Summary: When a work conference takes you to the local bar, you decide a night with two very charming doctors doesn't sound so bad. Afterall, everything that comes in threes is perfect.
Pairing: Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x AFAB!Reader x Jack Abbot
Warnings: Minors please do not interact, 18+ content coming soon
Artist/Author: Barnes
Artist/Author Notes: I want to keep posting art, lmk if you guys like it! I desperately wanted to be the meat in their man sandwich so in the wee hours the morning concocted an idea for this image/ upcoming fic. Stay Tuned. ~ Barnes 🚬🗿
Proud to be Mexican. Proud to be Puerto Rican. I would wish to be born latino in every life. Genetically wired for our hearts to know yearning, to feel as deep as our roots.
Summary: When a melting college dad knocks on your door looking to get buzzed into the apartment, you use the time before his daughter gets in to show him some Midwestern Hospitality.
Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader
Word Count: 4,769
Warnings: Minors please do not interact, 18+ content below | Stranger sex, P in V, Implied Age-gap, choking, breath-play, Doggy, Vulgar language
Author: Barnes
Author Notes: Hey y'all I think I cooked with this one. I wrote half of it months ago and when i reread it I made myself blush, so if that speaks for how filthy it is, you're welcome. So willing to make a part II where he comes back. LMK what you like, dislike, always open to some good ol crit. Need this old man bad. ~ Barnes 🚬🗿
You sink into the couch in your apartment’s living room, clad in a thin tank top and loose cotton shorts. Skin sticking slightly to the cushions despite the temperate cool of the room. The air conditioning purrs steadily in the background, a low comforting hum that's done its best to stave off the sweltering heat outside. It's nearly twenty degrees cooler here than it is on the scorching asphalt outside your walls, but with the sun pouring in through the wide glass window and front door, it still hovers around a stubborn eighty-four degrees.
Just as you're beginning to melt further into the couch, a bead of sweat caresses the back of your neck, eyes falling closed, the doorbell rings suddenly, jarring the silence in the room. You sigh dragging yourself upright, peeling your slightly damp and warm skin from the cushions with a soft unpleasant unsticking sound. The air feels thick, clinging to you as you shuffle towards the door.
Through the glare of the sunlight on the glass you spot a man standing outside, tall, broad, unmoving. His brow knit tightly, crow’s feet creasing as he squints in the sun. Worn jeans, and a faded shirt stretched across the broad expanse of his solid frame. His hair was messy, salt and pepper, slick and stuck to his forehead with sweat. He doesn't ring the bell again, just waits for you to answer, a phone in his hand.
You open the door halfway peeking your head out, shielding the sun from your eyes with the back of your hand, giving him a quick. “Hi, how can I help you?”
“Hey, uh hi, I’m Joel. Sorry to bother you.” He says voice low and rough, thick with a Texan drawl and a thread of irritation he's trying to keep in check.
He holds up the phone tapping the screen.
“My daughter lives in the building, apartment six, Miller, Sarah Miller. Been tryin to get her on this damn phone for twenty minutes. Would you be so kind and just buzz me I-”
His sentence cuts off as a girl’s voice crackles through his phone speaker. “Hey dad, sorry I'm not home right now, I’ll be back in an hour or so, already on the road.”
Joel sighs, slow and exasperated, thumb already moving to hang up the call “Course she picks up now.” He mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. He looks back at you hanging up his phone, his expression apologetic. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to trouble you. I'll just go wait in my truck. Have a good one.”
He turns with a curt nod, but you glance past him, the shimmer of the heat reflecting off the hood of his pickup, practically vibrating. One hundred and four. No breeze. You could cook an egg on the asphalt.
You stop him.
“You're not sitting in your truck in this heat. No offense but I doubt your AC works.” You say flatly, already holding the door open wider. “Come on in. AC’s not the best but it's something.”
Joel turns, hesitating for a second, “Nah,” he says, voice rough edged. “Anybody teach you stranger danger, kid? You don't need to be lettin folks in your place. I’d give my daughter the same advice.”
He gives you a pointed look. “Kindness ‘ll get you hurt if you're not careful.”
You cross your arms, unmoved. “So will heatstroke, and I don't think that’s something someone at your age could power through.”
You notice the greys in his hair and beard, the slight limp in his gait, the thick pads of his hands, and scarred knuckles from a lifetime of physical labor.
He huffs a short laugh through his nose. Scratching the back of his neck again, he glances toward your door then back to his truck, as if seriously considering walking back to the brand-hot seat buckles and roasting leather.
“Look,” you say, tilting your head, “you're not some creep lurking in the bushes. I heard your daughter over the phone. You're just waiting, and I'm not gonna be the reason you end up roasting in the cab of that bucket of bolts.”
Joel sighs, letting his shoulder slump forward for a second, the burning heat of the sun singeing his skin, “Alright,” he mutters. “But only for a little, ain't fixin’ to intrude.”
Joel steps cautiously into the apartment, his boots heavy on the living room floor. He glances down at the carpet, then back up at you, brows raised.
“You want me to take these off?’ He asks, nodding towards his boots.
“Yeah, please.” You say, already heading towards the connected kitchen. “Carpet’s a pain to get cleaned.”
He grunts an understanding sound, kneeling stiffly to unlace them, setting them neatly next to your shoe rack.
“You want something to drink?” You call over your shoulder. “Water, Lemonade?”
You hear the faint thud of boots hitting the floor as he straightens up. “Water’s fine, don't wanna take advant-”
“Too late,” you interrupt with a smirk. “You're already inside.”
When you return with the glass, he's standing just a step from the couch, looking more reluctant than welcomed.
“You know, you've got a weird way of showing hospitality, little lady.” He says as you hand him the drink. He gives you a dry look. “You always this trusting (and abrasive), or am I just lucky?”
You shrug, a slight smile playing on your lips. “It’s midwestern hospitality, I guess. My mom would feed any stray as long as it knocked first and asked nicely.“ You shoot him a quick wink.
That earns you a small chuckle as he finally eases down on the couch carefully. Looking as if he was afraid to break it. You sit next to him, two cushion lengths away, one leg tucked under the other, the fabric of your shorts riding slightly higher than intended. The small talk begins. Easy stuff. Your name. Where he's from, how long his daughter's lived here, what she majors in at the local university, and most of all what the hell this heatwave thinks it's doing.
As the conversation continues to flow, you catch yourself watching him, like really watching him. The way his forearm flexes when he sets his glass down onto your coffee table. His tanned skin, worn muscle dancing under faded scars. Once again you note the scruff lining his jaw, streaked with grey, framing a mouth far too nice for someone who frowns so much. His voice, slow and deep, hums low in your ears even when you aren't focusing on the words.
As he spoke, you could have sworn he was checking you out too. He glances at you mid sentence, hesitating for a second. You notice his gaze drops just briefly as you stretch your legs out across the cushion. His eyes linger a bit too long on the curve of your thigh, and the soft sheen of your skin in the warm light.
He blinks, then shifts in his seat, clearing his throat softly. You don't say anything, neither does he.
You stretch your legs a little farther across the couch, the fabric of your shorts inching up with the movement. As the AC hums lazily, not doing much against the slow crawl of the afternoon heat, but it’s enough to keep things tolerable.
Joel sits just off to the side, leaned forward with his forearms on his knees, water glass resting between his hands. His shoulders are still a little damp from the walk in, and his shirt clings in spots to the shape of him, solid, and worn in.
You catch the faint strip of pale skin on his ring finger when he lifts the glass.
“You married?” You ask, voice casual, like you’re tossing the question out just to pass the time.
Joel glances at his hand, then back at you. “Was.”
A pause. Then softer, “She passed.”
You nod slowly, eyes dropping to your glass. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugs, an air of acceptance about him. “Been a long time, took me a while to finally take it off.”
The room settles into a quiet beat, not awkward, just the two of you. You glance at his hand again, at the faint ring of skin that’s still clinging to memory.
“That tanline’s stubborn,” you murmur.
Joel gives a short, wry laugh. “Yeah. Guess it stuck around longer than she did.”
You look at him. There’s humour in the way he says it. The kind of jokes only allowed after the test of time.
“You don’t really seem like someone who stays alone for long.” You say, lips curling slightly.
He raises a brow. “No?”
You shrug again, slower this time. “You’ve got that quiet, capable thing going on. That usually comes with someone waiting at home.”
Joel leans back a little, arm stretching out along the back of the couch. His fingers brush the cushion behind your shoulders, not close enough to touch but not far either. His gaze lingers on your face, then drifts lower, slowly, deliberately.
“And here I thought I was just drippin’ sweat and takin’ up space.” He says, voice lower now, quiet and dry.
Your eyes flick up to meet his, and the air between you tightens slightly. The fan clicks softly overhead, the only thing moving in the room.
“You clean up alright.” You say, smirking at him. “Not bad for someone who almost melted in the parking lot.”
He watches you for a moment longer, then his eyes slide downward, taking in the curve of your thigh where your skin catches the sun, the slow shift of your chest as you breathe. His tongue darts out, catching on his bottom lip.
“I try, although the heat's got me off my A game.” He murmurs, but his voice has a rougher edge now, clearly a bit flustered from the rare event of a compliment.
You tilt your head slightly, a smile tugging at your mouth. “You still hot?”
His eyes meet yours again, holding. Steady. Heavy. He pauses, gaze flicking to your lips, then lower again, this time bolder, lingering on the bare skin of your chest, the curve of your waist beneath your tank.
“Yeah,” he says, voice raspier now. “A little.”
The silence that follows stretches out like a pulled thread. Neither of you move, but everything feels closer. Tighter.
You can hear the shift of his breath, the weight of his eyes sunk into your skin like memory foam, your own pulse starting to drum beneath your hot flesh.
Joel doesn’t dare to take his eyes off of you. Both your hearts are beginning to race now. You feel yours hammering steadily and growing faster.
Joel’s jaw tenses slightly, a subtle shift in his throat as he swallows. His grip tightens slightly around the water glass, though it hasn’t moved in minutes.
You’re aware of every inch between you.
And then you move.
Without even thinking, you shift forward and slip right into his lap, knees bracketing his thighs. It’s smooth, easy, like you’ve done it before, like this was always the way. Your hands find his shoulders, loosely resting there, they were taught like a piano wire.
Joel’s breath catches, a sharp inhale through his nose. His hand practically tosses the glass on the table then goes instinctively to your hips, not pulling you in but not pushing you away either. Just holding you, grounding himself.
