have ignored him for years—faces the consequences of having become so taken with your laugh. .⋆♱ wc: 10.519 k
.⋆♱ a/n 1: Let’s just ignore the fact that I posted Chapter 2 last night, hated it, and @pattwtf had to rescue me from the mental breakdown that followed. Hope you like this version <3 By the way… who do you think is the restless soul trapped in the stained glass?
.⋆♱ a/n 2: I can’t wait to finally sit down and put the playlist together properly, like God intended (lmao), but these first few chapters are being written while listening to “Mystery of Love” by Sufjan Stevens…
.⋆♱ warnings: References to a minor injury, early signs of psychological abuse and gaslighting, Joel swears a lot and argues with his boss (God, literally), paranormal elements (YES!), descriptions of a panic attack, medication use, desperation, and distress.
For a long moment after the door shut behind you, Joel stood exactly where he was, one hand still resting on the handle of the axe, his eyes fixed on the patch of empty space you had left behind as if something of you might still be standing there if he looked hard enough.
Nothing moved except the heat.
The yard had gone quiet again in the way it always did at that hour, with the late sun stretching long over the grass and the church wall holding the day’s warmth in its stone. Springsteen was still going on about desire in that low, dragging voice of his, and for some reason that irritated Joel more now than it had a minute ago he went and reached over to the radio and turned the volume up harder than necessary.
The song swelled into the yard but It did not help.
He went back to the chopping block, set another log upright, and brought the axe down with enough force to split it clean through. One half toppled into the grass. The other struck the side of the block and rolled. Joel bent, picked both pieces up, and stacked them without looking at what he was doing. Then he reached for another.
And another.
And another.
Before long, his movements stopped belonging to thought and settled into rhythm instead.
Grip. Lift. Swing. Split. Bend. Stack. Repeat.
The work took over the way it sometimes did when he needed it to, when his mind had gotten too crowded and he wanted to beat it back into something quieter, something dull enough to bear. Usually it worked. Usually his body gets tired before the thoughts even have a chance to sharpen.
Today, though, the thoughts stayed.
They kept returning to the same maddening place. The back door opening. A pale dress. That sharp mouth of yours. The look on your face when he’d thrown that first line at you and expected, with complete certainty, that you’d bristle and leave.
But you hadn’t.
Joel drove the axe down again.
A neat split. He set another log in place.
You’d stood there in the heat looking entirely unsuited to Jackson and somehow completely unwilling to be run off by him. Worse, you had looked at him like you could see straight through the act. Not all the way through, maybe, but far enough to make him uneasy.
He split another log.
Neanderthal, primate.
The words came back with humiliating clarity, along with that sweet little smile you’d worn when you said it, like you’d enjoyed landing it more than was proper for a woman who had just met him less than five minutes ago.
Joel muttered a curse under his breath and reached for another piece of wood.
He shouldn’t still have been thinking about it. About you. About any of it. A stranger wandered into the yard, got smart with him, called him an asshole to his face, and left. That ought to have been the end of it. Would have been the end of it, if he had any sense left in him at all.
Instead, the whole thing kept replaying with a clarity that was beginning to feel vaguely punitive.
Your face. Your eyes. Your mouth.
The dress. The bag. The shoes.
The way you’d looked at the church first.
The way you’d looked at him after.
Joel adjusted his grip on the axe and split another log harder than necessary, the crack echoing off the stone wall. The woodpile beside him grew steadily. The rejected pieces collected near his boot. The radio kept changing songs over and over, without managing to capture his attention for very long.
Sweat began to gather at the back of his neck, then between his shoulder blades, then beneath the heavy flannel clinging to his skin. By the time he noticed it, he was already damp through the undershirt, heat crawling over him in a way that made his jaw tighten.
Your voice came back to him then, bright with disdain.
It hasn’t escaped me that you are wearing a flannel shirt in June.
Joel closed his eyes for half a second.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered.
He set the axe down long enough to yank the shirt open, fingers moving roughly over the buttons until patience ran out halfway through and he simply dragged the thing off over his shoulders. Hot air moved over the sweat slick of his skin at once, but not enough to make much difference. He let the flannel fall where it wanted, a dark heap in the grass beside the chopping block, then picked the axe back up and went straight back to work.
The radio kept playing.
The pile of wood kept shrinking.
And Joel kept seeing your face.
Not in the dangerous way a younger man might have allowed himself to. Nothing so indulgent as that. It came at him in fragments instead, each one more annoying than the last. The arch of your brow when he’d insulted your dress. The little lift of your chin when you’d decided not to back down. The laugh you’d failed to suppress when he’d said something ruder than he should have. The way the last of the sunlight had caught in your hair while you stood there looking at him like he was a problem you intended to solve by sheer force of personality.
That was the part that had got under his skin.
Not that you were pretty, though you were. Christ, you were. That much he had registered instantly and resented on sight. No, the worse part was that you had seemed entirely aware of yourself in his presence without once becoming shy of it. You hadn’t fluttered. Hadn’t softened. Hadn’t mistaken his silence for permission to become uncertain. You had simply stayed where you were and met every rough edge he offered with one of your own.
That ought to have irritated him.
It did irritate him.
It was also, Joel was sorry to report, precisely the reason he was now shirtless in the back yard of a church, splitting wood like a man trying to exorcise something.
He drove the axe down again and this time the log exploded into three jagged pieces, one of them spinning off the block and striking the side of the wheelbarrow with a hollow knock.
Joel stood still for a moment, breathing harder than the work called for.
The sun had shifted lower. The shade had crept a little farther across the yard. Somewhere along the way the music on the radio had changed six, maybe seven times. He had no memory of any of it.
He lowered the axe slowly and looked around.
No wood left.
The stack he had started with was gone down to splinters and bark, the whole thing reduced to neat, cut piles and scattered debris at his feet. For a second he simply stared, as if the absence might explain itself if he gave it time.
Then he swore.
Not because the work was done. Because he had no earthly idea how long he’d been standing there.
Joel dragged a forearm across his face, smearing sweat over his brow, then bent to start gathering the split logs into the wheelbarrow. His body ached in the ordinary, satisfying way hard labor sometimes gave him, but beneath that sat another kind of tension entirely, one that had not gone anywhere no matter how many times he’d brought the axe down. He stacked the wood carefully anyway, more from habit than attention, fitting the larger pieces first and balancing the smaller ones on top until the barrow sat heavy and full.
When he finally straightened, his back pulled in complaint.
“Perfect,” he muttered. “Just perfect.”
He took the handles and pushed the load toward the little storage shed beyond the church, wheels bumping over uneven ground and patches of dry grass. The shed sat half in shadow now, its door already open from earlier, the interior cool and close smelling of cut timber, dust, and old tools. Joel wheeled the load inside, set the barrow down, and started unloading by hand.
This part, at least, asked less of his mind.
Lift. Turn. Stack. Adjust.
He built the row carefully against the wall, lining the pieces in tight, practical order the way he always did. There was comfort in that too, in making something neat when the inside of his head refused to cooperate. He reached for another split length, turned it in his hand, and drove a splinter straight into the pad of his palm.
Joel hissed through his teeth and jerked back on instinct.
“Son of a bitch.”
The log dropped to the floor with a dull thud. He looked down at his hand and immediately saw it, a pale shard buried just under the skin near the base of his thumb. Not deep, but deep enough. Irritatingly deep. Blood welled around it in a fine red bead.
He set the rest of the wood down and used the nail of his opposite thumb to try and catch the end of it. For one hopeful second, he thought he had it. Then the splinter snapped clean off beneath his fingers.
Joel went very still.
Then, with perfect clarity, “Oh, you have got to be fuckin’ kidding me.”
He shoved two fingers through his hair and tried again, pressing at the skin around the break, but all that did was drive the remaining piece into a sharper angle that made him suck in a breath through his teeth. A second, smaller splinter had lodged itself nearer the heel of his hand in the meantime, as if the first one hadn’t been enough insult for one afternoon.
“Unbelievable.”
He braced his wrist against his knee and squinted at the damage like glare alone might solve it. It did not. All it did was make him aware of the sweat still drying on his skin, of the sawdust clinging to his forearms, of the deep and ridiculous irritation humming through him at a pitch entirely too close to embarrassment.
Because this was what came of losing his concentration.
This was what came of letting some smart mouthed woman in a sundress get into his head so badly he chopped through an entire damned woodpile without noticing the sun move.
Joel let his hand fall and stared at the floor of the shed for a long beat, his mouth flattening.
Then, because there was nothing for it, he grabbed the discarded flannel off the yard on his way back past and headed inside the church.
The cool of the sanctuary hit him as soon as he stepped through the side door, sliding over his overheated skin with enough force to make him feel his own exhaustion all at once. It smelled faintly of old stone, candle wax, and the clean ghost of flowers left too long in water. The colored light from the stained glass had shifted now, spilling farther across the floor in long bruised ribbons of blue and gold and red.
Joel barely looked at any of it.
He crossed behind the altar with the shirt hanging loose from one hand and went into the small room off the sacristy where he kept the practical things people always forgot churches required: twine, extra candles, batteries, scissors, a sewing kit, a half empty tin of nails, and, somewhere in the second drawer if memory served, a pair of tweezers.
He found them after a moment of irritated rummaging and leaned one hip against the edge of the table beneath the little sink. The room was narrow, plain, and dim, just enough light coming in from the high window to catch on the metal in his hand. He lifted his palm closer, jaw set, and prodded the skin until the broken edge of the splinter made itself visible again.
“C’mon,” he muttered.
The tweezers slipped once.
He hissed, reset his grip, and tried again. This time he caught it properly and drew it out in one sharp pull, the sting bright enough to make his shoulders tense before easing almost at once. A thin line of blood rose in its place. Joel dropped the splinter into the sink and reached for the second one.
That one took longer.
By the time he finally got it free, the room had gone quiet enough around him that he could hear the faint creak of the church settling with the evening. Somewhere outside, a bird called from the trees. The radio had finally gone silent, either because the batteries had died or because the signal had given up as the day turned.
Joel rinsed his hand under cold water and stood there a moment longer than necessary, palm open beneath the stream.
The relief should have been simple, something physical and immediate.
Instead, all he could think about was the way you had laughed on the other side of that sanctuary door. Not loudly and definitely not cruelly. Just once, surprised out of yourself by something he’d said. He could still hear it if he let himself.
He shut the tap off hard.
The room went still again.
On the table beside him lay the flannel, darkened in places where sweat had soaked through. He looked at it, then at his reflection in the narrow pane of the cabinet glass above the sink. His hair was damp at the temples, skin flushed from the heat, expression drawn tight with something he had no interest in naming.
“You’re too old for this,” he told the man in the glass.
But the man did not look convinced.
The man.
That was how he spoke of himself now.
Bitterly.
With a sense of self hatred and even revulsion.
Joel dried his hand on a dish towel, set the tweezers back in the drawer, and reached for the shirt without putting it on. For a brief second he considered walking straight upstairs to his rooms and letting the day end there. He was tired enough. Irritated enough. And there was still a sermon half finished on his desk that would not write itself.
But he did not move.
He stood in the small half light of the sacristy with his hand stinging faintly and the shirt hanging from his fingers, listening to the quiet spread through the church, and knew with sudden, unhelpful certainty that the day was not done with him yet.
Because something had shifted.
Not in the church. Not in the town. But in him.
Small enough that another man might have ignored it. Easy enough to bury if he had not spent the better part of ten years becoming an expert at burial. But Joel knew the feeling of disturbance when it came. Knew the dangerous, almost imperceptible moment when still water stopped being still.
He had felt it this afternoon the instant he turned around and found you standing there.
He felt it now in the silence you had left behind.
And the worst part, the part that made him close his eyes for one brief moment in weary resignation, was that he had the sinking suspicion this was only the beginning.
── .⋆♱ ⋅🦋⋅ ♱⋆. ──
After a while, Joel stepped back out into the sanctuary and stopped dead in the middle of the aisle.
The cross above the altar was still crooked.
He stared at it.
For one stubborn second, he tried to convince himself it only looked that way because the light had shifted, because the sun was lower now and the colored glass was throwing strange angles across the stone, because he was tired and annoyed and not in any state to be trusting his own perception where anything connected to you was concerned.
Then he squinted.
Closed one eye.
Lifted his thumb out in front of him, first vertical, then horizontal, gauging the line of it against the beams and the arch of the apse with all the petty determination of a man who already knew the answer and intended to fight it anyway.
The damn thing was crooked.
Not really badly and not enough to be obvious at a glance unless someone was the sort of person who noticed details immediately and refused to let them go once spotted. But crooked enough that now he had seen it, he could not unsee it.
Joel lowered his hand slowly.
“Aw, come on,” he muttered.
The church, as ever, offered him nothing.
He looked back up at the cross, jaw tightening. It hung there with infuriating serenity above the altar, slightly off center, impervious to the human indignity of imperfection. You had seen it in less than five minutes. Him, who had lived with the thing overhead for God knew how long, had apparently never once looked at it with sufficient suspicion.
“Well,” he said into the silence, his voice rough from the heat and the cursing and the fact that he had spent too much of the afternoon not saying what he was actually thinking, “you can stay like that.”
Nothing.
He took a step farther into the aisle, shirt still dangling from his hand, eyes fixed on the cross like it had personally betrayed him.
“You hear me?” he said. “You’re stayin’ exactly how you are.”
Still nothing.
Joel gave a humorless little laugh through his nose, the kind that held no amusement in it at all. “Yeah. Figured.”
The light in the church had deepened while he’d been in the sacristy. Red and blue and gold lay in long fractured bands over the pews and the floor, the stone holding the day’s last heat in some places while the shadows had already gone cool in others. The whole room should have felt peaceful. It usually did, even on the bad days. Even when he had no peace of his own to bring into it. But this evening the place seemed to hold itself differently around him, as though it had noticed something before he had and was waiting to see whether he would catch up.
Joel stood there another second, looking at the cross.
Then, because a decade of bitterness had a way of turning silence into invitation, he spoke again.
“Lemme make somethin’ clear to you.”
His own voice echoed back softly from the stone. Low and tired. Angry in that worn down way that had less to do with temper than with endurance pushed too far.
“That woman,” he said, pointing vaguely in the direction of the side door as if you might somehow still be hovering beyond it out of pure spite, “is a damn tourist. That’s what she is. Somebody passin’ through. Somebody seein’ a cousin for the weekend. Somebody droppin’ in on a friend, takin’ a few pictures of the mountains, sayin’ all the usual nonsense about how charming the place is, then gettin’ right back in the car and goin’ wherever it is people like that go.”
He paused, looked at the cross, and waited as if the wood might have the decency to object.
But once more, it did not.
Joel nodded once. “Good. Glad we understand each other.”
He started pacing then, not quickly, but with the restless, irritated movement of a man who already knew he ought to stop and could not seem to make himself. The shirt brushed against his thigh every time he turned. His bare forearms still carried the faint sting of sawdust and splinters, and the cuts in his palm tugged unpleasantly every time his fingers tightened around the fabric.
“I do not want to see her again,” he said, angling a look toward the altar as though continuing a conversation no one else in the room had agreed to have. “I don’t want her wanderin’ back in here tomorrow. I don’t want her askin’ me any more questions. I don’t want that mouth of hers turned on me again like she’s got nothin’ better to do than stand in my yard and call me names till I lose what little patience I had left this mornin’. I don’t want to hear her voice. I don’t want to hear her… laugh.”
That last word landed wrong somewhere inside him. Somewhere tender and bruised, somewhere he believed rotten.
Joel stopped walking.
For one brief second he stood completely still in the middle of the colored light, his expression hardening as though he could punish himself for the slip by force of will alone.
Then he looked up again and pointed at the cross with the shirt clutched in his fist.
“Not a damn sound of it,” he said. “You understand me? Not one more word. Not one more laugh. Not one more—”
He broke off and scrubbed a hand over his beard.
The church remained maddeningly, saintly silent.
Joel let out a breath and laughed again, sharper this time. “Christ, just listen to me.”
He turned away, paced two more steps, then turned back just as quickly. The agitation in him had nowhere useful to go. Not upward, where a better man might have called it prayer. Not inward, where it would have become recognition too fast to bear. So it spilled out exactly as it was. Ragged, resentful, and far too honest for comfort.
“You know what this feels like?” he said. “One of your little jokes. That’s what it feels like. One more of those damn twists you seem so fond of.” His voice grew lower, rougher. “And before you start—I know. I know how that sounds. I know I’m standin’ in a church talkin’ to empty air like a lunatic. That part’s not lost on me. But I’ve been here long enough, and you’ve put me through enough, that I think maybe I’ve earned the right to speak plainly.”
He stared up at the cross for a beat, his chest still rising a little too hard from work that had long since stopped being about wood.
“For over ten years,” he said, “your sense of humor has been absolute dogshit.”
The words echoed faintly.
This time, in spite of himself, the corner of his mouth almost twitched, not with amusement, but with the old reflex of a man who had once survived by turning fury into something drier and meaner before it could split him open. The expression vanished as quickly as it came.
“You want me to be grateful?” he went on. “For what? For Jackson? For this place? Fine. I am. More than I ever expected to be for anything after…” He cut himself off and shook his head once. “But don’t think I’ve forgotten the path it took to get me here. Don’t think I’ve forgotten what you let happen before you decided I could have four walls and a collar and somethin’ useful to do with my hands.”
He stopped near the first pew and looked toward the stained glass windows without really seeing them, his gaze caught somewhere inside himself instead.
“You took everythin’ from me,” he said more quietly. “Then sat back while I took the rest.”
The words fell into the church and stayed there.
Joel stood very still after that, eyes lowered now, one hand braced against the end of the pew as if he had not meant to touch anything and discovered too late that he needed the steadiness of it. The rough wood pressed into his palm. The little room behind his ribs, the one he spent most of his life keeping boarded shut, had gone suddenly dangerous with memory.
Sarah in the back seat.
Rain on the windshield.
Blood. Broken glass.
Sirens that came too late.
A woman with a face gone white from grief and cruelty and the need to place the blame somewhere that wasn’t herself, telling him he had killed the child he would have died to keep breathing.
Then the years after, each uglier than the last in their own inventive way. Whiskey. White powder. Bloody fists. Men cheering while he broke other men open because pain had to go somewhere and by then he had lost all interest in pretending he was above becoming a monster when the alternative was to feel too much.
Joel swallowed once.
When he looked back up at the cross, the rawest edge of that memory had hardened again into anger, but not the clean, hot kind. This was older. Colder. More exhausted. Anger worn down by repetition until it had become a shape his body carried as naturally as a limp or a scar.
“So no,” he said. “I don’t find any of it funny. Never did. Not the years I spent crawlin’ through all of it just to wash up here and call that mercy because it was quieter than what came before.” His jaw tightened. “And I sure as hell don’t find this funny.”
His hand came up again, pointing now not just at the cross but through it, beyond it, at whatever silence might be hiding behind the rafters.
“That woman is not funny.”
He let the sentence hang there.
And then, because honesty had already outrun dignity, he added in a lower voice, “She’s trouble.”
The word settled over the church with a weight he felt all the way down to his bones.
Joel drew in a breath and shook his head at himself immediately, as though the admission had embarrassed him more than all the rest of it put together.
“No,” he said, correcting it at once. “She ain’t trouble. She’s just…” He groped for something dismissive and came up instead with the memory of your face lifted toward him in exasperated disbelief. “She’s insufferable. That’s what she is.”
His mouth flattened.
“Smart ass. Mouth on her like a switchblade. Looks at people for too long. Notices things she’s got no business noticin’. Walks into a church like she belongs there and starts pointin’ out what’s crooked before she’s even figured out who she’s talkin’ to.” He stared upward with open accusation now. “That is not the sort of person you put back in my path by accident. That’s the sort of person you put there because you’re bored.”
Still God gave him nothing.
The quiet after that was immense. It spread through the sanctuary in patient waves, making room for every word he had thrown at it and offering not a single one back. The only sound was the old building settling around him and, farther off, the faint complaint of wind touching the outer walls.
Joel looked at the cross for another long beat.
Then he laughed once more, low and entirely without joy. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
He began pacing again, slower now, his anger turning inward and outward at once, searching for a target and finding too many. The floor caught the last of the red glass under his feet, so that every turn took him through color that looked too much like old bruises.
“What do you want from me?” he asked at last.
The question sounded weary, almost like a reflection of himself.
“I’ve done everythin’ you asked. More than you asked. I came here. I stayed. I put in the work. I put in the years. I held my tongue when I wanted to break somethin’. I listened to people confess the same damn sins every season like I was somehow qualified to help ‘em carry what I can barely carry myself. I buried folks. Married folks. Sat with folks in hospital rooms and kitchens and porches while they asked me why bad things happen and all I had for ‘em was whatever half decent lie sounded kindest at the time.”
He looked up at the cross again, eyes narrowing.
“And I did it. I did all of it. So for once—just once—I’m askin’ somethin’ plain.”
His voice sank lower. More dangerous for how even it became.
“Keep her away from me.”
The words landed sharply.
“Please.”
Joel stood there breathing through the silence that followed with his shoulders taut. It was absurd, he knew that. Absurd to feel this much over a stranger. Absurd to be standing half dressed in the middle of a church negotiating with heaven like a man trying to bargain his way out of purgatory. But there was something in him—a survival instinct, maybe, or the last shabby remains of self preservation—that recognized danger before he could put a respectable name to it.
And whatever this was, it had the shape of danger.
Not because you had done anything. Not really. You had argued with him, yes. Smiled at the wrong moments. Looked too amused by his bad behavior. Called him things he probably deserved and then laughed on your way out and none of that things should have mattered.
But it did.
Because he had felt something shift.
Because he had looked at the space you’d left behind as though it might still be occupied.
Because he had cut through an entire pile of wood with your voice in his head and not once noticed the passage of time.
That was enough, that was more than enough.
Joel stopped pacing at the foot of the altar steps and pointed once, sharply, at the crooked cross.
“So now you know,” he said. “That’s me askin’ nice.”
His eyes moved over the line of it one final time, taking in the slight tilt, the maddening imperfection.
“More than nice, really,” he muttered. “Considerin’ our history.”
Then he lifted his chin, expression gone hard again.
“So you fix whatever this is before it starts. You hear me? I don’t care if she’s pretty. I don’t care if she’s got that…” He stopped, disgusted with himself. “Whatever. I don’t care who she belongs to or where she came from or why she was in my yard. I want no part of it. None. My road stays mine. Hers stays hers.” His finger rose toward the cross one last time. “So you’d better make damn sure they do not cross.”
The words rang out clear in the sanctuary and then were swallowed by it whole.
Nothing answered.
Not the rafters. Not the altar. Not the darkening glass. The church held the silence with almost unbearable composure, as if the absence of response were itself a kind of verdict.
Joel stood very still in the aftermath of his own voice.
Then, with the abrupt weariness of a man who had once again said too much to a God who had never shown much talent for replying, Joel dropped his hand, turned on his heel, and started toward the narrow staircase at the back that led to his rooms above.
He did not look at the windows as he passed them. Did not see the moose standing forever over its dead calf, or the wolves forever circling, or the pale little girl in the final pane who had spent all this time looking down at the bones.
He walked with his shoulders tight and his jaw set, still carrying the heat of his own anger, too deep inside it to notice anything outside the ordinary world of wood, stone, and silence.
But the church was not entirely as he had left it.
In the last stained glass panel, the little girl was no longer looking at the remains at her feet.
Her eyes had lifted and they had found him at once.
It was not the vague illusion painted figures sometimes gave from a distance and definitely not the trick of changing light at dusk. Her gaze really moved with him, full of the same sorrow she had once turned on the bones below her, only now it belonged to Joel.
He reached the first step and her eyes followed closely.
Joel’s hand closed around the railing. The flannel shirt still hung loose from his fingers. He climbed without looking back, his body heavy with irritation, with exhaustion, with something else he still refused to name.
Below, the girl —the angel— kept watching.
Step by step, her gaze moved with him. Quietly and patiently. As if she were memorizing him. As if she were trying to hold on for as long as she could before he disappeared from her view.
He climbed higher.
The boards creaked beneath his weight. The evening light thinned across the church floor. Blue deepened in the stone. The bones in the window grew paler as the day withdrew.
Still she watched him.
There was no fear in her face. No warning. Only sadness. Deep and unmistakable. The kind that came from seeing someone carry too much for too long and being unable to do anything except witness it. Just like the remains of the moose beneath her.
Joel took another step.
And another.
Her eyes never left him.
By the time he reached the final stretch of stairs, there was something unbearable in the look on her face. Not only grief but something closer to helplessness, to frustration. As though there was something she needed to tell him and no way to make him hear it. As though she could see the weight on him clearly enough to mourn it, but not touch it. Not lighten it. Not take even a fraction of it from his shoulders.
Then Joel reached the last step and he disappeared from her view.
The moment he was gone, the girl closed her eyes.
It was a small thing. Barely a movement at all. But it changed her completely.
For one terrible second, she looked less like part of the glass and more like a child who had held herself together for as long as she could and failed the instant no one was left to see it.
A silver tear slipped down her face.
Then another.
Silent and helpless, full of the kind of sorrow that had nowhere to go.
She did not look down at the bones again.
She only remained there with her eyes closed, as if whatever strength had kept her watching him had given out the moment he was gone. As if losing sight of him had become its own fresh grief. As if she had wanted—desperately and uselessly—to reach him before he vanished upstairs, and had failed.
Below her, the bones stayed where they had always been.
Around her, the church fell slowly into shadow.
And in the quiet that followed, her sorrow no longer seemed meant for the dead alone.
── .⋆♱ ⋅🦋⋅ ♱⋆. ──
By the time you make it back to the house, the light has started to turn.
The sun is lower now, softer than it was when you left, and the whole street looks washed in the kind of late afternoon gold that makes even unfamiliar places seem briefly forgiving. The front of the house is still half taken over by the move. The van is parked at the curb with its back doors open, and two of the men are carrying flattened cardboard out in neat stacks while another ties off a bundle of packing paper by the front walk. Through the wide front windows, you can see the outline of boxes still crowding the entryway and the living room beyond them, some open, some untouched, all of it still waiting to become a life.
You step inside and close the door behind you, and at once the smell of the place meets you again; wood, fresh paint, unpacked fabric, the faint chemical sharpness of newness that has not yet been lived in long enough to fade. Somewhere upstairs, something heavy is dragged across the floor. One of the movers crosses the hallway with a lamp in both hands and nods politely when he sees you.
“Evening, ma’am.”
You smile automatically. “Evening.”
You slip around a stack of marked boxes near the staircase, your fingers brushing the strap of your bag higher onto your shoulder, and you are only halfway through the hall when Peter appears at the far end of it.
He looks as he always does when he has spent the afternoon making decisions on other people’s behalf; composed, pressed, perfectly put together even now, his sleeves folded neatly to the forearm, one hand still holding a page torn from his notebook. He takes one look at you and something passes over his face, quick but noticeable.
“There you are.”
The words are simple. The tone beneath them is not.
You stop. “Hi.”
Peter glances toward the front door behind you, then back at your face. “That was quite a walk.”
You shift the bag off your shoulder. “I didn’t realize it had been that long.”
“That’s sort of the point.”
The answer lands lightly enough that another person might have mistaken it for teasing. You don’t. There is something too measured in the way he says it, too careful in the pause that follows.
“I’m sorry,” you say. “I lost track of time.”
Peter studies you for a second, then comes a few steps closer. “You did more than lose track of time. You vanished for over an hour in a town you don’t know, on the first day we’re here, while half our life is still in boxes.”
He isn’t angry. That would be simpler somehow. Anger can be pointed at. This is quieter than that. Sharper.
“I was just walking.”
“I know you were just walking.” His voice stays calm, but his mouth has gone a little flat around the edges. “That’s what worries me.”
You look at him. “Worries you?”
He exhales softly through his nose, then shakes his head as if he’s correcting his own tone before it can become something less pleasant. “Forget it. I’m not trying to start something. I just mean… I turn my back for a minute and what was supposed to be a short walk becomes you being out of my sight for over an hour.”
The sentence settles over you with more weight than it should have.
You tell yourself that. More weight than it should have.
“I said I’m sorry,” you answer gently. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”
Peter’s expression changes again, easing all at once as though a switch has been thrown somewhere behind his eyes. He steps in close enough to touch you, one hand sliding to your waist, the other brushing a loose strand of hair back from your shoulder.
“I know.” His voice has softened now. “I know you didn’t.”
You let out a slow breath.
“There was just…” You hesitate. “A bit of a weird encounter.”
His fingers pause at your waist. “What kind of weird encounter?”
You shrug lightly. “Nothing serious. Just some man behind the church who apparently never learned how to speak to people.”
Peter’s brows lift. “A man.”
The tiny pause before the word makes you glance up at him. “Yes. A man.”
“What happened?”
You almost laugh. “He was rude, I was rude back, and that was pretty much the end of it.”
Peter looks at you for another second, then the corner of his mouth moves in something that isn’t quite amusement. “So that’s why you were gone so long.”
“Not entirely.”
“No?”
“No. Then I kept walking.”
He nods slowly, as though filing the answer away somewhere private. Then he leans in and presses a brief kiss to your forehead.
“Well,” he says, as though concluding the matter himself, “I suppose Jackson has already started introducing itself.”
You smile despite yourself. “Apparently.”
His hand slides from your waist to your wrist. “Come on.”
“Where?”
“I have something to show you.”
The shift is so smooth you barely feel it happen.
Peter turns and leads you toward the staircase before you can ask anything else, and because the whole day has left you a little unmoored, a little more willing than usual to be guided, you follow without protest. You climb past half unpacked rooms and walls that still look too blank to belong to anyone, up to the top floor where the noise from the movers fades behind you into something distant and harmless.
The bedroom door at the end of the corridor stands open.
The room itself is still unfinished in the way the whole house is unfinished. There are lamps with no shades yet. Boxes along one wall waiting to be emptied. A chair by the window with one of Peter’s jackets thrown across the back. But someone has made the bed, and the doors to the balcony beyond it stand open to the evening air.
Peter doesn’t stop in the room. He keeps walking until you step out after him and the surprise catches up with you all at once.
There is a small table waiting on the balcony.
Two chairs. A bottle of wine in a silver cooler. A cheeseboard already laid out between plates and folded napkins, the fruit cut, the crackers neatly stacked, the cheeses arranged in careful little wedges you would recognize anywhere. Your favorites. All of them.
You stop in the doorway.
“Peter…”
He turns to look at you, and this time the smile that appears is genuine enough to warm his whole face. “I thought we should have one nice thing today that doesn’t involve cardboard.”
You laugh softly. “You did this?”
“Well, I didn’t personally cut the brie, if that’s what you mean.”
Your gaze moves from the bottle to the chairs to the view beyond them, where the rooftops of Jackson stretch out beneath the fading sky and the mountains sit far beyond them, blue and patient and much larger than anything in New York ever allowed itself to be.
“It’s beautiful,” you say.
Peter watches you, pleased. “That was the hope.”
He crosses to the table, pulls out a chair, and waits until you take it. Then he uncorks the wine and pours, the sound of it soft in the cooling air. When he sets your glass in front of you, his fingers brush the back of your hand.
“There,” he says quietly. “That’s better.”
You pick up the glass, let the stem turn once between your fingers, and look out over the balcony rail again.
For a moment, neither of you speaks.
Then Peter settles into the chair across from you and asks, “So. Now that you’ve actually seen it. What do you think?”
You take a sip before answering. The wine is good. Cold enough to be crisp, rich enough to slow you down.
“I think,” you say, glancing at him over the rim of the glass, “that you were annoyingly right.”
His smile deepens immediately. “About?”
“Jackson.” You look back out at the town. “It’s beautiful. More than I expected.”
“Told you.”
“Yes,” you say dryly. “You did.”
Peter leans back in his chair, one ankle crossing over the other. “I usually know what’s good for you.”
The answer comes quickly, almost playful. “That sounds arrogant.”
“It’s only arrogance if I’m wrong.”
You laugh under your breath and set the glass down. “Dangerous distinction.”
“But still a distinction.”
His tone is light, but not entirely. There’s always that little thread under things with him, subtle enough to miss if you aren’t listening for it. You are. You just haven’t decided yet whether you resent it.
Peter reaches for his own glass and lifts it toward you. “To new beginnings.”
You hesitate just long enough to notice that you’re hesitating, then lift yours too. “To new beginnings.”
The glasses touch softly.
You spend the next several minutes eating, the conversation flowing more easily now. Peter tells you which shipments are still delayed, which rooms he wants finished first, which pieces of furniture his father insists should be sent from the club house in the morning because apparently the dining room still doesn’t look quite right. You listen, smiling where it feels appropriate, adding small comments when you can.
At one point he asks, “Did you get a chance to see much of the town?”
You nod. “A little.”
“And?”
“It’s quiet.”
“That’s one of the selling points.”
“It feels…” You search for the word. “Slower.”
Peter cuts a piece of cheese with neat precision. “That’s because it is slower.”
“I think I like that.”
“I know you do.”
You look up at him. “You know I do?”
He smiles faintly. “You like pretending you don’t want peace, but you do. You always have.”
The sentence settles somewhere inside you and stays there a second longer than you expect.
Before you can decide what to do with it, Peter adds, “That’s why this place is going to be good for us.”
Us.
He says it with such certainty you almost kiss him.
You glance back out over the balcony. The evening is beginning to cool in earnest now. Somewhere a dog barks once and is answered from farther off. The whole town feels held inside itself.
Peter refills your glass.
You let him.
Then he asks, “What was he like?”
You blink and look back at him. “Who?”
“The man.”
You pause, fingers resting lightly against the stem of your glass. “Still on that?”