He blinks once, slowly. “You sure?” he asks, voice low and rough, edged with restraint that’s barely holding. The growing bulge in his jeans presses against you impatiently.
You nod, your fingertips grazing the back of his neck, your chest brushing his. “Yeah.” You say softly, eyes fixed on him. “You?”
His hands tighten, finally drawing you in that extra inch. He groans inwardly, his voice coming through in a murmur, heavy and thick.
“I was tryin’ real hard to be a gentleman.” He says, breath warm against your cheek, “but you’re not makin’ it easy.”
You feel his restrained, hardening cock jump, throbbing almost painfully. The sensation sent a wave of excitement through your body, hips stuttering slightly in response to his words.
You smile, lips just shy of his. “I’m not trying to.”
He can't resist. Now that you were closer he could smell the way your perfume mixes with your natural scent. He could just devour you.
His body shifts into gear. Catching your lips, his facial hair rough against your skin.
You kiss him back hungrily, his lips feel soft, becoming damp as you run your tongue along them briefly, his coming to meet yours. They move in tandem, trading positions as you melted into him. You couldn't help but groan as he nipped at your bottom lip.
His hands find the hills of your ass, giving it a rough squeeze. He pulls your hips down against him, rocking you back and forth.
The seam of his jeans grind into your wanting cunt, the thin fabric of your shorts failing to contain how deliciously wet you are. Your breath catches as your moan reverberates in his mouth.
His large hands rub up and down your thighs, as you move together. He lets out a groan, his throat vibrating as his fingers dance around the dampened edge of your bottoms.
Your hands find his hair, nails dragging against his scalp, as you revel in the feeling of his hard cock beneath you. You wish you could see it, it felt big, nice and solid.
As if he read your mind, he halts your movements, sliding you up his knees a bit, undoing his belt, the buckle making a frantic metallic clinking as he throws it to the side, letting it hang against his hip.
You pant slightly, as you break apart, missing the feeling of his lips. You angle your head down, biting your lip as your eyes land on his bulge.
You help, your hands gently cupping the denim wrapped print, before taking down the zipper.
He sighs, his cock jumping, it strains against his boxers, a dark spot forming at the tip where pre-cum begins to leak through the fabric.
You bend forward, catching his lips once more. His hand cupping your face, as he guides yours across his lap.
Your hand wraps around his clothed cock, your fingers unable to meet around the circumference. A slow and methodical swipe of your thumb over the wet fabric elicits a low rumbling moan from Joel.
You stroke slowly, your lips moving against him at the same pace. You could feel the thrum of your own heartbeat between your legs, pussy aching from hearing the sounds he makes.
His shirt rode up exposing a salt and pepper happy trail leading to exactly where his body yearned for you.
Your fingers breach the fly of his boxers, the hard flesh of his cock smooth, save for the hair that enveloped the top of his cock and a few stray veins. You pull it through the fabric, springing it free.
Breaking the kiss you insert a few fingers into his mouth, before dropping a string of spit on your wet fingers.
“Dirty girl.” Joel growls.
Although, you want desperately to keep your eyes trained on how it jumped and throbbed against your palm. Without hesitation you lock eyes with the man underneath you, drinking in the vulnerability in his eyes just before they rolled to the back of his skull. He bucked into your hand, his cock leaking as you tease it.
His hand fisted into your hair, pulling forward slightly. You moan as he reconnects the kiss, his teeth tugging your bottom.
“Shit, Honey.” He hissed as you drag your thumb over the tip continuously, smearing around the pre-cum.
He reaches his hand into the back of your shorts gripping your asscheek. The force spreads your pussy slightly. Goosebumps erupting over your flesh, you whimper into his mouth.
He lets out a growl, swiftly laying your back. Your hand still pumped his cock as he hovered above you. He grabbed your wrist, pining one then the other above your head with one hand. The weight of his body pressed your body into the couch beneath you, your own body heat reflecting back through the worn leather.
His knees knocked your legs wider as he settled his hips against yours. His hard cock breaching the soaked fabric of your shorts. No underwear, it's almost like you were ready for a handsome stranger to stuff you full of cock. His slick tip smears around your juices. You could feel the heartbeat in his cock, each throb reminds you of the hot blood coursing through his veins.
It took all of his willpower not to sink into you immediately. Slowly, he dragged it back and forth through your folds eliciting a whimper over the sound of soaked pussy. He desperately needed to hear more.
A rough growl leaves his mouth as he drags down the top of your tanktop with his teeth, springing your breasts free. Burying his face in your chest he just barely slips in the tip. You gasp, feeling how he begins to stretch you open.
“C'mon Darlin’. Wanna hear ya.” He encourages, voice muffled against your skin as he teases the entrance.
His mouth is wet and warm when it captures a nipple and tugs it as gently as he could manage. You let out another whimper bucking your hips, forcing his cock just a little bit further inside. He lets out a strangled moan, releasing your arms as he sits up. An audible wet popping noise when he detaches from your breast, having left a few deep purple bruises.
When bending at the knee his thighs are thick and sturdy. He fully lifts your lower half, dragging your body down the couch a bit, your legs settling, spread, around the worn but rippling muscle of his thighs.
Caressing your face, he thumbs your lip. Opening up, you welcome the digit into your mouth, swirling your tongue around his calloused finger tip.
For just a moment he takes a pause to admire how wet you are. Taking his newly moistened thumb, slowly circling your clit at a steady pace. He watches how the shitty can-lights seated into your ceiling make your aching cunt glisten.
“Joel~” You whine, rocking your hips against his hand.
He halts all movement, dropping his head closer to you. His voice comes through low and gruff. “I can't hear you.”
You bit your lip, suppressing a mischievous giggle. Matching his tone you respond. “Then give me something to scream about.”
He chuckles darkly, “Well, since you asked so nicely.”
He grabs the centermost part of your shorts, ripping the fabric in twain. The barrier was no longer in the way. He spits on your pussy, smacking your folds with his cock. Eliciting a string of gasps and groans from you. Looking down, his cock long and thick. Nearly worrying in size. By God were you ready to take every inch. Your pelvic floor flutters in anticipation.
Lining himself up, he pushes one of your knees as far as it could tuck into your chest. Your other leg sandwiched between his. Fingers gripping the back of your thigh with bruising force. He plunges his cock in so deep it kisses your cervix, leaving you seeing stars.
When a loud moan begins to rip through your vocal cords he roughly grabs your throat, squeezing away the sound. Dropping his head to feel the warmth of your stolen breath fan his face. You were stretched more than ever before, a wet squelch filling your ears as he bottoms out. He feels how your pulse hammers under his fingers, how you strangle his cock, walls fluttering around him. He lets you go the second after your eyes begin to lull, leaving you to suck in a breath of air before slamming into you again.
This time you cry out, your voice reverberating off of your apartment's walls. The sound made his cock throb inside of you briefly pushing on the spot that hit just right. Your mouth falls agape as your head falls back exposing your neck. He takes that opportunity to latch his mouth over the damp perfumed skin of your throat.
“Just like that, darlin’. Let me hear how much you want this cock.” He growls into your ear.
His teeth greet your tender flesh, nipping over areas that make you whimper. The wet suction of your decadent cunt audible as he drives into you at a pace that makes the legs of the couch squeak.
You brace your hand against his strong chest, feeling the thin padding of chest hair beneath his t-shirt. The other hand tangling into his hair, your nails raking down his scalp to his back.
You can't help the long whine that erupts from your chest as he slows. His cock dragging slowly. You focus on how you mold around him, how he fills the empty space so perfectly. Your pussy twitching as your hips writhe beneath him.
“Joellll.” You groan, your hips stuttering when he sinks to full hilt.
You can hear a rumble deep in his throat that echoes in his chest before he speaks. He locks his eyes onto your, his gaze wavering as his eyes threaten to roll in tandem with his hips.
“Show me what you want. Show me some of that hospitality you mentioned.” His voice was low and strangled.
Joel had forgotten an important rule.
“Ask nicely.” You sigh, a shallow thrust taking your breath away.
He halts, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Please.” He slips out his cock, the tip resting against the entrance. “Show me”
You shift and sit up, maintaining eye contact with Joel. He lets out a small sound in the absence of your weight against his skin. His discontent quickly resolves as you give him a chaste kiss and turn around crawling to the arm of the couch. Ass up. Waiting, glistening pussy exposed before his eyes.
He can see the slight gape he left close as you flex around nothing, inviting him in. Without hesitation he moves behind you, giving your ass a quick gentle nip dragging his tongue and teeth half way up your exposed back. He straightens up, giving it a little smack, watching it ripple. His thumbs spread your pussy lips, his fingers resting on your cheeks. You back up against him, pussy catching the tip as it jumps.
He shivers, his hands gripping your hips. His fingers dig into your soft flesh as he lets a string of saliva land where you two join. He slides his slick cock back in reveling in the warm and welcome feeling of your body.
You gasp, melting into the arm of the couch, your back arching allowing him in deeper. The way you sucked him in made him curse under his breath. He knew what you wanted. How you wanted to be fucked. He thrusts forward, hard and firm slamming his cock into you at a steady pace. Each movement following the last, the sound of skin slapping filling the room accompanied by the string of curses leaving both of your mouths.
He leans forward, hooking a finger into your mouth. Instinctively you twirl your tongue around the digit. With haste his hand travels between your legs, his newly dampened finger making measured circles on your clit. You moan loudly, the mixing of sensations intoxicating. The feeling of his cock ploughing deep inside mixing with the pleasurable feeling of his hand makes your pussy spasm and quiver around him.
He lets out a rough curse. “Fuck, honey I can feel you dripping down my thighs.”
He doesn't slow or stop this time, allowing you to use him to his full extent. You begin to follow his movements, helping him slam into you, loving all the grunts and groans that fell from his mouth.
Your pussy begins to seize and strangle him as you inch closer to orgasm. He hesitates for a second, his breathing ragged, continuing to pound into you determined to make you cum on his cock.
Over and over he rakes over your g-spot, finger focusing on your bundle of nerves. It feels like ecstasy, like your mind was free floating. You are being fucked senseless. You feel a building pressure low in your stomach, each stroke building more and more. Until-
“Oh, fuck.” You cry out.
An intense orgasm absolutely wrecks your body. Your holes pulsating, pussy clenching around his cock so hard he has to slow down. A milky ring collecting at the base of his cock, his eyes screwing shut as he enjoys how you spasm around him. His thrusts become sloppy, you can feel how his cock twitches inside, balls straining to be drained.
“C'mere.” He slides his soaked cock out after giving one last hard thrust.
With a firm hand on the back of your neck he pulls you to face him, forcing you to your knees. Your body nudging the coffee table across the carpet. You look up at him with pleading eyes, ready to receive whatever he has to give you.
He tangles his fist into your hair, forcing your head back and mouth open. “Shit.” He curses as you stick your tongue out.
With a few rough pumps of his hand he cums all over your face. His seed, warm and thick as he slaps the tip in your tongue, shooting ropes into the back of your throat. You swallow, suckling the tip, popping it out of your mouth with a smile.
He pulls you up onto the couch in one swift motion. “Sorry Darlin’ let me get you cleaned up.”
He steps into your kitchen the sound of his buckle rattling as he walks. Washing his hands he grabs a few damp paper towels and makes his way back to you. Having tucked himself away, he returns to your side. With a gentle hand he wipes away the mess he made. You let him, sitting back against the leather, your skin sticking to it but you didn't care, you felt so satisfied. So relieved, like months of tension had left your body. Heart hammering steadily against your ribs.
“Thanks.” You blush sheepishly, his touch so tender.
You share a look with Joel, a look that told you he might be in town more than usual if he could help it.
Before you could offer to make him dinner or something as a thank you for fucking you so masterfully, the sound of his phone ringing rips through the comfortable silence. It vibrated against the wood, the screen lighting up with his daughter's name.
“Shoot, she uh, she must be here.” As he says that headlights shine in through blinds.
Quickly you scramble to the bathroom to throw on an old pair of pjs and fix your rumpled appearance. Joel buckles his pants, his boxers and thighs beneath still soaked.
He picks up the line. You can hear him talking into the phone.
“Yeah yeah, I'm here. Your neighbor saved me from the heat. You're lucky, I would've been baked alive out there with how long you took.” He teases with a half laugh.
You emerge, leaning against the wall near the kitchen with a smile on your face. He hangs up and turns to you.
He runs his fingers through his sweat-dampened hair as he bends over to tie the boots he had been cramming onto his feet.
“I left my business card on your fridge. Use it. You know, for handyman purposes.” He throws you a quick wink from the floor.
You make your way over to him. Knowing he was about to practically run out the door. You give him a quick peck on the cheek.
Your voice drops. “Good thing there’s a flood in my basement.”
You watch the confusion furrow on his brow before the light behind his eyes perks up. “Oh,” he chuckles inwardly a bit. “Guess I'll have to come back and inspect the pipes.”
A knock interrupts the moment, Sarah’s shadow visible through the blinds. You quickly separate yourself from Joel unlocking the deadbolt. Holding the door open you wave Joel out of your apartment.
Sarah turns to face you, giving you a smile. “Thanks for takin’ care of the old man. He might've melted out here.” She walks away wiping the sweat that was collecting on her brow. Joel gives you a nod, a slight smile on his face as they climb the stairs to the first floor.
Summary: When a break in leaves you vulnerable a familiar stranger takes you in
Chapter Summary: Joel ruminates, delicious breakfast, and a pretty good clean up job.
Pairing: DBF!Joel Miller x F!Reader ~ No Outbreak AU
Word Count: 7,141
Warnings: Language, alcohol, panic attack, military, and cigarettes
Author: Barnes
Your soft, steady breathing filled the room, occasionally with the faintest rumbling snore. The sound was strangely comforting to Joel, a reminder that you were here, safe, and sound, as sound as you could be anyway.
He had hurriedly thrown on a shirt after tucking you in. Joel leaned back in the old armchair by the bed, one ankle resting on his knee, arms folded over his chest, though his posture was anything but relaxed.
The window remains open despite the incessant chirping of a cricket outside. It had crossed his mind more than once to get up and shut it, but the night air was the only thing keeping him from dozing off. That, and the thoughts churning in his head.
Joel stared at the shadowed ceiling, face creasing as a light grimace lay on his features. The night had unraveled in ways he never expected. One minute he was waiting for the delivery boy, the next he was holding you in his arms while you panicked and sobbed on his bathroom floor. And God, he still felt your weight against his chest. Your breath against his skin. The way you'd just folded into him. No fight. No words. Just trust. You had trusted him, in your most vulnerable moment.
His gaze drifted to you again, curled beneath his comforter, hair spread across his pillow like a halo. Vulnerable in a way that made his chest ache.
You reminded him so much of her. The resemblance wasn’t just physical, though that was there too. It was in your spirit. The way you persevere, the pride in your silence. But it was more than that. It was the feeling deep in his stomach.
Them damn butterflies.
He hadn’t felt them well over two decades, not since the days when he’d sneak glances across the table just to watch her tuck her hair behind her ear. He felt it again now, stronger than he’d like to admit, every time your eyes met his and lingered just a moment too long. The look you gave him earlier when he had gotten out of the shower, you were shy, disarmed. It almost made him feel twenty again.
He shifted, elbows digging into his knees as he leaned forward, putting his face in his hands. Protective wasn’t even the word. It scared the hell out of him to think about what the right word was. So he didn't.
You weren’t her. You were your own woman, grown, stubborn, smart. He could tell. But in the quiet moments like this, when the night falls still and all that remained was you sleeping soundly in his bed, he let himself feel it. The ache. The fear. The loneliness.
He recollected the memory of a night similarly traumatizing to this one. He got up and silently rummaged around one of his drawers, producing an old polaroid. On the back in various signatures was written ‘Joel’ in his familiar chicken scratch alongside other names, ‘Tommy, Danny’ His eyes pause for a moment taking in the perfectly written ‘Pam’ with a smiley face next to her name. A smile crossed his lips faintly as he sat back down, polaroid in hand. That night, things changed forever.
2002 - Padre Island, TX
The sunlight beat down on four adults as they descended to the beach from their shitty cabin rental on the south side of the island. The facilities hadn’t been around since the 70s but they didn't care much. Just friends looking for somewhere to store their belongings while they still had time to spend together. Although, Joel and Tommy had known why Dan chose this spot for their group vacation.
To pop the question at last.
The tide rolled in slow, a steady rhythm beneath the bursts of laughter echoing from where Tommy and Danny tossed a football back and forth on the shore.
Joel sat back in the sand, elbows planted behind him, a cold beer sweating in one hand. His boots were off, jeans rolled up past his ankles, toes buried beneath the warm grit of the sand. He wasn't much of a beach guy, not really, but something about the way the sun hit the water made the world all the more beautiful. It was moments like these, he really cherished.
Pam was down by the water, the wind tugging at the hem of her white linen dress. She was laughing at something Danny had said, head tilted back, eyes closed, mouth open. Joel could hear it, even from where he sat. That laugh. Bright and buoyant.
She turned then, as if she felt him watching, and waved. Just a casual flick of the wrist, eyes squinting against the sun. He raised his beer in a lazy salute, heart stuttering like a teenage boy’s.
Tommy plopped down beside him with a grunt, cracking open his own bottle. “You’re burnin’.” He said, pointing to Joel’s exposed shoulders.
Joel shrugged. “I’ll be fine.”
Tommy smirked, glancing down the beach toward Pam and Danny, now walking hand in hand. “You ever gonna tell her?”
Joel didn’t answer. He just drank, watching the two.
That night, the salty air lingered long after the sun dipped below the horizon. Several Polaroids were taken by Pam, she had this ever present need to document everything. The firepit crackled as they grilled the last of the hot dogs, the scent of smoke and charred meat clinging to their clothes. Music played low on the little radio Danny brought, some old country mix, the scratched cd kept skipping but no one seemed to mind.
Pam sat beside Joel on the sand, blanket wrapped tight around her shoulders. Her knees bumped against his as she laughed at one of Tommy’s stories, her face still flushed from the day’s sun.
Joel could barely keep his eyes on her. Every time she leaned close, every time she brushed against him, he felt shame coil tightly in his chest.
Danny stood to grab another beer from the cooler, and Pam leaned closer, voice low.
“He’s acting weird.” She said with a soft smile.
Joel’s mouth went dry.
“Yeah?” He said, careful not to spoil the inevitable surprise.
“Yeah,” she chuckled. “I think he’s nervous. He never stops talking when he’s nervous.”
Joel looked down at the bottle in his hand, fingers clenching a little tighter around the glass. He knew what was coming.
Pam sighed, resting her chin on her knees. “It’s sweet, though.”
Then came the moment; the moment that branded Joel’s brain like a hot iron.
When she stood and skipped down to the shore alone. The blanket trailing behind her like a cape, footprints pressed deep into the wet sand. The tide had started creeping in again, nipping at her ankles, but she didn’t mind. The moon hung low over the water, casting a silver sheen that made the whole beach glow like something out of a dream.
Joel saw Danny rise just moments after her. No hesitation. He brushed the sand off his shorts, gave Tommy and Joel a quick glance that said this is it, and jogged after her, barefoot, buzzing with nerves.
Joel didn’t move. He couldn't. The bottle in his hand felt suddenly brittle, like it might shatter from the grip he had on it. His heart thudded slow and deep, already knowing what was coming.
Tommy settled beside him again, quiet this time. He didn’t say a word. Just leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes tracking the silhouettes ahead as Danny caught up to her.
They watched together.
Danny reached her just as she stopped to look out at the ocean. Pam turned, and he said something, words lost to the distance. She laughed again, the sound faint under the crash of waves, he then dropped to one knee.
Joel’s breath caught. The world around him seemed to pause. The music from the little radio warbled out into the night. He felt far away, like this moment belonged in someone else's memory.
Danny held out the ring, hand shaking. Pam didn’t cover her mouth or gasp. She didn’t cry. She just smiled that big, bright, heart-wringing smile and nodded feverently.
Even from far away, Joel could see it. The way she reached for him, pulled him to his feet, kissed him with both hands cradling his jaw.
Tommy let out a low breath and clapped a hand on Joel’s shoulder. “You need a drink, huh?”
Joel didn’t answer, still partially paralyzed by the feeling running him ragged. He just watched as Danny lifted her into the air, spinning her in the moonlight, their laughter tangled with the rushing of the sea.
He swallowed hard, jaw clenched. His eyes never left her.
She looked radiant. Happy.
The ring sparkled as she pulled Danny down for another kiss, her arms around his neck, the hem of her dress fluttering in the wind. Joel stayed rooted in the sand, the firelight flickering behind him, the warmth on his back doing nothing for the cold settling in his chest.