“You brought him up.”
You smile faintly. “Only because he was impossible not to mention.”
Peter watches you. “What was he like?”
You should say rude and leave it there.
Instead you hear yourself answer more honestly than you meant to. “Difficult.”
His brows lift. “Difficult.”
“Very.”
“In what way?”
You think about it. About the heat. The chopping block. The radio. The flannel in June. The way irritation had sat on him like another layer of skin. The way he had looked at you with something halfway between dismissal and reluctant engagement, as if the conversation itself had offended him and still he couldn’t quite stop having it.
“He was just…” You shake your head. “One of those men who thinks being unpleasant is a form of personality.”
Peter smiles. “So, an idiot.”
“More or less.”
“And of course you argued with him.”
“Well, I wasn’t going to thank him for it.”
Peter laughs softly. “No. I suppose you weren’t.”
You take another sip of wine. “He started it.”
“I have no doubt.”
You should let it go there.
Instead, some stubborn little part of you still annoyed on your own behalf adds, “He was unbelievably rude.”
“And yet,” Peter says, watching you now with a look you can’t immediately place, “you’re still talking about him.”
The sentence catches you off guard enough that you laugh.
“Only because you keep asking.”
“Mm.”
You shake your head and reach for a cracker. “Trust me. He wasn’t memorable for the right reasons.”
Peter leans back, apparently satisfied by that, and lets the subject drop.
The sky darkens by degrees while you sit there. The first edge of evening comes in blue instead of gold. The wine softens everything a little. The house behind you grows quieter as the movers finish for the day and leave. Eventually you hear the van start, then pull away from the curb, and after that it is only the two of you and the town spread out below.
Without thinking too much about it, you push your chair back and move closer to Peter’s. He opens an arm automatically and you go into it just as automatically, resting your head against his chest while he settles you in against his side.
“There,” he murmurs, kissing the top of your head. “That’s better.”
You close your eyes for a second and let the weight of the day loosen by a fraction. His shirt is cool beneath your cheek. His hand moves slowly over your arm. The view from the balcony stretches outward in quiet layers, the town dimming below the coming night.
For one brief moment, it almost feels enough.
Then, without warning, another image slips in.
Dark hair damp at the temples. A jaw gone tight with irritation. Sunlight caught in a pair of hazel eyes that had no business being as warm as they were in a face like that.
You go still.
It lasts no more than a second. Less, maybe. Just long enough to leave a trace. A small, strange friction in the middle of an otherwise ordinary thought.
Because that’s the thing you remember, in spite of yourself.
Not his rudeness first. Not the absurd conversation.
His eyes.
How wrong they had felt on him. How at odds with the rest of him. Not soft, exactly. Not kind in any easy way. But warm. Warm in a way that had unsettled you more than his temper did.
You shift lightly against Peter and force your gaze back out over the balcony.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah,” you say quickly. “Just tired.”
His hand smooths over your shoulder once. “Long day with the flight and all.”
You nod. “Very.”
He kisses your hair again and keeps talking, something about tomorrow, about the last of the boxes, about how much better the place will feel once everything is properly unpacked. You listen. Answer when you need to. Let his voice carry on around you.
And if, for one moment longer than it should, another man’s eyes remain lodged in the back of your mind while you tell yourself it means nothing at all.
── .⋆♱ ⋅🦋⋅ ♱⋆. ──
Joel didn’t turn the light on when he stepped into his room.
He didn’t need to. There was still enough of the evening left to see by, a dull wash of fading light coming through the window and flattening everything into shape without detail. The room held its usual stillness. The bed. The chair by the window. The desk with the papers left exactly where he had abandoned them. None of it registered properly. It was all background now. The only thing he seemed able to feel with any clarity was the restless, unwelcome awareness still running under his skin.
He shut the door behind him harder than he meant to and stood there for a second, breathing, his body still carrying the heat of the yard. Sweat had dried unpleasantly at the back of his neck and along his spine. His pulse hadn’t settled. It was still there, too high in his throat, too present. He dragged a hand over his face and muttered, “Jesus,” though the word had long since stopped meaning prayer in moments like this. It was only habit now, something rough and tired said into empty air because silence made him feel worse.
Then he moved.
He crossed the room in a few quick strides and dropped the flannel on the chair without looking, already reaching for the hem of his shirt. It came off in one sharp motion. His boots followed, kicked aside with less care than usual, then the belt, then the jeans. He stripped everything off with the same irritated efficiency, like if he did it fast enough he might shed the rest of the afternoon with it. By the time he stepped into the bathroom, he was already losing patience with himself.
He turned the shower on too hot. The pipes knocked once in the wall before the water steadied, and steam began to gather almost at once, thin at first, then thicker, filling the room and softening the edges of things. Joel stepped under the spray without waiting. The heat hit his shoulders, his back, his chest, and for one brief moment it almost felt like relief. The kind that belonged only to the body. Muscles loosening. Skin finally cooling under the heat in the strange backward way water managed. He braced one hand against the tile and leaned forward until his forehead touched the wall, then shut his eyes and stayed there, letting the water run over him.
He tried not to think. That was the rule. Don’t follow it. Don’t name it. Don’t give it room. Let it pass. That had always worked better when the thing pressing at him came from somewhere old, somewhere he already knew the shape of. But this was new, and that seemed to make it worse. Because when he closed his eyes, the afternoon didn’t fade. It just sharpened.
Your voice came back first.
You’re very rude.
His jaw tightened against the tile. “Yeah,” he muttered under his breath. “No shit.”
He shifted his weight and pressed his palm harder into the wall as if the extra force might anchor him better, but it didn’t. It only made him more aware of how wound up he still was. The tension hadn’t gone anywhere. It sat in his shoulders, his chest, his mouth. It sat in the simple humiliating fact that he was standing in a shower, trying and failing not to think about a woman who had been in his yard less than an hour.
He tried again.
Let it go, Joel.
It doesn’t mean anything, Joel.
She’s just a stranger, Joel.
The water kept falling, but his mind didn’t listen. It kept returning to the same fragments as if repetition alone might turn them into sense.
Joel exhaled sharply through his nose. “Doesn’t mean a damn thing,” he said aloud this time, low and flat, like he could correct the problem by force if he named it hard enough.
He lifted his head, dragged a hand through his wet hair, then leaned forward again until the tile caught his forehead. The cold of it helped for a second. Water. Heat. Breath. That ought to have been enough. It had to be enough. Because the alternative was something he did not have the strength for tonight, and he knew that. He knew the edge of it. The point where irritation stopped belonging to the present and something older began moving underneath it.
“No,” he said under his breath.
Not tonight.
He pressed harder into the wall and listened to the water, trying to keep himself in the room, in the heat, in the small ordinary discomfort of his own body. For a few seconds it almost worked. The day might still have passed into nothing if his mind had been willing to leave it alone. But his body had already started deciding otherwise, and by the time he realized it, his breathing had changed.
He lifted his head.
At first it was only that one breath wouldn’t go all the way in. Then the next one did the same. He blinked water from his eyes and tried again, drawing air in slowly through his nose, but it caught halfway down and broke apart in his chest before it reached where it was supposed to go. He went still under the spray. His pulse was suddenly everywhere again. Throat. Wrists. Behind his eyes. His chest tightened in response, and his hand slipped on the tile.
“Come on,” he muttered.
His voice sounded wrong now.
He planted both hands against the wall and tried to force another proper breath in, but the room had already started changing around him. The steam felt too thick. The noise too loud. The air too close. He could feel the first tremor in his fingers where they pressed against the tile, then in his forearms, then lower. It spread with that awful familiar speed, making him feel weak and overexposed all at once.
Not now.
He shut his eyes.
Not now.
But his body had already gone the other way. His heart was pounding too hard. His ribs hurt with it. His hands had started shaking in earnest. He could feel the weakness in his knees, the fine violent buzzing just under his skin, the sense that something inside him was trying to force its way through every place he had spent years trying to hold closed.
He knew what it was but that didn’t make it easier.
The room kept shrinking around him. He reached blindly for the tap and turned it hard. The water shut off at once, and the silence that followed hit him almost as badly as the noise had. Joel stood there dripping, chest pulling too fast, every part of him suddenly too aware. He grabbed the towel from the rack, but his hands were shaking badly enough that it nearly slipped. He swore under his breath, wrapped it around his waist, and pushed the shower door open with more force than necessary.
The floor did not feel steady under him.
“No,” he said, quieter now. “No, no, no.”
But the words did nothing.
He crossed into the bedroom and went straight to the dresser, leaving wet footprints behind him on the floorboards, yanked the top drawer open too hard, fumbled through the clutter inside it, then found the orange bottle and nearly dropped that too. The cap slipped once in his hand before he got it open. Two pills fell into his palm instead of one. He stared at them for half a second, breathing hard, then reached for the glass of water on the nightstand. The first swallow barely went down. His throat felt too tight for it. He forced himself to take more, dry swallowed the pill, and sat down hard on the edge of the bed because his legs no longer felt trustworthy.
The mattress dipped beneath him. He bent forward immediately, elbows on his knees, one hand still gripping the glass too tightly, his whole body full of those fine involuntary shocks that moved faster than he could calm them. He set the water down before he dropped it and scrubbed both hands over his face, staying there, folded over himself, trying to ride the worst of it out without letting it drag him any farther.
His heart was still hammering. His breathing was still wrong. He told himself the medication would kick in. Told himself this had happened before. Told himself he was not dying, not going mad, not about to come apart there… alone. But fear did not care what he knew. Fear only cared that the body had already chosen danger and gone to war over it.
He lowered his hands and stared at the floor between his bare feet, seeing nothing. All he could hear was his own breathing and the old pulse of shame under it, because this was the part nobody ever saw. Not the women who brought food to the church. Not the men who shook his hand after service. Not the town that had decided Father Miller was steady, dependable, the kind of man other people could lean on. They saw the polished version. The contained one. The one with the level voice and still hands and enough Scripture ready for whatever hurt they brought him. They did not see him like this, half naked under a towel on the edge of a bed, shaking hard enough to feel it in his teeth because some woman with a sharp mouth and a pale dress had managed to reach under his skin in under an hour and leave him raw there.
“Get a hold of yourself,” he muttered.
The sentence came out low and harsh and completely useless.
He knew better than to say it. Knew contempt never helped. But the voice came anyway, old and mean and familiar. The same one that had kept him alive before he had better language for survival than violence and denial. The man beneath the collar was still there. That was the part that frightened him. Not the panic itself. The thing under it. The thing that lived closest to the cracks and waited.
Joel dragged in another breath and held it as long as he could, then let it out slowly through his mouth. Again. This time it went a little deeper. Not enough, but enough to matter. He stayed bent forward and kept counting without really meaning to, forcing his breathing into something steadier while the medication took its time. In for four. Hold. Out. Again. His hands still shook. His chest still hurt. But the worst edge of it had begun, slightly, to shift.
The next wave came smaller. Ugly still, but smaller. He reached for the water again and made himself drink. His hand trembled against the glass. Less than before.
“Okay,” he said, though there was no one there to hear it. "I'm gonna be okay.”
It wasn’t true but the body liked simple lies when it was frightened, and that one was as good as any.
He sat there another minute, then another, waiting for the medicine to dull the sharpest points of what remained. The trembling in his legs eased first. Then his hands. His pulse was still too high, but no longer trying to break clean through his ribs. His breathing dragged less. The room came back to him in pieces. The desk. The window. The chair with the flannel over the back. The dark beginning to settle outside.
The fear stayed along with the knowledge of how close the old self always remained beneath the surface. How little it took, some days, to feel him shifting there. Almost crawling.
Joel looked down at his hands.
Steadier now.
Then he rose slowly, tightened the towel once at his waist, and went back into the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror because avoiding it would have been ridiculous by then. He looked tired. Older than he had that morning. Eyes red rimmed. Hair still wet. Skin damp. But from the outside, contained enough to pass.
That was familiar too.
He wiped the last of the water from his face and stood there a second with both hands on the sink. Then he looked at the man in the glass and said quietly, “You don’t get out tonight.”
The room, like the church below it, offered him nothing.
Joel turned off the bathroom light, crossed back to the bed, and sat down in the dark. After a while he lay back, one arm over his eyes, the medication pulling him slowly toward something he could bear. He stayed like that, listening to his breathing settle, feeling the last of the trembling go out of his hands and chest and legs. Then, almost without thinking, his fingers found the thin gold chain at his throat and the small cross resting there against his skin.
He closed his hand around it.
The metal was warm. He held it tight in his fist and shut his eyes harder. He didn’t say anything out loud. He didn’t need to. The prayer came anyway, quiet and tired and worn thin by the hour.
Lead me not into temptation—
His hand tightened around the cross.
He forced his breathing slower and tried to think of the work waiting for him in the morning, of practical things, of anything that belonged to the ordinary shape of life and not to you. But your face came back anyway. The laugh he had no business hearing this clearly still.
Lead me not into temptation, Father, but deliver me from… her.
The second time the prayer came quieter. More ashamed than afraid.
He stayed like that until the room softened around him and the medicine finally pulled him back from the edge and to sleep.
Hi there :D I wanted to reach out and tell you that I am amazed by your works in AO3, specifically the Joel Miller ones. The writing is really good and the way you capture every detail of each character, situations, and surroundings is FASCINATING. I started reading "A Haunted Body" just 4 days ago and I have been on a rollercoaster of emotions
I finished reading the latest chapter before writing this, and i'm starting to speculate what's about to go down in the next one after Snow and Joel's encounter with Emily. Thank you for creating wonderful stories, take your time in writing these beautiful works of yours, Augustine!!!
Ooooh what are you speculating? 👀
Thank you so much! Seriously, thank you for taking the time to read my stories. I know they tend to be long and that reading them takes time, so I genuinely appreciate that you do 💖💖💖
A Haunted Body is one of the fics I’ve enjoyed writing the most even though it’s actually quite sad if I’m being honest. But we’re in the fun part now, aren’t we? Then again, I had a lot of fun when Snow and Joel were REALLY fighting too. We’re missing some drama, aren’t we? 👀 Jk
Thank you so much 🤍 for reading, and for your message. Thank youuuu 🫂💖
I've been wanting to tell you for a while now that I LOVE the way you design the covers for your works! Each one captures the vibe of the genre so well: the radiant colors and vibrant designs of TBA; the dark tones/angst/comfort of AHB (this one is my favorite 🤭 I mean I'm not comparing them, it just has a special personal place in my heart). They're really beautiful and complement the plot so well.... Just out of curiosity, how do you get inspired for them? Have you always enjoyed the design aspect? They’re incredible! 💐🧡
Wow, thank you so much 🥹💖🫂 I’m so happy you like them, I love making them!
When I made the first chapter of TBA, I thought it would be cute for the cover to look like a movie ticket or something similar, because Shortcake loves movies, and since the chapter titles are inspired by Friends, it fit the overall idea. At first I considered using the same ticket design in different colors, but then I thought it would be more fun if each one was completely different and themed around what happened in that particular chapter. So I decided to make every ticket unique, with its own little motifs and details.
And with A Haunted Body everything is darker and more poetic, and it’s basically my chance to be a little dramatic lol. The title itself is already pretty metaphorical, so the chapter titles can be longer, more poetic, or sometimes inspired by songs and things like that. I love metaphors and things like that so I just squeeze my brain until I think of something nice, meaningful and representative of something inside the chapter heheh
I really enjoy making the covers and I usually do them at the very end. I’m definitely not an expert at any of it, and I know there are times I could make them much better, but it’s honestly a lot of fun 🤍🤍
When you said A Haunted Body is your love letter to Joel Miller you really weren't lying 💔❤️🩹 The way you write about him feels so special to me, there's so much love, and the way Snow sees him too. Every little detail she notices, from his clothes, his hair, his mannerisms, his body. The part where she puts on his jacket, notices there's a different button on it, and wonders how he replaced it and what happened, those tiny details are what make the fic feel so special to me. Snow is such a sweet and devoted woman, and you can see it in everything she does and in the care she puts into everything around her. Life was hard on her but with the new chance Jackson gave her she shows just how kind and gentle she really is. I fucking love her. And I'm glad Joel is there to show her another side of herself that she's allowed to enjoy too.
And ofc I'll ignore the thing none of us want to happen even though it's probably inevitable. Please protect our babies from the horrible truth 😪 just for a little while at least
🥹 Thank you so so much anon. Joel must be one of the characters I love most and I’m not exaggerating when I say his death genuinely traumatized me. It broke my heart. I just love him, okay? We all do!!
I know he’s a fictional man, but writing about him being loved or having happy moments makes me feel better, and I think he deserves it despite everything. Which brings me to Snow, because she deserves happiness too. My poor girl, I adore her! I love writing her and writing from her perspective.
And you’re right, she’s incredibly sweet and kind and she needs and longs for a soft gentle life. She was born to enjoy the tender parts of life and to create them too, but unfortunately life was awful to her and, well, she did terrible things. But at the end of the world, who can really judge?
They both deserve to be happy, even if only for a little while. And don’t worry, they’re safe for now 🤍
I love you for answering my honey love dark eyes ask!!
Thank you! 🥹🩷
So looking forward to that!!! Yay!! and also just read your posting 2 new fics soon too!?! I’m SAT!!
Hey so for YOU my HLDE lover, I haven't forgotten about you !!! I've just been swamped with exams. I'll post an update as soon as I have some free time 💖💖
I love your writing so much, and your fics are always so well thought! Have you studied/are studying literature or something similar? You're so good at it!
Hi anoooon!
Yes, I'm a literature student (in Argentina it is Letras. I'm not sure if it's exactly the same in other countries? It's a mix of different literary traditions, linguistics, and classical languages). Thank you so much 🥹🤍 love uuu
You know I'd do anything for you
You know it's true, 'cause I've said it to you, ooh
Held in my arms, I swore I'd be good to you
(Be good to you, be good to you)
Then sat and watched as you walked away from me (From me)
So I bled 'til I cried, 'til I felt I might die
To be known the way you should is to put yourself through hell, hell
I never meant to hurt you
But somehow, I knew I would
Will it be like this forever? (Forever)
Forever? (Forever)
I’d reach into your body and fix you if I could
Will I feel like this forever? (Forever)
Forever? (Forever)
Are you angry? Do you hate me?
And darling, time may forgive
But I won't
They've been promising the lights as we beg for our lives
Selling pages of the times we've been waiting on
Now the weight's too much, and I can't hold you anymore
How much of a cruel year can you call my fault?
Not even the memories are immortal
Terrified on this side of a conversation
A conversation we'll never come back from
I'll never live it down if I never get around it
It's true. It is so AHB coded. I never meant to hurt you, but somehow, I knew I would. Will I feel like this forever?
hi augustine! i love your fics so much and english is not my first language. do you have any writing advice for a beginner fic-writer? thanx!!!!
Hi Aisha ❤️ Thank you so much 💖
Of course! I'll tell you what works for me, and maybe it will be useful for you too !
When I first started writing in english I would write a few paragraphs in spanish and then translate them. It helped me get familiar with vocabulary and the different ways something can be translated. It’s also a great exercise because translation isn’t about being literal, it’s about interpreting something as faithfully as possible.
Second, read. Whether it’s fics or books, reading in english helps me a lot because, as a spanish speaker, there are things that might not come naturally to me. It also helps me get familiar with slang and different speech patterns, since dialogue should feel natural. There are also blogs that post writing tips; things like how to write accents (like Joel’s Southern accent, for example) and those have been really helpful too. There are plenty of writers on tumblr who have put together guides on writing naturally and, if that’s something you’re interested in, writing smut as well (you know, synonyms and wording choices so things don’t sound repetitive or overly clinical). Watching movies or tv shows in english with english subs helps me a lot. I’ll admit I’ve picked up a few stylistic choices that way.
And finally, get a beta reader. I’ve never had one myself, but I think they can be incredibly useful if you need corrections or would like feedback from someone who speaks english natively.
If you ever have questions, feel free to message me 🤍
With the help of some lovely moots I've put together a rec list of future classic Pedro character fanfics. You know those fics that you read ages ago, but you think about every so often even years after you read them? These are some WIPs or recently finished fanfics that are sure to become Classics. 💫
I've divided them by character. If you read any of these please like/kudos and Comment! That's the best way to help turn these WIP into the classics they will one day become (and maybe even get a sequel or two😉) It's hard to tell if it's a real person or a bot in a hit count these days so interaction is the only gauge to go by for writers. If you don't know what to say you can just tell them "This feels like a future classic!💕" - You can even copy paste that.
We're starting with Din in honour of this being Mandalorian and Grogu month ...
Din Djarin
An Unexpected Meeting by @keeshya6 -A long running WIP and personal favourite of mine. A princess saves Din's life and then Din returns the favour... unfortunately for both of them it comes with strings (or chain codes) attached and reader becomes Din's slave. They navigate their feelings and power dynamics, as well as raising a tiny green baby together. Also, reader is a badass.
Teenage Dirtbag, Baby by @awkwardpaws - Move over Dawson's Creek there's a new Angsty teenage love triangle in town. And it's an early 2000's Earth!Din AU. With Din/Paz/Bo and other familiar aspects of the Mandalorian universe brought right down to earth. It's a prequel to the recently completed (and excellent) Din/Cobb fic Falling Slowly.
Country Roads by @itsjuststardust - Din isn't in Navarro anymore but he might be in ...Kansas? Din is dropped on a nurses truck by a tornado in middle America. Reader can't quiet believe he's an alien with a little green baby, but she takes them in anyway. (I mean who wouldn't?).
Losing My Religion by @oonajaeadira - Set post season 2, a Mandalorian comes looking for F!Jedi/Healer Reader with an assignment from an old friend, sending you on a mission and a union that you both need. It's soft, it's tender, the world building and the characters are so well written. I loved losing myself into that story.
Payment by @annwrites24 - Raised as a servant to reader's half-sister on her home planet of Nharia, she find herself married to the king of an ancient warrior race, who happens to be a reluctantly wed Din Djarin. Their union is set to keep the peace between their two peoples. Could this arranged political marriage ever be anything more than loveless treaty?
Javier Peña
Inertia by @half-moon16 - Javier and F!Reader work together at the DEA, there's tension there, the question is who will set thing into motion and cross the line between co-workers.
Crosshairs by @rosharanfiction - There's something about Jackson’s newest resident that gets under Joel’s skin. It’s not just Javier Peña’s cocky attitude that Joel can’t stand - it’s his tight pants and his too-smooth voice, and especially the way he’s sleeping with half of Jackson.Its a Javier Peña x Joel Miller (so you know you're gonna get 2 things, grumpiness and hotness)
Haunted by @cozymochaa- Javier is sent for undercover work to take down the cartel. He finds his in with the drug lord's secret daughter, but quickly learns that Reader nothing like your father. The lines between his job and his desire to protect her start to blur, forcing him to make a difficult decision.
Life with Javier Peña by @pascalispunkczechia. Written in the form of journal entries from Javier’s point of view. It's a collection of beautiful little slice of life moment between Javier and his wife.
Somewhere Only We Know by @milla-frenchy : Friends to lovers between Javier and Reader it's story about two people who are very dear to each other, but too scared to turn their friendship into something else. They search for each other in other people and places until fate brings them back together at the right time
Ezra
I don't have any Ezra multi chapter WIPs to rec... but do I have one coming 😉. For now I'm going to Rec a lovely little one shot that came out recently.
Little Dove by @bergamote-catsandbooks - Ezra and Cee make it off the green, but Ezra is hurt and feverish. He reflects on his past choices as Cee tries to keep him awake. (I tired to get them to make it a series, but alas some things are perfect as they are... short and sweet.)
Frankie Morales
More Than Letters- (@almostfoxglove)- A love story about pen pals that somehow lost their way. Filled with angst, miscommunication, lost presents, yearning, heartbreak and hopefully a happy ending.
The Boyfriend Act by @capuccinodoll - Frankie x f!reader - A beautifully Frankie story. Santiago's sister and Frankie Morales have never gotten along, but faced with an ex's wedding and a big overly involved family the two make a deal to pretend to be together, which should work... so long as they don't kill each other first...
Small Things of a Whole by @sawymredfox
Beautifully written snippets of a tender relationship between Benny and Frankie.
The Devil's Pilot by @vodkaandpizza (shameless self-rec😉) - Ex-addict Frankie Morales is doing his best to be a good father to his daughter. On the straight and narrow and out of the military he gets a job flying a helicopter for the San Antonio DEA. As a result he meets a smart-mouthed, fast-talking investigative reporter who also happens to be the step-daughter of legendary DEA Agent Javier Peña
... What could possibly go wrong?
Clint Flood
(guys we need more muti chapter clint fics!)
Somebody Else by @rosharanfiction - Reader is a waitress at a diner by day and a call girl by night. The regular she's been crushing on, a lonely single dad named Clint books his regular waitress for the night in an attempt to get used to intimacy again since the tragic loss of his wife.
(It's completed, and a one-shot, but the author might be making another part -or is that wishful thinking- and it's my favourite Clint fic so it counts ok?)
The Man and the Moon by @vodkaandpizza - Clint finds himself in a tiny northern Canadian harbour and gets a job as a cook in the harbour marina's restaurant. When autumn comes and the seasonal resident leave for the city a mysterious woman shows up on a beach across the from the marina. Clint sees her every night as the seasons change he gets to know her and the rest of the locals a whole lot better.
Marcus Acacius
The General by @juletheghoul - Marcus Acacius x f!reader - General Marcus has strengthened his reputation as a strong, capable, brutal man. Reader can't help but want him though, and he can't seem to help himself either. -It's hot and steamy, and then they start having feelings
Mistress of puppets by @myownwholewildworld - Concubine Marcus x Queen reader - A collection of steamy tales where Reader is a Queen and Marcus is her concubine...more please!
The Lesser Of Two Evils by @orcasoul - General Marcus Acacius x reader (Gladiator II) - OFCReader is and enemy of both Rome and the Germanic people. She is living a life of servitude and despair, until her life is upended by a mysterious Roman General...
This Never Happened by @rosharanfiction - Modern AU - Reader hooks up with a man -with great hair - in a bar right before she starts her new job as an attorney for a real estate developer. Which would have been fine if that man didn't turn out to be her new boss...
Pero Tovar
Fate Unbound by @avastrasposts - Pero is a thrall during the 12th century Viking era. He makes a pact with the daughter of his captor, turning foes into unlikely allies. It's beautifully written and has great historical elements. Her Pero is excellent as well.
Harry Castillo
The Ex Education by @missadangel - Reader married Harry when they were young. They and in the same weathy circles in New York. When it didn't work out reader left the city to heal. Years later her Family's fallen hard times which land reader working for her Ex husband... what could go wrong...
Oberyn Martell
I Seek A Prince Of Poisons to Brew for Me a Flame by @oonajaeadira - F!Reader has two agendas on your mission to the palace at the Water Gardens of Dorne. One is business. One is a secret. But Ellaria and Oberyn have their own plans for her.
Joel Miller
Finding hope in you by @shadowqueen2024 - After Reader's husband died on one of the supply runs Tommy organized, leaving her and her 5-year-old daughter alone she is lost. Then Joel and Ellie settle down in Jackson after their trip to the Fireflies. As a favour to Maria, he meets reader and her daughter. It’s slow burn with angst.
Unexpected by @orcasoul - An unplanned pregnancy stirs up trouble for Reader and Joel as they work through fears new and old.
What if @bluestar22x - Joel x f!reader - Imagine, a Choose Your Adventure, set in Jackson, where you can fall in love with Joel, decide what happens in every step? It sounds too good to be true? Well it exists! And it needs to get more attentions!
He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not by @auteurdelabre - A soul mate AU where OFC and her cousin have the same tattoo... and so does Joel Miller. that's okay OFC doesn't care about could mates, but her little cousin is ecstatic to have found hers...
From the Ground Up by @ak-vintage - After getting laid off from her job and forced to start over again, Reader is forced to move back in with her parents where she gets a jobs working at her Dad's bet friend - Joel's construction business. (A great story with the characters are fully fleshed, and a well set the plot. )
Healed by @whocaresstillthelouvre - Joel x f!reader - Joel survies his encounter with Abby and Reader - Jackson's newest resident is tasked with healing him. (Oh this is so soft, so beautiful. It's the peace and quiet Joel deserves. Reading it is like drinking a warm beverage in a cosy blanket. -@bardot49 with a poetic referral)
Nothing Left by @nonbinairyboi - Nonbinary!reader who hasn't spoken in years settles in Jackson. When Joel and Ellie show up they can't help but be drawn to the curious duo. (This is such a well researched, beautifully written story. The subjects are heavy, but they are treated with so much care and love. - @bardot49)
Dividers by @diviniyea and @dividers-are-us-are-us
Thank-you to everyone who helped put this together with great recs!: @bardot49 @bergamote-catsandbooks @awkwardpaws @grogusmum @galway-girlatwork @hystericalanduseless9 let me know if you rec's something and I missed it!
Writers let me know if you want anything removed!
We'll se how this goes. I will hopefully be putting together a classics one. But I really wanted to highlight great flics being written right now and hopefully get the writers some great engagement to put some motivation in those typing fingers! Never underestimate the power of a comment!
Thanks for the boost to find these fics please also spread this far and wide so people can read these fics!: @sawymredfox @pedroscurls @cozymochaa @annwrites24 @rosharanfiction @littlemisspascal @aurorawritestoescape @tateypots @mcthsman @myownwholewildworld @kokoluwie @bluestar22x @shadowqueen2024 @charline97 @pedroncigarettes @perfectpoetrybluebird @severelysentientnova @cuteanimalmama @joelmillerspnk @gothcsz @indigirlunited @milla-frenchy @pascalispunkczechia @verybigvag @xstrawberrycigarette @pentechnics
Okay??? Thank you so much for including The Boyfriend Act!! 🤍 And for the ones that recommended it. Can't believe there's only 3 chapters left. Thank you 💖
— Chapter summary: After Joel's safe return, you find a rare quiet solace in his presence and the safety of his home. It’s a blurry line, and you're not quite sure if giving in to this feeling is the right choice. But for now, you choose to stop questioning it and just let yourself feel safe.wc: 22.4k
A/N: WARNING! This chapter contains fluff and smut, LOADS OF IT. Also, while I was editing this chapter I was listening to Jeff Buckley and noticed that I mention windows and sunlight streaming through them a lot here. It instantly reminded me of his song with Elizabeth Fraser, "all flowers in time bend towards the sun." I truly feel like the lyrics apply so much to Snow and Joel. If you haven't heard it yet, I highly recommend giving it a listen! Anyway, thank you so much for reading, and for waiting 2 months for this update. I hope you enjoy this part! In case you want to support me, buy me a coffee - ko-fi
If you liked it, leave a comment or reblog 🩷 your feedback really helps me keep writing.
Joel’s house. Morning.
Your body felt warm as you started to wake. Sprawled on your back with your right arm stretched above your head and your frame angled diagonally across the mattress, you were tucked comfortably beneath the warm blankets. And pressing down on the left side of your body, the heavy weight of Joel anchored you against the bed, the faintest hint of a snore slipping out now and then.
He was lying face down, his cheek resting against your chest just beneath your collarbone. His arm draped heavily over your ribs and the rest of his body followed that same diagonal line as yours.
You shifted slightly, extending your legs and reaching both arms over your head, but you had no intention of moving further; you were far too cozy. Joel’s weight was a welcome pressure and his body heat radiated like a furnace. He was wearing nothing but his pajama pants, leaving nothing but bare skin against you, while you remained covered in his shirt.
After one last stretch, you lowered your left hand to his back, letting it rest there for a moment. You leaned into him, just a fraction, and finally allowed your fingers to climb toward the nape of his neck, disappearing into his hair. Joel didn't stir in the slightest; he was out like a light.
Without a second thought, you hugged him, letting your chin rest on the crown of his head. Even with your mind still foggy, you knew the feeling washing over you was overwhelming; he was in your arms, alive.
No. Don't think about that.
You pushed the thought aside and let your breathing sync with his, surrendering to a long while of drifting in and out of sleep as the sunlight through the window climbed higher and higher.
Sometime later.
At some point in the middle of your idyllic dream, Joel climbed out of bed. You noticed immediately because, obviously, his weight disappeared from on top of you and suddenly you felt far too exposed.
Half asleep, you heard him shuffle to the bathroom; the toilet flushing, water running from the sink, and then, a couple minutes later, he was back beside you. He slipped under the sheets and blankets and, with one rough tug, hauled you against him again. You stayed there for a while, tucked against his chest, but you could only hold out for so long.
You seriously, seriously had to pee.
You shifted a little, trying to pry yourself loose; Joel pulled you right back against him. A quiet laugh slipped out of you.
Again, you started wriggling away.
“What’re you doing? Where d’you think you’re goin’?” he mumbled. His voice was low and gravelly with sleep and his eyes still completely shut.
“Gotta use the bathroom,” you whispered through a laugh.
Without another word, he let go of your waist, and you pushed the blankets off yourself too.
Oh, it was cold. The air wasn’t nearly as warm as it had been a week ago, and the floor beneath your feet felt freezing. That, and the fact that you were barely dressed. Your legs were completely bare, every inch of your skin prickling from the temperature.
“Oh, shit,” you muttered as you shut the bathroom door behind you. Sleep was making the cold feel twice as bad.
You rushed through everything as fast as possible, washing your hands and splashing warm water on your face afterward.
Jesus, your hair was a disaster. You fixed it as best you could with your fingers while staring into Joel’s tiny mirror, and the second you were done, you hurried back out.
On your tiptoes, you rushed back to bed and practically launched yourself onto him.
“It’s so freaking cold,” you whispered as you crawled beneath the blankets again, pressing your chest against his, sprawled on top of him.