Pam and Danny came racing back up the beach like kids, hand in hand, grinning like they’d stolen the heart of the sea. Danny’s shirt was untucked, hair wild from the wind, but his face was pure light. Pam clung to his arm, barefoot, her dress soaked up to the knees, her blanket cape flapping in the breeze, the diamond on her finger glittering in the firelight with every step, as did her eyes.
Joel and Tommy stood as they approached. Tommy was the first to yell.
“Well I’ll be damned! Look at you two!” He whooped, throwing his arms up like they’d just scored a touchdown. “Did you say yes or is he just runnin’ on adrenaline?”
Pam laughed breathlessly, holding up her left hand for them to see. The ring sat perfectly on her finger, fitting like it had always belonged there.
“I said yes!” She beamed, glowing from more than just the moonlight.
Danny puffed his chest a little, pride shining through the nerves. “She said yes.” He echoed, voice shaking with awe.
Joel swallowed hard and forced a smile. He clapped a hand on Danny’s shoulder, firm and warm, the same way he had a hundred times before. “Good man,” he said, voice even. Then he turned to Pam, eyes lingering just a beat too long. “He’s lucky to have ya.”
Pam’s smile softened, but she didn’t say anything, just nodded gratefully.
“Hey, I’m gonna turn in.” Joel added, backing away before the warmth in his voice could betray him. “Long drive, sun’s fried my brain.”
Tommy blinked at him. “You sure? I was about to crack open that bottle of bourbon.”
“Go ‘head and enjoy.” Joel said, already halfway to the door, throwing the group a nod in the process. “Y’all celebrate. Have one for me.”
He was met with brief protest from the group but they relented as he disappeared inside the cabin.
Sleep didn’t come. He laid in the dark with his arms crossed behind his head, staring at the ceiling fan spinning lazy circles overhead, heart pounding. He could hear laughter outside, the low rumble of Danny’s voice, Pam’s high one cutting through like music. He couldn’t shut it out.
Whether hours had gone by Joel was unsure, but the cabin was quiet now. Everyone had gone to bed. He padded barefoot through the hall, moving to the small kitchen lit only by the pale blue of the moon through the window above the sink. He didn’t turn on the lights. Just stood there with a glass in his hand, running cold tap water over his wrists to cool the heat pooling in his veins before filling his cup.
The sound of footsteps made him turn. Pam stood in the doorway, hair tousled from sleep, wearing a worn T-shirt and cotton shorts. The ring still glittered on her finger.
“I thought I heard someone.” She whispered, stepping in. “Couldn’t sleep either?”
Joel shook his head, not trusting himself to speak, taking a tentative sip of water. He filled another glass and handed it to her, their fingers brushing for the briefest second.
She leaned against the counter beside him, sipping slowly, eyes fixed on the dark beach outside. “It still doesn’t feel real,” she murmured.
Joel nodded. “He’s lucky.”
“You said that already,” she said, glancing sideways at him. A shadow of a smile playing on her lips.
He swallowed, jaw tight. “I meant it both times.”
She set the glass down, the silence settling thick between them. When she turned to face him fully, he couldn’t look away. The kitchen felt smaller somehow like the space between them compacted.
“Joel,” she said gently. “What’s on your mind?”
He stared at her, heart thudding so loud he was sure she could hear it. And then he broke.
“I should’ve told you,” he said, voice rough, low. “Back then. Before you met him. Before all this.”
Pam’s eyes widened slightly, but she didn’t speak.
“I loved you,” Joel continued. The words dragging out like a wound reopening. “Still do, I think. Hell, I know I do.”
Her breath hitched. “Joel…”
“I ain’t sayin’ this to mess things up.” He said quickly, hands flexing at his sides. “I just… couldn’t let the night pass without you knowin’. Even if it’s too late.”
She stared at him for a short, silent moment. The refrigerator hummed. A dog barked somewhere far off. The rest of the world kept turning. And then Pam reached out and grabbed his arm like a vice.
“How dare you.” She whispered, her expression twisted in shock, voice sharp and cutting, though it barely rose above a whisper. Her fingers dug into the muscle of his forearm, tighter than she likely meant. Hurt flickered through her gaze, eclipsing the tenderness she’d always worn so easily around him.
Joel flinched at the words, at the raw betrayal in her tone. His mouth went dry, heart thudding almost painfully against his ribcage.
“You don't get to do this.” Pam continued, each word slow and deliberate, venom laced in heartbreak. “Not now, not ever, Joel Miller.”
He opened his mouth, whether to defend himself or to beg forgiveness he didn’t even know, but she persisted, voice cracking just slightly as she spoke.
“This was supposed to be the happiest night of my life.” She said, her hand trembling now where it clutched his arm. “Only to be trumped by my wedding day... or-or the birth of my future children.” Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, and for a moment Joel thought she might cry. She didn’t. She just stared at him, furious and heartbroken, and all he could do was stand there and take it.
Each word she spoke hit him like a hammer, driving nails straight into his chest. He felt himself shrink beneath the weight of her disappointment, shame settling like a stone deep in his gut.
“We never speak of this again.” She hissed, voice still low, still private, but cutting through him sharper than any yell could. She released his arm, like she was holding a hot coal, taking a step back.
Joel remained rooted to his spot, unable to move, unable to look away from her tear rimmed eyes and the angry flush rising to her cheeks.
She shook her head once, then turned and walked away towards the bathroom, her retreating footsteps soft but final against the worn, sand burdened, wooden floors of the cabin.
Joel was left standing alone in the kitchen. He pressed his palms to the counter, bowing his head. Letting out a deep sigh, sitting with the weight of his decisions.
The silence afterward was almost deafening.
He barely slept, tossing and turning restlessly throughout the night. What little rest he got was tortured with dreams of what happened the night prior, her voice, the grip on his arm, the betrayal in her eyes.
The next morning, Joel lay stiff on the thin mattress, eyes fixed on the wooden slats of the cabin ceiling. His heart pounded so hard he thought it might come through his chest.
He expected the confrontation. The fallout. A biting silence at the breakfast table. Maybe Danny's fist meeting his teeth. Something.
But it never came.
Pam didn't say a word about it. Not that morning. Not as they packed up the car and drove hours back home.
Not ever.
She smiled gently when setting down his coffee like she always did. Laughed at Tommy’s stupid jokes. Leaned into Danny's shoulder, hanging off of him as if nothing changed. But it had, Joel knew it had. He felt it like a burr stuck in his skin. There was something to the way her eyes skipped over his now. The stiffness of her posture when she passed him. How her laughter never quite graced him the same way after that trip.
She kept her word. They never spoke of it again.
Pam and Danny got married that fall, had an outdoor ceremony, under a beautifully autumn-touched tree. The red and golds contrast with the pristine white of her dress. Joel wore a fancy button up and a stiff smile.
He stood at the end of the line of groomsmen, not quite close enough to matter but not far enough to be absent. He gave a toast he barely remembered, said all the right things, singing praises to the beautiful relationship in front of him. He danced with someone's grandma. He went home alone.
Then came the baby. A little girl with Pam's dimples and Danny's infectious smile. Joel brought a teddy bear to the hospital. Pam had hugged him when he arrived but the embrace was fleeting, like trying to recall a memory years after it passed.
That last year was the hardest. A slow fizzling of friendship, like a flat coke. And little by little, the calls came less often. The cookouts stopped. Texts turned to radio silence.
Pam never said why, never gave Joel a reason for phasing him out. Didn't have to, they both knew. That moment in the kitchen lingering like smoke, clinging to everything even after the fire had ceased.
Joel never reconciled, never chased them down. He let it happen, the consequences of his actions rightfully catching up to him.
Deep down he knew there wasn't anything to drive them apart.
Anything except the truth, and he had already let it out, once.
Joel blinks away the memory burning in his chest.
Your snoring reminds him of where he was. Not at that beach or in that cabin, not in that kitchen, no longer beside her. Not for a long time.
He sighs, brushing his fingers over the worn edges of the photo. He looks at it one last time before socking it back away in his drawer where he kept the rest of his past.
You stirred once, tangled in the sheets, your breaths steady, still lost to slumber.
Joel settled, his worn body aching under the weight of the memories and a feeling he couldn't begin to unearth without a fresh pack of cigarettes and a fifth of dark liquor. He kept his eyes on you until they grew heavy.
He was the first to wake. Sunlight filtered into the room behind the half closed blinds. Birdsong and the rustling of leaves filled the space.
His neck screamed the moment he shifted, his back aching from hours spent in the chair. He blinked groggily, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Stiff fingers raking down his exhausted face.
His eyes fell on you. Still tucked into bed, sleeping soundly. Laying on your side, lashes outlined against your cheeks. You look at peace. That eased the ache.
Joel sat there for a long moment, just watching. Afraid that if he made a sound it would wake you. He didn't want that just yet, he wasn't sure what today would bring for you, so he let you rest.
You woke slowly, blinking against the bright light, streaming in from a few broken blinds. For a moment you forgot where you were, the feeling of the warm sheets, the faint smell of detergent, and the puffiness of your face reminded you. You were in Joel's room. You look towards the worn leather chair next to the bed, half disappointed it lacked a presence.
You sat up slowly, rubbing sleep from your eyes. The room was generally quiet, except for the faint sound of clinking dishes down the hall and the muffled hiss of a skillet.
You notice your duffel bag, tucked neatly in the corner beside the dresser. He must've brought it in sometime during the night.
You felt a swell of gratitude, both for the small gesture and for tucking you in last night.
Slipping out of bed, you walk over digging through your things, producing a fresh pair of jeans, a tank top, and a toiletry bag. You were thankful you hadn’t unpacked it from your last vacation, the travel bottles still about half full, enough for a shower or two.
A wave of anxiety began to creep in as you moved to the bathroom. You had to call your parents today. There was no way around it, avoiding it any longer wasn't going to make anything better.
The thought sat heavily in your stomach as you stripped and turned on the shower, stepping inside.
The warm water streamed over your skin, you let it run for a moment, hoping it would rinse away some of the tension lodged in your chest.
You reached for your shampoo, grateful again you had packed a full kit, because Joel, as you had discovered, on the little ledge beside the tiles, showered with a single, half used, bar of soap. No conditioner, no face wash, not even a damn rag. Just soap. You almost laughed. He's such a dude.
The steam swirled around you, soothing, yet the weight in your chest didn't quite relent. You closed your eyes, leaning into the spray attempting to push away the flurry of thoughts about what you were going to say to your parents. What you'd explain, what you'd leave out. Ultimately you knew you were gonna tell them the truth.
Finishing up after a few minutes, you turn off the water, stepping out of the shower. You spot the only towel hanging behind the door and begin to dry off. You were wrapping your hair when a knock came at the door.
Joel's voice followed, gentle through the veneer. “Mornin, how'd you like your eggs?”
You started slightly, then called back. “Mornin’, scrambled's good!”
“Alright,” he responds, voice trailing back toward the kitchen.
You finish quickly, pulling on your clothes, the towel adorning your head. The house smelled like bacon and toast now, warm in a way that made you think of home, worsening the dread you were feeling. You toss your dirty clothes into your duffel bag that lays on Joel’s bed, and head into the adjacent kitchen.
Joel was already at the stove when you padded in. He glanced up at you briefly, his kind eyes lingering for just a second longer than he should have, then turning back to the pan.
“Sleep okay?” He asked, setting a slice of toast on a plate.
“Yeah…” you said, “eventually. Thanks for all of… Well this.” You gesture around his house, continuing. “I'm sorry I put you through so much grief last night.”
He gave a small shrug, scrambling the eggs in the pan. “No need to apologize. You needed a place to lay your head. Wasn't a big deal.”
You sat at the small table tucked in the corner of the kitchen, fingers wrapping around the ceramic mug he set in front of you.
He set down a plate full of eggs, bacon, and toast. It was more than you were used to preparing yourself in the morning, but it was welcome nonetheless.
“You cook often?” You asked, a faint smile pulling at your lips.
“Only when someone else’s ‘round to appreciate it.” He muttered jokingly, before settling down across from you.
You ate a few bites hungrily, before setting your fork down. The tension in your stomach hasn't gone away, but it had nothing to do with the delectable meal in front of you.
“Joel, can I ask you something?” You ask, looking up from your plate.
Joel gave a cautious nod, chewing a bite of bacon. “Sure, shoot.”
“Why don't you talk to my parents anymore?” You kept your tone light, but your eyes stayed trained on him.
He didn't answer right away. Just picked up his mug and stared into it for a little too long.
“They got busy. Married, a kid… life happens.”
He looked at you briefly over the rim of his mug. “Sometimes friendships just… fade.”
You studied him. “You were in like every page of mom’s old photo book.”
“Yeeah,” Joel said, voice quieter. “I was.”
The silence stretched between you, Joel knew why he remained silent, you didn't. Although you didn't press further, mainly because you didn't want to unpack whatever baggage he held behind his eyes. At least not yet.
Instead, you looked down at your plate and nodded, tucking back into your eggs. “Guess life’s just messy like that.”
“Yeah.” He said, his voice low, “sure is.”
You push your plate forward and lean back in the chair, stomach full, towel still wrapping your hair. The silence remained companionable, but the nagging feeling was crawling along your spine.
“Joel?” You ask suddenly, breaking the silence with a furrowed brow.
“Where’s my phone? I didn't feel it in my bag.”
Joel glanced toward the counter by the fridge, nodding with his chin. “Charged it last night. It's over there.”
Sure enough, there it was, plugged into the wall, still powered off from when it died.
You stood up, walking over, unplugging it with a quiet. “Thanks,” your stomach twisting while you held down the power button.
The lock screen lit up
4 Missed Calls - Mama (3) Dad (1)
3 New Messages - Mama (2) Dad (1)
Your gut sank.
You opened the message from your mom first. It was a blurry photo taken off a TV screen. A smashed car, crumpled front bumper, doors flung open. Headlights busted out. All haloed by berries and cherries, the red and blue lights surrounding the mangled car.
Mama: [image] Hey chickadee, is this your car?? 1:48 am
Mama: Call me😟 3:42 am
You navigate over to the unopened message from your father simply reading.
Dad: Call your mother 5:47 am
You swipe back to the picture. Not realizing Joel had made his way over to you until he let out a gasp at the picture on your phone screen.
“Is that your car?” He asks, concern lacing his voice.
“Yep.” You said, popping the p. “Guess the asshole who stole it crashed it too.”
Joel's eyebrows furrowed in worry, his jaw tightening. “Jesus, are you gonna be okay callin’? Y'know explainin’ everything?”
You nodded, thumb already hovering over the phone icon in your mom's contact. “Yeah… just give me a sec.”
It took two rings for her to answer, her voice frantic.
“Hello? Hello!?” Your mom's voice rang through the phone. “Are you okay?! Where are you???”
“Mom, I'm okay.” You say quickly, already wincing. “I'm safe, I promise.”
“We've been calling you all night. Someone crashed this car that looked like a spitting image of yours. There was a police chase and we didn't know if y-”
“I know, I know,” you said. “It's okay. It wasn't me.”
She interjects “Oh well that's a relief, at least your car is safe, because I don't know how we'd-”
“Mom. Mom! It was my car.”
“What?!”
“Someone broke into my house last night. They took my car too.”
Your mom gasped. “Oh my God. Are you hurt? Why didn't you tell us sooner?”
“No, not hurt. Just shaken up. Someone took me in, I'm safe.”
“Who? A friend?”
You hesitated. “Joel. Joel Miller.”
A brief silence on the other end, then she speaks. “... Joel? Haven't heard that name in ages.”
You sighed. “Yeah. Apparently he lives across the street. He helped, took me in, let me stay the night.”
You hear your dad in the background, “Miller-time?! You're kiddin’!”
Your mom's voice softens slightly, “We haven't heard from Joel in years.” There was another moment of silence before she spoke again. “How is he?”
“I know, but uh, he's good, been really kind. You don't have to worry, okay? I just didn't want to call you in a state last night. You know how I get.”
“Well, we were worried.” She snapped, although her voice showed less concern now that she knew you were safe. “Please come home soon. We could get lunch or dinner, we miss you.”
“I will,” you promised. “Love you, mama.”
“I love you too, so does your dad.”
“Tell him, I love him too. Bye.”
“Bye”
You ended the call with a sigh, your fingers curling around your phone before sliding it back into your pocket. Joel hadn't moved far, still leaning against the counter, eyes on you.
“They okay?” He asked.
“Worried, obviously, but yeah, they're okay.”
Joel's eyebrows lifted slightly. “Parents always have this sixth sense for worry, it comes with the kid.”
You huffed a dry laugh. “Yeah. I guess they’re relieved that it wasn't me behind the wheel.”
He nodded, pushing off the counter slowly. “I’m real sorry about your place. I mean cars can be replaced ‘n all, but your house is… personal.”
You look down at the floor for a moment. “I guess I gotta go find out what kind of damage was done.”
Joel hesitated, then said quietly. “If you want… I can take you. Back to your house, I mean. Just for some moral support.”
You look up, surprised. “You'd do that?”
“Course,” he said. “It don't feel right lettin’ you deal with all that on your own. Not after last night.”
You held his gaze for a moment, nodding slowly. “Yeah. Okay, thanks.”
“Can we go now? I just wanna get it over with, if that's okay with you?” You ask, eyes trained on Joel.
Your stomach flipped just thinking about going back, but it had to be done.
“Sure, Darlin’. Lead the way.” He smiles reassuringly, giving your shoulder a light squeeze before gesturing to his front door.
Joel walked beside you, hands stuffed into the pockets of his worn jeans, as the two of you crossed the street.
The neighborhood looked different in the daylight. The breeze rustled the green, summer leaves above you, but all you could hear was the crunch of the gravel under your shoes and your heart thumping in your ears.
Your house was always in view, but as you drew closer with the clarity of the morning shine, the mess left behind felt like a punch to the gut.
The front door remained closed as Joel had left it last night. Glass broken from the window shimmered across the front porch like scattered ice.
Joel waited patiently behind you as you stared at your front door. An uneasy feeling creeping to your fingertips as they brushed the cool metal of the handle. Taking a deep breath, you twist, pushing it open.
It was worse than you remembered.
The entryway table had been knocked over, a drawer half ripped from its slot. Picture frames lay shattered on the floor, the memories they held now scuffed and cracked, some completely torn. You bent down slowly, fingers brushing across a photo of you as a kid, nestled between your parents on family vacation. The glass was broken clean through the middle of your face.
Joel remained silent beside you, letting you move through it.
You walk deeper inside, the weight in your chest growing heavier with each step. The living room had the couch cushions ripped open stuffing everywhere, drawers pulled open, papers and books scattered in piles.
The kitchen wasn't ransacked, but it was wrong. The cupboards were open, the vitamins you kept in one lay scattered across the countertop. A broken vase lay in your kitchen sink.
Joel finally spoke up, his voice quiet and low, “You see if anything's missin’ yet?”
You shook your head. “Not yet.”
He nodded once, but resumed his vow of silence.
You moved toward your bedroom, the place you had seen the burglar.
The moment you stepped inside your breath caught. Things were overturned, drawers dumped, clothes tossed across the floor. But what made the pitt in your stomach grow was what wasn't there.
The wooden box that used to sit on your shelf was gone. Your fingers brushed the empty dust ring left behind.
Joel, seeing your expression change, stepped closer. “What was there?”
You blinked hard, your throat tightening. “It- it was my grandpa's. He was a paratrooper in the army. My mom let me have it after he died.”
You knelt beside the shelf, scanning around, like maybe it had just grown legs and walked away. Like it might still be here, but it was gone.
“It had patches, pins, some letters. His dog tags.” You swallow thickly, eyes beginning to sting. “Wasn't worth much to anyone but me. But it was old, and looked pawnable.”
Your body felt frozen, a cold wash radiating from your core to the top of your head, down to the tips of your toes. Your eyes remain locked forward staring at an empty spot on the floor.
Joel knelt down beside you, his voice softer than you ever heard it.
“Hey… hey, look at me.”
You tried, but tears threatened to spill if you moved even an inch.
“I- I’m fine,” you mumbled. Quickly turning your face away from Joel, wiping the hot tears on the collar of your shirt.
But Joel didn't pull back. He reached out and gently touched your shoulder. “Don't do that, don't be like your old-man,” he said. “Don't try to be fine when you're not.”
You couldn't hold it anymore. The tears came quiet but torrential. Your chest tightening as a mix of grief and frustration came pouring out, all at once.
He didn't say anything else, just eased closer and wrapped his arms around you, guiding you to a sitting position at the foot of your bed.
You didn't resist, just folding into his chest, fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt, face pressed just under his collar bone. Joel held you steady, one hand rubbing slow meditative circles on your back, the other cradling your head as you let yourself fall apart in a stranger's arms for the second time.
It wasn't just the broken window, or the scattered memories. Or the damn box. It was the weight of everything, the harsh reminder that grief would follow you your whole life.