Joel wrapped both his arms and half the blanket around you. The warmth of his chest seeped into yours almost instantly.
A sudden rush of happiness climbed from your stomach to your chest and burst right beneath your collarbone; you slid your hands along the sides of his head and pressed your lips to his jaw. You scattered little kisses there, trailing them up his cheek, then just beside the corner of his mouth.
His lips pulled into a smile that you kissed too.
“Gettin’ warm?” he asked, tightening his arms around you as his hands slipped beneath your shirt. On the way there, he hooked a finger under the elastic of your underwear.
“Yeah. Thank you.”
You kissed him again, but this time it was slower and deeper. Gradually, your right hand cupped his jaw, your thumb pressing against his chin and tipping it down, coaxing his mouth open wider for you.
You slid your tongue slowly into his mouth, grazing his lower lip with a lingering stroke before deepening the kiss; the lower part of your belly tingled at the taste. The sound that left him was a low soft moan.
The shift in Joel was instantaneous. His breathing hitched and his grip tightened until there was no space left between you. One of his hands slid down from your waist and his palm squeezed your hip, then moved lower to cup your ass. And driven by pure instinct, you shifted too, parting your legs to hook them around his hips.
You pressed yourself firmly against the lower part of his stomach, seeking more friction, and the contact drew another ragged breath from his lungs. Every point where your bodies met felt like it was suddenly sparking to life. Every point, wich basically was… every part of your body.
Your tongue keep exploring the heat of his mouth, sweeping against his in a slow, languid dance. He met you with the same unhurried hunger, his tongue tangling with yours as he tasted you deeply, because there was no rush, no world outside the four walls of this room; no one waiting for you, no one needing you, no looming shadow of duty. In the quiet safety of this room, the only urgency that existed was the pull of your own skin.
The kiss remained sensual and low, a long drawn out luxury you were totally entitled to.
Then, you pulled back just enough to graze your teeth against the soft swell of his lower lip, nipping it once, softly. The small bite broke his composure.
Joel’s breath hitched, and he brought his other hand down, both palms now heavy and big and commanding as they anchored to your ass. He squeezed firmly, his fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp against his mouth. And with a possessive grunt, he hitched you higher, dragging your body down against his as he ground his hips upward. The movement was precise, so precise, pressing exactly where you needed it most.
As he pulled you flush against him, you felt it; the unmistakable, rock hard weight of his erection through the soft fabric of his pajamas, pressing big and hot right against your center. The friction was enough to turn your knees weak even as you clung to his shoulders and the mattress under him.
You began to shift against him, a slow and rhythmic glide up and down, grazing yourself against his hard cock through the thin cotton. But you didn't break the kiss; you were too desperate to drink in the sound of the ragged groans catching in his throat.
Your body felt like it was nearing a boiling point. Skin to skin and heart to heart, your pulse was thundering in your ears; frantic, heavy and delicious beat that matched the insistent aching throb between your legs.
Joel’s hands abandoned his grip on your hips then, reaching up to fist the hem of the oversized shirt. He began to bunch the fabric upward as you straightened, sitting up to give him access and raising your arms to help him pull it off. He tossed the shirt blindly to the side, leaving you bared to him, wearing nothing but your underwear.
Suddenly, the cool morning air hit your skin, sending a visible shiver through you as your nipples peaked and goosebumps blossomed across your chest. But the chill was short lived; Joel’s hands were immediately back on you, his warm palms searingly hot as they settled on your waist.
You remained seated over him, looking down as you resumed that torturous, slow movement.
From this vantage point, you felt a surge of pure unfiltered power. What a beautiful sight Joel was, a beautiful wreck beneath you; his salt and pepper hair disheveled against the pillow, his cheeks flushed a deep, rugged red, and his eyes... they were blown wide, dark and glittering like black diamonds in the night. And scattered across his cheeks, forehead, chin, and chest, the cuts and bruises remained vividly visible as a reminder of just how fragile he could be. But not right now, not under your hand.
It was a feeling nearly impossible to put into words. You had never known yourself to be capable of this kind of intensity, or this kind of hunger. With him, and only with him, you felt like a version of yourself you’d never met before. A reclamation of your own body. It wasn't just lust; it was a vivid, electric sense of being alive, a hunger for life that burned brighter than the morning sun creeping across the floor.
You kept moving your hips, and even through the layers of fabric, his cock felt massive; a hard and pulsing weight that throbbed in perfect sync with the wet heat between your legs.
You leaned in, pressing your palms against the broad expanse of his chest, being mindful to keep your fingers away from the dark bruises on his skin. He was burning up, his body like a furnace radiating a heat that seemed to melt you so easily.
As you angled your body over him, Joel let out a wrecked sound and one of his hands traveled upward, his calloused palm sliding over the curve of your ribcage until it found your breast. He traced the swell before settling his thumb over your peaking nipple, rolling it with agonizing pressure until your back arched.
A broken moan escaped you, but he didn't let it fade. His hand drifted higher, until his fingers wrapped around the column of your throat for a fleeting second, just enough to feel the vibration of your next gasp, before his thumb pressed into the center of your jaw, coaxing your mouth open.
He slid his thumb inside, past your teeth, and you took him in without hesitation. You swirled your tongue around the pad of his thumb, tasting the faint salt of his skin and the heat of his touch, all while your hips never stopped their desperate move against him.
Looking down at him through hooded eyes, you watched the way his expression fractured into desperate need as you sucked on him. And then, he slowly withdrew his thumb, replacing it with his index finger. You took it into your mouth without hesitation, swirling your tongue around it until he slid his middle finger too; you sucked on them greedily, letting the wet, slick sounds filling the space between your heavy breaths.
Just after a few moments of watching you, he pulled his glistening fingers from your lips. He didn't let the moisture go to waste; he dragged his damp fingers down the length of your throat, then over the swell of your breasts, the cool air hitting the wet trails he left behind. His hands eventually settled on your hips, digging in with a possessive strength that anchored you to him.
"You're so beautiful," he rasped. "Just perfect."
A deep blush crept up your neck as you smiled down at him, but the sweetness of the moment shifted into something more commanding as he began to nudge your hips upward, sliding you further up his body toward his chest.
"Grab the headboard," he ordered.
You obeyed instantly, eyes locked on his as you reached to grip the wood of the bedframe. Joel adjusted you, dragging your body exactly where he wanted you, before he shifted himself downward until you were positioned right above his face.
"Joel," you whispered, letting out a shy breathless nervous little laugh. "Whare are you doing?"
He didn't answer with words. Instead, he leaned in to press lingering, warm kisses to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, his hands gripping your hips and pulling you down firmly, silently demanding that you sit heavier against him. Then, he reached for the edge of your underwear, hooking his fingers into the lace and sliding them to the side until you were completely bared to him.
Joel went still for a moment, his gaze intense as he took in the sight of you, wet and swollen just for him.
"Perfect," he murmured, his breath hitching as he stared. "Look at you... look how ready you are for me."
The sound of his voice sent a jolt straight to you. You could feel the warmth of his exhales puffing against your folds, making you ache.
You lowered one hand from the headboard and brushed the curls off his forehead.
“Just for you,” you whispered softly. “Only for you.”
Joel went still for a few seconds, his eyes locked on your face. Gently, he turned his head and pressed soft kisses to the inside of your thighs. Your hand sank a little deeper into his curls, feeling the anticipation build as his mouth moved closer and closer to where you needed him most.
And then, finally, Joel leaned forward and let his tongue touch you. It was a slow, agonizingly long stroke from the bottom to the very top. He started at a crawl, tasting you with a flat tongued pressure that made your hips buck instinctively. He followed the line of your body, swirling his tongue around your clit with a gentle teasing flick before burying his face against you to drink in the taste of you. Every lap was steady and unhurried, a masterpiece of patience that had you whimpering his name into the quiet morning air within seconds.
But he didn’t break the rhythm. If anything, your soft and broken whimpers only anchored him deeper between your thighs. His tongue continued its steady kiss, flattening against you to drag another slow soaking stroke from bottom to top.
You couldn't stay still. Your hips began to roll in a slow, desperate circle against his face, chasing the pressure of his mouth and trying to sink yourself fully onto him. And the moment you moved, Joel’s warm hands slid down from your hips, cupping the meat of your ass. His fingers dug into your flesh with a possessive soft grip, pinning you down and silently forcing you to take every bit of it.
It was dirty, the slick heavy sounds of his mouth eating you, but there was an overwhelming tenderness to the way he was doing it. His mouth was so hot, so incredibly wet; he swirled his tongue right over your swollen clit with a teasing flick that made your entire body shudder against his face.
"Joel—" your voice broke, a strained sound as your fingers white knuckled around the wooden headboard behind you.
He let out a low vibration of a growl against you and his thumbs pressed hard into your bottom, lifting your hips slightly just to angle you better for his tongue. He began to lap at you faster now, his patience clearly fracturing into something a little more desperate as he drank you in.
The heat inside you was coiling tight, pulling into a heavy ache right where his mouth was working. You were so close; the friction of his flat tongue and the hot puffs of his breath against your folds were pushing you straight over the edge. Instinctively, your spine snapped taut as you leaned back, your head falling back as your neck strained. One of your hands pressed against his stomach to steady yourself, your fingers splaying as the first waves of the climax began to tighten violently around your core, leaving you completely at the mercy of his mouth.
The moment you broke, you broke completely. You clamped down in violent, desperate pulses against his mouth, a sharp, choked cry tearing from your throat as you rode the peak. Your hand buried hard into his stomach, your fingers digging in as your hips bucked helplessly into his face, forcing him to take the thick, soaking heat of your climax. Joel didn't pull away; he held you there with that bruising grip on your ass, drinking you in, his tongue catching every heavy tremor until the ripples finally began to slow.
Your chest heaved, every breath a ragged, costly struggle that rattled in your throat. Slowly, the possessive tension in his hands softened. He let out a low, satisfied exhale against your wet skin, pressing one last, lingering kiss right over your swollen center to seal his work, before sliding his lips to your inner thigh. You shifted your hips back, letting out a weak whimper as the cool air hit the slick trail he left behind.
His large hands began a slow soothing path, stroking up and down the length of your trembling legs, before sliding over your hips to rest heavily at your waist. Joel tilted his head back against the mattress, wearing a breathless smirk on his lips as he looked up at you.
"You okay, honey?" he rasped, his voice rough and incredibly deep.
You managed a breathless smile, your hand leaving his stomach to wipe at your flushed cheek.
"Give me a second," you whispered, feeling your poor little heart hammering like a trapped bird against your ribs.
Joel let out a soft chuckle and you felt the sound against your thighs.
You bit your lip, tilting your head back for a moment as you tried to catch your breath, before carefully shifting your weight. You slid your knees backward, moving off his chest and unstraddling his face.
That’s when your eyes fell on his lap.
Even through the soft fabric of his pajama pants, his cock was tenting the material so fiercely it looked ridiculous. It was massive, a thick rigid ridge pointing straight up toward his torso.
A purring sound escaped you. Crawling back up his body, you leaned over him, pressing a slow kiss to his mouth, tasting yourself on his lips. Your hand drifted down the broad expanse of his chest, tracing a path down his flat stomach until your palm cupped the hard length of him right through the cloth.
"And are you okay, Mr. Miller?" you whispered against his wet lips, your fingers tightening around the thick shaft.
Joel's thighs parted instinctively at your touch and a low hiss escaped his teeth.
"Take everything off," you commanded.
Without wasting a single second, Joel pushed himself up onto his elbows. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pajamas and dragged them down his long legs, kicking them off the edge of the bed. He wasn’t wearing any underwear. He fell back against the pillows, completely bare, his chest rising and falling as you sat back on your heels and your gaze traced every inch of him.
Hooking your fingers into the lace of your underwear, you slid them down your thighs and tossed them carelessly to the floor before immediately moving over him again, knees framing his hips.
Looking down at him, you pooled a thick layer of saliva into your palm and shifted your hips slightly back to give yourself room, and wrapped your wet hand around the heavy head of his cock. You smeared the slick moisture over the crown before sliding your palm all the way down to the base.
Oh god.
He was stone hard, his shaft scorching hot and silky smooth under your wet grip. Along the side, a thick vein throbbed violently against your palm, pulsing with his heartbeat. You began to slowly stroke him, wearing a friction that coated his entire length in your spit, while you leaned slightly forward, teasingly rubbing him right against your soaking wet folds.
Joel’s eyes snapped shut and his head slammed back into the pillow; a deep groan ripped from the center of his chest, his jaw straining as your hand and your body drove him crazy.
Seeing him completely undone brought a wicked smile to your lips. You knew he was fighting with all his might not to grab you by the hips and sink into you right then and there. So while he stayed there, eyes closed and at your mercy, you guided his cock to your opening. You tilted your hips forward, aligning him perfectly, and began to sink down.
Slowly. Agonizingly slowly.
The sensation was so full of him, so intensely sweet, it made your vision blur. He stretched you completely wide, breaking you open millimeter by millimeter as you swallowed him inches at a time. Every internal muscle you had coiled up tight, wrapping around his thick pulsing width like a glove, gripping him impossibly close as you took him all the way in.
You froze, adjusting to the sheer size of him stretching you open from the inside, plugging you so completely that there wasn’t a single millimeter of empty space left between you. Joel let out a heavy, bottomless groan that seemed to echo from the pit of his stomach, his chest expanding as he took a ragged breath. And a long relieved sigh slipped past your lips; you leaned slightly forward, fixing your gaze on his face.
That was when his eyelids fluttered open and his dark eyes locked onto yours. Your expression instantly softened and your eyes filled with sugar and honey; unfiltered devotion as you took him in. His cheeks were flushed with heat, and his gaze was beautifully weighed down by the lingering remnants of the night; his eyelids were just a little heavy and swollen from sleep. His peppered hair was ruined, exploding in messy and wild peaks, little chaotic horns pointing in every direction where your fingers had gripped and tugged at the curls only minutes before.
And then, he smiled. His hands slid up from the mattress, tenderly stroking the curves of your hips and the smooth skin of your thighs. You smoothed your palms flat against his chest, caressing the warm skin as you began to lower your torso toward him, letting your hands slide up his chest until they wrapped around his shoulders. You leaned down and pressed your lips to his.
The moment your mouths met, Joel wrapped his arms around you, locking you against him with a squeeze at your waist. And then, he began to move.
He tilted his hips up, sliding out of you with agonizing slowness; he held himself there, teasing you for a suspended heartbeat, and then buried himself back inside you with one single, deep thrust.
You let out a muffled whimper straight into his mouth.
He pulled back again, dragging his cock nearly all the way out; paused for a agonizing second, and then rammed back in another sudden, deep thrust.
Another broken cry escaped you, but this time, the torturous pace was too much to bear.
Impatient and burning for a steady rhythm, you broke the kiss and pushed yourself up. Arching your spine, you planted your palms against Joel’s chest for leverage and took control.
You began to roll your hips in a slow tilt, rising up and sinking back down, feeling every ridge of him slide out and slide back in, filling you to the brim only to empty you again, over and over. But the slow torture was suffocating; the sheer hunger and raw need for more overtook you almost instantly.
Your pace quickened, your movements growing deeper, the friction escalating rapidly until the wet hard strike of your thighs crashing against his skin sounded loud and scandalous in the quiet room. Joel’s hands immediately clamped onto your ass, his fingers digging into the meat of your hips to help anchor your new found rhythm.
You looked down and completely melted into his gaze; his pupils had blown so wide his eyes looked entirely black, glittering with intense unvarnished lust, while a dark sudden flush crept rapidly up his neck and across his face.
Behind his head, the wooden headboard began to rattle, thudding against the wall with every frantic downstroke.
Overwhelmed by the sensation of him bottoming out inside you, you let your eyelids slide shut, throwing your head back into the morning air as you rode him.
Your hands stayed locked onto his chest, your fingers digging into his warm skin as you kept setting the pace, driving yourself down onto him with unyielding hunger. You were entirely in control, riding him with a desperate rhythm that had your head spinning from the delicious heat radiating from your core. Every single stroke was pure pleasure, a throbbing sensation that started deep between your thighs and rushed like wildfire all the way up your spine, leaving your skin tingling and your senses completely overwhelmed.
Joel was losing his mind beneath you too. His large hands clamped onto your hips, his thumbs digging into the bone to steady you, but he couldn't keep still. His hips began to roll upward, bucking his groin against yours with every stroke, using his own strength to shove his massive length as deep as it could go so you wouldn't have to work as hard for that agonizing depth.
"Ah... fuck," he whispered, a broken curse slipping past his lips. His jaw was clenched so tight the muscles in his face strained, his neck completely flushed as he looked up at you through those beautiful eyes.
You looked straight down at him from your height, your chest heaving, refusing to break eye contact even as a ragged whimper tore from your throat. Joel stared back, his teeth grinding together.
"Look at you," he rasped, his voice dropping into a whisper that was dripping with an overwhelming sweetness. "Taking every single inch... such a good girl. Ride it, baby, take whatever you want from me."
The adoring words sent a shiver through you, but before you could even gasp out his name, Joel’s right hand flew up from your hip.
Crack.
The sound of his palm striking the meat of your ass was loud and sharp in the quiet room.
A loud, shocked gasp ripped from your lungs, your hips freezing for a split second as the sudden, stinging heat of the slap bloomed across your skin. It didn't hurt; it was a delicious possessive claim that sent a jolt of pure electricity straight up your back, making your interior muscles squeeze around him in a tight desperate clench.
Joel’s eyes flared, a dark, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he felt you react. He immediately brought his hand down again, landing another stinging slap on the other cheek.
"Yeah, you like that, don't you?" he growled. He squeezed your hips tight, tilting you perfectly before his hips bucked upward once more, burying himself to the absolute root. "Keep going, don't stop, just…"
"Joel, oh my God—please."
You leaned down, your face just inches from his. The stinging heat on your ass and the thick stretch inside you made you completely shameless.
"Look at what you do to me," you whimpered, right against his lips as you ground your hips down. "You're fucking me so good, Joel, I’m so full of you."
The effect was instantaneous; a deep crimson rushed up his neck, staining his cheeks as a tight, guttural sound ripped from his chest. His hands clamped onto your hips with a bruising desperate strength, and driven by his reaction, you shifted your weight, changing the angle. Instead of just the steady up and down, you began to move your hips forward and backward, sliding your slick warmth right against his root. The friction was so intense, so devastatingly good, that your eyes rolled back under your hooded lids.
Your body was boiling, sweat slicked and heavy, and you could feel him hitting every sensitive, swollen internal muscle with a terrifying precision.
"Tell me how it feels," Joel rasped, his voice breaking as he bucked his hips upward to meet your grinding slide, shoving himself deeper. "Let me hear you, baby. Tell me how good you take it."
"It's too much," you cried out, your voice fracturing into a desperate sob as you quickened the pace. "It feels so good, Joel... you feel so good."
"Yeah? You gonna come for me?"
You nodded.
He squeezed your hip, releasing your skin for a fleeting second before another sharp slap landed against your ass. A devastating desolate moan tore from your throat.
"Use your words, c'mon," he rasped, weak. "Let me hear it from that pretty mouth."
The headboard began to crash with violent erratic thuds against the wall as your movements turned frantic. Joel’s thumbs pressed hard into your bottom, helping you rock against him, his teeth bared as his own breath rattled in his chest.
"Joel, I'm gonna come," you gasped out desperately, your eyes snapping shut as a single bead of sweat rolled down the valley of your breasts.
Your fingers balled into tight fists against his chest, your nails instinctively scratching deep into his warm skin as the tension coiled into an intolerable knot. A moan tore from the absolute depths of your throat as the climax finally broke over you; your entire body shuddered, your legs trembling so violently that your rhythm shattered completely, leaving you helplessly riding the explosive waves.
As your strength gave out, you fell forward onto his chest like dead weight, your chest heaving against his. But Joel didn't let you rest. His grip on your ass never loosened; he simply took the control you could no longer maintain.
Shoving his hips up with a raw, relentless hunger, he began to move your limp trembling body to his own liking; driving you up and down his thick cock while you buried your face into the crook of his neck, letting out helpless, broken whimpers and wet sobs against his heated skin.
He was moving you however he wanted, penetrating you hard and incredibly deep, his own breathing fracturing as his groans grew louder, sounding more and more desperate with every heavy thrust that bottomed out inside your soaking warmth.
"Fuck, you're so tight," he groaned into your skin, as he felt your interior muscles pulsing around him in the aftershock. "You're squeezing me to death, baby... I'm right there."
Desperate for the taste of him, you forced your torso up just enough to find his mouth, capturing his lips in a messy kiss. Joel met you instantly, his hands sliding up your back, wrapping his heavy arms around you with crushing strength to lock you tight against his chest. He was fucking you like an animal now, his hips snapping upward in a fast, brutal way that had you gasping for air against his tongue.
You wanted it so badly—you wanted him to fill you completely to the brim, to release everything inside you and feel his thick cock pulsing against your interior walls as he came, wanting him to stay buried deep inside you long after it was over.
But the explosion caught Joel by surprise.
Just as he reached his peak, a rough almost pained groan ripped from his throat. He abruptly tore his mouth from yours, his eyes flying wide with a wild dark light, and before you could even realize what was happening, his hands flew down to your hips, his fingers dig in with an iron grip, and he lifted your body up and off him.
His thick cock snapped out of your tight cunt just as he broke.
"Fuck—!" Joel choked out.
Without the tight seal of your body, his release shot high and heavy thick white ropes splattering across the lower part of your thighs. He stayed frozen beneath you for a few seconds, his chest heaving violently, his hands still trembling where they held your hips.
Your eyes scanned his entire face; his closed eyelids, flushed cheeks, lips swollen from your kisses, and the thin sheen of sweat coating his skin.
You reached a hand to his cheek, holding him still just long enough to press a kiss against his jawline. Smiling softly as he blinked his eyes open and locked them onto yours, you spoke.
"You okay, honey?"
Joel huffed a laugh, his hand sliding up your back. His palm was sweaty, matching the curve of your spine and likely the rest of your bodies. It was a gorgeous disaster.
You rested your head in the notch of his neck.
The heat in your body lingered for about ten more minutes. While Joel got out of bed to grab something to clean you up, you lay face down in the open air, feeling the sun on your skin. It was warm and comfortable, lying there naked in the sunlight on top of his sheets, but the moment your body temperature began to drop back to normal, the chill returned.
Your body was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, but at the same time, you felt sweaty and sticky. That was why, when Joel came back and climbed into bed with you, you resisted a little as he tried to pull you back under the covers.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Can I take a shower?"
He gave a lopsided smile, his eyelids heavy with sleep. He stretched his arms over his head and rested one hand against his forehead. "Sure. Right now?"
"I won't be long," you said, starting to get out of bed. You felt a sudden wave of shyness being completely exposed, so you yanked the top sheet off the bed and wrapped it around your body.
Joel laughed. "Hey, what're you doin'?"
Walking toward the bathroom, you looked back at him. "I'm naked!"
"Nothin' I haven't seen before, from every angle."
You pressed your palm against the door and started to push it open, but not before looking back at him one last time.
"Yeah, through the lens of lust!"
You rolled your eyes and stepped into the bathroom, feeling the cold floor beneath your bare feet. Unwrapping the sheet from your body, you carefully folded it in half and hung it on the hook behind the door. Then, you leaned half your body into the shower to turn on the water, adjusting it to the perfect temperature to take the chill out of your hands and feet.
Once you were fully inside with the hot water cascading over your head, you let your sore muscles relax. Your thighs and hips burned a little, and your abs felt pretty tender too. That was a hell of a workout you’d just had with Joel; you knew it was going to hurt a bit more in a few hours.
You washed up at your own pace, cleaning your neck, legs, thighs, back, arms, shoulders and everything. You ran your fingers through your hair and over your scalp, breathing in the scent of the shampoo you always smelled on him. You were just washing your face when the bathroom door opened.
You heard a few short steps approaching the shower, and a second later, the curtain was drawn back.
Joel’s face appeared through the steam. "Need a shower too."
You smiled. "Okay, come on in. I was just about to get out."
He slid the curtain open further and stepped carefully onto the wet floor. Moving forward, he walked right under the stream of water, trapping you against the wall. The cool metal handles pressed softly against the skin of your lower back.
Joel looked down and closed his eyes, water dripping from the wet strands of hair on his forehead straight onto your face. He shook his head, sending a spray of droplets over you.
Laughing, you lifted both hands and placed them over his brow. He smiled, and for a split second, you swore he looked completely different; a light transparent smile that brightened his entire face appeared on his lips. But a second later, your focus shifted to the bruises on his cheek, the cut on his forehead, and down toward his shoulders, his chest, his stomach. Joel had plenty of old scars there, but your eyes lingered on the fresh bruises, the scrapes along his ribs. It looked like it had to hurt.
Carefully, you reached out and grabbed the soap and the soft sponge next to it, working it between your hands until you had a good lather before you began to clean and massage his shoulders.
"You know," you started, running your palms over his collarbones, "if you wanted to shower with me, all you had to do was ask."
Joel closed his eyes. "Was fallin' asleep. But I got cold cause you stole my sheet."
"What about your comforter?"
"It's on the floor. But I was cold, and I heard the water, and I got tempted."
You moved your hands down his stomach.
"Mhm. Your skin is really soft."
Joel’s hands settled on your waist. "You think so?"
"Yeah. Which is funny," you said, gently touching just below his ribs, "because you wouldn't think so. Your hands are rough, but everywhere else is soft."
He opened his eyes. "They feel rough when I touch you?"
"Not really. They just feel… warm."
"Hmm."
Your hand settled over the bruise on his ribs. For a second, you remembered sinking your fingers into that exact spot just a few minutes ago.
"Does it hurt a lot? Did it hurt earlier?"
Joel shook his head. "Didn't feel it then. But it hurts now, that's for sure."
You crinkled your nose. "I'm sorry."
"No, ain't your fault. It's been hurtin' since before. Always hurts worse after the body relaxes."
"That's true," you said, sliding your hands back up to his shoulders. "You know what? I'm gonna go grab those oils I brought you. When you get out, I'll give you a massage."
Carefully, you nudged Joel aside a bit and squeezed past him. He turned toward you, tilting his head back and closing his eyes as he let the hot water wash down his back.
He sighed. "You're gonna turn me into a puddle."
Smiling and feeling a sudden wave of tenderness for how exhausted he looked, you stepped closer and wrapped your arms around him for just a moment, pressing a delicate fleeting kiss to his chest. His hand slid up to the nape of your neck, his thumb resting just under your jawline to tilt your face up. There, beneath the falling water, he gave you a brief kiss on the lips.
A minute later, you reluctantly stepped out of the hot shower. But it had to be done. You knew that if you stayed in there with Joel, you’d both end up leaving the bathroom at the same time, and by the time you finished getting dressed, he’d already be completely passed out on the mattress.
You found the t-shirt of his you’d slept in tossed to the side of the bed, along with your underwear, and changed while you listened to the shower still running. After drying your hair the best you could, you slipped back into the bathroom to run a comb through it. Joel was just stepping out of the shower as you headed downstairs.
The morning sun was pouring bright through the kitchen windows, and the early air carried that delicious fresh scent you loved. You took in the view through the glass for a quiet moment before grabbing the oils, then poured yourself a massive glass of water, drinking it down as if you’d spent days stranded in a desert. You poured a fresh glass for Joel and made your way back upstairs.
When you walked into the bedroom, he was already sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing his pajama pants. He’d gone ahead and changed the sheets for clean ones, and the comforter was no longer crumpled on the floor.
"Here," you said, holding the glass of water out to him.
He took it immediately, murmuring a soft "'Thank you" before draining the whole thing.
"You ready?"
He furrowed his brow. "For what?"
You smiled, climbing onto the mattress. "Lay down."
He eased himself down onto his back, and you settled in right beside him. Opening the small bottle of heartleaf arnica oil, you poured a tiny amount into the palm of your hand.
"Just a little bit of this, you'll see," you murmured, rubbing your palms together to warm it up. "You're gonna feel much better."
You gently began to work the oil into the bruised and battered parts of his chest and ribs, taking extra care around a few open scratches. You kept your touch light near those spots, massaging the skin around the scrapes to make sure you didn't press on anything that might sting. Joel let out a sharp breath just once, right as your hand passed near his breastbone. When you paused to ask if he was okay, he muttered:
"Yeah, yeah. Don't worry about it."
You smoothed your flat palm over the spot, barely applying any pressure at all.
"Okay, roll over."
He complied right away, letting out a soft groan as he turned over. You repeated the whole routine, pouring a bit more oil into your palms and working your way across his entire back, focusing heavily on his lower lumbar area. You’d noticed that was the spot he reached for most often whenever he sat down or moved a certain way; a familiar ache you felt yourself from time to time. And as you worked out the tension, you knew you were doing something right; Joel was making soft relaxed sounds he probably didn't even realize he was letting slip.
Next, you focused on his shoulder blades and shoulders, applying a bit of steady pressure with your thumbs. That was right when you caught the first faint sound of him snoring. Your movements softened into a light soothing touch, until you finally decided he was out for the count and that you were getting pretty sleepy yourself.
You tucked the bottle of oil back into its small pouch and left it on the nightstand, where the little clock caught your eye: 8:23 AM.
So many more hours left to sleep. You had absolutely nothing to do all morning but rest, and Joel’s bed looked so incredibly comfortable and warm, like a field of clouds.
You snuggled in right beside him, pulling the covers up over both of your bodies. Stretching your arms up over your head, you let out a long yawn, and a minute later, you drifted peacefully back to sleep: utterly exhausted, perfectly comfortable, and completely relaxed.
Still morning, close to noon.
It was a place you didn't recognize. Cold, with tall dark canopied trees that blotted out the meager light in the pale grayish sky. Ruins surrounded you; broken walls eaten away by a pervasive dampness that claimed everything, with green moldy vines bleeding into the old cracks.
Your heart hammered violently as your legs moved with frantic speed, trying not to trip over the clutter covering the ground. Rubble, branches, old trinkets, and fragments of machinery that looked like computers or something similar; you couldn't fully tell. You didn't really know what to do, only that you had to run and run and run, because something terrible was happening.
You could feel that sensation in your chest, that painful hollow that nothing can fill once it's already too late. Your bare arms were freezing, just like your cold neck and cheeks. Your entire body felt numb, and no matter how hard you ran and ran, you couldn't seem to make headway fast enough.
No, just the opposite. Your body could barely move, and you wanted to scream with all your might. But you couldn't stop, because you could hear it the entire time: thuds, noises, voices laughing and suffering. Louder and louder and louder, your legs straining until every muscle synthetic ached, until your body plunged forward and your palms struck the splintered ground.
You scrambled up, getting back on your feet however you could, and plunged into the dark room where the sounds and noise were coming from. A hallway to the right; you ran more, and more, and more, and more into the pitch black, letting yourself be guided solely by the small rings of light filtering through the cracks in the ceiling, until at the very end of the hall, your aching bloody hands slammed open the door and—
"No!"
A gut-wrenching scream tore from your throat like dozens of thorns piercing you from the inside out.
Men —so many men, you couldn't tell how many, only that there were man— filled the room, their faces hidden behind black cloth, and right in the middle of them lay Joel, unconscious.
No, not unconscious. Dead. His face was covered in blood, his clothes soaked through with it, and a massive wound tore through the flesh of his neck. Beneath him, a pool of blood expanded outward, swallowing up more and more of the old wooden floor, quickly reaching all the way to your feet.
You fell backward, unable to stand, and the pooling blood reached your scraped palms, his blood mixing with yours inside your trembling fists.
"No, no, no, no… Joel …" your shaky voice repeated, trying to get a better look at him, trying to reach him, but your knees kept slipping, and so did your hands and elbows. You couldn't…
You couldn't.
"Hey, hey, wake up."
A hand nudged your shoulder, rolling you over at the exact moment your eyes flew open and locked onto the ceiling.
"Hey, you're okay. You're okay."
You snapped your head toward him. Joel was sitting up, leaning his body over yours, his hand resting gently against your cheek.
You were in his room.
"Joel."
"It's okay. Breathe."
A shaky breath hitched in your throat. Your cheeks were soaked, and your chest physically ached.
He lay back down beside you and pulled you close. You buried your face into the notch of his neck, clinging to his body like a frightened helpless creature while a few lingering tears continued to track silently down your cheeks.
His arms wrapped tightly around you, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead.
"What happened?" he murmured, rubbing his hand up and down your back.
You closed your eyes, not wanting to talk about it.
Your hand drifted up his chest. "Nothing. Just a nightmare."
He squeezed you a little tighter against him. "You said my name. Scared me, thought it was somethin' else."
You opened your eyes and tilted your head back slightly, looking into his eyes.
"I'm sorry."
"No, don't go apologizin'. It's okay."
You tucked your face back into the notch of his neck, feeling your heart still hammering away, erratic and loud against your ribs.
"What time is it?" you asked.
He shifted slightly to check the clock, then quickly settled right back into place.
"Ten to eleven."
"Mhm. We should get up."
"You hungry?"
You nodded. "Starving. You?"
"My stomach was growlin' a little bit ago."
You let out a soft laugh, noticing how the sunlight was no longer focused right on the bed, but had spread out to wash evenly over the entire room.
He gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Five more minutes. How's that sound?"
You pursed your lips. "Sounds good to me."
Joel's kitchen. Noon & afternoon.
Concerned that you’d get cold wearing nothing but a t-shirt, Joel insisted you put on a pair of pajama pants from his closet. They were huge, but they had a drawstring at the waist that let you tie them tight enough to fit. Then, he handed you a fresh warm pair of cotton socks.
Today was noticeably colder than yesterday. You could feel a crisp breeze drifting through the open kitchen window while he made breakfast (or was it lunch?) and you sipped a hot cup of coffee, sketching out a list of prep work for school. Joel was frying up bacon and scrambling eggs, having just dropped some bread into the toaster less than a minute ago. The kitchen smelled incredible.
On the notepad resting on the kitchen island, you had a brief breakdown of the material for the first few weeks, along with your reading plan and curriculum for the kids.
Classic fables. The Jackson library and the homes of a few townspeople held a solid collection of all kinds of stories, mostly the foundational ones. You figured it was the perfect starting point for the first group, who were right around five to seven years old. They had been born entirely into a different world, and you believed literature could provide a safe haven for them; a good way to spark their imaginations and give them the words to express them.
The morals could be incredibly useful, too. Lessons on survival, cooperation, cleverness, and above all, fear. As a community, Jackson felt like a safe place, but these kids had fear woven right into their DNA. Many of them had witnessed terrible things before arriving here, and many others had never set foot outside the walls. Fear was deeply rooted in both perspectives.
"And what're you gonna do about the books? Ain't exactly a lot of copies lyin' around," Joel asked, looking over at you for a moment as he pulled the toast from the toaster.
"Well, some of them don't know how to read yet. I'll read aloud to them. It's great for building listening skills," you smiled, "and really fun too. And if the stories aren't too long, we can make handwritten copies. I already talked to a couple of people who volunteered to help transcribe."
"That's great," he said, raising his eyebrows.
"Yeah. What about you? Would you like to help?"
Joel looked up at the ceiling, his mouth dropping open slightly. "Uh… I—I mean, sure. My handwriting's awful, though."
"That's not true. You have nice handwriting, it's perfectly legible."
"You think so?"
"I do. Besides, the copies need to be written in block capital letters," you said, looking down at your notepad to jot something else down. "I was also thinking it would be a cute idea if every kid brought in an object, and we came up with a story for each one. What do you think? Think that'd be fun?"
"Somethin' like, if a kid brings in a teddy bear, you make up a story for it?"
You nodded.
"Yeah," he replied. "That'd be fun. Mostly 'cause I imagine they're gonna show up with all kinds of strange objects."
You laughed. "Yeah, just imagine the possibilities."
Joel began removing the bacon from the skillet, placing it on each plate alongside the eggs, before grabbing another dish for the toast.
"And what about the older kids?" he asked, setting one plate down in front of you and the other right beside it. You murmured a soft Thank you. "Fables for them, too?"
"Oh, no. I have much bigger plans for the older kids," you said, raising your eyebrows.
Joel gave a lopsided smile and went to grab the toast, placing it in the center of the island before turning toward the fridge. "Is that so? Like what?"
A spark of excitement flared in your chest. While you were looking forward to working with the little ones, you knew the pre-teens and teenagers in Jackson were going to make for a much more interesting group when it came to discussions and deeper perspectives.
"Well, we're gonna read books too, but I was thinking it'd be a great idea to introduce the concept of diaries and chronicles. There are three copies of The Diary of Anne Frank and a few about the Lewis and Clark Expedition. They also brought in The Giver and Frindle. I think it's a good way for kids to learn a little more about what the world used to be like. Have you ever read that one? Frindle?"
Joel smiled faintly, pulling a tub of butter from the fridge and shutting the door.
"Yeah. Sarah liked Frindle."
It took you a moment to find your voice after that.
"Oh."
He sat down next to you, letting out a quiet sigh as he settled in.
"Called pens Frindle for a whole year," he added, shifting his gaze over to you. "I think it's a good idea."
You smiled. "Thank you."
"What else?" He reached out and grabbed the butter knife, digging it into the tub to scoop out a generous amount.
"Maybe they could write their own chronicles? Or diaries, just as an exercise. And they wouldn't necessarily have to read them aloud or show anyone," you said, lifting your mug to take a sip of coffee. "But it might be a nice way for them to express themselves or blow off steam, as long as it's not hurting them, of course."
"Think they'll all want to do it?"
You smiled and shook your head. "I doubt it. I don't know."
Joel hummed, bringing his mug to his lips.
You popped a piece of bacon into your mouth, and it was so delicious your eyes nearly closed. You tried the eggs right after. Then, after a moment of savoring, swallowing, and giving yourself a little more time to think, you asked:
"You think they'll like me?"
Joel had his mouth full and raised his eyebrows at the question. While you waited for him to finish chewing, you took a bite of toast.
"They're gonna love ya," he said finally.
"And how are you so sure? Teenagers can be..." Your eyes drifted up the walls and across the ceiling before landing back on him. "They can be complicated. And these kids, these kids have been through things. Maybe I show up with diaries and chronicles, and they just think, 'Who does this nobody think she is and what the hell is she doing'?"
He huffed a laugh. "Don't go lettin' them walk all over you. Let them know you're the one in charge."
"Okay, and how do I do that without being bossy in the process?"
"You gotta be bossy, but that don't mean you can't still be nice to them. You can pull it off, I've seen it," he said, raising his eyebrows. "Saw you orderin' the guys around on some of the construction sites before. Even me."
You furrowed your brow. "I am not bossy."
"Yes," he said, looking right at you, "yes, you are."
You frowned. "I'm—"
"And when you're in a bad mood?" He brought his mug to his lips and rolled his eyes.
Your eyebrows shot up in pure disbelief, your lips twitched into a tight smile.
"Excuse me?" You tilted your head. "And you're the one telling me this, Mr. Uncle Grumpy?"
Joel smiled and shook his head.
"That's literally what Benji calls you, isn't it?"
"That don't change a thing," he grumbled, furrowing his brow. "You are what you are. Might as well make use of it."
"Oh," you nodded, "okaay. I will. But don't you go complaining later."
He poked his fork into the eggs and brought them to his mouth, his eyes never leaving yours.
"Ain't complainin'," he said.
You ducked your head, hiding a smile.
Joel and you ate in comfortable silence for a while, occasionally making notes and chatting about your lesson plans.
The whole thing excited you for different reasons. The little ones had you looking forward to it because you just liked little kids in general; they were adorable and sweet, and their minds came up with a hundred interesting things. That was why you’d loved chatting with Sophie when she was that small; the conversations were always unpredictable and fun, and her imagination was endless. But of course, you’d always made a point to show her all kinds of books and stories, so she had a rich source of inspiration. You didn't know what some of the kids here would be like, or how much they’d interacted with the world, but you were eager to find out and, if possible, be useful to them.
The teenagers were a different story, since you hadn't had much contact with kids that age. But it was just as exciting, and you wouldn't hesitate to ask for help if you needed it. You had no intention of pushing past their personal boundaries and you kept a firm reminder in your mind to be careful with everything you wanted to teach them.
Overall, it was exciting.
After eating, you cleared the table and washed the dishes even though Joel insisted you shouldn't. And while you were doing that, he stepped out through the kitchen's back door, returning a few minutes later.
"Ellie's not out there," he said as he walked back in. "Don't know what she's up to these days."
The moody tone in his voice made you look up immediately. You were drying your hands with a dish towel as you turned around to face him.
"Have you asked her?"
He sighed. "She ain't exactly talkative lately."
"Well, I've seen her around with Dina," you said, resting both palms against the counter. "Just hanging out, nothing weird. They spend a lot of time together, maybe she's with her."
He nodded slowly, pursing his lips. "Keep an eye on her if you can, alright? She really likes you. Maybe... maybe she'd rather talk to you than me, about certain things, you know."
You nodded. "Of course, I will."
He ran a hand over the back of his neck and you watched him hesitate for a second before he moved toward the fridge and pulled it open. He took out a glass bottle about half filled with water and grabbed a clean glass from the drying rack.
You checked the clock on the wall, mounted right above the window next to the table. It was already a little past noon.
It was probably about time for you to head out, wasn't it? You didn't want to overstay your welcome, and you doubted Joel would ever be the type to tell you to leave. So, pushing yourself away from the counter, you walked to the other side of the room and stretched your arms behind your back.
"I think I should probably get going."
Joel turned toward you, the glass of water still at his lips. He swallowed and set it down carefully on the counter.
"Yeah? You got somewhere to be?"
You mentally scrolled through your imaginary schedule: no, you had absolutely nothing to do.
"Uh, not really."
He nodded and pursed his lips, shifting them to one side. "We could watch a movie if you want."
The offer caught you off guard, and it was briefly reflected in the few seconds it took you to answer.
"A movie?"
"Yeah," he said, stepping away from the counter and taking a few paces toward you. "Got a decent collection, if you wanna pick one out."
You smiled, lacing your fingers together behind your back. "I get to choose?"
"I'll give you some recommendations," he said, ducking his head slightly, "but yeah, you get to choose."
Joel's living room. A couple minutes later.
In Joel’s living room, tucked beneath the TV stand, were two players: one DVD and one VHS, both functioning and in perfect condition. Right below them were two small cabinet doors, and when you opened them, there was his collection.
His DVD collection was smaller than his stash of VHS tapes, but that didn't mean it was small by any means. Discs were harder to keep intact over time; most of the ones out there in the world were scratched or cracked, but Joel had stumbled upon a massive stash of DVDs in mint condition at an apartment complex near Jackson a while back. Good Will Hunting, Magnolia, Drop Dead Gorgeous, Seven, Wayne's World, Thelma & Louise, Fargo, Pretty Woman, The Green Mile… and more. There were so many options it was hard to choose. A lot of them you’d never even seen. Most of them, in fact. So, you asked him to give you a quick rundown of each one and which he thought was best for right now. He suggested The Truman Show and Pretty Woman.
"It's got romance and all that," he said, sitting on the couch as he held up the plastic case of his second suggestion, using the romance angle as his main selling point.
You inevitably remembered his harsh words about romantic comedies from many, many weeks ago.
"From the first damn second I saw you," he continued, "half-dead out there in the snow—I felt sorry for you. Everythin' I've done since then's been outta pity. That's all it was. I can't even look at you without thinkin' you're broken. And it makes me sick."
Your throat tightened, something forming behind your eyes. You blinked, hard, and swallowed down the heat rising in your chest.
"If that's what you think, then—"
"And that night? That was a mistake. A fuckin' embarrassment. I hate thinkin' about it. It won't happen again."
"Good. I hated it."
Joel looked at you, jaw clenched, eyes sharp.
"Yeah. Good for you. Cause this ain't one of those fuckin' pathetic romantic comedies you like so much. So give it up."
You took the movie from his hands and looked at the cover, running your thumb over Julia Roberts' face.
"We can watch something else if you want."
Joel’s eyes scanned your face. "No, it's fine. I think you're gonna like this one."
"You sure?" You gave a slow, lopsided smile. "Isn't it just another pathetic romantic comedy?"
His brow furrowed in a confused look, mixed with a faint smile. "What?"
A beat. You sighed.
"A while ago, after what happened at my place that first time, remember? You said this wasn't like one of those pathetic romantic comedies I like."
The expression on Joel’s face began to soften piece by piece, his furrowed brow relaxing as the memory clearly came back to him.
"Right," he said, ducking his head a little. He laced his fingers together for a moment, looking down at his hands for a second before looking back up at you. "I said that, huh?"
You nodded, pursing your lips slightly. "Yeah. You said a lot of things."
He looked at you in silence.
"Can I ask you a question?" you asked after a moment.
"I don't think romantic comedies are pathetic."
"Don't worry about it," you smiled.
"It was mean. I'm sorry. I know you and Sophie liked 'em."
Your eyes locked onto his in complete silence. He looked genuinely ashamed.
"It's okay. And I know we talked about this, but," you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, "did you really mean it? What you said that day? Be honest."
Joel leaned back a bit and looked toward the coffee table, where several DVDs were piled up.
Maybe, maybe he didn't even remember it.
"Did you feel sorry for me?" you prompted him. "You said that every time you looked at me, you just thought I was broken and—"
"No." He shook his head. "I don't feel sorry for you, and I didn't back then, either."
A tight pressure gripped your chest. He looked back up at you.
"I needed to push you away," he confessed.
A beat.
"I know that. But… why?"
His eyebrows twitched. His eyes dropped down to your lap for a brief moment before tracing back up to your face.
"Because I ain't like this. Snow, I," he shook his head, "I don't do this. Not in a long time, I… For me, this is, this is new. That night at your place, things got out of hand pretty quick. I lost control."
You sat up a little straighter, your mind parsing through everything that had happened between you over the last few months.
You knew he wanted to keep his distance; you knew he had a tendency to shut down. But you had never considered it was about physical intimacy. It hadn't even crossed your mind that that would be an issue for him. He certainly hadn't made it seem like one.
"There wasn't anyone else before?" you asked. "I mean, in these last few years."
He squeezed one hand with the other, his brow furrowing slightly.
Yeah. There had been. He didn't have to say it out loud; you could read it plain as day in his body language.
"It's okay, you don't have to tell me."
Joel bit his lower lip, a rare hint of nerves, and watched you as you shifted further back into the couch until your spine met the cushions.
He hesitated for a moment, and you instantly resented yourself for throwing out such a blunt question without thinking it through.
"Tess," he said.
You froze. Tess. You turned the name over in your mind. Speaking felt risky right now.
"She was by my side for a long time, before I came to Jackson," he continued, keeping his eyes away from yours. "But it wasn't like this."
"How do you mean?"
He looked up at you. "Don't know. It was... We kept each other company for a lot of years, did a lot of things where we used to live. They weren't necessarily good things, but they were what was needed."
"Where did you live before?"
"Boston."
"Oh, right."
He rubbed his hands together, a nervous habit. "Yeah. Anyway."
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked you something like that."
Joel gave a gentle shake of his head. "It's alright. Don't worry about it."
You dropped your gaze to your hands. "Well, if it's worth anything, this is all pretty new and strange for me, too. I've never really done this with anyone before. Not like this."
"And what're you thinkin' so far?"
You smiled little by little, lifting your eyes to meet his. "It's been pretty nice."
Joel nodded, a soft smile spreading across his lips as he reached out and took the Pretty Woman DVD case from your lap. He held it up next to his face.
"We're watchin' this one."
Unable to help yourself, you grinned and slid over toward him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your lips against his. Joel seemed caught off guard for a fraction of a second, but his arms came around you immediately, pulling you flush against his chest.
You weren't going to tell him, but that tiny glimpse into his past meant everything to you. You knew he wasn't one for big words, and you knew how hard it was for him to open up about certain things, but he had done it in his own way, and that meant so much.
"Want somethin' hot to drink?" he murmured against your lips.
You hummed. "Yeah."
"Tea or coffee?"
You thought about it for a second. "Whatever you're having."
The sun poured warm and bright into Joel’s living room, even with the curtains drawn. At least with the fabric blocking the glare, the harsh rays weren't striking you directly.
It wasn't even two in the afternoon yet. Resting on the coffee table in the center of the room were your two empty coffee mugs and a plate scattered with crumbs from the blueberry pie you’d brought over yesterday, which you’d both finished off a little while ago.
With your stomach full and the quiet peace of the early afternoon settling in, your eyelids were growing heavier by the minute, even though you’d already slept for hours last night and earlier this morning. It didn't help that Joel was right there beside you; you were tucked into his side, wedged comfortably between the back of the couch and his outstretched body, your head resting on his chest while your eyes stayed glued to the TV screen.
You could tell he’d been drifting in and out of sleep because the second you asked a question or made a comment, he’d snap awake to answer before instantly passing out again.
"She is so gorgeous," you murmured at one point, watching Vivian appear on screen in that stunning red dress with the white gloves and her hair elegantly pinned up.
Joel’s eyes flew open. He stared blankly at the screen for a split second and muttered:
"Yeah."
A second later, his breathing went heavy again. He was already fast asleep.
By the time the movie neared its final act, you had formed a definitive opinion on it: you absolutely loved it. You deeply envied anyone who had gotten to live out their adulthood during that era. You would have loved to see a movie like this in a real theater, to let Vivian inspire you in a few ways; her hairstyles, maybe, or that radiant smile. Or maybe you'd have gone out to find your very own Richard Gere. Then again, right now you had a handsome older man of your own right beneath you. That had to count for something, didn't it?
Carefully, you slipped off the couch, trying not to disturb Joel, and walked over to the TV to take out the DVD. You tucked it back into its case and left it on the coffee table, where the other stacked discs caught your eye.
Inevitably, you ended up sliding another one into the player. The Bourne Identity. A man who can't remember who he is but possesses a lot of inexplicable skills. It caught your attention simply because it sounded interesting, and you remembered having a crush on Matt Damon back when you were little and your dad used to watch movies in the living room.
You took the disc out of its case, popped it into the player, and the moment the movie started, you hurried right back to your spot next to Joel, being careful not to press too hard against his chest or any of his sore spots.
As you rested your face against his chest, your eyes locked onto his neck, just inches from your face. He had that prominent mark running around his throat, purple and slightly greenish at the edges; the clear evidence of an act of violence you didn't even want to picture. It looked like exactly what it was: someone had bound him, choked him, or tried to do something worse.
Yesterday, the mark had been much more vivid, and while it still looked bad, it had softened just a fraction.
You let out a quiet sigh, your eyes continuing to trace his face and the marks left behind while Joel remained fast asleep. His breathing was steady, his chest rising and falling in total relaxation, while a hundred different thoughts and questions raced through your mind. Above all, you wondered: what on earth had happened to him in Ridgeway?
It wasn't like you were going to ask him, and it wasn't like he was going to tell you, but just thinking about it brought a dull ache to your chest.
Instinctively, you draped your arm across his chest, holding him gently as you closed your eyes.
The movie was barely ten minutes in when you drifted off to sleep.
A nap later
At some point in the afternoon, a few knocks at the door jolted you out of your comfortable nap.
Joel woke up instantly, and the sudden movement of his body jolted you awake too. You were still draped over him with your arm resting across his stomach, but you quickly pulled back as the knocking came a second time. The TV was still on, but the movie had already finished and the main menu had been looping for God knows how long.
Joel rubbed his face with one hand, giving your arm a gentle squeeze before he began to sit up.
"What time is it?" he asked, his eyes half-lidded and covered with sleep.
"I don't know."
He sat on the edge of the couch and looked back at you. His hair was a bit messy, his eyes glossy, and a faint smirk lingered on his lips as he stood up with a quiet groan.
"Be right back."
Lying back down, you watched him walk away and stretched your arms over your head. Then, you sat up on the cushions and grabbed the remote, muting the TV and leaning back to stretch your body one more time.
From where you sat, you heard Joel walk to the door and swing it open.
Were you even supposed to be here? Should you hide? Was he going to let whoever it was inside?
You didn't know. You weren't sure how careful you both needed to be with all of this; you’d never stayed over at his place for this long before. You’d already had that slightly awkward encounter with Ellie a while back, though of course, that was different. Joel trusted her, and you trusted her, too.
"Emily." Joel’s voice sounded flat and tinged with surprise as he said her name. You froze on the couch.
"Hey. Sorry, were you sleeping?"
"Uh—"
"I came by earlier this morning but I figured you were sleeping then, too. Just came to drop this off."
Footsteps, a few of them. Emily stepped inside the house. You pressed yourself harder against the back of the couch, though it was mostly pointless; it was positioned right in front of the archway separating the living room and the hallway.
"You didn't have to do that," Joel said. "Here, I'll take it."
Quick, get up and move to the other corner.
You shifted immediately and the hardwood gave a slight creak beneath your feet.
Emily laughed. "No, it's fine—Oh."
Her laugh stopped short.
You looked up toward the hallway, feeling a sudden wave of heat rush up your spine to the back of your neck and your cheeks, feeling completely exposed for a split second. She was looking at you.
And just like that, the cozy safe bubble you’d been sharing with Joel since last night had been abruptly shattered by the eyes of an outsider. Well, not an outsider. Emily. She stood there frozen, holding a glass baking dish with a white plastic lid. Inside, you assumed, was food. Obviously.
Standing entirely still, you became painfully aware that you probably looked like a creature caught red-handed; wearing Joel's t-shirt, Joel's pants, Joel's socks...
Not that she explicitly knew they belonged to him, but she could easily piece it together seeing how everything was completely oversized on you. And either way, everyone knew what pajamas looked like, or what someone looked like when they'd just rolled out of bed.
"Snow," she said, her smile turning tight. Her eyes scanned down and up your body, flicked over to the paused TV screen, and then landed right back on you.
Beside her, Joel stood just as still and caught red-handed as you were, wearing a white t-shirt and sweatpants with no underwear underneath.
But Emily didn't know that. You did.
"Hi," you said, smiling like an idiot. You crossed your arms over your chest to cover yourself up.
She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't seem to find any useful words.
Turning back to Joel, she held out the dish. "Anyway, this is for you. And Maria said you can take tomorrow off too, if you want."
Joel’s eyes were fixed on you. He took the dish from her. "No, it's fine. I'll be there."
"Alright," Emily said, nodding as she stepped past Joel toward the front door. "Well, see you tomorrow." She glanced back at you, lifting her hand in a brief wave. "Bye, Snow."
"Bye, Emily."
She gave a faint smile and, in less than three seconds, turned and walked out the door. She left Joel standing in the middle of the hallway clutching the baking dish, and you, standing in the middle of the living room with your arms tightly crossed and an expression you weren't even sure how to label.
You looked over at Joel as a nervous, slightly baffled smile began to tug at your lips.
He raised his eyebrows. "Didn't know she was comin' by."
"Yeah, no shit," you said, shaking your head. "She saw me like this."
Joel’s eyes drifted down your body before he shrugged a single shoulder, completely dismissing your worried tone.
"She ain't gonna say nothin'."
Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and started walking toward the kitchen. Your mouth dropped open at the sight of him, and you followed right behind without a second thought.
"How do you know that?"
"Ain't none of her business."
You huffed a laugh. "And?"
"Eh, I don't think Emily's the type to go gossiping around."
Once inside the kitchen, he set the baking dish down on the counter.
You stopped right beside him. "Oh, because you know her so well."
Joel tilted his head and raised an eyebrow, as if to say of course I do.
You felt your cheeks flare up again. "And now she's bringing you food?"
Joel hummed.
You furrowed your brow. "Does she always just walk in like it's nothing? I could have been naked or something."
He snorted a laugh. "Naked, huh?"
"You know perfectly well that was a possibility."
"Yeah, well," he dipped his head, "good thing you weren't."
Without blinking, you stared him down and crossed your arms tightly over your chest.
"Yeah, lucky us," you said, pressing your lips together. "Next time, tell her it's rude to just barge into a house that isn't hers. Unless you don't mind it, of course."
"It's the first time she's ever come by here."
You raised your eyebrows in pure disbelief. "Worse then."
Joel laughed softly and leaned both palms against the counter. He shook his head gently, his eyes bright with amusement, and asked:
"You don't like her, then?"
You clenched your jaw slightly before forcing yourself to relax, letting out a sigh as your gaze drifted down toward the fridge and the magnets on it. Your eyes lingered on the photo of Joel.
Uh-uh. "No. No, I don't."
"No? Why not?"
You shrugged a shoulder and looked back at him. "I don't know. I know she isn't mean or anything, I just don't like the way she deals with people."
Joel furrowed his brow. "How's that?"
You searched your mind for the right words, but the only ones you could find were simple and honest.
"She can be a bit cold. Or dismissive," you said, raising your eyebrows. "Sometimes I've seen people go up to her to ask a question or request something, and I just don't like the way she treats them. She isn't mean," you lifted a hand, "but she's just a bit indifferent and detached."
He gave a slow nod.
"And I had that completely confirmed this past week," you continued. "Every single time I asked her if there was any news about Ridgeway, she wouldn't tell me anything, she wouldn't even look me in the eye. She just kept saying there was no news," you tilted your chin up a bit, "and then later I'd find out they'd gotten a radio call or something. Even Eliza didn't know about half of it because Emily just wouldn't tell her anything. And it's not like it was confidential information or anything like that. She needed to know, her husband was out in Ridgeway too."
Joel let out a slow breath through his nose. "Didn't know that."
"Yeah? Well, I'm not surprised. She seems plenty nice and attentive with you," you said, raising a single eyebrow. "Maybe she's just selective."
He narrowed his eyes slightly, and you bit the inside of your cheek when you caught the faint smirk on his lips.
"I just don't think it's right for someone in her position to look down on people or act like she can't be bothered," you continued. "Because I’ve been there too and I know people are constantly asking questions and looking for things they need. So, okay, it's her job," you crossed your arms again, "then she should do her job. I swear I cannot stand people who get the tiniest bit of authority and immediately turn their backs on everyone else. We're all in the same boat here in Jackson, anyway, even the ones making the calls."
Suddenly, he stopped blinking. He just stared at you, nodding slowly as he began to straighten up, leaning his hip against the counter. Mimicking your posture and never breaking eye contact, he crossed his arms over his chest.
"Well, you're right," he said. "And I believe you, 'cause you're gettin' so fired up you're actually blushin'."
You clicked your tongue. "I am not fired up."
"Really?"
"Really," you said, opening your eyes wider. "Just… just tell her to do her job. I know you can do that because you used to do it to me all the time."
He frowned. "That ain't true."
"Joel," you smiled, "come on."
"I never—"
"Yeah."
"I never told you to do your job because you did your job," he said, pointing a finger at you. "What I did tell you was to stop botherin' me with everything else."
You snorted, knowing he had a point. "That is not true. You used to get annoyed even when I was just in silence."
He pressed his lips together. "You weren't exactly in silence, properly speakin'."
"Why? Because I was breathing?"
"And those little sighs you'd make every few pages while you were reading," Joel said, gesturing with his hand. "Always made me wonder what the hell was happening in that book to make you react like that."
"Oh Jesus," you rolled your eyes. "How many more times are you going to bring up the sighs? Get over it, man. You were annoying too."
Joel furrowed his brow, but a lopsided smile broke through. "Was I? Not anymore?"
"I'm not so sure about that."
"What was it you called me once?" He narrowed his eyes, trying to recall. "The most insensitive, proud, arrogant man you've ever met?"
Mmm. Something like that. If you remembered correctly, he was actually leaving out a few choice adjectives.
You're the most insensitive, thoughtless, proud, arrogant man I've ever met. And believe me, I've met a hell of a lot of assholes. It was something along those lines, if your memory wasn't failing you.
"Yeah, well," you shrugged, "you told me I was the most unbearable, incoherent, reckless, and delusional woman too. But who's counting, right?"
A low laugh broke from his chest.
What was so funny, huh?
Uncrossing your arms, you turned back toward him and said,
"Why don't you use some of that attitude on Emily, huh?" You tapped his arm. "Maybe that way she'll actually do her job right."
Without waiting for an answer, you spun on your heel and turned your back to him, your legs moving with determination toward the hallway as you planned to head back to the living room. But before you could even take five paces, Joel caught you by the elbow. He arrested your movement, pulling you gently backward and anchoring you flush against him with one large hand wrapped just above your belly button.
He brought his chest right against your back, his mouth dipping down close to your ear.
"Well, I got a better idea. Why don't I just tell Emily we need her help somewhere else and you put that pretty little ass of yours back at the desk across from mine?"
Your mouth dropped open, completely caught off guard by the words. "Joel."
"What?"
You clicked your tongue. "I can't, and you know it."
"I know. And I get the school thing, but Erin’s got plenty of help from Fabrizio and everyone else, and you could still keep doin' your work at the greenhouse either way."
"I do patrols now, too."
He hummed. "Only two days a week."
The way he was talking (like a little red devil perched right on your left shoulder) was pretty manipulative. But you knew exactly where his insistence was coming from.
You were having a good time, and you were getting along well too. You’d be lying if you said you didn't want to spend more time with him. But that was exactly where a clear sharp line needed to be drawn. Because what kind of relationship would you even have if you saw each other almost every single day, and during the nights, too? Didn't he think about that?
Since this whole arrangement had started, you really did enjoy being with him. To be fair, you’d always enjoyed his company, even back when you got along terribly, and you’d actually told him that. You didn't know why, just that you felt comfortable around him. But now, there was a much deeper layer to it, because you were genuinely getting along.
You’d told him just last night: how long could a good streak like this really last if you saw each other every single day, and how long would it take before you or he completely got sick of each other again?
"We already talked about this last night," you said.
"I know, and I get it, alright?"
"Do you?" You turned your head a bit to get a better look at him.
He pressed his lips together, puffing out the top one the way he always did.
"It's just a suggestion. Think about it."
You bit your lower lip slightly, your eyes scanning his face as Joel leaned forward; you could feel him hanging heavy against your lower back.
Averting your eyes from his face, you leaned back, pressing harder against him until you could feel his outline perfectly defined against your backside. You felt him let out a soft huff against your ear.
"Talk to Emily," you said, placing your hand over his on your stomach before brushing it away and stepping away from him.
Joel chuckled low behind you, letting out a rough sigh.
Without looking back, you made your way to the living room.
The clock above the fireplace read half past four in the afternoon, and the light filtering through the curtain and the window was still bright, though just a fraction paler than before.
You sank into the couch and folded your hands in your lap, wondering if this was the right time to leave. You weren't entirely sure. Joel wasn't giving anything away, but then again, you couldn't really rely on his cues. Maybe he wanted you to go, or needed some time to himself and didn't know how to say it. But then again, had he ever actually held anything back?
"What're you doin'?" he asked, appearing through the archway a second later and dropping down beside you. Shifting his hips forward slightly, he took your outstretched legs and rested them across his lap.
A soft laugh escaped you.
Jesus, he truly could act like a needy man.
"Nothing."
"Watch Bourne Identity?"
"Only a few minutes. I fell asleep right away."
He nodded, looking at the screen where the menu was still looping on mute.
"Want to watch somethin' else?" he asked, looking over at you.
You stretched your legs out further across his lap, and he gave your knee a squeeze.
"Do you?"
He pursed his lips. "Sure. Choose somethin'."
You smiled faintly and straightened up a bit, resting your hands between your knees.
He clearly noticed your hesitation; his eyes locked onto your face, waiting for you to speak.
You gave a slightly uncertain smile, feeling your heart flutter with a touch of nervousness.
"You know, I was wondering just a minute ago," you swallowed, dropping your gaze down his chest, "is it really okay for me to stay here this long?"
"What's that mean?"
You looked at him in silence for a second, wondering if he genuinely wasn't understanding the question.
"Well, I mean, is it okay? Or, you know, maybe it's too much?" You frowned, frustrated with how you were phrasing your thoughts.
He lowered his gaze to his hand on your knee.
"You wanna leave?"
"No," you rushed to say, and his eyes snapped back up to your face. "It's not that. I just thought that maybe, I don't know, maybe you wanted some time to yourself? Or something."
Joel let out a soft, lopsided smile, looking at you out of the corner of his eye.
Gradually, he turned his head toward you, taking you in completely.
What could he tell you? He certainly couldn't tell you that he didn't want to be alone. Though that was a bit limiting; Joel didn't want you to stay just because he didn't want to be alone. He wanted you to stay because he wanted to be with you.
Was that wrong? Was it too much?
Every time he asked himself that (and it had been several times between yesterday and today), he answered himself in silence with the memory of the last seven days. Those five days of the journey to and within Ridgeway had nearly drained the life out of him completely. His body had been beaten and cut; his eyes had seen more violence in a span of days than during his last year in Jackson.
He really thought that was it. The first few times they pressed a gun to his temple, he was sure they would pull the trigger, and that time they wrapped a rope around his neck and pulled and pulled until he thought his bones would snap, he swore that was it.
But it wasn't, somehow. And he thought of Ellie, of the last hug she’d given him before he left the house; he thought of Tommy, of Benji perched on Maria’s lap. But he thought of you too, and how he’d only left a simple letter. Because he’d thought it wasn't necessary to wake you—what for? He figured he’d be right back. Two days at most. But the time dragged on, and so did the suffering.
Upon his return, his body began to ache. It was as if every muscle and nerve had stayed rigid and numb right up until he crossed the gates into Jackson. He didn't even know how he’d managed to make it all the way back without collapsing. But the moment he arrived, and after settling everything with the guys (even after Hale checked him over and patched him up) his body remained tense.
He didn't feel anything, just a strange ache that ran through him like a massive bruise, one so constant it had already gone unnoticed.
But when he saw you outside Hale’s place, he knew he must be broken. Because on your face, he found the pain he was feeling. You looked at him like he was a ghost; your glassy eyes pierced right through his chest, and he felt the urge to touch you. But before he could do much of anything, you left.
You left, and he didn't see you again until that afternoon, when you made him understand in a rather direct way that you wanted him to leave you alone.
And he wasn't gonna tell you, but he saw right through you. It didn't hurt that you pushed him away. Well, maybe a little; it was hard for him to admit he'd been excited to see you. But he knew your attitude under that weeping willow was a normal reaction. You were angry. And you’d probably been scared, too. So, in situations like these, he just had to give you space; that was a lesson he’d learned many, many decades ago.
The next day, when he ran into Zach at the dining hall and Zach told him you were heading over to his place, he wasn't surprised. He’d been waiting for it, though he felt a wave of relief knowing the wait had been short.
The night before, he hadn't been able to sleep much, but with you here, he’d slept so deeply his eyes were still a little puffy. You tangled yourself around him like ivy; arms, legs, fingers, every part of you intertwined with his, keeping him warm after so many cold and cruel nights.
And it might be selfish, this need to want you here. Surely you had other things you wanted to do, other people to see. Or maybe you didn't, but you had to leave anyway. Joel didn't care; selfishly, he wanted you all to himself, just for today.
So yeah, he wanted you to stay. Just a bit longer. Because he needed and wanted the tenderness of your presence. And the wasn't anything he could do against it.
"Don't need no time to myself," he assured you then. He swallowed. "Stay here tonight."