“You didn't deserve this.” Joel murmured. “Any of it.”
You didn't answer, wrapped up in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Tucked against his chest you finally let the pain have a place to go.
Joel stays with you the whole time, holding you as you sob. Years of pent up sorrow seeping their way through your tightly shut eyelids.
By the time your tears had run their course, the sun had crept higher through the bedroom window, casting a warm glow across the disheveled sheets and scattered clothes. You sniffled once, lifting your head from Joel's chest, wiping your face.
“I'm sorry.” You murmured
Joel shook his head, letting you go. “Don't be.”
You sat up slowly, glancing around your wrecked room, cheeks still flushed from crying. “I can't just sit here,” you said. “I need to do something. Clean up. Try to feel normal again.”
Joel nodded once, rising to his feet, offering you a hand. “Then let's get to it.”
You moved together through the house, starting with the living room. Joel grabbed a broom while you returned the coffee table to its position, stacking cracked picture frames in a careful pile. You picked up the larger pieces of glass frame as Joel pulled the curtains open wider, allowing light to flood the space.
Miraculously, your old stereo system in the corner had survived untouched. You clicked it on, twisting the dial, wincing at the loud static crackling through the speakers before landing on a half decent oldies station.
Joel tilted his head as he swept. “That old thing still kickin’, huh?”
You smile. “Vintage tech. Built to last.”
“You and that stereo have that in common, I reckon.” He teased, his voice lighthearted.
You shoot him a look. “Wow. You callin’ me vintage?”
“Sweetheart, I'm vintage. You are durable.” He grinned.
As you worked together Joel kept the mood light, making jokes about your impressive cereal collection, and arguing with inanimate objects threatening to fall off the counter. With each sweep of the broom and crunch of glass into the trash, you felt yourself seeing light at the end of the tunnel, you could breathe again.
You both sat on the floor, surrounded by bags of trash, a half eaten sandwich in your hand, Joel had insisted you eat. You fell silent, your eyes lingering on a now mostly cleaned living room.
“I was dodging their calls for months.” You said softly, taking a small bite of your sandwich. “My parents. I didn't mean to, I just- things got overwhelming and I just kept putting it off.”
Joel looked at you, calmly, his voice steady. “They're your folks, I'm sure they'll understand.”
You sighed. “I should go over there. Surprise them for dinner maybe?”
He gave a nod. “I'll drive you. If you want.”
You blinked at him. “Really?”
Joel shrugs like it was nothing. “Figure you'd need a ride. My truck ain't luxury or nothin’ but it'll get ya there.”
You smile, touched. “Thanks.”
You stand up, brushing the dirt and dust off of your pants. “Hey, I'm gonna get ready for dinner.”
“No problem, I'll wait for you out here if you don't mind, got some fixin’ to do.” Joel cracks a smile, picking up a roll of duct tape and a cardboard box.
You look at him quizzically. “What're you gonna do with that?”
“Patchin’ the window, I can pick up replacement glass at the hardware store a little later, but it'll have to do for now.”
“Oh, Joel, you don't have to do all that, I'll just call someone to replace the window.”
“Nonsense, I'll do it for free. I'll be right as rain, just wait for me a bit.”
You can't help but chuckle at his determination.
“Alright, fine, thank you, but dont think this gesture will go unrewarded.” You say, pointing a finger at him from your bedroom doorway.
He nods as you disappear behind the closed door. Your fingers trail down the expanse of clothes hung neatly back into your closet, falling onto a soft, flowy fabric. You pull out a dress you hadn't worn in a long time, it was a light summery fabric, very flattering. You would look amazing in it, you would look put together and not like the entire world felt like it was imploding with you at its center. It was perfect for tonight.
You take the dress and bring it along with you into the bathroom, glancing back at Joel as he worked on covering the busted window.
You enter, hanging your dress up behind the door and opt for quickly washing your face and an extra layer of deodorant. Before slipping into your outfit for the evening. You discard your clothes into a nearby hamper and apply some light makeup, pinning up your hair with a claw clip, finishing off with a spritz of perfume. You practice your smile in the mirror, smoothing out the edges of your dress.
“It's just dinner. They miss me.” You whisper to yourself.
Your eyes wander to the jewelry box on your counter, untouched. Opening it, all jewelry accounted for. You grab out a thin necklace adorned with a heart locket, you fumble with the clasp, unable to open it. The last time you wore it was when your mom put it on you for graduation. She had to take it off too, you couldn't clasp it then either.
You walk out of the bathroom, looking for Joel. He was seated on your couch, head lulled back into the cushions, his eyes closed.
You clear your throat, “uhm Joel?”
He shoots awake, his eyes finding you quickly. He jumps to his feet, his eyes flickering for just a second as he takes you in. His mouth falling ajar before he speaks.
“I was just restin’ my eyes.” He clears his throat.
“Well damn, if I didn't know better, I'd say you're trying to impress someone.” He chuckles.
You gave a sheepish laugh, brushing invisible lint from the front of the dress. “Just trying not to look like I've had 2 breakdowns and counting, in the past 12 hours.”
You fidget with the necklace in your hand before looking up at Joel.
“D'ya mind?” You ask holding out the piece of jewelry
Joel takes it from your hands immediately, smiling gently. “Not at all.”
You turn around as Joel unclasps the necklace, holding up your hair. His arms wrap around you briefly as the cool metal dips into your cleavage. His hands coming into view then disappearing in the same second as they fall back down at his sides.
“Thanks,” you say, fixing the locket just right. “Again, for everything.”
“No need to thank me.” he smiles. “You ready?”
You nod, grabbing your phone from the coffee table, slipping on some sandals.
“As I'll ever be.” You sigh.
He opens the front door for you, ushering you to the old pickup sitting in his driveway. He was right, she was not luxury, half of the back bumper was rusted off, looks like someone took a bite out of it. The passenger side mirror had been duct taped back on.
Joel pushes ahead of you, opening up the door, offering a hand up into the truck. The smell of old leather and cigarettes emanated from the worn bench seating. You take a seat, the hot leather immediately burning the back of your thighs. You buckle in, the metal of the seatbelt almost too hot to touch.
Joel closes your door then hops in on the other side, turning the key in the ignition.
“Sorry, AC is busted.” He apologizes, reaching over you, rolling down your window before rolling down his own.
“'s all good, just grateful for the ride.” You smile at him,
He throws you a quick wink before backing out of his driveway, driving in the familiar direction of your childhood home. He never forgot the way.
a printer error is an attempt from god to get you to kill yourself but you must be stronger and you must must must beat the printer to death with a large object like object
Summary: When a break in leaves you vulnerable a familiar stranger takes you in
Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader ~ No Outbreak AU
Word Count: 7,049
Warnings: Language, breaking and entering, burglary, fire arm, police, alcohol, and a detailed description of a panic attack
Author: Barnes
Late-night walks had become a rarity, stress piling too high these days to make the effort. Tonight was supposed to be different, a way to clear your mind, shake off the weight of the past week. But now, standing in the dim light of your house, that stress culminates to a heavier, more daunting feeling.
The floorboards creak beneath each step from the front door, blending with the quiet crunch of glass underfoot. The first-floor window was shattered, its jagged remains lay scattered among torn curtains and overturned books.
Moving carefully through the house, you scan each room, taking in the chaos of your once pristine home.
Then you notice it.
The bedroom door is ajar.
You are not alone
Your breath catches as your eyes adjust to the dark. A large figure hunched over your dresser, rifling through the drawers, tossing clothes aside without a second thought.
The moon glints against the ornately decorated piece tucked within his waistband. He had a gun and you didn't want to find out if it was loaded or not. Your stomach knots. Your heartbeat thuds against your ribs, loud and violent. If you didn't know better you could swear it was audibly echoing in the hallway where you stood.
Quickly, you retreat. Your feet leading you out and away from the house as quietly as you could manage. Distance was the only way to keep safe in this moment. Fishing around in your pockets for your car keys an image flashes in your mind of them laying on the kitchen counter before you had left for your walk. Shit. Tears well in your eyes, a helpless feeling flooding in. Your dinner threatens to vacate as your stomach lurches, your body teetering between fight or flight with nowhere to run.
Then like a beacon, a porch light illuminates the dark street. Your head snaps in the direction of the light, seeing your neighbor peeking through the blinds. Tears threaten to spill as you walk up his front porch, legs trembling, on the verge of collapse. Your knuckles rap against the door in a quick panicked succession. Mentally you plead he opens up. Thank God. You hear your neighbor undoing the litany of locks that trail down the door.
The door opens as the gruff older man stands there, cash in hand. He looks at you confused.
“You're not my usual guy.”
He sees the tears slipping down your cheeks, and his grumpy facade wavers. His eyes narrow slightly, scanning your face as if trying to piece together what was wrong. Concern washes across his features, brief but genuine. When he speaks, his voice is low and rough, edged with a sense of unease.
“Hey kid, you okay?” He asks.
You silently shake your head, your lips struggling to form words as your body begins to shake.
You manage to croak out “Help.”
He opens the door wider, stepping out of the way to usher you in. He guides you to his living room couch before locking the door and crumbling his hand full of cash into the pocket of his jeans.
“Can I get you anything? What happened?” He asks in an almost panicked tone as he quickly picks up the cluttered beer cans from the floor, tossing you a blanket in the process.
Still shaken, you wrap yourself in the blanket in an attempt to ground back to reality.
“My house. Some guy broke in. He had a gun.”
The bag filled with cans clatter to the floor as he drops them in disbelief.
“What? You need to call the cops, young lady.”
His voice reminded you so much of your father's in that moment, you wish he had been here to hold you while you cried.
“My phone died on my walk back, can I borrow yours?” She asked her voice rough as she choked back more tears.
“Course” he muttered in a southern twang. Taking the corded phone off of the wall, walking it over to you.
Your fingers shake as he hands you the receiver of the old wall mounted landline. The phone feels oddly heavy in your hand, its spiral cord swinging slightly as you press the stiff numbered buttons 9…1…1
The line rings once then connects almost instantly.
“911, what’s your emergency?” the operator says, her tone calm and collected.
You force yourself to breathe, steady your voice, though your heart is still hammering in your chest. “I-I just walked in on a robbery. My house. The front window was smashed, there was glass everywhere. My living room was destroyed. And there was someone inside, going through my bedroom.”
Your words tumble out, fast and breathless.
“He didn’t see me. I ran back out before he turned around. But he had a gun, tucked into his waistband. I saw it.”
The silence on the other end is brief, filled only with the quiet clicking of keys as the dispatcher types.