Your eyes widened just a fraction. Joel knew what he said had caught you by surprise.
"You sure?" you asked softly.
He nodded. "Yeah. And tomorrow mornin' we both go back to our own things, how's that sound?"
You smiled. "Sounds good to me. Though I don't have any clothes," you raised your eyebrows slightly. "I should go grab something to wear tomorrow."
"Alright."
You nodded. "Okay."
He nodded. "Yeah. I'm sure we'll find somethin' to keep us busy later."
That surprised a chuckle out of you.
You placed your hand over his on your knee. "You really are a dirty old man."
Joel rolled his eyes, feigning exasperation, and shook his head.
"I meant watchin' movies or cookin'. You're the one with the dirty mind."
You hummed, not buying it. "Yeah. Well, you're probably already tired anyway."
He clicked his tongue. "Don't be so sure about that. That nap was pretty revivin'."
Hours later
"See you in a bit." Stretching up on your toes, you gave Joel a quick peck on the lips.
A second later, he opened the front door and you stepped across the threshold, wearing the dress you’d arrived in, your boots, and one of his jackets. Today was much cooler than yesterday, and if you walked back to your place with nothing but what you'd brought, you were going to freeze.
Joel watched you walk away for a moment, closing the door only when you disappeared from his line of sight. Immediately, the house felt quiet again.
For a while, he distracted himself by tidying up and cleaning. He went up to his bedroom and made the bed, straightening things here and there, and left the pajamas he’d lent you neatly folded on the mattress. He dusted the dresser in front of the window, arranging the picture frames on top, and swept every corner of the room as best he could.
Downstairs, he wiped down the already clean kitchen counter. He cleaned the cabinets, then the windowpanes and the backyard door, and just as he was drying the glass, he noticed Ellie arriving at the garage.
She opened the door and slipped inside right away, and Joel didn't hesitate for a single second to seize the opportunity.
He stepped out into the yard, feeling the cool air raise the hairs on his arms, and hesitated for a second before knocking on the garage door.
From the other side, he heard a few muffled noises, and a moment later, the door swung open.
"Hey. What's up?" she said. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair was a bit a mess.
"Out early today," Joel said, stepping inside. The girl moved aside to let him pass. "Where'd you go?"
"Had plans with Jesse."
"Ah, Jesse," he rested his lower back against the desk and crossed his arms, smiling. "What kind of plans?"
Ellie frowned and shook her head. "Don't start. It's not like that. What're you doin' here anyway? Don't you got company?" She raised her eyebrows.
In a split second, the smile vanished from Joel's face, and he went completely still.
Ellie tilted her head and waited a beat. "Look, I know Snow's here. I saw you guys earlier."
Joel frowned but didn't say a word.
"I was hungry," she tossed her head back, "so I went into the kitchen to grab some food and heard the TV. You were wiped out."
He stepped away from the desk. "Ellie, look—"
"Please, just don't say anything," she said, holding up both hands and shaking her head. A faint smirk tugged at her lips. "I already knew. I mean, I knew there was something, I just didn't think it was so... you know—"
"We're just friends."
"Yeah, right," she rolled her eyes. "Great friends."
Joel hesitated as he tried to speak again, suddenly feeling really nervous. He rubbed the back of his neck and let out a sigh.
"Snow and I... we're gettin' along, and—"
"Joel, chill, you're not my dad," she cut him off, waving a hand. "You don't gotta give me some speech like you're tryin' to convince me to like my new mommy or whatever—"
"Ellie."
She stopped talking, and her eyes softened, but Joel still had his brow furrowed, his thoughts tangled up in his head.
"I like Snow," she said. "And I like that you guys are... friends."
Joel pursed his lips and watched her for a brief moment; the look on her face and the softness in Ellie's eyes held no lie or forced reassurance.
He knew she liked you. He knew the two of you had formed a bond while he was away. And suddenly, he wondered if his relationship with you would affect yours with her. Lately, Ellie hadn't been very expressive with him, but he’d seen how she was around you. He hoped that wouldn't change.
"I'm fixin' to make a good dinner tonight. Snow's stayin' over too," he rested a hand on his hip. "How's about you come on over and join us?"
Ellie smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Sounds great. But… maybe another time? I'm pretty wiped, and I still gotta go see Dina."
"Yeah? What for?"
"She found a few parts we were missin' to finish some traps," she leaned back, dropping onto the couch. "We're headin' out early tomorrow to test them."
Joel nodded. "Rabbits?"
"Hopefully."
"Right. Well, I'll leave a plate out for you anyway, alright? We'll have dinner around eight, just in case you change your mind," he nodded. "I know Snow'd like to see you."
Ellie nodded. "Okay. Did you give her the portrait?"
Joel nodded. "And how're you comin' along with the herbs and all that?"
"Almost done with a few of them," she smiled. "I'm headin' to the greenhouse tomorrow to show Snow what I got."
"You could show her now, you know. She'll be back in a bit."
"Nah, I'm good. Don't wanna interrupt whatever's about to go down in there," she said, holding up a hand.
Joel clicked his tongue.
"What?" She raised her eyebrows. "I didn't know you were the type to cuddle up on the couch like that. Ugh," she shuddered, faking a chill.
Joel let out a chuckle, Ellie echoed it.
"Alright. Take care of yourself then," he lifted his chin. "And tomorrow, let's get some dinner, just you and me. How's that sound? Whatever you want."
She pursed her lips. "Can you make that meatloaf you do?"
"Course. An extra large one."
"Alright," she nodded.
Joel smiled and took a few steps toward her. Reaching out, he gave the crown of Ellie’s head a quick affectionate rub. She ducked her head, immediately clicking her tongue.
"Watch yourself out there, alright? And don't be gettin' back late," Joel said, moving toward the open door. "Don't go doin' anything reckless."
Ellie snorted. "You neither, Casanova."
Joel hid a chuckle as he turned around to head back inside the house.
Your house. Ten minutes later.
You got home around half past five in the afternoon. Stepping inside, you caught the scent of the flowers on your coffee table and the entryway stand, mixed with the soap you used for your laundry.
You didn't linger. You went straight to your bedroom, tossed your dress onto the small couch in the corner and kicked your boots to the side, wrapping your arms around your bare body.
The closet doors stood open, and your naked reflection stared back at you as you stepped closer to find something to wear.
Your cheeks were flushed from the walk, and your hair was a bit a mess. But there was a particular shine in your eyes that made you pause and just look at yourself for a moment. It was as if your skin were glowing, as if the expression on your face had suddenly softened.
On your neck, there were two small marks, faint and nearly invisible, that Joel had left either last night or this morning, you weren't entirely sure. But your fingers brushed up to touch them, and it was as if you could feel his mouth there all over again.
You smiled like a fool, your eyes drifting down your body; they passed over the scar on your jawline, the scars on your collarbone, just beneath your ribs, and further down on your right thigh, where several small but distinct marks barely revealed themselves.
You tilted your head, observing yourself and suddenly seeing a difference. As you did, a lock of hair fell across your face.
You caught it between your fingers and breathed it in, then gathered a handful more. Burying your nose in the strands, you closed your eyes.
You smelled like him. From the strands of hair between your fingers to your very skin; his soap, his shampoo—him. The same clean scent of his fresh sheets, the exact same scent that was woven into his skin. You carried it now, and the feeling brought a flutter to your stomach that made every hair on your body stand up.
Well, that, and the fact that you were naked and your house was freezing.
Jesus, stop being so corny, what's the point?
The more time you spent staring at yourself in the mirror, the longer it would take to get back to Joel. So you finally turned away, moved along, and headed into the bathroom.
You took a quick shower without getting your hair wet, since you'd washed it just that morning, and went through your usual routine. With your skin soft and clean and your body much warmer than before, you stepped out of the shower wrapped in a towel. Your feet weren't cold anymore, and neither were your fingers.
Back in the bedroom, you misted yourself with rosewater and put on a little bit of everything you owned, smelling like a dessert all over again and feeling like one, too. You ran your fingers through your hair, brushed it out a little, and reached for the small wooden box inside your nightstand. From it, you took your necklace and fastened it around your neck.
Opting for comfort and practicality, you pulled on a pair of straight-leg jeans that hugged you perfectly up top, thanks to some alterations Isa had done, along with a cropped white tee and a slightly loose black sweater. You were right on the verge of putting on sneakers, but you chose your boots again. There wasn't much use fighting against something both cozy and cute.
Okay, what did you need to bring for tonight?
You grabbed a tote bag and tossed in clean underwear, your hairbrush, and a few other small things. Carefully, you folded the jacket Joel had lent you earlier and slid it inside as well.
You didn't waste any more time. You bundled up in his other jacket (which, technically, was already yours) and went into the kitchen to grab the blueberry pie you’d left in the fridge yesterday. You’d only tried a tiny slice to make sure it tasted right. You packed it into a plastic container and carefully settled it into your bag, strategically arranging everything underneath and around it so it wouldn't shift in any way.
Giving yourself one last look in the mirror and knowing that at Joel’s place, nothing but a tiny little hand mirror awaited you, you stepped out of your house just as the sun in the sky began to turn that sea of blue into a field of orange and pink.
Joel's house. Late afternoon.
The second Joel opened the front door, a delicious aroma hit your nose.
"Mmm," you breathed in, stepping into the entryway. "What am I smelling?"
Joel took the bag from your hand and closed the door behind you. With a smile, he lifted his chin and nodded toward the kitchen.
He’d changed his clothes and wasn't in his sleepwear anymore, but in jeans, boots, and a flannel shirt.
He look so good.
"Go on and look," he said.
Smiling, you walked over as the scent grew even richer. Your eyes instantly locked onto the pot on the stove. You stepped closer while he carefully took the container with the blueberry pie out of the bag and set it on the counter.
Inside the pot, vegetables were simmering away, releasing a thick sweet steam, covered and surrounded by a dark glossy sauce.
"Is there wine in this?"
He nodded, and your mouth watered instantly.
"Started a good while ago," he came up beside you. "Seared the venison, took it out, cooked down the veggies with the wine, and threw the meat back in. It's been stewin' for a while now. You real hungry?"
Smiling, you looked at him out of the corner of your eye. "I didn't know you knew your way around a kitchen like this."
"I don't know that much," he shook his head. "Just a few things I'm fixin' to stick with forever."
You laughed. "Is this one of your specialties?"
"Yeah. This, and the meatloaf I'm makin' for Ellie tomorrow."
"Oh, did you see her? Is she here?"
"No, she left a while ago. But we talked for a bit," he nodded. "Said she was headin' to the greenhouse tomorrow to see you. Wants to show you what she’s done with the herbs."
You were genuinely excited to see what Ellie had been working on. You thought it was incredibly sweet of her to want to help you out with all of this, and you were sure you’d find a way to thank her properly. Favors are favors, and they ought to be repaid right.
"I can't wait to see what she's done."
Joel smiled. "You're gonna like it."
It was only fair that you set the table. While Joel cooked, you arranged the plates, silverware, and everything else, though you still felt like you had too much time on your hands. But you distracted yourself by picking something to listen to; Joel had a box full of cassettes and handed over the authority for you to choose the music. You picked a Fleetwood Mac compilation and spent the rest of the time keeping yourself occupied with the glass of wine he had left on the table for you.
You had rarely ever had wine. Looked like almost never before arriving in Jackson. But here, they had a decent amount of alcohol, both produced by the community and brought in from the outside. Cider was pretty common, as was whiskey, but wine was a much trickier thing to come by for some reason. Joel, being who he was and knowing the people he knew, had a few bottles tucked away in a small cabinet in his kitchen.
He wouldn't let you help with the cooking, insisting he had it under control. That left you with only one job: sitting at the kitchen island with a glass of wine, just watching him. It wasn't like he had a whole lot to do after a while anyway, since the meat pretty much cooked itself, only needing a quick check every now and then. During that stretch of time, he pulled up a stool next to you with his own glass of wine, and the two of you talked about everything and nothing, mostly just casual drift.
"Pet Sematary," he said, bringing the glass to his lips.
"Never read that one."
He raised his eyebrows. "You ain't ever read Pet Sematary?"
You shook your head. "No. I only read Carrie, and honestly it didn't really make me feel any better."
"You gotta read Pet Sematary. Reckon it’s one of the few books I actually finished cover to cover when I was a kid."
"Weren't you big on reading?"
"Preferred doin' other things," he said, tilting his head. "But I got that book for Christmas one year, and then I caught the flu and spent a week in bed. Read the whole damn thing. Let me tell you, havin' a fever dream after readin' somethin' like that wasn't nice."
You laughed. "Is it really that terrifying?"
"Well, I was eleven. Doubt it’d scare me none now."
"I remember my parents watching the movie once, but I didn't pay much attention. I wasn't really into horror. Either that, or it scared me and I just didn't want to look." You suddenly sat up straighter. "You know what book I know you’d love?"
He frowned just a fraction.
"Lonesome Dove, by Larry McMurtry," you said. "You ever read it?"
"Not that I recall."
"It's about two old Texas Rangers who decide to drive a huge herd of cattle all the way from the Mexican border up to Montana. But they run into just about everything along the trail. It’s a Western, so you can picture it. Storms, bandits, different towns. I loved it when I read it, it's incredibly entertaining and," you raised a finger, "deep. It’s not just about the adventure, you know? It’s about the fact that the whole world around them is changing. It's the end of the Old West."
He nodded. "Modernity."
"Exactly. And they’re old men from a generation that spent their entire lives chasing outlaws and living in places where the government had no control. But everything’s becoming obsolete, you know? Their whole way of life."
"Yeah," he smiled, "it happens."
"I've got it on my bookshelf if you'd like to read it," you raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah, I'd like that. I gotta give you my notes or somethin' afterward?"
You laughed. "Only if you want to."
Dinner turned out to be an absolute triumph. You sat with him at the table by the window, savoring every single bite. The venison was incredible; the meat was so tender it practically melted in your mouth, to the point where you didn't even need a knife; you could cut it with just your fork. The vegetables were delicious and just as tender, their rich flavors almost making you want to roll your eyes in pure bliss.
Joel, of course, got a little cocky about it. There was a smug smirk playing on his face that he was clearly trying to hide. Still, you secretly suspected the man hadn't even realized it was going to turn out this damn good.
Between the waiting in the kitchen and the dinner itself, the two of you finished the first bottle of wine without even noticing. Midway through the meal, Joel cracked open the second one, which turned out to be just as delicious. You were really starting to get a taste for it; the flavor paired so well with the food that you couldn't bring yourself to turn down another glass, and then another, and maybe another.
And you weren't sure if it was the alcohol or something else, but you’d gotten so hot you shed your sweater before your third glass.
By the time you finished your second helping, you knew the alcohol was starting to do its thing. You felt it first in your feet, in that pleasant buzzing warmth around your skin, and then in the floating lightweight feeling warming up your chest. But most of all, you knew it because your eyes started losing their modesty.
You caught yourself tracking the movement of his lips every time he spoke or took a sip from his glass, your gaze lingering without a shred of hurry. You got completely pulled in, watching his profile under the soft light; the sharp line of his jaw, the crinkles around his eyes when he smiled. Your eyes drifted down to his hands, tracing the veins standing out against his rolled up sleeves, and you couldn't stop a clumsy wine addled thought from taking over your mind: oh wow… his fingers are really, really thick.
But there wasn’t a thing you could do about it; the wine had already hijacked your filters, and your eyes stayed exactly where they wanted to be. You knew you were being obvious, taking way too many seconds to meet his gaze whenever he spoke, like a woman suddenly turned shy.
And Joel, of course, wasn’t any fool. He noticed.
You caught the shift almost instantly. He stopped talking so animatedly, and his rhythm eased into a lazy drawn out cadence as his voice dropped a register, turning deeper and huskier.
His posture in the chair relaxed, leaning just a little closer to your side of the table, cutting down the distance between you. His eyes, which had been fixed on yours, began making their own unhurried sweep across your face. They lingered on your wine flushed cheeks, dipped for a split second to your mouth when you bit your lip, and drifted back up. He held your gaze for a long stretch of time, sending a tingle straight down the back of your neck.
When he picked up his glass, his fingers traced the curve of the crystal. A tiny, barely there tug pulled at the corner of his mouth; he knew exactly where your attention was anchored.
Oh, Jesus... you wanted to tear him apart.
But not here.
Dinner having ended quite a while ago, you got up from your chair and gathered your plate and his. Joel was up right after you; he cleared the glasses and the rest of the table, tucking the used napkins between his fingers while balancing the wine glasses and the empty bottle in his other hand.
Weaving your way into the kitchen, you placed the dishes into the sink with extra care, trying to let the clatter of the stoneware drown out just how hard your heart was thumping, and turned on the faucet. The rush of running water filled the room for barely a second before you felt his heat right behind you.
Joel stepped up right against your back. You felt the solid pressure of his chest nearly brushing your shoulder blades a moment before his arm shot past your side, planting his palm firmly against the edge of the counter, trapping you completely against it. His other free hand reached up without a hint of rush, gripping the handle and shutting off the faucet, cutting the water dead.
"Later," he said.
You felt his breath hit your neck, and your head tilted back on instinct. Understanding the invitation, Joel pressed his entire weight against your back. The solid unyielding feel of him felt so damn good you squeezed your eyes shut and smiled shamelessly.
His hand shifted from the edge of the counter, sliding down to your lower stomach. He flattened his palm there, pressing gently into the soft heat of your belly, before his hand began a steady inching crawl upward. At the same time, his lips found your exposed throat; he kissed you right there while his hand kept drifting up, caressing your chest. And as his palm brushed over your chest, his thumb grazed your nipple through the fabric of your shirt, catching a quiet sigh in your throat.
Your eyelids felt too heavy to keep open. Joel’s mouth kept tasting your neck with short nipping kisses and soft suctions, his hand traveling higher until his long fingers and broad palm wrapped around your throat, squeezing firmly from the sides.
A muffled groan tried to break free, but his grip trapped the sound against your skin, making the vibration rattle right in your vocal cords.
With a tug, Joel pulled your head back, forcing your spine to arch as he locked his hips tight against yours.
His other hand traced down your side, mapping the curve of your waist and hip, squeezing your flesh with a hunger that was driving you out of your mind. The wine and the friction of your bodies sparked a desperate ache between your thighs, and you didn't know how much longer you could go without tearing his pants off.
Sensing your restlessness, Joel nudged one of his legs between yours. With a firm shift of his thigh, he forced your legs apart and hitched his knee right into your center. You let your weight drop, desperate for the pressure, grinding down against him, but the thick denim of your jeans blocked the full sensation and the partial friction only fueled your frustration.
Joel caught onto your desperation and surged even harder against you, and you could feel him fully hard, a rigid ridge pressing into your backside through the layers of clothes. Unable to hold back, you reached a hand blindly behind you until you found the front of his pants, and wrapped your fingers around his crotch, squeezing firmly through the fabric.
The sudden boldness caught him off guard; Joel let out a low groan right against the skin of your neck as his grip on your throat tightened just a little more.
With a sudden jerk, he hauled you away from the counter. His hands dropped to your hips instantly, digging firmly into your flesh as he started steering you out of the kitchen.
A breathless nervous laugh slipped from your lips, cutting through the silence of the house as the two of you moved toward the hallway. And before you could even plant a foot on the bottom step of the stairs, you slapped his hands away, spun around, and bolted up the flight.
Halfway up, curiosity got the better of you, forcing you to glance back over your shoulder. Joel was already tracking you; his posture was stiffer, his eyes so dark and locked on yours. You let out a soft amused gasp and scrambled up the rest of the way.
As you cleared the final steps, your fingers hooked the hem of your shirt, yanking it cleanly over your head and dropping it behind you like a breadcrumb on the trail. Right before hitting the doorway of his bedroom, your hands flew to your back, unhooking your bra and letting it fall, too.
Joel trailed you without missing a beat. You heard him pause for a split second below to scoop your shirt off the floor, and then he kept coming, completely unhurried, stopping to grab the bra next. He was giving you a head start. He was granting you the exact window you needed to slip into the bedroom, kick off your boots, and shed your pants.
Hearing his heavy tread approach the threshold, you padded silently on bare feet into the bathroom. From inside, you caught the low huff that rumbled from his chest when he stepped into the room and found the bed empty.
The cool night air drifting through the bathroom window instantly prickled your skin, making your nipples harden and the hair on your arms stand up, but you didn't give a damn about the chill. You planted both hands flat and firm against the edge of the marble sink, arching your spine completely and tilting your ass toward the doorway; right at the perfect angle for where he was bound to appear in less than a heartbeat.
And yeah, just a heartbeat later, Joel filled the bathroom doorway. He stopped dead in his tracks, going completely still, frozen under the frame.
A thrill shot through you just from watching his reaction. Joel held your clothes in one hand, his eyes locked onto your bare skin, tracking the curve of your hips and your exposed ass. His jaw was clenched so hard the muscle bunched, and that sudden paralysis of sheer awe and desire on his face let you know you had him exactly where you wanted him.
Joel tossed your clothes onto the bathroom counter without a shred of care, while you stayed completely still, watching him. He tightened his jaw and brought his hands down to his waist.
Slowly, he unbuckled the metal latch of his belt; the leather creaked and the metal clinked in this quiet bathroom as he whipped it through the loops in one clean yank. Your pussy throbbed just looking at him; so mean, so serious, so intensely focused as he popped the button of his jeans and dragged the metal zipper down with a harsh rasp, never taking his eyes off you for a single second.
As he began to close the final few inches between you, an intense flutter turned your stomach over. Joel settled right behind you, planting one of his big heavy hands flat against your hip, digging into your skin to anchor you in place, while his other hand went straight for your center, hooking the fabric of your panties to the side.
Your breathing was already ragged and heavy, and your throat felt so dry you could barely swallow. Trying to hold onto that thread of control from the game, you tried to look back at him.
"You should get yourself a mirror," you murmured.
Joel huffed a laugh.
His thick warm fingers parted your wet folds. "Yeah," he said.
You shut your eyes instantly, letting out a low moan as you finally melted into his touch. His fingers were soaked in you immediately, sliding top to bottom. He brought the pad of his index finger up until he found your clit, pressing and rubbing in firm circles that made you flinch and arch your spine even deeper against him.
The wet obscene sound of his fingers moving inside you filled the bathroom instantly. But Joel took his time to torment you, sliding his middle finger along your slit and stretching your wetness before pushing a single knuckle inside your pussy. He went in easy, stretching you open, and a choked moan escaped your lips. A second later, he slipped a second finger in, opening you up from the inside, and began to thrust into your depths, curling his fingers upward to hook the exact spot that made you lose your mind.
"Shit, baby... you're fuckin' soaked," Joel growled in your ear, and the sound of his dirty voice only deepened the spasms already starting to ripple through your walls.
Your hands gripped the edge of the sink so hard your knuckles turned white.
The wet sounds of friction between his hand and your pussy were loud, giving away just how ready you were; every time he buried his fingers to the hilt, your eyelids grew heavier.
You started to lose all sense of rhythm, rolling your hips back on pure instinct, begging for more and more and more. But Joel didn't give in; he kept his hand steady, pumping inside you, catching your dirtiest, most shameless whimpers right out of the air.
"Joel, please," you stammered, letting your head drop forward. "Fuck me already, don't make me wait."
He cut his movements instantly. With a dragging touch, he slid his fingers out of your wetness. You lifted your head and licked your dry lips, desperately trying to catch your breath.
"You gettin' bossy on me now?" he asked.
A small smile tugged at your lips, and you glanced back over your shoulder. Joel already had his cock in his hand, stroking it up and down, using the same hand that was coated in your own slick. The sight of his size and the heavy veins tracing his shaft made you swallow hard.
"Over the sink, now. Put your hands further out and lean down," he ordered.
You obeyed instantly. You stretched your arms across the surface, planting your palms firmly against the cold marble that clashed sharply against the heat of your body. You slid further forward, arching your spine to the absolute limit and pushing your backside out, offering yourself to him completely.
Joel stepped forward, erasing the space between you. You felt the burning tip of his cock hunt for your entrance, pressing right where the ache of your need was loudest. Easy, he broke into you in one controlled heavy push, burying himself deep, inching further and further until he filled you to the brim.
He stretched you so wide you choked back a cry against the marble. He went dead still, granting you a few agonizing seconds for you to adjust to his thickness and squeeze tight around him. Feeling his pulse throbbing inside you was pure heaven.
Then, he started to move. At first, they were short testing thrusts, but as the rhythm leveled out, a whimper of pure relief slipped from your lips.
Joel took you at your word; he fucked you with relentless consistency, driving deep into you with every single stroke, making the wet echo of his hips slamming against your cheeks ring out through the bathroom. The moans spilled uncontrolled from your mouth, impossible to hold back.
Bit by bit, any trace of patience melted from his movements, turning harder. Joel reached a broad hand up to your shoulder and, with a firm yank, forced your upper body back, arching your spine flush against his chest. And without giving you a second to catch your breath, he shifted that same hand straight to your throat, squeezing with just enough pressure to pin you tight against him while he kept hammering into you from behind.
The shift in the angle made him sink even deeper, ripping cries and sobs of pure pleasure that vibrated right against the flat of his palm.
And just when you thought you couldn't open up any wider, Joel used his boot to nudge your foot, forcing your legs further apart. With a quick heavy grip, he hooked his free hand under your thigh and hoisted your leg up over the edge of the sink, splitting you completely wide open.
Locked in that vulnerable position, he started fucking you hard and fast, a pacing that completely stole your balance. Desperate, your hands scrambled to find a handhold on the wall or the counter, but you couldn't reach a damn thing; the sheer speed of his thrusts was rattling your entire body.
Joel had you pinned so tight against him that the only thing you could do was cling to his arms, burying your nails into his skin. You held onto him, feeling your one steady foot on the floor nearly lift with every strike, suspended in the air by the force of his hips.
To say you didn't recognize the sound of your own voice was an understatement; you didn't think you’d ever made noises as broken as the ones Joel was ripping out of you with every single thrust. It was a completely new sensation, being entirely undone, unable to do a damn thing but cling to him so you wouldn't shatter completely.
Slowly, his movements began to lose their speed, turning heavier. You felt his chest heave hard against your back as he dialed back the pace, locking you tight in his arms. He let your dangling foot finally find the floor, easing the strain on your muscles, and softened his grip on your body, though he stayed buried deep inside you.
Driven by the lingering slip of pleasure, you reached an arm back over your shoulder, searching for the touch of his skin. Your fingers found the nape of his neck and sank right into his curls, tangling in that soft hair you loved so much.
You tilted your head back, offering your lips in a silent plea, and Joel caught your jaw gently and planted a deep dragging kiss on your mouth.
While kissing you, his free hand carefully guided your leg down from the sink, helping you find your footing. He steered you away from the marble counter, backing you up toward the bathroom door.
Only when you hit the threshold did Joel pull out of you all at once, leaving a choked whine on your lips at the sudden cold absence. Before you could even protest, he brought his palm down in a stinging smack against your flushed ass.
"Bed," he ordered.
You moved toward the mattress immediately, your legs shaking and a delicious ache pooling between your thighs. You collapsed flat on your back against the mattress, sinking into the sheets, and hooked your fingers around the waistband of your wet panties, yanking them off and tossing them onto the floor. All while you watched him shadow over you from the dim light.
Your eyes, completely blown out, tracked Joel’s body as he stripped down under the faint light. He yanked his shirt off in one motion, revealing that broad torso, then kicked off his boots, and finally shed his pants, letting them pool on the floor.
God, he was so big. Huge everywhere; the width of his shoulders, the thickness of his ribcage, his massive arms, and that tremendous length pointing right back at you, glistening and heavy with thick veins.
You spread your legs wide on the mattress, begging him back, utterly unable to look away.
Joel climbed onto the bed, making the springs groan as he settled immediately between your open thighs. He gripped your knees, pushing them back toward your chest to split you open even wider, and lined his cock up with your pussy.
He slid in inch by inch, savoring the fit, stretching your already sensitive walls, but the second he was buried completely inside you, he gave you no quarter. He picked his rhythm right back up.
You held onto him with everything you had, wrapping your arms tight around his neck and digging your nails into his broad back while he fucked you hard, deep thrusts making you bounce right against the mattress.
The wet friction of your bodies took over the room again, mixing with Joel’s pants directly in your ear and your own shameless moans.
"Joel, please," you cried out, squeezing him tighter. "Put all your weight on me."
He lifted his head, locking his eyes onto yours.
"Put all your weight on me," you repeated.
"I'm gonna crush you."
"No, you won't," the heavy impacts chopping up your voice. "Please."
Joel let out a rough pant and buried his face right next to yours as he slowly let his body drop over you. You felt his weight gradually press you down into the mattress; his chest flat against yours, his stomach against yours, blanketing you in sheer heavy man.
"Yes, yes, yes," you started to babble, letting your eyelids flutter shut as your arms wrapped around him and your fingers buried deep into the hair at the nape of his neck.
You were right on the edge, suspended in that eternal second where the pleasure gets so sharp it almost hurts. Your legs were wrapped tight around his waist and your nails were dug into his shoulders, feeling the coiled tension in every single muscle.
Then you felt it. You caught that subtle unmistakable shift in the vibration of his body; the way his cock went even harder, pulsing and throbbing inside you, expanding to its absolute limit. Joel let out a guttural grunt, a purely animalistic drawl of a sound that drowned in the crook of your neck as he completely lost his rhythm and his grip on control.
Knowing you had him right there, that he was about to fall apart for you, was the final push that shattered your gravity. Your own orgasm hit you all at once, a hot burst that clamped your internal walls in violent desperate spasms around his length.
Joel roared against your skin the second he felt you clamp down on him, completely trapped by your climax. He delivered a few brutal frenzied thrusts, driving so deep you felt like you were splitting in two, before cursing loudly and dragging himself back with desperation.
You unlocked your legs from his hips to let him clear, and he grabbed his cock, letting go right over your belly. He was so flushed, his face so raw and undone, that your eyes could do nothing but watch him, panting and silent, while your own muscles kept riding out the tail end of your release.
He leaned forward, planting one forearm beside your head, and brought his face down to yours.
You cupped his face; your fingers pressed gently against his jaw as you pulled his mouth down to meet yours.
Joel's room. Half an hour later. Night.
You flicked off the bathroom light and shut the door behind you.
The effects of the wine were still floating through your system, but now it was pure exhaustion weighing you down. You knew you were gonna sleep like a baby tonight, so before climbing back into bed next to Joel, you went straight for the alarm clock on his nightstand.
"Six thirty sound good to you?" you asked, turning the clock around to set the dial.
"What time is it now?" he wanted to know. He was lying back with his hair still a little damp from the shower, wearing a dark blue cotton t-shirt and sweatpants.
"Quarter to ten."
"Ain't as late as I thought."
You smiled. "Right. I figured it was at least eleven."
"Six thirty's fine."
You set the alarm and slipped the clock back into its spot.
Carefully crawling over Joel’s legs, you slid under the covers as he pulled the sheet and the comforter up over you. You dug your toes into the mattress, stretching out on pure instinct just from the happiness of being comfortable, warm, and knowing you were in for a perfect night of sleep.
You draped your arm over Joel’s chest, and he leaned into you, shifting onto his side to blanket you with his body heat.
"Oh," he murmured, pulling back for just a second to click off the lamp on his nightstand before wrapping his arms right back around you.
The bedroom fell into darkness, but the moonlight streamed through the window; pale, soft, and soothing. It was a full moon tonight.
"Goodnight, Joel."
He let out a low sigh. "Goodnight, Snow."
divider by: omi-resources
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— Chapter summary: After Joel's safe return, you find a rare quiet solace in his presence and the safety of his home. It’s a blurry line, and you're not quite sure if giving in to this feeling is the right choice. But for now, you choose to stop questioning it and just let yourself feel safe.wc: 22.4k
A/N: WARNING! This chapter contains fluff and smut, LOADS OF IT. Also, while I was editing this chapter I was listening to Jeff Buckley and noticed that I mention windows and sunlight streaming through them a lot here. It instantly reminded me of his song with Elizabeth Fraser, "all flowers in time bend towards the sun." I truly feel like the lyrics apply so much to Snow and Joel. If you haven't heard it yet, I highly recommend giving it a listen! Anyway, thank you so much for reading, and for waiting 2 months for this update. I hope you enjoy this part! In case you want to support me, buy me a coffee - ko-fi
If you liked it, leave a comment or reblog 🩷 your feedback really helps me keep writing.
Joel’s house. Morning.
Your body felt warm as you started to wake. Sprawled on your back with your right arm stretched above your head and your frame angled diagonally across the mattress, you were tucked comfortably beneath the warm blankets. And pressing down on the left side of your body, the heavy weight of Joel anchored you against the bed, the faintest hint of a snore slipping out now and then.
He was lying face down, his cheek resting against your chest just beneath your collarbone. His arm draped heavily over your ribs and the rest of his body followed that same diagonal line as yours.
You shifted slightly, extending your legs and reaching both arms over your head, but you had no intention of moving further; you were far too cozy. Joel’s weight was a welcome pressure and his body heat radiated like a furnace. He was wearing nothing but his pajama pants, leaving nothing but bare skin against you, while you remained covered in his shirt.
After one last stretch, you lowered your left hand to his back, letting it rest there for a moment. You leaned into him, just a fraction, and finally allowed your fingers to climb toward the nape of his neck, disappearing into his hair. Joel didn't stir in the slightest; he was out like a light.
Without a second thought, you hugged him, letting your chin rest on the crown of his head. Even with your mind still foggy, you knew the feeling washing over you was overwhelming; he was in your arms, alive.
No. Don't think about that.
You pushed the thought aside and let your breathing sync with his, surrendering to a long while of drifting in and out of sleep as the sunlight through the window climbed higher and higher.
Sometime later.
At some point in the middle of your idyllic dream, Joel climbed out of bed. You noticed immediately because, obviously, his weight disappeared from on top of you and suddenly you felt far too exposed.
Half asleep, you heard him shuffle to the bathroom; the toilet flushing, water running from the sink, and then, a couple minutes later, he was back beside you. He slipped under the sheets and blankets and, with one rough tug, hauled you against him again. You stayed there for a while, tucked against his chest, but you could only hold out for so long.
You seriously, seriously had to pee.
You shifted a little, trying to pry yourself loose; Joel pulled you right back against him. A quiet laugh slipped out of you.
Again, you started wriggling away.
“What’re you doing? Where d’you think you’re goin’?” he mumbled. His voice was low and gravelly with sleep and his eyes still completely shut.
“Gotta use the bathroom,” you whispered through a laugh.
Without another word, he let go of your waist, and you pushed the blankets off yourself too.
Oh, it was cold. The air wasn’t nearly as warm as it had been a week ago, and the floor beneath your feet felt freezing. That, and the fact that you were barely dressed. Your legs were completely bare, every inch of your skin prickling from the temperature.
“Oh, shit,” you muttered as you shut the bathroom door behind you. Sleep was making the cold feel twice as bad.
You rushed through everything as fast as possible, washing your hands and splashing warm water on your face afterward.
Jesus, your hair was a disaster. You fixed it as best you could with your fingers while staring into Joel’s tiny mirror, and the second you were done, you hurried back out.
On your tiptoes, you rushed back to bed and practically launched yourself onto him.
“It’s so freaking cold,” you whispered as you crawled beneath the blankets again, pressing your chest against his, sprawled on top of him.
Joel wrapped both his arms and half the blanket around you. The warmth of his chest seeped into yours almost instantly.
A sudden rush of happiness climbed from your stomach to your chest and burst right beneath your collarbone; you slid your hands along the sides of his head and pressed your lips to his jaw. You scattered little kisses there, trailing them up his cheek, then just beside the corner of his mouth.
His lips pulled into a smile that you kissed too.
“Gettin’ warm?” he asked, tightening his arms around you as his hands slipped beneath your shirt. On the way there, he hooked a finger under the elastic of your underwear.
“Yeah. Thank you.”
You kissed him again, but this time it was slower and deeper. Gradually, your right hand cupped his jaw, your thumb pressing against his chin and tipping it down, coaxing his mouth open wider for you.
You slid your tongue slowly into his mouth, grazing his lower lip with a lingering stroke before deepening the kiss; the lower part of your belly tingled at the taste. The sound that left him was a low soft moan.
The shift in Joel was instantaneous. His breathing hitched and his grip tightened until there was no space left between you. One of his hands slid down from your waist and his palm squeezed your hip, then moved lower to cup your ass. And driven by pure instinct, you shifted too, parting your legs to hook them around his hips.
You pressed yourself firmly against the lower part of his stomach, seeking more friction, and the contact drew another ragged breath from his lungs. Every point where your bodies met felt like it was suddenly sparking to life. Every point, wich basically was… every part of your body.
Your tongue keep exploring the heat of his mouth, sweeping against his in a slow, languid dance. He met you with the same unhurried hunger, his tongue tangling with yours as he tasted you deeply, because there was no rush, no world outside the four walls of this room; no one waiting for you, no one needing you, no looming shadow of duty. In the quiet safety of this room, the only urgency that existed was the pull of your own skin.
The kiss remained sensual and low, a long drawn out luxury you were totally entitled to.
Then, you pulled back just enough to graze your teeth against the soft swell of his lower lip, nipping it once, softly. The small bite broke his composure.
Joel’s breath hitched, and he brought his other hand down, both palms now heavy and big and commanding as they anchored to your ass. He squeezed firmly, his fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp against his mouth. And with a possessive grunt, he hitched you higher, dragging your body down against his as he ground his hips upward. The movement was precise, so precise, pressing exactly where you needed it most.
As he pulled you flush against him, you felt it; the unmistakable, rock hard weight of his erection through the soft fabric of his pajamas, pressing big and hot right against your center. The friction was enough to turn your knees weak even as you clung to his shoulders and the mattress under him.
You began to shift against him, a slow and rhythmic glide up and down, grazing yourself against his hard cock through the thin cotton. But you didn't break the kiss; you were too desperate to drink in the sound of the ragged groans catching in his throat.
Your body felt like it was nearing a boiling point. Skin to skin and heart to heart, your pulse was thundering in your ears; frantic, heavy and delicious beat that matched the insistent aching throb between your legs.
Joel’s hands abandoned his grip on your hips then, reaching up to fist the hem of the oversized shirt. He began to bunch the fabric upward as you straightened, sitting up to give him access and raising your arms to help him pull it off. He tossed the shirt blindly to the side, leaving you bared to him, wearing nothing but your underwear.
Suddenly, the cool morning air hit your skin, sending a visible shiver through you as your nipples peaked and goosebumps blossomed across your chest. But the chill was short lived; Joel’s hands were immediately back on you, his warm palms searingly hot as they settled on your waist.
You remained seated over him, looking down as you resumed that torturous, slow movement.
From this vantage point, you felt a surge of pure unfiltered power. What a beautiful sight Joel was, a beautiful wreck beneath you; his salt and pepper hair disheveled against the pillow, his cheeks flushed a deep, rugged red, and his eyes... they were blown wide, dark and glittering like black diamonds in the night. And scattered across his cheeks, forehead, chin, and chest, the cuts and bruises remained vividly visible as a reminder of just how fragile he could be. But not right now, not under your hand.
It was a feeling nearly impossible to put into words. You had never known yourself to be capable of this kind of intensity, or this kind of hunger. With him, and only with him, you felt like a version of yourself you’d never met before. A reclamation of your own body. It wasn't just lust; it was a vivid, electric sense of being alive, a hunger for life that burned brighter than the morning sun creeping across the floor.
You kept moving your hips, and even through the layers of fabric, his cock felt massive; a hard and pulsing weight that throbbed in perfect sync with the wet heat between your legs.
You leaned in, pressing your palms against the broad expanse of his chest, being mindful to keep your fingers away from the dark bruises on his skin. He was burning up, his body like a furnace radiating a heat that seemed to melt you so easily.
As you angled your body over him, Joel let out a wrecked sound and one of his hands traveled upward, his calloused palm sliding over the curve of your ribcage until it found your breast. He traced the swell before settling his thumb over your peaking nipple, rolling it with agonizing pressure until your back arched.
A broken moan escaped you, but he didn't let it fade. His hand drifted higher, until his fingers wrapped around the column of your throat for a fleeting second, just enough to feel the vibration of your next gasp, before his thumb pressed into the center of your jaw, coaxing your mouth open.
He slid his thumb inside, past your teeth, and you took him in without hesitation. You swirled your tongue around the pad of his thumb, tasting the faint salt of his skin and the heat of his touch, all while your hips never stopped their desperate move against him.
Looking down at him through hooded eyes, you watched the way his expression fractured into desperate need as you sucked on him. And then, he slowly withdrew his thumb, replacing it with his index finger. You took it into your mouth without hesitation, swirling your tongue around it until he slid his middle finger too; you sucked on them greedily, letting the wet, slick sounds filling the space between your heavy breaths.
Just after a few moments of watching you, he pulled his glistening fingers from your lips. He didn't let the moisture go to waste; he dragged his damp fingers down the length of your throat, then over the swell of your breasts, the cool air hitting the wet trails he left behind. His hands eventually settled on your hips, digging in with a possessive strength that anchored you to him.
"You're so beautiful," he rasped. "Just perfect."
A deep blush crept up your neck as you smiled down at him, but the sweetness of the moment shifted into something more commanding as he began to nudge your hips upward, sliding you further up his body toward his chest.
"Grab the headboard," he ordered.
You obeyed instantly, eyes locked on his as you reached to grip the wood of the bedframe. Joel adjusted you, dragging your body exactly where he wanted you, before he shifted himself downward until you were positioned right above his face.
"Joel," you whispered, letting out a shy breathless nervous little laugh. "Whare are you doing?"
He didn't answer with words. Instead, he leaned in to press lingering, warm kisses to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, his hands gripping your hips and pulling you down firmly, silently demanding that you sit heavier against him. Then, he reached for the edge of your underwear, hooking his fingers into the lace and sliding them to the side until you were completely bared to him.
Joel went still for a moment, his gaze intense as he took in the sight of you, wet and swollen just for him.
"Perfect," he murmured, his breath hitching as he stared. "Look at you... look how ready you are for me."
The sound of his voice sent a jolt straight to you. You could feel the warmth of his exhales puffing against your folds, making you ache.
You lowered one hand from the headboard and brushed the curls off his forehead.
“Just for you,” you whispered softly. “Only for you.”
Joel went still for a few seconds, his eyes locked on your face. Gently, he turned his head and pressed soft kisses to the inside of your thighs. Your hand sank a little deeper into his curls, feeling the anticipation build as his mouth moved closer and closer to where you needed him most.
And then, finally, Joel leaned forward and let his tongue touch you. It was a slow, agonizingly long stroke from the bottom to the very top. He started at a crawl, tasting you with a flat tongued pressure that made your hips buck instinctively. He followed the line of your body, swirling his tongue around your clit with a gentle teasing flick before burying his face against you to drink in the taste of you. Every lap was steady and unhurried, a masterpiece of patience that had you whimpering his name into the quiet morning air within seconds.
But he didn’t break the rhythm. If anything, your soft and broken whimpers only anchored him deeper between your thighs. His tongue continued its steady kiss, flattening against you to drag another slow soaking stroke from bottom to top.
You couldn't stay still. Your hips began to roll in a slow, desperate circle against his face, chasing the pressure of his mouth and trying to sink yourself fully onto him. And the moment you moved, Joel’s warm hands slid down from your hips, cupping the meat of your ass. His fingers dug into your flesh with a possessive soft grip, pinning you down and silently forcing you to take every bit of it.
It was dirty, the slick heavy sounds of his mouth eating you, but there was an overwhelming tenderness to the way he was doing it. His mouth was so hot, so incredibly wet; he swirled his tongue right over your swollen clit with a teasing flick that made your entire body shudder against his face.
"Joel—" your voice broke, a strained sound as your fingers white knuckled around the wooden headboard behind you.
He let out a low vibration of a growl against you and his thumbs pressed hard into your bottom, lifting your hips slightly just to angle you better for his tongue. He began to lap at you faster now, his patience clearly fracturing into something a little more desperate as he drank you in.
The heat inside you was coiling tight, pulling into a heavy ache right where his mouth was working. You were so close; the friction of his flat tongue and the hot puffs of his breath against your folds were pushing you straight over the edge. Instinctively, your spine snapped taut as you leaned back, your head falling back as your neck strained. One of your hands pressed against his stomach to steady yourself, your fingers splaying as the first waves of the climax began to tighten violently around your core, leaving you completely at the mercy of his mouth.
The moment you broke, you broke completely. You clamped down in violent, desperate pulses against his mouth, a sharp, choked cry tearing from your throat as you rode the peak. Your hand buried hard into his stomach, your fingers digging in as your hips bucked helplessly into his face, forcing him to take the thick, soaking heat of your climax. Joel didn't pull away; he held you there with that bruising grip on your ass, drinking you in, his tongue catching every heavy tremor until the ripples finally began to slow.
Your chest heaved, every breath a ragged, costly struggle that rattled in your throat. Slowly, the possessive tension in his hands softened. He let out a low, satisfied exhale against your wet skin, pressing one last, lingering kiss right over your swollen center to seal his work, before sliding his lips to your inner thigh. You shifted your hips back, letting out a weak whimper as the cool air hit the slick trail he left behind.
His large hands began a slow soothing path, stroking up and down the length of your trembling legs, before sliding over your hips to rest heavily at your waist. Joel tilted his head back against the mattress, wearing a breathless smirk on his lips as he looked up at you.
"You okay, honey?" he rasped, his voice rough and incredibly deep.
You managed a breathless smile, your hand leaving his stomach to wipe at your flushed cheek.
"Give me a second," you whispered, feeling your poor little heart hammering like a trapped bird against your ribs.
Joel let out a soft chuckle and you felt the sound against your thighs.
You bit your lip, tilting your head back for a moment as you tried to catch your breath, before carefully shifting your weight. You slid your knees backward, moving off his chest and unstraddling his face.
That’s when your eyes fell on his lap.
Even through the soft fabric of his pajama pants, his cock was tenting the material so fiercely it looked ridiculous. It was massive, a thick rigid ridge pointing straight up toward his torso.
A purring sound escaped you. Crawling back up his body, you leaned over him, pressing a slow kiss to his mouth, tasting yourself on his lips. Your hand drifted down the broad expanse of his chest, tracing a path down his flat stomach until your palm cupped the hard length of him right through the cloth.
"And are you okay, Mr. Miller?" you whispered against his wet lips, your fingers tightening around the thick shaft.
Joel's thighs parted instinctively at your touch and a low hiss escaped his teeth.
"Take everything off," you commanded.
Without wasting a single second, Joel pushed himself up onto his elbows. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pajamas and dragged them down his long legs, kicking them off the edge of the bed. He wasn’t wearing any underwear. He fell back against the pillows, completely bare, his chest rising and falling as you sat back on your heels and your gaze traced every inch of him.
Hooking your fingers into the lace of your underwear, you slid them down your thighs and tossed them carelessly to the floor before immediately moving over him again, knees framing his hips.
Looking down at him, you pooled a thick layer of saliva into your palm and shifted your hips slightly back to give yourself room, and wrapped your wet hand around the heavy head of his cock. You smeared the slick moisture over the crown before sliding your palm all the way down to the base.
Oh god.
He was stone hard, his shaft scorching hot and silky smooth under your wet grip. Along the side, a thick vein throbbed violently against your palm, pulsing with his heartbeat. You began to slowly stroke him, wearing a friction that coated his entire length in your spit, while you leaned slightly forward, teasingly rubbing him right against your soaking wet folds.
Joel’s eyes snapped shut and his head slammed back into the pillow; a deep groan ripped from the center of his chest, his jaw straining as your hand and your body drove him crazy.
Seeing him completely undone brought a wicked smile to your lips. You knew he was fighting with all his might not to grab you by the hips and sink into you right then and there. So while he stayed there, eyes closed and at your mercy, you guided his cock to your opening. You tilted your hips forward, aligning him perfectly, and began to sink down.
Slowly. Agonizingly slowly.
The sensation was so full of him, so intensely sweet, it made your vision blur. He stretched you completely wide, breaking you open millimeter by millimeter as you swallowed him inches at a time. Every internal muscle you had coiled up tight, wrapping around his thick pulsing width like a glove, gripping him impossibly close as you took him all the way in.
You froze, adjusting to the sheer size of him stretching you open from the inside, plugging you so completely that there wasn’t a single millimeter of empty space left between you. Joel let out a heavy, bottomless groan that seemed to echo from the pit of his stomach, his chest expanding as he took a ragged breath. And a long relieved sigh slipped past your lips; you leaned slightly forward, fixing your gaze on his face.
That was when his eyelids fluttered open and his dark eyes locked onto yours. Your expression instantly softened and your eyes filled with sugar and honey; unfiltered devotion as you took him in. His cheeks were flushed with heat, and his gaze was beautifully weighed down by the lingering remnants of the night; his eyelids were just a little heavy and swollen from sleep. His peppered hair was ruined, exploding in messy and wild peaks, little chaotic horns pointing in every direction where your fingers had gripped and tugged at the curls only minutes before.
And then, he smiled. His hands slid up from the mattress, tenderly stroking the curves of your hips and the smooth skin of your thighs. You smoothed your palms flat against his chest, caressing the warm skin as you began to lower your torso toward him, letting your hands slide up his chest until they wrapped around his shoulders. You leaned down and pressed your lips to his.
The moment your mouths met, Joel wrapped his arms around you, locking you against him with a squeeze at your waist. And then, he began to move.
He tilted his hips up, sliding out of you with agonizing slowness; he held himself there, teasing you for a suspended heartbeat, and then buried himself back inside you with one single, deep thrust.
You let out a muffled whimper straight into his mouth.
He pulled back again, dragging his cock nearly all the way out; paused for a agonizing second, and then rammed back in another sudden, deep thrust.
Another broken cry escaped you, but this time, the torturous pace was too much to bear.
Impatient and burning for a steady rhythm, you broke the kiss and pushed yourself up. Arching your spine, you planted your palms against Joel’s chest for leverage and took control.
You began to roll your hips in a slow tilt, rising up and sinking back down, feeling every ridge of him slide out and slide back in, filling you to the brim only to empty you again, over and over. But the slow torture was suffocating; the sheer hunger and raw need for more overtook you almost instantly.
Your pace quickened, your movements growing deeper, the friction escalating rapidly until the wet hard strike of your thighs crashing against his skin sounded loud and scandalous in the quiet room. Joel’s hands immediately clamped onto your ass, his fingers digging into the meat of your hips to help anchor your new found rhythm.
You looked down and completely melted into his gaze; his pupils had blown so wide his eyes looked entirely black, glittering with intense unvarnished lust, while a dark sudden flush crept rapidly up his neck and across his face.
Behind his head, the wooden headboard began to rattle, thudding against the wall with every frantic downstroke.
Overwhelmed by the sensation of him bottoming out inside you, you let your eyelids slide shut, throwing your head back into the morning air as you rode him.
Your hands stayed locked onto his chest, your fingers digging into his warm skin as you kept setting the pace, driving yourself down onto him with unyielding hunger. You were entirely in control, riding him with a desperate rhythm that had your head spinning from the delicious heat radiating from your core. Every single stroke was pure pleasure, a throbbing sensation that started deep between your thighs and rushed like wildfire all the way up your spine, leaving your skin tingling and your senses completely overwhelmed.
Joel was losing his mind beneath you too. His large hands clamped onto your hips, his thumbs digging into the bone to steady you, but he couldn't keep still. His hips began to roll upward, bucking his groin against yours with every stroke, using his own strength to shove his massive length as deep as it could go so you wouldn't have to work as hard for that agonizing depth.
"Ah... fuck," he whispered, a broken curse slipping past his lips. His jaw was clenched so tight the muscles in his face strained, his neck completely flushed as he looked up at you through those beautiful eyes.
You looked straight down at him from your height, your chest heaving, refusing to break eye contact even as a ragged whimper tore from your throat. Joel stared back, his teeth grinding together.
"Look at you," he rasped, his voice dropping into a whisper that was dripping with an overwhelming sweetness. "Taking every single inch... such a good girl. Ride it, baby, take whatever you want from me."
The adoring words sent a shiver through you, but before you could even gasp out his name, Joel’s right hand flew up from your hip.
Crack.
The sound of his palm striking the meat of your ass was loud and sharp in the quiet room.
A loud, shocked gasp ripped from your lungs, your hips freezing for a split second as the sudden, stinging heat of the slap bloomed across your skin. It didn't hurt; it was a delicious possessive claim that sent a jolt of pure electricity straight up your back, making your interior muscles squeeze around him in a tight desperate clench.
Joel’s eyes flared, a dark, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he felt you react. He immediately brought his hand down again, landing another stinging slap on the other cheek.
"Yeah, you like that, don't you?" he growled. He squeezed your hips tight, tilting you perfectly before his hips bucked upward once more, burying himself to the absolute root. "Keep going, don't stop, just…"
"Joel, oh my God—please."
You leaned down, your face just inches from his. The stinging heat on your ass and the thick stretch inside you made you completely shameless.
"Look at what you do to me," you whimpered, right against his lips as you ground your hips down. "You're fucking me so good, Joel, I’m so full of you."
The effect was instantaneous; a deep crimson rushed up his neck, staining his cheeks as a tight, guttural sound ripped from his chest. His hands clamped onto your hips with a bruising desperate strength, and driven by his reaction, you shifted your weight, changing the angle. Instead of just the steady up and down, you began to move your hips forward and backward, sliding your slick warmth right against his root. The friction was so intense, so devastatingly good, that your eyes rolled back under your hooded lids.
Your body was boiling, sweat slicked and heavy, and you could feel him hitting every sensitive, swollen internal muscle with a terrifying precision.
"Tell me how it feels," Joel rasped, his voice breaking as he bucked his hips upward to meet your grinding slide, shoving himself deeper. "Let me hear you, baby. Tell me how good you take it."
"It's too much," you cried out, your voice fracturing into a desperate sob as you quickened the pace. "It feels so good, Joel... you feel so good."
"Yeah? You gonna come for me?"
You nodded.
He squeezed your hip, releasing your skin for a fleeting second before another sharp slap landed against your ass. A devastating desolate moan tore from your throat.
"Use your words, c'mon," he rasped, weak. "Let me hear it from that pretty mouth."
The headboard began to crash with violent erratic thuds against the wall as your movements turned frantic. Joel’s thumbs pressed hard into your bottom, helping you rock against him, his teeth bared as his own breath rattled in his chest.
"Joel, I'm gonna come," you gasped out desperately, your eyes snapping shut as a single bead of sweat rolled down the valley of your breasts.
Your fingers balled into tight fists against his chest, your nails instinctively scratching deep into his warm skin as the tension coiled into an intolerable knot. A moan tore from the absolute depths of your throat as the climax finally broke over you; your entire body shuddered, your legs trembling so violently that your rhythm shattered completely, leaving you helplessly riding the explosive waves.
As your strength gave out, you fell forward onto his chest like dead weight, your chest heaving against his. But Joel didn't let you rest. His grip on your ass never loosened; he simply took the control you could no longer maintain.
Shoving his hips up with a raw, relentless hunger, he began to move your limp trembling body to his own liking; driving you up and down his thick cock while you buried your face into the crook of his neck, letting out helpless, broken whimpers and wet sobs against his heated skin.
He was moving you however he wanted, penetrating you hard and incredibly deep, his own breathing fracturing as his groans grew louder, sounding more and more desperate with every heavy thrust that bottomed out inside your soaking warmth.
"Fuck, you're so tight," he groaned into your skin, as he felt your interior muscles pulsing around him in the aftershock. "You're squeezing me to death, baby... I'm right there."
Desperate for the taste of him, you forced your torso up just enough to find his mouth, capturing his lips in a messy kiss. Joel met you instantly, his hands sliding up your back, wrapping his heavy arms around you with crushing strength to lock you tight against his chest. He was fucking you like an animal now, his hips snapping upward in a fast, brutal way that had you gasping for air against his tongue.
You wanted it so badly—you wanted him to fill you completely to the brim, to release everything inside you and feel his thick cock pulsing against your interior walls as he came, wanting him to stay buried deep inside you long after it was over.
But the explosion caught Joel by surprise.
Just as he reached his peak, a rough almost pained groan ripped from his throat. He abruptly tore his mouth from yours, his eyes flying wide with a wild dark light, and before you could even realize what was happening, his hands flew down to your hips, his fingers dig in with an iron grip, and he lifted your body up and off him.
His thick cock snapped out of your tight cunt just as he broke.
"Fuck—!" Joel choked out.
Without the tight seal of your body, his release shot high and heavy thick white ropes splattering across the lower part of your thighs. He stayed frozen beneath you for a few seconds, his chest heaving violently, his hands still trembling where they held your hips.
Your eyes scanned his entire face; his closed eyelids, flushed cheeks, lips swollen from your kisses, and the thin sheen of sweat coating his skin.
You reached a hand to his cheek, holding him still just long enough to press a kiss against his jawline. Smiling softly as he blinked his eyes open and locked them onto yours, you spoke.
"You okay, honey?"
Joel huffed a laugh, his hand sliding up your back. His palm was sweaty, matching the curve of your spine and likely the rest of your bodies. It was a gorgeous disaster.
You rested your head in the notch of his neck.
The heat in your body lingered for about ten more minutes. While Joel got out of bed to grab something to clean you up, you lay face down in the open air, feeling the sun on your skin. It was warm and comfortable, lying there naked in the sunlight on top of his sheets, but the moment your body temperature began to drop back to normal, the chill returned.
Your body was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, but at the same time, you felt sweaty and sticky. That was why, when Joel came back and climbed into bed with you, you resisted a little as he tried to pull you back under the covers.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Can I take a shower?"
He gave a lopsided smile, his eyelids heavy with sleep. He stretched his arms over his head and rested one hand against his forehead. "Sure. Right now?"
"I won't be long," you said, starting to get out of bed. You felt a sudden wave of shyness being completely exposed, so you yanked the top sheet off the bed and wrapped it around your body.
Joel laughed. "Hey, what're you doin'?"
Walking toward the bathroom, you looked back at him. "I'm naked!"
"Nothin' I haven't seen before, from every angle."
You pressed your palm against the door and started to push it open, but not before looking back at him one last time.
"Yeah, through the lens of lust!"
You rolled your eyes and stepped into the bathroom, feeling the cold floor beneath your bare feet. Unwrapping the sheet from your body, you carefully folded it in half and hung it on the hook behind the door. Then, you leaned half your body into the shower to turn on the water, adjusting it to the perfect temperature to take the chill out of your hands and feet.
Once you were fully inside with the hot water cascading over your head, you let your sore muscles relax. Your thighs and hips burned a little, and your abs felt pretty tender too. That was a hell of a workout you’d just had with Joel; you knew it was going to hurt a bit more in a few hours.
You washed up at your own pace, cleaning your neck, legs, thighs, back, arms, shoulders and everything. You ran your fingers through your hair and over your scalp, breathing in the scent of the shampoo you always smelled on him. You were just washing your face when the bathroom door opened.
You heard a few short steps approaching the shower, and a second later, the curtain was drawn back.
Joel’s face appeared through the steam. "Need a shower too."
You smiled. "Okay, come on in. I was just about to get out."
He slid the curtain open further and stepped carefully onto the wet floor. Moving forward, he walked right under the stream of water, trapping you against the wall. The cool metal handles pressed softly against the skin of your lower back.
Joel looked down and closed his eyes, water dripping from the wet strands of hair on his forehead straight onto your face. He shook his head, sending a spray of droplets over you.
Laughing, you lifted both hands and placed them over his brow. He smiled, and for a split second, you swore he looked completely different; a light transparent smile that brightened his entire face appeared on his lips. But a second later, your focus shifted to the bruises on his cheek, the cut on his forehead, and down toward his shoulders, his chest, his stomach. Joel had plenty of old scars there, but your eyes lingered on the fresh bruises, the scrapes along his ribs. It looked like it had to hurt.
Carefully, you reached out and grabbed the soap and the soft sponge next to it, working it between your hands until you had a good lather before you began to clean and massage his shoulders.
"You know," you started, running your palms over his collarbones, "if you wanted to shower with me, all you had to do was ask."
Joel closed his eyes. "Was fallin' asleep. But I got cold cause you stole my sheet."
"What about your comforter?"
"It's on the floor. But I was cold, and I heard the water, and I got tempted."
You moved your hands down his stomach.
"Mhm. Your skin is really soft."
Joel’s hands settled on your waist. "You think so?"
"Yeah. Which is funny," you said, gently touching just below his ribs, "because you wouldn't think so. Your hands are rough, but everywhere else is soft."
He opened his eyes. "They feel rough when I touch you?"
"Not really. They just feel… warm."
"Hmm."
Your hand settled over the bruise on his ribs. For a second, you remembered sinking your fingers into that exact spot just a few minutes ago.
"Does it hurt a lot? Did it hurt earlier?"
Joel shook his head. "Didn't feel it then. But it hurts now, that's for sure."
You crinkled your nose. "I'm sorry."
"No, ain't your fault. It's been hurtin' since before. Always hurts worse after the body relaxes."
"That's true," you said, sliding your hands back up to his shoulders. "You know what? I'm gonna go grab those oils I brought you. When you get out, I'll give you a massage."
Carefully, you nudged Joel aside a bit and squeezed past him. He turned toward you, tilting his head back and closing his eyes as he let the hot water wash down his back.
He sighed. "You're gonna turn me into a puddle."
Smiling and feeling a sudden wave of tenderness for how exhausted he looked, you stepped closer and wrapped your arms around him for just a moment, pressing a delicate fleeting kiss to his chest. His hand slid up to the nape of your neck, his thumb resting just under your jawline to tilt your face up. There, beneath the falling water, he gave you a brief kiss on the lips.
A minute later, you reluctantly stepped out of the hot shower. But it had to be done. You knew that if you stayed in there with Joel, you’d both end up leaving the bathroom at the same time, and by the time you finished getting dressed, he’d already be completely passed out on the mattress.
You found the t-shirt of his you’d slept in tossed to the side of the bed, along with your underwear, and changed while you listened to the shower still running. After drying your hair the best you could, you slipped back into the bathroom to run a comb through it. Joel was just stepping out of the shower as you headed downstairs.
The morning sun was pouring bright through the kitchen windows, and the early air carried that delicious fresh scent you loved. You took in the view through the glass for a quiet moment before grabbing the oils, then poured yourself a massive glass of water, drinking it down as if you’d spent days stranded in a desert. You poured a fresh glass for Joel and made your way back upstairs.
When you walked into the bedroom, he was already sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing his pajama pants. He’d gone ahead and changed the sheets for clean ones, and the comforter was no longer crumpled on the floor.
"Here," you said, holding the glass of water out to him.
He took it immediately, murmuring a soft "'Thank you" before draining the whole thing.
"You ready?"
He furrowed his brow. "For what?"
You smiled, climbing onto the mattress. "Lay down."
He eased himself down onto his back, and you settled in right beside him. Opening the small bottle of heartleaf arnica oil, you poured a tiny amount into the palm of your hand.
"Just a little bit of this, you'll see," you murmured, rubbing your palms together to warm it up. "You're gonna feel much better."
You gently began to work the oil into the bruised and battered parts of his chest and ribs, taking extra care around a few open scratches. You kept your touch light near those spots, massaging the skin around the scrapes to make sure you didn't press on anything that might sting. Joel let out a sharp breath just once, right as your hand passed near his breastbone. When you paused to ask if he was okay, he muttered:
"Yeah, yeah. Don't worry about it."
You smoothed your flat palm over the spot, barely applying any pressure at all.
"Okay, roll over."
He complied right away, letting out a soft groan as he turned over. You repeated the whole routine, pouring a bit more oil into your palms and working your way across his entire back, focusing heavily on his lower lumbar area. You’d noticed that was the spot he reached for most often whenever he sat down or moved a certain way; a familiar ache you felt yourself from time to time. And as you worked out the tension, you knew you were doing something right; Joel was making soft relaxed sounds he probably didn't even realize he was letting slip.
Next, you focused on his shoulder blades and shoulders, applying a bit of steady pressure with your thumbs. That was right when you caught the first faint sound of him snoring. Your movements softened into a light soothing touch, until you finally decided he was out for the count and that you were getting pretty sleepy yourself.
You tucked the bottle of oil back into its small pouch and left it on the nightstand, where the little clock caught your eye: 8:23 AM.
So many more hours left to sleep. You had absolutely nothing to do all morning but rest, and Joel’s bed looked so incredibly comfortable and warm, like a field of clouds.
You snuggled in right beside him, pulling the covers up over both of your bodies. Stretching your arms up over your head, you let out a long yawn, and a minute later, you drifted peacefully back to sleep: utterly exhausted, perfectly comfortable, and completely relaxed.
Still morning, close to noon.
It was a place you didn't recognize. Cold, with tall dark canopied trees that blotted out the meager light in the pale grayish sky. Ruins surrounded you; broken walls eaten away by a pervasive dampness that claimed everything, with green moldy vines bleeding into the old cracks.
Your heart hammered violently as your legs moved with frantic speed, trying not to trip over the clutter covering the ground. Rubble, branches, old trinkets, and fragments of machinery that looked like computers or something similar; you couldn't fully tell. You didn't really know what to do, only that you had to run and run and run, because something terrible was happening.
You could feel that sensation in your chest, that painful hollow that nothing can fill once it's already too late. Your bare arms were freezing, just like your cold neck and cheeks. Your entire body felt numb, and no matter how hard you ran and ran, you couldn't seem to make headway fast enough.
No, just the opposite. Your body could barely move, and you wanted to scream with all your might. But you couldn't stop, because you could hear it the entire time: thuds, noises, voices laughing and suffering. Louder and louder and louder, your legs straining until every muscle synthetic ached, until your body plunged forward and your palms struck the splintered ground.
You scrambled up, getting back on your feet however you could, and plunged into the dark room where the sounds and noise were coming from. A hallway to the right; you ran more, and more, and more, and more into the pitch black, letting yourself be guided solely by the small rings of light filtering through the cracks in the ceiling, until at the very end of the hall, your aching bloody hands slammed open the door and—
"No!"
A gut-wrenching scream tore from your throat like dozens of thorns piercing you from the inside out.
Men —so many men, you couldn't tell how many, only that there were man— filled the room, their faces hidden behind black cloth, and right in the middle of them lay Joel, unconscious.
No, not unconscious. Dead. His face was covered in blood, his clothes soaked through with it, and a massive wound tore through the flesh of his neck. Beneath him, a pool of blood expanded outward, swallowing up more and more of the old wooden floor, quickly reaching all the way to your feet.
You fell backward, unable to stand, and the pooling blood reached your scraped palms, his blood mixing with yours inside your trembling fists.
"No, no, no, no… Joel …" your shaky voice repeated, trying to get a better look at him, trying to reach him, but your knees kept slipping, and so did your hands and elbows. You couldn't…
You couldn't.
"Hey, hey, wake up."
A hand nudged your shoulder, rolling you over at the exact moment your eyes flew open and locked onto the ceiling.
"Hey, you're okay. You're okay."
You snapped your head toward him. Joel was sitting up, leaning his body over yours, his hand resting gently against your cheek.