“You did the right thing by leaving,” they say, voice steady. “Are you safe now?”
You glance around the unfamiliar house, your neighbor hovering nearby, concerned but silent. “Yeah. I’m across the way. Safe.”
The dispatcher exhales. “You’re not the first. There’ve been a string of break-ins in neighborhoods nearby this week. Same description, same method of entry. We’re sending a unit now to take your statement. Stay put. Officers are on the way.”
You nod, though they can’t see it, the phone still pressed tight to your ear. You keep your eyes on the window, half expecting to see that dark figure slip back into view.
You end the call after they assure you officers are on the way and hand it back to him. The tears had dried at this point, no longer did you possess the energy to deal with this shit.
He hangs it up and paces back, looking through the blinds. You can hear the dull thrum of an old chevy engine puttering down the street. You shoot to your feet quickly, the blanket hitting the floor with a soft thump, joining him at the window.
“That's my fucking truck!” You yell as your beater takes off. You frustratedly run your hands through your hair and down your face grunting. He raises his eyebrow, as he watches it disappear down the road, taking a mental note of the familiar license plate number.
He sighs, running his hand over his graying beard. “Oh hell, only ever met one man as unlucky as you kid.” He half laughs in disbelief, shaking his head, his eyes trained on you, studying your face. “Yeah, thought you might be a Y/L/N, them big ol bug eyes. You know you’re a spittin image of your mama.” He chuckles inwardly as you give him a confused look.
“Your dad worked all summer for that chevy back in ‘99, suppose back then she was more of a looker.”
You narrow your eyes at him, his aged face, familiar. You scour your memory, trying to place where you've seen it before. He obviously knows your parents. His name started with a g. No, maybe a j. Jordan, John, Joe-
“Joel,” He says, extending his hand to you. “Joel Miller.”
Oh yeah.
As soon as he said his name, you remembered being small, maybe five or six. Sitting cross-legged, on the wooden floor of the porch. A juice box in hand, while your dad worked under the hood of the old Chevy.
Joel had been there, crouched beside him, sleeves rolled up, grease smudged on his forearms and face. He’d laughed at something your dad said, a warm, deep sound that got your attention. You hadn’t seen him more than a handful of times after that, maybe once at a backyard party, another time waving from across the street. He'd stayed tucked away in the far corners of your childhood memories, just another name your dad used to mention in passing. Then not anymore.
You take his calloused hand into yours giving it the best shake you could muster at the moment.
“I’m-”
“Y/N, I remember.” He interjects before dropping his hand down to his side.
You find your way away from the window back to the living room couch. The cushions of the couch were soft, worn by years of use, the leather peeling in a few places. Your eyes wander around the room, a large bookshelf stretched to the ceiling, its shelves are crammed with a chaotic yet charming mix of well-worn novels, dusty DVD cases, and an assortment of knickknacks.
Mounted on the opposite wall, hangs an old acoustic guitar. The wood is dulled and faded, its strings slightly slack, like it’s been untouched for years. A soft layer of dust clings to it. There’s a quiet respect in the way it’s displayed, like someone once loved it.
“Look, we should probably give your folks a call. I'm sure they'd want to know what's going on.” He says walking back towards the kitchen to grab the phone off the wall once more.
“No, they're already in bed, asleep by now. Besides after all this, I don't think I can handle a blubbering, worried mother.” You sigh, laying your head onto the back of the couch, seemingly defeated.
A firm, deliberate knock on the door pulls the attention of the room, your eyes drawn towards the source of the sound. He pauses by the window closest to the door, angling his head just enough to peer through the glass. The glow of the porch light catches on the dark blue uniforms, badges gleaming against the fabric. The officers stand with patience, their faces unreadable and stoic.
With a quiet sigh, Joel reaches for the locks, the mechanisms clicking as he twists them open. The door swings inward, and the officers step inside, the weight of their presence settling into the space.
You sit on the edge of Joel's worn couch, hands clasped tightly in your lap as the officer flips open his notepad. His partner stands nearby, quietly surveying the room. You go over everything again, just as you had on the phone. The broken window. The figure rifling through your belongings. The glint of the gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans. Adding how ornately decorated the gun had been, shiny chrome and white accents down the handle.
“And you’re sure he didn’t follow you?” the officer asks.
You nod quickly. “Positive. I got out before he saw me.”
Then you remember, your voice sharp with urgency. “He stole my truck. A ‘99 blue 1500 Chevy, she's got rust along the back wheel well, bowling ball sized dent in the rear passenger side door. We saw him drive off. He was heading east.”
The officer scribbles quickly, the scratch of his pen filling the brief silence that follows. “Got it. We'll put out a notice with the plates. You're lucky you got out when you did.”
You nod again, swallowing hard, the image of your car pulling away into the dark still fresh in your mind.
The officers walk you back to your house to retrieve your items. The air outside is still and cool as they guide you down the stairs and back across the lawn. Their heavy boots crunching against the gravel path that leads up your driveway.
One of the officers walks just ahead, the other at your side. As you approach the porch, the sight of your house hits you differently, the sight of the broken glass on the floor fills you with a suffocating sense of dread.
Inside, the air feels heavier. The officers step carefully through the remnants of each room, their eyes scanning as they enter, with precision, checking once more for anything, or anyone, that might have been missed. You follow behind slowly, retrieving the essentials: your bag, your phone charger, and a jacket that had been thrown over a chair. It all feels oddly surreal, like moving through a staged movie set.
One of the officers pauses at the doorway, turning back to you. “We’ve cleared it, but just to be safe, it’s best if you don’t stay here tonight. Find somewhere else until we’ve had more time to look into this. We’ll be in touch.”
You nod. There was nothing else to say.
They leave quietly, through the front door giving Joel a silent goodbye as they pass him. You’re left standing in the living room, your house dim and still. Surrounded by your ravaged belongings.
Joel leans in the doorway, his face etched with concern. He doesn’t speak at first, just watches you, waiting.
You're agonizing over having to call your parents at this time of night. They’d wake up in a panic, voices laced with worry the second they heard your tone. You can already hear the frantic questioning: How did it happen? Are you sure you're alright? What do you mean he had a gun?
You know they’d offer to come over, despite the distance, despite their age, despite the fact that neither of them should be getting in a car this time of night. You can picture your father’s heavy sigh on the other end of the line, his voice filled with panic. You’d never hear the end of it. They’d never sleep knowing you were so vulnerable, living alone.
“Shit shit shit.” You whisper to yourself, mentally cringing at the fact that you didn't even have a car to sleep in for the night. “I think I'm just gonna sleep here tonight Joel, you can go on h-.”
“Not a chance.” His voice interrupts before you can finish. He’s leaning against the back of your sofa, arms crossed, watching you with a mix of exasperation and an almost parental concern.
You shake your head. “Joel, you don't have t-”
“I’m not letting you sleep in this damn house. Look, there's glass everywhere.” He gestures to the glass scattered across the floor. The stern quality to his tone leaves no room for argument. “It’s cold, it’s not safe, and you sure as hell don’t need to be alone tonight.”
You hesitate, your pride fighting with the exhaustion that had begun to set in. He sighs, pushing off the sofa, rubbing a hand over his face.
“Look, it’s just a couch. One night,” he says, voice a little softer now. “I’d offer a guest room, but-” He huffs a short laugh, shaking his head. “Well, I don’t got one.”
You exhale, there was no reason to say no. He’s right. You just needed a safe, warm place to stay for the night. His couch was comfy enough.
“Alright,” you murmur. “Just for tonight.”
Joel nods once, as if this was the only outcome he ever expected. “Let's get you on outta here.”
You nod in agreement as he closes the space between you in a few, long and purposeful strides. Without asking, he reaches for your bag, and slings it over his broad shoulder, the weight of it seeming insignificant against his frame.
He nods towards the door, his eyes flicking to the threshold, then back to you. There’s no hurry, no rush, but the unspoken command is clear.
You inhale slowly, your chest tight, before you take the first step. He falls in behind you, a quaint presence that seemed to make this whole mess a little less daunting.
You both step back out into the night. The suffocating feeling leaving you the farther you get from your house. You let out a deep sigh. Your balance falters a bit on the uneven ground causing you to stumble, as the adrenaline from the night wears off.
"I gotcha," Joel says, his voice low and reassuring. Without warning, his hand is at your waist, steadying you with a firm yet gentle grip. The warmth of his touch contrasts against the cool air, grounding you. The tips of his fingers resting gently on your side.
He guides you forward towards his house. The rhythmic thud of his boots matches the beat of your heart as he walks with you over the lawn. His grip never wavers as he helps you up the stairs, each step deliberate, making sure you're steady on your feet.
The old wooden steps creak softly beneath you, and for the first time that night, you let yourself feel something other than fear.
Utter and complete exhaustion.
Your legs trembled, barely holding you upright as you staggered inside guided by him. Kicking off your shoes towards his shoe rack. A relentless wave of exhaustion invades your body the moment your sock-clad feet touch the soft, worn shag rug of his living room. The cool fibers brushed against your soles, but the sensation barely registered as your muscles screamed in protest, demanding rest. Your limbs felt like lead.
Without a second thought, you crumpled into the couch, your body instinctively curling into the fetal position, seeking any semblance of warmth or security. The softness of the cushions did little to ease the tightness in your chest, but it was the closest thing to relief you could find in the moment.
Joel moved quickly, his footsteps soft against the floor as he rushed into his bedroom. The rustle of fabric followed as he retrieved a couple of pillows. He returned, gently positioning one pillow above your head, another cradling your side.
He paused for a moment, looking at you with quiet concern, his eyebrows furrowed in a light frown, before picking up the blanket you had carelessly discarded earlier. The cool fabric brushed against your skin as he draped it over your body, a small gesture that offered more solace than you could have ever expected.
You wanted to thank him, to say something, but the pull of sleep was too strong. Your body, heavy with the weight of everything that happened tonight, surrendered to sleep, and you didn’t fight it. Joel sat himself in a nearby armchair watching you with a protective glint in his eyes.
As slumber whisked you away, another knock was heard on the door. Joel let out a long sigh, his shoulders slumping as he pulled himself up from the chair with a grunt. He rubbed a hand over his face, his expression annoyed. It was likely the cops again, coming back with more questions he couldn’t answer. Not without waking you up anyway.
But when he opened the door this time, it wasn’t the uniformed officers standing there. Instead, a teenager stood awkwardly on the doorstep, clutching a large, square cardboard box to his chest. The boy’s hair was disheveled, his uniform a little wrinkled, a clear sign of a long shift.