You were in his room.
"Joel."
"It's okay. Breathe."
A shaky breath hitched in your throat. Your cheeks were soaked, and your chest physically ached.
He lay back down beside you and pulled you close. You buried your face into the notch of his neck, clinging to his body like a frightened helpless creature while a few lingering tears continued to track silently down your cheeks.
His arms wrapped tightly around you, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead.
"What happened?" he murmured, rubbing his hand up and down your back.
You closed your eyes, not wanting to talk about it.
Your hand drifted up his chest. "Nothing. Just a nightmare."
He squeezed you a little tighter against him. "You said my name. Scared me, thought it was somethin' else."
You opened your eyes and tilted your head back slightly, looking into his eyes.
"I'm sorry."
"No, don't go apologizin'. It's okay."
You tucked your face back into the notch of his neck, feeling your heart still hammering away, erratic and loud against your ribs.
"What time is it?" you asked.
He shifted slightly to check the clock, then quickly settled right back into place.
"Ten to eleven."
"Mhm. We should get up."
"You hungry?"
You nodded. "Starving. You?"
"My stomach was growlin' a little bit ago."
You let out a soft laugh, noticing how the sunlight was no longer focused right on the bed, but had spread out to wash evenly over the entire room.
He gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Five more minutes. How's that sound?"
You pursed your lips. "Sounds good to me."
Joel's kitchen. Noon & afternoon.
Concerned that you’d get cold wearing nothing but a t-shirt, Joel insisted you put on a pair of pajama pants from his closet. They were huge, but they had a drawstring at the waist that let you tie them tight enough to fit. Then, he handed you a fresh warm pair of cotton socks.
Today was noticeably colder than yesterday. You could feel a crisp breeze drifting through the open kitchen window while he made breakfast (or was it lunch?) and you sipped a hot cup of coffee, sketching out a list of prep work for school. Joel was frying up bacon and scrambling eggs, having just dropped some bread into the toaster less than a minute ago. The kitchen smelled incredible.
On the notepad resting on the kitchen island, you had a brief breakdown of the material for the first few weeks, along with your reading plan and curriculum for the kids.
Classic fables. The Jackson library and the homes of a few townspeople held a solid collection of all kinds of stories, mostly the foundational ones. You figured it was the perfect starting point for the first group, who were right around five to seven years old. They had been born entirely into a different world, and you believed literature could provide a safe haven for them; a good way to spark their imaginations and give them the words to express them.
The morals could be incredibly useful, too. Lessons on survival, cooperation, cleverness, and above all, fear. As a community, Jackson felt like a safe place, but these kids had fear woven right into their DNA. Many of them had witnessed terrible things before arriving here, and many others had never set foot outside the walls. Fear was deeply rooted in both perspectives.
"And what're you gonna do about the books? Ain't exactly a lot of copies lyin' around," Joel asked, looking over at you for a moment as he pulled the toast from the toaster.
"Well, some of them don't know how to read yet. I'll read aloud to them. It's great for building listening skills," you smiled, "and really fun too. And if the stories aren't too long, we can make handwritten copies. I already talked to a couple of people who volunteered to help transcribe."
"That's great," he said, raising his eyebrows.
"Yeah. What about you? Would you like to help?"
Joel looked up at the ceiling, his mouth dropping open slightly. "Uh… I—I mean, sure. My handwriting's awful, though."
"That's not true. You have nice handwriting, it's perfectly legible."
"You think so?"
"I do. Besides, the copies need to be written in block capital letters," you said, looking down at your notepad to jot something else down. "I was also thinking it would be a cute idea if every kid brought in an object, and we came up with a story for each one. What do you think? Think that'd be fun?"
"Somethin' like, if a kid brings in a teddy bear, you make up a story for it?"
You nodded.
"Yeah," he replied. "That'd be fun. Mostly 'cause I imagine they're gonna show up with all kinds of strange objects."
You laughed. "Yeah, just imagine the possibilities."
Joel began removing the bacon from the skillet, placing it on each plate alongside the eggs, before grabbing another dish for the toast.
"And what about the older kids?" he asked, setting one plate down in front of you and the other right beside it. You murmured a soft Thank you. "Fables for them, too?"
"Oh, no. I have much bigger plans for the older kids," you said, raising your eyebrows.
Joel gave a lopsided smile and went to grab the toast, placing it in the center of the island before turning toward the fridge. "Is that so? Like what?"
A spark of excitement flared in your chest. While you were looking forward to working with the little ones, you knew the pre-teens and teenagers in Jackson were going to make for a much more interesting group when it came to discussions and deeper perspectives.
"Well, we're gonna read books too, but I was thinking it'd be a great idea to introduce the concept of diaries and chronicles. There are three copies of The Diary of Anne Frank and a few about the Lewis and Clark Expedition. They also brought in The Giver and Frindle. I think it's a good way for kids to learn a little more about what the world used to be like. Have you ever read that one? Frindle?"
Joel smiled faintly, pulling a tub of butter from the fridge and shutting the door.
"Yeah. Sarah liked Frindle."
It took you a moment to find your voice after that.
"Oh."
He sat down next to you, letting out a quiet sigh as he settled in.
"Called pens Frindle for a whole year," he added, shifting his gaze over to you. "I think it's a good idea."
You smiled. "Thank you."
"What else?" He reached out and grabbed the butter knife, digging it into the tub to scoop out a generous amount.
"Maybe they could write their own chronicles? Or diaries, just as an exercise. And they wouldn't necessarily have to read them aloud or show anyone," you said, lifting your mug to take a sip of coffee. "But it might be a nice way for them to express themselves or blow off steam, as long as it's not hurting them, of course."
"Think they'll all want to do it?"
You smiled and shook your head. "I doubt it. I don't know."
Joel hummed, bringing his mug to his lips.
You popped a piece of bacon into your mouth, and it was so delicious your eyes nearly closed. You tried the eggs right after. Then, after a moment of savoring, swallowing, and giving yourself a little more time to think, you asked:
"You think they'll like me?"
Joel had his mouth full and raised his eyebrows at the question. While you waited for him to finish chewing, you took a bite of toast.
"They're gonna love ya," he said finally.
"And how are you so sure? Teenagers can be..." Your eyes drifted up the walls and across the ceiling before landing back on him. "They can be complicated. And these kids, these kids have been through things. Maybe I show up with diaries and chronicles, and they just think, 'Who does this nobody think she is and what the hell is she doing'?"
He huffed a laugh. "Don't go lettin' them walk all over you. Let them know you're the one in charge."
"Okay, and how do I do that without being bossy in the process?"
"You gotta be bossy, but that don't mean you can't still be nice to them. You can pull it off, I've seen it," he said, raising his eyebrows. "Saw you orderin' the guys around on some of the construction sites before. Even me."
You furrowed your brow. "I am not bossy."
"Yes," he said, looking right at you, "yes, you are."
You frowned. "I'm—"
"And when you're in a bad mood?" He brought his mug to his lips and rolled his eyes.
Your eyebrows shot up in pure disbelief, your lips twitched into a tight smile.
"Excuse me?" You tilted your head. "And you're the one telling me this, Mr. Uncle Grumpy?"
Joel smiled and shook his head.
"That's literally what Benji calls you, isn't it?"
"That don't change a thing," he grumbled, furrowing his brow. "You are what you are. Might as well make use of it."
"Oh," you nodded, "okaay. I will. But don't you go complaining later."
He poked his fork into the eggs and brought them to his mouth, his eyes never leaving yours.
"Ain't complainin'," he said.
You ducked your head, hiding a smile.
Joel and you ate in comfortable silence for a while, occasionally making notes and chatting about your lesson plans.
The whole thing excited you for different reasons. The little ones had you looking forward to it because you just liked little kids in general; they were adorable and sweet, and their minds came up with a hundred interesting things. That was why you’d loved chatting with Sophie when she was that small; the conversations were always unpredictable and fun, and her imagination was endless. But of course, you’d always made a point to show her all kinds of books and stories, so she had a rich source of inspiration. You didn't know what some of the kids here would be like, or how much they’d interacted with the world, but you were eager to find out and, if possible, be useful to them.
The teenagers were a different story, since you hadn't had much contact with kids that age. But it was just as exciting, and you wouldn't hesitate to ask for help if you needed it. You had no intention of pushing past their personal boundaries and you kept a firm reminder in your mind to be careful with everything you wanted to teach them.
Overall, it was exciting.
After eating, you cleared the table and washed the dishes even though Joel insisted you shouldn't. And while you were doing that, he stepped out through the kitchen's back door, returning a few minutes later.
"Ellie's not out there," he said as he walked back in. "Don't know what she's up to these days."
The moody tone in his voice made you look up immediately. You were drying your hands with a dish towel as you turned around to face him.
"Have you asked her?"
He sighed. "She ain't exactly talkative lately."
"Well, I've seen her around with Dina," you said, resting both palms against the counter. "Just hanging out, nothing weird. They spend a lot of time together, maybe she's with her."
He nodded slowly, pursing his lips. "Keep an eye on her if you can, alright? She really likes you. Maybe... maybe she'd rather talk to you than me, about certain things, you know."
You nodded. "Of course, I will."
He ran a hand over the back of his neck and you watched him hesitate for a second before he moved toward the fridge and pulled it open. He took out a glass bottle about half filled with water and grabbed a clean glass from the drying rack.
You checked the clock on the wall, mounted right above the window next to the table. It was already a little past noon.
It was probably about time for you to head out, wasn't it? You didn't want to overstay your welcome, and you doubted Joel would ever be the type to tell you to leave. So, pushing yourself away from the counter, you walked to the other side of the room and stretched your arms behind your back.
"I think I should probably get going."
Joel turned toward you, the glass of water still at his lips. He swallowed and set it down carefully on the counter.
"Yeah? You got somewhere to be?"
You mentally scrolled through your imaginary schedule: no, you had absolutely nothing to do.
"Uh, not really."
He nodded and pursed his lips, shifting them to one side. "We could watch a movie if you want."
The offer caught you off guard, and it was briefly reflected in the few seconds it took you to answer.
"A movie?"
"Yeah," he said, stepping away from the counter and taking a few paces toward you. "Got a decent collection, if you wanna pick one out."
You smiled, lacing your fingers together behind your back. "I get to choose?"
"I'll give you some recommendations," he said, ducking his head slightly, "but yeah, you get to choose."
Joel's living room. A couple minutes later.
In Joel’s living room, tucked beneath the TV stand, were two players: one DVD and one VHS, both functioning and in perfect condition. Right below them were two small cabinet doors, and when you opened them, there was his collection.
His DVD collection was smaller than his stash of VHS tapes, but that didn't mean it was small by any means. Discs were harder to keep intact over time; most of the ones out there in the world were scratched or cracked, but Joel had stumbled upon a massive stash of DVDs in mint condition at an apartment complex near Jackson a while back. Good Will Hunting, Magnolia, Drop Dead Gorgeous, Seven, Wayne's World, Thelma & Louise, Fargo, Pretty Woman, The Green Mile… and more. There were so many options it was hard to choose. A lot of them you’d never even seen. Most of them, in fact. So, you asked him to give you a quick rundown of each one and which he thought was best for right now. He suggested The Truman Show and Pretty Woman.
"It's got romance and all that," he said, sitting on the couch as he held up the plastic case of his second suggestion, using the romance angle as his main selling point.
You inevitably remembered his harsh words about romantic comedies from many, many weeks ago.
"From the first damn second I saw you," he continued, "half-dead out there in the snow—I felt sorry for you. Everythin' I've done since then's been outta pity. That's all it was. I can't even look at you without thinkin' you're broken. And it makes me sick."
Your throat tightened, something forming behind your eyes. You blinked, hard, and swallowed down the heat rising in your chest.
"If that's what you think, then—"
"And that night? That was a mistake. A fuckin' embarrassment. I hate thinkin' about it. It won't happen again."
"Good. I hated it."
Joel looked at you, jaw clenched, eyes sharp.
"Yeah. Good for you. Cause this ain't one of those fuckin' pathetic romantic comedies you like so much. So give it up."
You took the movie from his hands and looked at the cover, running your thumb over Julia Roberts' face.
"We can watch something else if you want."
Joel’s eyes scanned your face. "No, it's fine. I think you're gonna like this one."
"You sure?" You gave a slow, lopsided smile. "Isn't it just another pathetic romantic comedy?"
His brow furrowed in a confused look, mixed with a faint smile. "What?"
A beat. You sighed.
"A while ago, after what happened at my place that first time, remember? You said this wasn't like one of those pathetic romantic comedies I like."
The expression on Joel’s face began to soften piece by piece, his furrowed brow relaxing as the memory clearly came back to him.
"Right," he said, ducking his head a little. He laced his fingers together for a moment, looking down at his hands for a second before looking back up at you. "I said that, huh?"
You nodded, pursing your lips slightly. "Yeah. You said a lot of things."
He looked at you in silence.
"Can I ask you a question?" you asked after a moment.
"I don't think romantic comedies are pathetic."
"Don't worry about it," you smiled.
"It was mean. I'm sorry. I know you and Sophie liked 'em."
Your eyes locked onto his in complete silence. He looked genuinely ashamed.
"It's okay. And I know we talked about this, but," you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, "did you really mean it? What you said that day? Be honest."
Joel leaned back a bit and looked toward the coffee table, where several DVDs were piled up.
Maybe, maybe he didn't even remember it.
"Did you feel sorry for me?" you prompted him. "You said that every time you looked at me, you just thought I was broken and—"
"No." He shook his head. "I don't feel sorry for you, and I didn't back then, either."
A tight pressure gripped your chest. He looked back up at you.
"I needed to push you away," he confessed.
A beat.
"I know that. But… why?"
His eyebrows twitched. His eyes dropped down to your lap for a brief moment before tracing back up to your face.
"Because I ain't like this. Snow, I," he shook his head, "I don't do this. Not in a long time, I… For me, this is, this is new. That night at your place, things got out of hand pretty quick. I lost control."
You sat up a little straighter, your mind parsing through everything that had happened between you over the last few months.
You knew he wanted to keep his distance; you knew he had a tendency to shut down. But you had never considered it was about physical intimacy. It hadn't even crossed your mind that that would be an issue for him. He certainly hadn't made it seem like one.
"There wasn't anyone else before?" you asked. "I mean, in these last few years."
He squeezed one hand with the other, his brow furrowing slightly.
Yeah. There had been. He didn't have to say it out loud; you could read it plain as day in his body language.
"It's okay, you don't have to tell me."
Joel bit his lower lip, a rare hint of nerves, and watched you as you shifted further back into the couch until your spine met the cushions.
He hesitated for a moment, and you instantly resented yourself for throwing out such a blunt question without thinking it through.
"Tess," he said.
You froze. Tess. You turned the name over in your mind. Speaking felt risky right now.
"She was by my side for a long time, before I came to Jackson," he continued, keeping his eyes away from yours. "But it wasn't like this."
"How do you mean?"
He looked up at you. "Don't know. It was... We kept each other company for a lot of years, did a lot of things where we used to live. They weren't necessarily good things, but they were what was needed."
"Where did you live before?"
"Boston."
"Oh, right."
He rubbed his hands together, a nervous habit. "Yeah. Anyway."
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked you something like that."
Joel gave a gentle shake of his head. "It's alright. Don't worry about it."
You dropped your gaze to your hands. "Well, if it's worth anything, this is all pretty new and strange for me, too. I've never really done this with anyone before. Not like this."
"And what're you thinkin' so far?"
You smiled little by little, lifting your eyes to meet his. "It's been pretty nice."
Joel nodded, a soft smile spreading across his lips as he reached out and took the Pretty Woman DVD case from your lap. He held it up next to his face.
"We're watchin' this one."
Unable to help yourself, you grinned and slid over toward him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your lips against his. Joel seemed caught off guard for a fraction of a second, but his arms came around you immediately, pulling you flush against his chest.
You weren't going to tell him, but that tiny glimpse into his past meant everything to you. You knew he wasn't one for big words, and you knew how hard it was for him to open up about certain things, but he had done it in his own way, and that meant so much.
"Want somethin' hot to drink?" he murmured against your lips.
You hummed. "Yeah."
"Tea or coffee?"
You thought about it for a second. "Whatever you're having."
The sun poured warm and bright into Joel’s living room, even with the curtains drawn. At least with the fabric blocking the glare, the harsh rays weren't striking you directly.
It wasn't even two in the afternoon yet. Resting on the coffee table in the center of the room were your two empty coffee mugs and a plate scattered with crumbs from the blueberry pie you’d brought over yesterday, which you’d both finished off a little while ago.
With your stomach full and the quiet peace of the early afternoon settling in, your eyelids were growing heavier by the minute, even though you’d already slept for hours last night and earlier this morning. It didn't help that Joel was right there beside you; you were tucked into his side, wedged comfortably between the back of the couch and his outstretched body, your head resting on his chest while your eyes stayed glued to the TV screen.
You could tell he’d been drifting in and out of sleep because the second you asked a question or made a comment, he’d snap awake to answer before instantly passing out again.
"She is so gorgeous," you murmured at one point, watching Vivian appear on screen in that stunning red dress with the white gloves and her hair elegantly pinned up.
Joel’s eyes flew open. He stared blankly at the screen for a split second and muttered:
"Yeah."
A second later, his breathing went heavy again. He was already fast asleep.
By the time the movie neared its final act, you had formed a definitive opinion on it: you absolutely loved it. You deeply envied anyone who had gotten to live out their adulthood during that era. You would have loved to see a movie like this in a real theater, to let Vivian inspire you in a few ways; her hairstyles, maybe, or that radiant smile. Or maybe you'd have gone out to find your very own Richard Gere. Then again, right now you had a handsome older man of your own right beneath you. That had to count for something, didn't it?
Carefully, you slipped off the couch, trying not to disturb Joel, and walked over to the TV to take out the DVD. You tucked it back into its case and left it on the coffee table, where the other stacked discs caught your eye.
Inevitably, you ended up sliding another one into the player. The Bourne Identity. A man who can't remember who he is but possesses a lot of inexplicable skills. It caught your attention simply because it sounded interesting, and you remembered having a crush on Matt Damon back when you were little and your dad used to watch movies in the living room.
You took the disc out of its case, popped it into the player, and the moment the movie started, you hurried right back to your spot next to Joel, being careful not to press too hard against his chest or any of his sore spots.
As you rested your face against his chest, your eyes locked onto his neck, just inches from your face. He had that prominent mark running around his throat, purple and slightly greenish at the edges; the clear evidence of an act of violence you didn't even want to picture. It looked like exactly what it was: someone had bound him, choked him, or tried to do something worse.
Yesterday, the mark had been much more vivid, and while it still looked bad, it had softened just a fraction.
You let out a quiet sigh, your eyes continuing to trace his face and the marks left behind while Joel remained fast asleep. His breathing was steady, his chest rising and falling in total relaxation, while a hundred different thoughts and questions raced through your mind. Above all, you wondered: what on earth had happened to him in Ridgeway?
It wasn't like you were going to ask him, and it wasn't like he was going to tell you, but just thinking about it brought a dull ache to your chest.
Instinctively, you draped your arm across his chest, holding him gently as you closed your eyes.
The movie was barely ten minutes in when you drifted off to sleep.
A nap later
At some point in the afternoon, a few knocks at the door jolted you out of your comfortable nap.
Joel woke up instantly, and the sudden movement of his body jolted you awake too. You were still draped over him with your arm resting across his stomach, but you quickly pulled back as the knocking came a second time. The TV was still on, but the movie had already finished and the main menu had been looping for God knows how long.
Joel rubbed his face with one hand, giving your arm a gentle squeeze before he began to sit up.
"What time is it?" he asked, his eyes half-lidded and covered with sleep.
"I don't know."
He sat on the edge of the couch and looked back at you. His hair was a bit messy, his eyes glossy, and a faint smirk lingered on his lips as he stood up with a quiet groan.
"Be right back."
Lying back down, you watched him walk away and stretched your arms over your head. Then, you sat up on the cushions and grabbed the remote, muting the TV and leaning back to stretch your body one more time.
From where you sat, you heard Joel walk to the door and swing it open.
Were you even supposed to be here? Should you hide? Was he going to let whoever it was inside?
You didn't know. You weren't sure how careful you both needed to be with all of this; you’d never stayed over at his place for this long before. You’d already had that slightly awkward encounter with Ellie a while back, though of course, that was different. Joel trusted her, and you trusted her, too.
"Emily." Joel’s voice sounded flat and tinged with surprise as he said her name. You froze on the couch.
"Hey. Sorry, were you sleeping?"
"Uh—"
"I came by earlier this morning but I figured you were sleeping then, too. Just came to drop this off."
Footsteps, a few of them. Emily stepped inside the house. You pressed yourself harder against the back of the couch, though it was mostly pointless; it was positioned right in front of the archway separating the living room and the hallway.
"You didn't have to do that," Joel said. "Here, I'll take it."
Quick, get up and move to the other corner.
You shifted immediately and the hardwood gave a slight creak beneath your feet.
Emily laughed. "No, it's fine—Oh."
Her laugh stopped short.
You looked up toward the hallway, feeling a sudden wave of heat rush up your spine to the back of your neck and your cheeks, feeling completely exposed for a split second. She was looking at you.
And just like that, the cozy safe bubble you’d been sharing with Joel since last night had been abruptly shattered by the eyes of an outsider. Well, not an outsider. Emily. She stood there frozen, holding a glass baking dish with a white plastic lid. Inside, you assumed, was food. Obviously.
Standing entirely still, you became painfully aware that you probably looked like a creature caught red-handed; wearing Joel's t-shirt, Joel's pants, Joel's socks...
Not that she explicitly knew they belonged to him, but she could easily piece it together seeing how everything was completely oversized on you. And either way, everyone knew what pajamas looked like, or what someone looked like when they'd just rolled out of bed.
"Snow," she said, her smile turning tight. Her eyes scanned down and up your body, flicked over to the paused TV screen, and then landed right back on you.
Beside her, Joel stood just as still and caught red-handed as you were, wearing a white t-shirt and sweatpants with no underwear underneath.
But Emily didn't know that. You did.
"Hi," you said, smiling like an idiot. You crossed your arms over your chest to cover yourself up.
She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't seem to find any useful words.
Turning back to Joel, she held out the dish. "Anyway, this is for you. And Maria said you can take tomorrow off too, if you want."
Joel’s eyes were fixed on you. He took the dish from her. "No, it's fine. I'll be there."
"Alright," Emily said, nodding as she stepped past Joel toward the front door. "Well, see you tomorrow." She glanced back at you, lifting her hand in a brief wave. "Bye, Snow."
"Bye, Emily."
She gave a faint smile and, in less than three seconds, turned and walked out the door. She left Joel standing in the middle of the hallway clutching the baking dish, and you, standing in the middle of the living room with your arms tightly crossed and an expression you weren't even sure how to label.
You looked over at Joel as a nervous, slightly baffled smile began to tug at your lips.
He raised his eyebrows. "Didn't know she was comin' by."
"Yeah, no shit," you said, shaking your head. "She saw me like this."
Joel’s eyes drifted down your body before he shrugged a single shoulder, completely dismissing your worried tone.
"She ain't gonna say nothin'."
Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and started walking toward the kitchen. Your mouth dropped open at the sight of him, and you followed right behind without a second thought.
"How do you know that?"
"Ain't none of her business."
You huffed a laugh. "And?"
"Eh, I don't think Emily's the type to go gossiping around."
Once inside the kitchen, he set the baking dish down on the counter.
You stopped right beside him. "Oh, because you know her so well."
Joel tilted his head and raised an eyebrow, as if to say of course I do.
You felt your cheeks flare up again. "And now she's bringing you food?"
Joel hummed.
You furrowed your brow. "Does she always just walk in like it's nothing? I could have been naked or something."
He snorted a laugh. "Naked, huh?"
"You know perfectly well that was a possibility."
"Yeah, well," he dipped his head, "good thing you weren't."
Without blinking, you stared him down and crossed your arms tightly over your chest.
"Yeah, lucky us," you said, pressing your lips together. "Next time, tell her it's rude to just barge into a house that isn't hers. Unless you don't mind it, of course."
"It's the first time she's ever come by here."
You raised your eyebrows in pure disbelief. "Worse then."
Joel laughed softly and leaned both palms against the counter. He shook his head gently, his eyes bright with amusement, and asked:
"You don't like her, then?"
You clenched your jaw slightly before forcing yourself to relax, letting out a sigh as your gaze drifted down toward the fridge and the magnets on it. Your eyes lingered on the photo of Joel.
Uh-uh. "No. No, I don't."
"No? Why not?"
You shrugged a shoulder and looked back at him. "I don't know. I know she isn't mean or anything, I just don't like the way she deals with people."
Joel furrowed his brow. "How's that?"
You searched your mind for the right words, but the only ones you could find were simple and honest.
"She can be a bit cold. Or dismissive," you said, raising your eyebrows. "Sometimes I've seen people go up to her to ask a question or request something, and I just don't like the way she treats them. She isn't mean," you lifted a hand, "but she's just a bit indifferent and detached."
He gave a slow nod.
"And I had that completely confirmed this past week," you continued. "Every single time I asked her if there was any news about Ridgeway, she wouldn't tell me anything, she wouldn't even look me in the eye. She just kept saying there was no news," you tilted your chin up a bit, "and then later I'd find out they'd gotten a radio call or something. Even Eliza didn't know about half of it because Emily just wouldn't tell her anything. And it's not like it was confidential information or anything like that. She needed to know, her husband was out in Ridgeway too."
Joel let out a slow breath through his nose. "Didn't know that."
"Yeah? Well, I'm not surprised. She seems plenty nice and attentive with you," you said, raising a single eyebrow. "Maybe she's just selective."
He narrowed his eyes slightly, and you bit the inside of your cheek when you caught the faint smirk on his lips.
"I just don't think it's right for someone in her position to look down on people or act like she can't be bothered," you continued. "Because I’ve been there too and I know people are constantly asking questions and looking for things they need. So, okay, it's her job," you crossed your arms again, "then she should do her job. I swear I cannot stand people who get the tiniest bit of authority and immediately turn their backs on everyone else. We're all in the same boat here in Jackson, anyway, even the ones making the calls."
Suddenly, he stopped blinking. He just stared at you, nodding slowly as he began to straighten up, leaning his hip against the counter. Mimicking your posture and never breaking eye contact, he crossed his arms over his chest.
"Well, you're right," he said. "And I believe you, 'cause you're gettin' so fired up you're actually blushin'."
You clicked your tongue. "I am not fired up."
"Really?"
"Really," you said, opening your eyes wider. "Just… just tell her to do her job. I know you can do that because you used to do it to me all the time."
He frowned. "That ain't true."
"Joel," you smiled, "come on."
"I never—"
"Yeah."
"I never told you to do your job because you did your job," he said, pointing a finger at you. "What I did tell you was to stop botherin' me with everything else."
You snorted, knowing he had a point. "That is not true. You used to get annoyed even when I was just in silence."
He pressed his lips together. "You weren't exactly in silence, properly speakin'."
"Why? Because I was breathing?"
"And those little sighs you'd make every few pages while you were reading," Joel said, gesturing with his hand. "Always made me wonder what the hell was happening in that book to make you react like that."
"Oh Jesus," you rolled your eyes. "How many more times are you going to bring up the sighs? Get over it, man. You were annoying too."
Joel furrowed his brow, but a lopsided smile broke through. "Was I? Not anymore?"
"I'm not so sure about that."
"What was it you called me once?" He narrowed his eyes, trying to recall. "The most insensitive, proud, arrogant man you've ever met?"
Mmm. Something like that. If you remembered correctly, he was actually leaving out a few choice adjectives.
You're the most insensitive, thoughtless, proud, arrogant man I've ever met. And believe me, I've met a hell of a lot of assholes. It was something along those lines, if your memory wasn't failing you.
"Yeah, well," you shrugged, "you told me I was the most unbearable, incoherent, reckless, and delusional woman too. But who's counting, right?"
A low laugh broke from his chest.
What was so funny, huh?
Uncrossing your arms, you turned back toward him and said,
"Why don't you use some of that attitude on Emily, huh?" You tapped his arm. "Maybe that way she'll actually do her job right."
Without waiting for an answer, you spun on your heel and turned your back to him, your legs moving with determination toward the hallway as you planned to head back to the living room. But before you could even take five paces, Joel caught you by the elbow. He arrested your movement, pulling you gently backward and anchoring you flush against him with one large hand wrapped just above your belly button.
He brought his chest right against your back, his mouth dipping down close to your ear.
"Well, I got a better idea. Why don't I just tell Emily we need her help somewhere else and you put that pretty little ass of yours back at the desk across from mine?"
Your mouth dropped open, completely caught off guard by the words. "Joel."
"What?"
You clicked your tongue. "I can't, and you know it."
"I know. And I get the school thing, but Erin’s got plenty of help from Fabrizio and everyone else, and you could still keep doin' your work at the greenhouse either way."
"I do patrols now, too."
He hummed. "Only two days a week."
The way he was talking (like a little red devil perched right on your left shoulder) was pretty manipulative. But you knew exactly where his insistence was coming from.
You were having a good time, and you were getting along well too. You’d be lying if you said you didn't want to spend more time with him. But that was exactly where a clear sharp line needed to be drawn. Because what kind of relationship would you even have if you saw each other almost every single day, and during the nights, too? Didn't he think about that?
Since this whole arrangement had started, you really did enjoy being with him. To be fair, you’d always enjoyed his company, even back when you got along terribly, and you’d actually told him that. You didn't know why, just that you felt comfortable around him. But now, there was a much deeper layer to it, because you were genuinely getting along.
You’d told him just last night: how long could a good streak like this really last if you saw each other every single day, and how long would it take before you or he completely got sick of each other again?
"We already talked about this last night," you said.
"I know, and I get it, alright?"
"Do you?" You turned your head a bit to get a better look at him.
He pressed his lips together, puffing out the top one the way he always did.
"It's just a suggestion. Think about it."
You bit your lower lip slightly, your eyes scanning his face as Joel leaned forward; you could feel him hanging heavy against your lower back.
Averting your eyes from his face, you leaned back, pressing harder against him until you could feel his outline perfectly defined against your backside. You felt him let out a soft huff against your ear.
"Talk to Emily," you said, placing your hand over his on your stomach before brushing it away and stepping away from him.
Joel chuckled low behind you, letting out a rough sigh.
Without looking back, you made your way to the living room.
The clock above the fireplace read half past four in the afternoon, and the light filtering through the curtain and the window was still bright, though just a fraction paler than before.
You sank into the couch and folded your hands in your lap, wondering if this was the right time to leave. You weren't entirely sure. Joel wasn't giving anything away, but then again, you couldn't really rely on his cues. Maybe he wanted you to go, or needed some time to himself and didn't know how to say it. But then again, had he ever actually held anything back?
"What're you doin'?" he asked, appearing through the archway a second later and dropping down beside you. Shifting his hips forward slightly, he took your outstretched legs and rested them across his lap.
A soft laugh escaped you.
Jesus, he truly could act like a needy man.
"Nothing."
"Watch Bourne Identity?"
"Only a few minutes. I fell asleep right away."
He nodded, looking at the screen where the menu was still looping on mute.
"Want to watch somethin' else?" he asked, looking over at you.
You stretched your legs out further across his lap, and he gave your knee a squeeze.
"Do you?"
He pursed his lips. "Sure. Choose somethin'."
You smiled faintly and straightened up a bit, resting your hands between your knees.
He clearly noticed your hesitation; his eyes locked onto your face, waiting for you to speak.
You gave a slightly uncertain smile, feeling your heart flutter with a touch of nervousness.
"You know, I was wondering just a minute ago," you swallowed, dropping your gaze down his chest, "is it really okay for me to stay here this long?"
"What's that mean?"
You looked at him in silence for a second, wondering if he genuinely wasn't understanding the question.
"Well, I mean, is it okay? Or, you know, maybe it's too much?" You frowned, frustrated with how you were phrasing your thoughts.
He lowered his gaze to his hand on your knee.
"You wanna leave?"
"No," you rushed to say, and his eyes snapped back up to your face. "It's not that. I just thought that maybe, I don't know, maybe you wanted some time to yourself? Or something."
Joel let out a soft, lopsided smile, looking at you out of the corner of his eye.
Gradually, he turned his head toward you, taking you in completely.
What could he tell you? He certainly couldn't tell you that he didn't want to be alone. Though that was a bit limiting; Joel didn't want you to stay just because he didn't want to be alone. He wanted you to stay because he wanted to be with you.
Was that wrong? Was it too much?
Every time he asked himself that (and it had been several times between yesterday and today), he answered himself in silence with the memory of the last seven days. Those five days of the journey to and within Ridgeway had nearly drained the life out of him completely. His body had been beaten and cut; his eyes had seen more violence in a span of days than during his last year in Jackson.
He really thought that was it. The first few times they pressed a gun to his temple, he was sure they would pull the trigger, and that time they wrapped a rope around his neck and pulled and pulled until he thought his bones would snap, he swore that was it.
But it wasn't, somehow. And he thought of Ellie, of the last hug she’d given him before he left the house; he thought of Tommy, of Benji perched on Maria’s lap. But he thought of you too, and how he’d only left a simple letter. Because he’d thought it wasn't necessary to wake you—what for? He figured he’d be right back. Two days at most. But the time dragged on, and so did the suffering.
Upon his return, his body began to ache. It was as if every muscle and nerve had stayed rigid and numb right up until he crossed the gates into Jackson. He didn't even know how he’d managed to make it all the way back without collapsing. But the moment he arrived, and after settling everything with the guys (even after Hale checked him over and patched him up) his body remained tense.
He didn't feel anything, just a strange ache that ran through him like a massive bruise, one so constant it had already gone unnoticed.
But when he saw you outside Hale’s place, he knew he must be broken. Because on your face, he found the pain he was feeling. You looked at him like he was a ghost; your glassy eyes pierced right through his chest, and he felt the urge to touch you. But before he could do much of anything, you left.
You left, and he didn't see you again until that afternoon, when you made him understand in a rather direct way that you wanted him to leave you alone.
And he wasn't gonna tell you, but he saw right through you. It didn't hurt that you pushed him away. Well, maybe a little; it was hard for him to admit he'd been excited to see you. But he knew your attitude under that weeping willow was a normal reaction. You were angry. And you’d probably been scared, too. So, in situations like these, he just had to give you space; that was a lesson he’d learned many, many decades ago.
The next day, when he ran into Zach at the dining hall and Zach told him you were heading over to his place, he wasn't surprised. He’d been waiting for it, though he felt a wave of relief knowing the wait had been short.
The night before, he hadn't been able to sleep much, but with you here, he’d slept so deeply his eyes were still a little puffy. You tangled yourself around him like ivy; arms, legs, fingers, every part of you intertwined with his, keeping him warm after so many cold and cruel nights.
And it might be selfish, this need to want you here. Surely you had other things you wanted to do, other people to see. Or maybe you didn't, but you had to leave anyway. Joel didn't care; selfishly, he wanted you all to himself, just for today.
So yeah, he wanted you to stay. Just a bit longer. Because he needed and wanted the tenderness of your presence. And the wasn't anything he could do against it.
"Don't need no time to myself," he assured you then. He swallowed. "Stay here tonight."
Your eyes widened just a fraction. Joel knew what he said had caught you by surprise.
"You sure?" you asked softly.
He nodded. "Yeah. And tomorrow mornin' we both go back to our own things, how's that sound?"
You smiled. "Sounds good to me. Though I don't have any clothes," you raised your eyebrows slightly. "I should go grab something to wear tomorrow."
"Alright."
You nodded. "Okay."
He nodded. "Yeah. I'm sure we'll find somethin' to keep us busy later."
That surprised a chuckle out of you.
You placed your hand over his on your knee. "You really are a dirty old man."
Joel rolled his eyes, feigning exasperation, and shook his head.
"I meant watchin' movies or cookin'. You're the one with the dirty mind."
You hummed, not buying it. "Yeah. Well, you're probably already tired anyway."
He clicked his tongue. "Don't be so sure about that. That nap was pretty revivin'."
Hours later
"See you in a bit." Stretching up on your toes, you gave Joel a quick peck on the lips.
A second later, he opened the front door and you stepped across the threshold, wearing the dress you’d arrived in, your boots, and one of his jackets. Today was much cooler than yesterday, and if you walked back to your place with nothing but what you'd brought, you were going to freeze.
Joel watched you walk away for a moment, closing the door only when you disappeared from his line of sight. Immediately, the house felt quiet again.
For a while, he distracted himself by tidying up and cleaning. He went up to his bedroom and made the bed, straightening things here and there, and left the pajamas he’d lent you neatly folded on the mattress. He dusted the dresser in front of the window, arranging the picture frames on top, and swept every corner of the room as best he could.
Downstairs, he wiped down the already clean kitchen counter. He cleaned the cabinets, then the windowpanes and the backyard door, and just as he was drying the glass, he noticed Ellie arriving at the garage.
She opened the door and slipped inside right away, and Joel didn't hesitate for a single second to seize the opportunity.
He stepped out into the yard, feeling the cool air raise the hairs on his arms, and hesitated for a second before knocking on the garage door.
From the other side, he heard a few muffled noises, and a moment later, the door swung open.
"Hey. What's up?" she said. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair was a bit a mess.
"Out early today," Joel said, stepping inside. The girl moved aside to let him pass. "Where'd you go?"
"Had plans with Jesse."
"Ah, Jesse," he rested his lower back against the desk and crossed his arms, smiling. "What kind of plans?"
Ellie frowned and shook her head. "Don't start. It's not like that. What're you doin' here anyway? Don't you got company?" She raised her eyebrows.
In a split second, the smile vanished from Joel's face, and he went completely still.
Ellie tilted her head and waited a beat. "Look, I know Snow's here. I saw you guys earlier."
Joel frowned but didn't say a word.
"I was hungry," she tossed her head back, "so I went into the kitchen to grab some food and heard the TV. You were wiped out."
He stepped away from the desk. "Ellie, look—"
"Please, just don't say anything," she said, holding up both hands and shaking her head. A faint smirk tugged at her lips. "I already knew. I mean, I knew there was something, I just didn't think it was so... you know—"
"We're just friends."
"Yeah, right," she rolled her eyes. "Great friends."
Joel hesitated as he tried to speak again, suddenly feeling really nervous. He rubbed the back of his neck and let out a sigh.
"Snow and I... we're gettin' along, and—"
"Joel, chill, you're not my dad," she cut him off, waving a hand. "You don't gotta give me some speech like you're tryin' to convince me to like my new mommy or whatever—"
"Ellie."
She stopped talking, and her eyes softened, but Joel still had his brow furrowed, his thoughts tangled up in his head.
"I like Snow," she said. "And I like that you guys are... friends."
Joel pursed his lips and watched her for a brief moment; the look on her face and the softness in Ellie's eyes held no lie or forced reassurance.
He knew she liked you. He knew the two of you had formed a bond while he was away. And suddenly, he wondered if his relationship with you would affect yours with her. Lately, Ellie hadn't been very expressive with him, but he’d seen how she was around you. He hoped that wouldn't change.
"I'm fixin' to make a good dinner tonight. Snow's stayin' over too," he rested a hand on his hip. "How's about you come on over and join us?"
Ellie smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Sounds great. But… maybe another time? I'm pretty wiped, and I still gotta go see Dina."
"Yeah? What for?"
"She found a few parts we were missin' to finish some traps," she leaned back, dropping onto the couch. "We're headin' out early tomorrow to test them."
Joel nodded. "Rabbits?"
"Hopefully."
"Right. Well, I'll leave a plate out for you anyway, alright? We'll have dinner around eight, just in case you change your mind," he nodded. "I know Snow'd like to see you."
Ellie nodded. "Okay. Did you give her the portrait?"
Joel nodded. "And how're you comin' along with the herbs and all that?"
"Almost done with a few of them," she smiled. "I'm headin' to the greenhouse tomorrow to show Snow what I got."
"You could show her now, you know. She'll be back in a bit."
"Nah, I'm good. Don't wanna interrupt whatever's about to go down in there," she said, holding up a hand.
Joel clicked his tongue.
"What?" She raised her eyebrows. "I didn't know you were the type to cuddle up on the couch like that. Ugh," she shuddered, faking a chill.
Joel let out a chuckle, Ellie echoed it.
"Alright. Take care of yourself then," he lifted his chin. "And tomorrow, let's get some dinner, just you and me. How's that sound? Whatever you want."
She pursed her lips. "Can you make that meatloaf you do?"
"Course. An extra large one."
"Alright," she nodded.
Joel smiled and took a few steps toward her. Reaching out, he gave the crown of Ellie’s head a quick affectionate rub. She ducked her head, immediately clicking her tongue.
"Watch yourself out there, alright? And don't be gettin' back late," Joel said, moving toward the open door. "Don't go doin' anything reckless."
Ellie snorted. "You neither, Casanova."
Joel hid a chuckle as he turned around to head back inside the house.
Your house. Ten minutes later.
You got home around half past five in the afternoon. Stepping inside, you caught the scent of the flowers on your coffee table and the entryway stand, mixed with the soap you used for your laundry.
You didn't linger. You went straight to your bedroom, tossed your dress onto the small couch in the corner and kicked your boots to the side, wrapping your arms around your bare body.
The closet doors stood open, and your naked reflection stared back at you as you stepped closer to find something to wear.
Your cheeks were flushed from the walk, and your hair was a bit a mess. But there was a particular shine in your eyes that made you pause and just look at yourself for a moment. It was as if your skin were glowing, as if the expression on your face had suddenly softened.
On your neck, there were two small marks, faint and nearly invisible, that Joel had left either last night or this morning, you weren't entirely sure. But your fingers brushed up to touch them, and it was as if you could feel his mouth there all over again.
You smiled like a fool, your eyes drifting down your body; they passed over the scar on your jawline, the scars on your collarbone, just beneath your ribs, and further down on your right thigh, where several small but distinct marks barely revealed themselves.
You tilted your head, observing yourself and suddenly seeing a difference. As you did, a lock of hair fell across your face.
You caught it between your fingers and breathed it in, then gathered a handful more. Burying your nose in the strands, you closed your eyes.
You smelled like him. From the strands of hair between your fingers to your very skin; his soap, his shampoo—him. The same clean scent of his fresh sheets, the exact same scent that was woven into his skin. You carried it now, and the feeling brought a flutter to your stomach that made every hair on your body stand up.
Well, that, and the fact that you were naked and your house was freezing.
Jesus, stop being so corny, what's the point?
The more time you spent staring at yourself in the mirror, the longer it would take to get back to Joel. So you finally turned away, moved along, and headed into the bathroom.
You took a quick shower without getting your hair wet, since you'd washed it just that morning, and went through your usual routine. With your skin soft and clean and your body much warmer than before, you stepped out of the shower wrapped in a towel. Your feet weren't cold anymore, and neither were your fingers.
Back in the bedroom, you misted yourself with rosewater and put on a little bit of everything you owned, smelling like a dessert all over again and feeling like one, too. You ran your fingers through your hair, brushed it out a little, and reached for the small wooden box inside your nightstand. From it, you took your necklace and fastened it around your neck.
Opting for comfort and practicality, you pulled on a pair of straight-leg jeans that hugged you perfectly up top, thanks to some alterations Isa had done, along with a cropped white tee and a slightly loose black sweater. You were right on the verge of putting on sneakers, but you chose your boots again. There wasn't much use fighting against something both cozy and cute.
Okay, what did you need to bring for tonight?
You grabbed a tote bag and tossed in clean underwear, your hairbrush, and a few other small things. Carefully, you folded the jacket Joel had lent you earlier and slid it inside as well.
You didn't waste any more time. You bundled up in his other jacket (which, technically, was already yours) and went into the kitchen to grab the blueberry pie you’d left in the fridge yesterday. You’d only tried a tiny slice to make sure it tasted right. You packed it into a plastic container and carefully settled it into your bag, strategically arranging everything underneath and around it so it wouldn't shift in any way.
Giving yourself one last look in the mirror and knowing that at Joel’s place, nothing but a tiny little hand mirror awaited you, you stepped out of your house just as the sun in the sky began to turn that sea of blue into a field of orange and pink.
Joel's house. Late afternoon.
The second Joel opened the front door, a delicious aroma hit your nose.
"Mmm," you breathed in, stepping into the entryway. "What am I smelling?"
Joel took the bag from your hand and closed the door behind you. With a smile, he lifted his chin and nodded toward the kitchen.
He’d changed his clothes and wasn't in his sleepwear anymore, but in jeans, boots, and a flannel shirt.
He look so good.
"Go on and look," he said.
Smiling, you walked over as the scent grew even richer. Your eyes instantly locked onto the pot on the stove. You stepped closer while he carefully took the container with the blueberry pie out of the bag and set it on the counter.
Inside the pot, vegetables were simmering away, releasing a thick sweet steam, covered and surrounded by a dark glossy sauce.
"Is there wine in this?"
He nodded, and your mouth watered instantly.
"Started a good while ago," he came up beside you. "Seared the venison, took it out, cooked down the veggies with the wine, and threw the meat back in. It's been stewin' for a while now. You real hungry?"
Smiling, you looked at him out of the corner of your eye. "I didn't know you knew your way around a kitchen like this."
"I don't know that much," he shook his head. "Just a few things I'm fixin' to stick with forever."
You laughed. "Is this one of your specialties?"
"Yeah. This, and the meatloaf I'm makin' for Ellie tomorrow."
"Oh, did you see her? Is she here?"
"No, she left a while ago. But we talked for a bit," he nodded. "Said she was headin' to the greenhouse tomorrow to see you. Wants to show you what she’s done with the herbs."
You were genuinely excited to see what Ellie had been working on. You thought it was incredibly sweet of her to want to help you out with all of this, and you were sure you’d find a way to thank her properly. Favors are favors, and they ought to be repaid right.
"I can't wait to see what she's done."
Joel smiled. "You're gonna like it."
It was only fair that you set the table. While Joel cooked, you arranged the plates, silverware, and everything else, though you still felt like you had too much time on your hands. But you distracted yourself by picking something to listen to; Joel had a box full of cassettes and handed over the authority for you to choose the music. You picked a Fleetwood Mac compilation and spent the rest of the time keeping yourself occupied with the glass of wine he had left on the table for you.
You had rarely ever had wine. Looked like almost never before arriving in Jackson. But here, they had a decent amount of alcohol, both produced by the community and brought in from the outside. Cider was pretty common, as was whiskey, but wine was a much trickier thing to come by for some reason. Joel, being who he was and knowing the people he knew, had a few bottles tucked away in a small cabinet in his kitchen.
He wouldn't let you help with the cooking, insisting he had it under control. That left you with only one job: sitting at the kitchen island with a glass of wine, just watching him. It wasn't like he had a whole lot to do after a while anyway, since the meat pretty much cooked itself, only needing a quick check every now and then. During that stretch of time, he pulled up a stool next to you with his own glass of wine, and the two of you talked about everything and nothing, mostly just casual drift.
"Pet Sematary," he said, bringing the glass to his lips.
"Never read that one."
He raised his eyebrows. "You ain't ever read Pet Sematary?"
You shook your head. "No. I only read Carrie, and honestly it didn't really make me feel any better."
"You gotta read Pet Sematary. Reckon it’s one of the few books I actually finished cover to cover when I was a kid."
"Weren't you big on reading?"
"Preferred doin' other things," he said, tilting his head. "But I got that book for Christmas one year, and then I caught the flu and spent a week in bed. Read the whole damn thing. Let me tell you, havin' a fever dream after readin' somethin' like that wasn't nice."
You laughed. "Is it really that terrifying?"
"Well, I was eleven. Doubt it’d scare me none now."
"I remember my parents watching the movie once, but I didn't pay much attention. I wasn't really into horror. Either that, or it scared me and I just didn't want to look." You suddenly sat up straighter. "You know what book I know you’d love?"
He frowned just a fraction.
"Lonesome Dove, by Larry McMurtry," you said. "You ever read it?"
"Not that I recall."
"It's about two old Texas Rangers who decide to drive a huge herd of cattle all the way from the Mexican border up to Montana. But they run into just about everything along the trail. It’s a Western, so you can picture it. Storms, bandits, different towns. I loved it when I read it, it's incredibly entertaining and," you raised a finger, "deep. It’s not just about the adventure, you know? It’s about the fact that the whole world around them is changing. It's the end of the Old West."
He nodded. "Modernity."
"Exactly. And they’re old men from a generation that spent their entire lives chasing outlaws and living in places where the government had no control. But everything’s becoming obsolete, you know? Their whole way of life."
"Yeah," he smiled, "it happens."
"I've got it on my bookshelf if you'd like to read it," you raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah, I'd like that. I gotta give you my notes or somethin' afterward?"
You laughed. "Only if you want to."
Dinner turned out to be an absolute triumph. You sat with him at the table by the window, savoring every single bite. The venison was incredible; the meat was so tender it practically melted in your mouth, to the point where you didn't even need a knife; you could cut it with just your fork. The vegetables were delicious and just as tender, their rich flavors almost making you want to roll your eyes in pure bliss.
Joel, of course, got a little cocky about it. There was a smug smirk playing on his face that he was clearly trying to hide. Still, you secretly suspected the man hadn't even realized it was going to turn out this damn good.
Between the waiting in the kitchen and the dinner itself, the two of you finished the first bottle of wine without even noticing. Midway through the meal, Joel cracked open the second one, which turned out to be just as delicious. You were really starting to get a taste for it; the flavor paired so well with the food that you couldn't bring yourself to turn down another glass, and then another, and maybe another.
And you weren't sure if it was the alcohol or something else, but you’d gotten so hot you shed your sweater before your third glass.
By the time you finished your second helping, you knew the alcohol was starting to do its thing. You felt it first in your feet, in that pleasant buzzing warmth around your skin, and then in the floating lightweight feeling warming up your chest. But most of all, you knew it because your eyes started losing their modesty.
You caught yourself tracking the movement of his lips every time he spoke or took a sip from his glass, your gaze lingering without a shred of hurry. You got completely pulled in, watching his profile under the soft light; the sharp line of his jaw, the crinkles around his eyes when he smiled. Your eyes drifted down to his hands, tracing the veins standing out against his rolled up sleeves, and you couldn't stop a clumsy wine addled thought from taking over your mind: oh wow… his fingers are really, really thick.
But there wasn’t a thing you could do about it; the wine had already hijacked your filters, and your eyes stayed exactly where they wanted to be. You knew you were being obvious, taking way too many seconds to meet his gaze whenever he spoke, like a woman suddenly turned shy.
And Joel, of course, wasn’t any fool. He noticed.
You caught the shift almost instantly. He stopped talking so animatedly, and his rhythm eased into a lazy drawn out cadence as his voice dropped a register, turning deeper and huskier.
His posture in the chair relaxed, leaning just a little closer to your side of the table, cutting down the distance between you. His eyes, which had been fixed on yours, began making their own unhurried sweep across your face. They lingered on your wine flushed cheeks, dipped for a split second to your mouth when you bit your lip, and drifted back up. He held your gaze for a long stretch of time, sending a tingle straight down the back of your neck.
When he picked up his glass, his fingers traced the curve of the crystal. A tiny, barely there tug pulled at the corner of his mouth; he knew exactly where your attention was anchored.
Oh, Jesus... you wanted to tear him apart.
But not here.
Dinner having ended quite a while ago, you got up from your chair and gathered your plate and his. Joel was up right after you; he cleared the glasses and the rest of the table, tucking the used napkins between his fingers while balancing the wine glasses and the empty bottle in his other hand.
Weaving your way into the kitchen, you placed the dishes into the sink with extra care, trying to let the clatter of the stoneware drown out just how hard your heart was thumping, and turned on the faucet. The rush of running water filled the room for barely a second before you felt his heat right behind you.
Joel stepped up right against your back. You felt the solid pressure of his chest nearly brushing your shoulder blades a moment before his arm shot past your side, planting his palm firmly against the edge of the counter, trapping you completely against it. His other free hand reached up without a hint of rush, gripping the handle and shutting off the faucet, cutting the water dead.
"Later," he said.
You felt his breath hit your neck, and your head tilted back on instinct. Understanding the invitation, Joel pressed his entire weight against your back. The solid unyielding feel of him felt so damn good you squeezed your eyes shut and smiled shamelessly.
His hand shifted from the edge of the counter, sliding down to your lower stomach. He flattened his palm there, pressing gently into the soft heat of your belly, before his hand began a steady inching crawl upward. At the same time, his lips found your exposed throat; he kissed you right there while his hand kept drifting up, caressing your chest. And as his palm brushed over your chest, his thumb grazed your nipple through the fabric of your shirt, catching a quiet sigh in your throat.
Your eyelids felt too heavy to keep open. Joel’s mouth kept tasting your neck with short nipping kisses and soft suctions, his hand traveling higher until his long fingers and broad palm wrapped around your throat, squeezing firmly from the sides.
A muffled groan tried to break free, but his grip trapped the sound against your skin, making the vibration rattle right in your vocal cords.
With a tug, Joel pulled your head back, forcing your spine to arch as he locked his hips tight against yours.
His other hand traced down your side, mapping the curve of your waist and hip, squeezing your flesh with a hunger that was driving you out of your mind. The wine and the friction of your bodies sparked a desperate ache between your thighs, and you didn't know how much longer you could go without tearing his pants off.
Sensing your restlessness, Joel nudged one of his legs between yours. With a firm shift of his thigh, he forced your legs apart and hitched his knee right into your center. You let your weight drop, desperate for the pressure, grinding down against him, but the thick denim of your jeans blocked the full sensation and the partial friction only fueled your frustration.
Joel caught onto your desperation and surged even harder against you, and you could feel him fully hard, a rigid ridge pressing into your backside through the layers of clothes. Unable to hold back, you reached a hand blindly behind you until you found the front of his pants, and wrapped your fingers around his crotch, squeezing firmly through the fabric.
The sudden boldness caught him off guard; Joel let out a low groan right against the skin of your neck as his grip on your throat tightened just a little more.
With a sudden jerk, he hauled you away from the counter. His hands dropped to your hips instantly, digging firmly into your flesh as he started steering you out of the kitchen.
A breathless nervous laugh slipped from your lips, cutting through the silence of the house as the two of you moved toward the hallway. And before you could even plant a foot on the bottom step of the stairs, you slapped his hands away, spun around, and bolted up the flight.
Halfway up, curiosity got the better of you, forcing you to glance back over your shoulder. Joel was already tracking you; his posture was stiffer, his eyes so dark and locked on yours. You let out a soft amused gasp and scrambled up the rest of the way.
As you cleared the final steps, your fingers hooked the hem of your shirt, yanking it cleanly over your head and dropping it behind you like a breadcrumb on the trail. Right before hitting the doorway of his bedroom, your hands flew to your back, unhooking your bra and letting it fall, too.
Joel trailed you without missing a beat. You heard him pause for a split second below to scoop your shirt off the floor, and then he kept coming, completely unhurried, stopping to grab the bra next. He was giving you a head start. He was granting you the exact window you needed to slip into the bedroom, kick off your boots, and shed your pants.
Hearing his heavy tread approach the threshold, you padded silently on bare feet into the bathroom. From inside, you caught the low huff that rumbled from his chest when he stepped into the room and found the bed empty.
The cool night air drifting through the bathroom window instantly prickled your skin, making your nipples harden and the hair on your arms stand up, but you didn't give a damn about the chill. You planted both hands flat and firm against the edge of the marble sink, arching your spine completely and tilting your ass toward the doorway; right at the perfect angle for where he was bound to appear in less than a heartbeat.
And yeah, just a heartbeat later, Joel filled the bathroom doorway. He stopped dead in his tracks, going completely still, frozen under the frame.
A thrill shot through you just from watching his reaction. Joel held your clothes in one hand, his eyes locked onto your bare skin, tracking the curve of your hips and your exposed ass. His jaw was clenched so hard the muscle bunched, and that sudden paralysis of sheer awe and desire on his face let you know you had him exactly where you wanted him.
Joel tossed your clothes onto the bathroom counter without a shred of care, while you stayed completely still, watching him. He tightened his jaw and brought his hands down to his waist.
Slowly, he unbuckled the metal latch of his belt; the leather creaked and the metal clinked in this quiet bathroom as he whipped it through the loops in one clean yank. Your pussy throbbed just looking at him; so mean, so serious, so intensely focused as he popped the button of his jeans and dragged the metal zipper down with a harsh rasp, never taking his eyes off you for a single second.
As he began to close the final few inches between you, an intense flutter turned your stomach over. Joel settled right behind you, planting one of his big heavy hands flat against your hip, digging into your skin to anchor you in place, while his other hand went straight for your center, hooking the fabric of your panties to the side.
Your breathing was already ragged and heavy, and your throat felt so dry you could barely swallow. Trying to hold onto that thread of control from the game, you tried to look back at him.
"You should get yourself a mirror," you murmured.
Joel huffed a laugh.
His thick warm fingers parted your wet folds. "Yeah," he said.
You shut your eyes instantly, letting out a low moan as you finally melted into his touch. His fingers were soaked in you immediately, sliding top to bottom. He brought the pad of his index finger up until he found your clit, pressing and rubbing in firm circles that made you flinch and arch your spine even deeper against him.
The wet obscene sound of his fingers moving inside you filled the bathroom instantly. But Joel took his time to torment you, sliding his middle finger along your slit and stretching your wetness before pushing a single knuckle inside your pussy. He went in easy, stretching you open, and a choked moan escaped your lips. A second later, he slipped a second finger in, opening you up from the inside, and began to thrust into your depths, curling his fingers upward to hook the exact spot that made you lose your mind.
"Shit, baby... you're fuckin' soaked," Joel growled in your ear, and the sound of his dirty voice only deepened the spasms already starting to ripple through your walls.
Your hands gripped the edge of the sink so hard your knuckles turned white.
The wet sounds of friction between his hand and your pussy were loud, giving away just how ready you were; every time he buried his fingers to the hilt, your eyelids grew heavier.
You started to lose all sense of rhythm, rolling your hips back on pure instinct, begging for more and more and more. But Joel didn't give in; he kept his hand steady, pumping inside you, catching your dirtiest, most shameless whimpers right out of the air.
"Joel, please," you stammered, letting your head drop forward. "Fuck me already, don't make me wait."
He cut his movements instantly. With a dragging touch, he slid his fingers out of your wetness. You lifted your head and licked your dry lips, desperately trying to catch your breath.
"You gettin' bossy on me now?" he asked.
A small smile tugged at your lips, and you glanced back over your shoulder. Joel already had his cock in his hand, stroking it up and down, using the same hand that was coated in your own slick. The sight of his size and the heavy veins tracing his shaft made you swallow hard.
"Over the sink, now. Put your hands further out and lean down," he ordered.
You obeyed instantly. You stretched your arms across the surface, planting your palms firmly against the cold marble that clashed sharply against the heat of your body. You slid further forward, arching your spine to the absolute limit and pushing your backside out, offering yourself to him completely.
Joel stepped forward, erasing the space between you. You felt the burning tip of his cock hunt for your entrance, pressing right where the ache of your need was loudest. Easy, he broke into you in one controlled heavy push, burying himself deep, inching further and further until he filled you to the brim.
He stretched you so wide you choked back a cry against the marble. He went dead still, granting you a few agonizing seconds for you to adjust to his thickness and squeeze tight around him. Feeling his pulse throbbing inside you was pure heaven.
Then, he started to move. At first, they were short testing thrusts, but as the rhythm leveled out, a whimper of pure relief slipped from your lips.
Joel took you at your word; he fucked you with relentless consistency, driving deep into you with every single stroke, making the wet echo of his hips slamming against your cheeks ring out through the bathroom. The moans spilled uncontrolled from your mouth, impossible to hold back.
Bit by bit, any trace of patience melted from his movements, turning harder. Joel reached a broad hand up to your shoulder and, with a firm yank, forced your upper body back, arching your spine flush against his chest. And without giving you a second to catch your breath, he shifted that same hand straight to your throat, squeezing with just enough pressure to pin you tight against him while he kept hammering into you from behind.
The shift in the angle made him sink even deeper, ripping cries and sobs of pure pleasure that vibrated right against the flat of his palm.
And just when you thought you couldn't open up any wider, Joel used his boot to nudge your foot, forcing your legs further apart. With a quick heavy grip, he hooked his free hand under your thigh and hoisted your leg up over the edge of the sink, splitting you completely wide open.
Locked in that vulnerable position, he started fucking you hard and fast, a pacing that completely stole your balance. Desperate, your hands scrambled to find a handhold on the wall or the counter, but you couldn't reach a damn thing; the sheer speed of his thrusts was rattling your entire body.
Joel had you pinned so tight against him that the only thing you could do was cling to his arms, burying your nails into his skin. You held onto him, feeling your one steady foot on the floor nearly lift with every strike, suspended in the air by the force of his hips.
To say you didn't recognize the sound of your own voice was an understatement; you didn't think you’d ever made noises as broken as the ones Joel was ripping out of you with every single thrust. It was a completely new sensation, being entirely undone, unable to do a damn thing but cling to him so you wouldn't shatter completely.
Slowly, his movements began to lose their speed, turning heavier. You felt his chest heave hard against your back as he dialed back the pace, locking you tight in his arms. He let your dangling foot finally find the floor, easing the strain on your muscles, and softened his grip on your body, though he stayed buried deep inside you.
Driven by the lingering slip of pleasure, you reached an arm back over your shoulder, searching for the touch of his skin. Your fingers found the nape of his neck and sank right into his curls, tangling in that soft hair you loved so much.
You tilted your head back, offering your lips in a silent plea, and Joel caught your jaw gently and planted a deep dragging kiss on your mouth.
While kissing you, his free hand carefully guided your leg down from the sink, helping you find your footing. He steered you away from the marble counter, backing you up toward the bathroom door.
Only when you hit the threshold did Joel pull out of you all at once, leaving a choked whine on your lips at the sudden cold absence. Before you could even protest, he brought his palm down in a stinging smack against your flushed ass.
"Bed," he ordered.
You moved toward the mattress immediately, your legs shaking and a delicious ache pooling between your thighs. You collapsed flat on your back against the mattress, sinking into the sheets, and hooked your fingers around the waistband of your wet panties, yanking them off and tossing them onto the floor. All while you watched him shadow over you from the dim light.
Your eyes, completely blown out, tracked Joel’s body as he stripped down under the faint light. He yanked his shirt off in one motion, revealing that broad torso, then kicked off his boots, and finally shed his pants, letting them pool on the floor.
God, he was so big. Huge everywhere; the width of his shoulders, the thickness of his ribcage, his massive arms, and that tremendous length pointing right back at you, glistening and heavy with thick veins.
You spread your legs wide on the mattress, begging him back, utterly unable to look away.
Joel climbed onto the bed, making the springs groan as he settled immediately between your open thighs. He gripped your knees, pushing them back toward your chest to split you open even wider, and lined his cock up with your pussy.
He slid in inch by inch, savoring the fit, stretching your already sensitive walls, but the second he was buried completely inside you, he gave you no quarter. He picked his rhythm right back up.
You held onto him with everything you had, wrapping your arms tight around his neck and digging your nails into his broad back while he fucked you hard, deep thrusts making you bounce right against the mattress.
The wet friction of your bodies took over the room again, mixing with Joel’s pants directly in your ear and your own shameless moans.
"Joel, please," you cried out, squeezing him tighter. "Put all your weight on me."
He lifted his head, locking his eyes onto yours.
"Put all your weight on me," you repeated.
"I'm gonna crush you."
"No, you won't," the heavy impacts chopping up your voice. "Please."
Joel let out a rough pant and buried his face right next to yours as he slowly let his body drop over you. You felt his weight gradually press you down into the mattress; his chest flat against yours, his stomach against yours, blanketing you in sheer heavy man.
"Yes, yes, yes," you started to babble, letting your eyelids flutter shut as your arms wrapped around him and your fingers buried deep into the hair at the nape of his neck.
You were right on the edge, suspended in that eternal second where the pleasure gets so sharp it almost hurts. Your legs were wrapped tight around his waist and your nails were dug into his shoulders, feeling the coiled tension in every single muscle.
Then you felt it. You caught that subtle unmistakable shift in the vibration of his body; the way his cock went even harder, pulsing and throbbing inside you, expanding to its absolute limit. Joel let out a guttural grunt, a purely animalistic drawl of a sound that drowned in the crook of your neck as he completely lost his rhythm and his grip on control.
Knowing you had him right there, that he was about to fall apart for you, was the final push that shattered your gravity. Your own orgasm hit you all at once, a hot burst that clamped your internal walls in violent desperate spasms around his length.
Joel roared against your skin the second he felt you clamp down on him, completely trapped by your climax. He delivered a few brutal frenzied thrusts, driving so deep you felt like you were splitting in two, before cursing loudly and dragging himself back with desperation.
You unlocked your legs from his hips to let him clear, and he grabbed his cock, letting go right over your belly. He was so flushed, his face so raw and undone, that your eyes could do nothing but watch him, panting and silent, while your own muscles kept riding out the tail end of your release.
He leaned forward, planting one forearm beside your head, and brought his face down to yours.
You cupped his face; your fingers pressed gently against his jaw as you pulled his mouth down to meet yours.
Joel's room. Half an hour later. Night.
You flicked off the bathroom light and shut the door behind you.
The effects of the wine were still floating through your system, but now it was pure exhaustion weighing you down. You knew you were gonna sleep like a baby tonight, so before climbing back into bed next to Joel, you went straight for the alarm clock on his nightstand.
"Six thirty sound good to you?" you asked, turning the clock around to set the dial.
"What time is it now?" he wanted to know. He was lying back with his hair still a little damp from the shower, wearing a dark blue cotton t-shirt and sweatpants.
"Quarter to ten."
"Ain't as late as I thought."
You smiled. "Right. I figured it was at least eleven."
"Six thirty's fine."
You set the alarm and slipped the clock back into its spot.
Carefully crawling over Joel’s legs, you slid under the covers as he pulled the sheet and the comforter up over you. You dug your toes into the mattress, stretching out on pure instinct just from the happiness of being comfortable, warm, and knowing you were in for a perfect night of sleep.
You draped your arm over Joel’s chest, and he leaned into you, shifting onto his side to blanket you with his body heat.
"Oh," he murmured, pulling back for just a second to click off the lamp on his nightstand before wrapping his arms right back around you.
The bedroom fell into darkness, but the moonlight streamed through the window; pale, soft, and soothing. It was a full moon tonight.
"Goodnight, Joel."
He let out a low sigh. "Goodnight, Snow."
divider by: omi-resources
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babe i just had an epiphany. i think you'd write harry castillo really well. the way you write characters and their introspections is simply *chef kiss* but the melancholy and loneliness harry exudes.... oh i know you'd eat up that angst//
omg I second this! harry castillo is one of my top 3 pedro characters and I'd probably shed happy tears if you ever decide to write him. With your pure talent and capability to write complex characters in depth, I just know you're gonna ace it!
Ohhhh myyyy thank you so much!😭🤍 I will write about him, you have my word 💗 he deserves LOVE