Joel paused for a moment. "I almost forgot," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head in disbelief. He unlocked the door and opened it wide enough to accept the box.
"Joey, what happened?" Joel’s voice was playful, tinged with mock irritation as he leaned against the doorframe, giving the boy a smirk. "Took ya long enough, kid."
The teenager, a little out of breath, shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Sorry Mr. Miller, got stuck in traffic. Some asshole decided it was a good idea to race the cops in a hoopty. Streets were backed up for miles," he explained, his tone a bit defensive, but clearly more annoyed than apologetic.
Joel raised an eyebrow, feigning disapproval, but a grin tugged at the corners of his lips. "Heey, language," he scolded lightly, though the humor in his voice was unmistakable. "Just give me my pizza and hurry on back, it’s getting late."
The boy handed over the pizza box, its aroma already drifting up from the box. Joel fished around in his pocket for the crumpled wad of cash he had stuffed there earlier, pulling it out and counting off a few bills with practiced ease. "Here," he said, passing the cash to the boy with a slight nod. "I left you a real good tip. Give $30 of that to your dad, owe him from last week's card game. Keep the rest."
The teenager nodded gratefully, slipping the money into his pocket without a second thought. "Thanks, Mr. Miller. I’ll let him know." With a quick wave, he turned and headed back down the porch, leaving Joel standing there, the door now swinging closed behind him.
He turns around, his eyes laying on your sleeping form. A smile sadly appears on his lips, this wasn't the way he thought a reunion might go. After all these years of not seeing you or your family. He was nervous to face your parents again, after so much time out of touch. But that was tomorrow’s problem.
He closes and locks the door before waltzing into the kitchen, setting the pizza down on the counter. Walking over to the fridge, he opened it with a creak, the cool air brushing against his face as he rummaged through its shelves. He pulled out a can of beer, its surface dotted with condensation, and cracked it open with a satisfying hiss. The sound was comforting to Joel, in its own way, offering a small familiar noise amidst the strange quiet that had fallen over the house. It was common for an old movie to be playing or a sports game to be on the TV, but tonight he dared not interrupt your moment of peace. He knew all too well that fleeting feeling. Afterall, he felt it in tandem with you right now.
He serves himself a few slices of pizza. Normally he would have just eaten out of the box and smashed the whole pie but he thought you might want a few slices whenever you decide to wake. The gentle rise and fall of your chest is evident through the blanket. You looked peaceful in this moment, although he could hear the light squeak of grinding teeth.
He thought of what else he could possibly provide. She might get thirsty. He thought as he mindlessly made his way back into the fridge. He places a bottle of water next to you, on the floor. The condensation puddling beneath the clear plastic bottle. He nods towards no one in particular, pleased with himself and the outcome of this hellish night.
He takes his beer and pizza and retreats to his bedroom. The distant hum of cicadas in the night filtering through the crack in his drafty window. Opening the window wider, he welcomes in the brisk night air. He places his meal on the nightstand, sitting in an adjacent leather chair. He sat back, one arm draped over the backrest, eyes flicking toward the window. The moon cast a dull glow across the wooden floor, shadows stretching long across the room. His bed waited for him, with a single pillow and a crumpled throw that lay atop his blue flannel sheets.
He takes a slice of pizza, letting it rest in his hand before biting into it. It wasn't hot anymore but he didn't care. Food was food as far as he was concerned. Joel let out a slow breath, rubbing a tired hand over his face before reaching for the cold beer on the table. The condensation clung to his fingers as he took a swig, the crisp bitterness washing over his tongue. It was a simple pleasure, one of the few he still allowed himself.
His mind drifted, as it often did in moments like this. It drifted to things better left buried. Rather tonight, it drifted to things that were about to be dug up. The memories had a way of sneaking in when the world went quiet. Faces that were now unfamiliar to him. Laughter that had since faded. He sighed, shaking his head, forcing himself to focus on this room, the tepid warmth of his pizza, the cold bite of his beer, the way incoming rainfall made the outside smell of dew.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, just listening to the night, letting the weight of the day settle in. Eventually, he reached for the dial, flipping on the old radio in the corner. A quiet, scratchy tune crackled through the speakers, something old, something familiar. He hummed along to tune after tune, finishing his dinner.
Joel sat there for a moment longer, finishing off the last sip of his beer, clattering against the night stand as he set it down. The radio still played on in the background but it was faint now. As his body began to feel heavy, he was the kind of tired that a beer or two wouldn't shake. With a grunt he gets up from his chair, running his hands through his hair, the grit of the day still clinging to his skin. He needed a shower, hell he needed to be hosed down, but a shower will do.
He exits his room, quickly peeking into the kitchen to see if you had awoken for pizza. The box lay on the counter, untouched, he debated putting it away but he figured he would just deal with it later.
He walks towards the bathroom, footsteps steady but unhurried, the gentle creak of floor boards beneath his weight matched the soft groan of the door's hinges as it was pushed open.
He flips on the light, the dim yellow bulb casting shadows across the small room. He reaches into the shower, twisting the knob. The pipes came to life sputtering then rushing with hot water. Steam curled into the air, lightly fogging up the edges of the mirror.
Joel peels off his shirt, discarding it in a hamper tucked away in the corner of the room. His hand moved to his belt, opening the buckle letting it fall and rest at his waist, his fingers moving through the motions without a thought. Stripping the rest of his clothes. The room is filled with the comforting hiss of running water as he braces himself against the counter for a moment before getting into the shower.
Relinquishing his body to the steady spray of the shower letting the water cascade over his chest. Steam curling and bellowing around him as he stood with his head bowed, letting the heat soak into his shoulders, easing the tension knotted deep within. The water ran in errant streams down his back, carving their way through the grime of the day, caressing his muscles and scars alike.
Joel braced one arm against the tiled wall, exhaling slowly, soaking in the warmth of the water, relishing in the feeling of the brief joint relief he got from the heat. His other hand reached up, running through his hair, slicking it back as water dripped down his face.
Eventually, he reached for the small bar of soap resting on the built-in shelf, working it between his palms before running it over his arms, his chest, and the rest of his body. The scent was clean, musky, nothing fancy. He never cared much for that sort of thing. He scrubbed without urgency, slow, methodical, washing away a film of sweat and dust.
Joel let the water run over him a little longer, standing still beneath the stream, his head tipped forward, hands braced against the cool tile. The heat had done its work, his muscles had loosened, the grime of the day washed away.
He sighed as he twisted the knob to the off position, the shower sputtering before falling silent. The absence of water left a strange silence in the room, the only sound, his own breathing, and the distant creak of the house settling. He pushed back the curtain, the cool air rushing to meet his damp skin, raising goosebumps in its wake.
Grabbing the worn towel from the hook, he dragged it over his face, then his shoulders, squeezing the excess water from his hair before wrapping it loosely around his waist. Droplets trailed down his chest, soaking into the mat beneath his feet as he stepped out onto the tile. He ran a hand through his damp hair, blinking at his reflection in the fogged up mirror. He barely looked at himself, just wiped a streak through the condensation before turning away.
Padding out of the bathroom, towel still slung low on his hips, he made his way back through the dimly lit house. The smell of pizza still lingered faintly in the air, mixing with the clean scent of soap clinging to his skin. He stepped into the kitchen, looking towards the living room, expecting nothing but the same quiet stillness from before. But this time, when he glanced up, his eyes met yours.
You were curled up on the couch, wrapped snugly in his throw blanket, its thick folds draped over your shoulders and tucked beneath your chin. A slice of pizza rested in your hand, mid-air, your lips slightly parted, whether in surprise or because you had been about to take a bite, he wasn’t sure.
Joel’s relief was immediate, though he didn’t say it out loud. You were eating. That was something. He was worried tonight's event left you with no appetite.
Your gaze, however, had shifted from your pizza, lingering on him now, sweeping over his figure in a slow, almost involuntary assessment. He was broader than you expected, built solid with muscle that came from years of labor. The soft glow of the kitchen light caught on the salt and pepper strands of hair scattered across his chest, trailing down the hard lines of his stomach and lower still, disappearing beneath the towel slung dangerously low on his hips.
Whoa, mama.
Your breath hitched slightly, but you didn’t look away.
Joel exhaled through his nose, amusement flickering across his face, though he didn’t bother covering up. He just stood there for a moment, watching the way your eyes traced over him, drinking in every detail.
His lips quirk into the faintest smirk, and he tilted his head slightly as he leaned against the archway. His hand now gripped the towel wrapped around his waist, making sure it was tightly secured. “M' sorry was just checkin up on you. Eat all the pizza you want, there's beer too, feel free.”
Your eyes tear away from his body to settle back on his big soft eyes, there was a sweet sincerity to his voice. A wet strand of hair curled near his forehead, the ringlet almost perfect as a bead of water drips off of it.
“Oh, uh yeah. Thanks… Mr. Mill- er Joel” You don't know why but you were at a loss for words. Feelings akin to shyness you felt meeting a handsome stranger as a girl.
“Hey, if you need anything let me know.” He half chuckles, noticing your flustered demeanor. He knocks on the wall, before pushing himself off of it. “Welp, I’d better be gettin to bed, these old bones need to rest.” He jokes before turning to go back into his bedroom.
You nod weakly, eyes still trained on the spot he had been in as he retreats down the hallway. The soft creak and click of his door breaks you out of whatever trance you seemed to be stuck in. You exhale, dropping your hand into your lap, the pizza still hanging from your fingers.
What was that?
There was something to how he looked at you. The care that permeated his features felt warm and welcomed new emotions you didn't think this awful night would bring. But there it was developing deep within your chest. A fondness. The flutter in your stomach subdued any hunger left, the slice of half eaten pizza in your hand felt pointless. You set it down on a napkin, the crust lingering in your fingers for a second before you pull away, leaving it on the coffee table. You lay back down, now horizontal on the couch staring at the faintly cracked and cobweb riddled ceiling. The blanket is still wrapped around your body, a soft scent of old clothes and something woodsy. Maybe traces of Joel’s cologne?
Sleep doesn't come easy. Even though you had been previously exhausted, you felt wired. A kind of electricity running from your scalp down to the tips of your toes, buzzing like static. You couldn't shake the image of Joel, towel wrapped around his waist, hair wet and slick against his forehead save for a few loose curls unencumbered by the weight of water. How his stomach muscles contracted lightly when he chuckled.
Heat blooms across your skin, at an almost rapid rate. It was quick and dizzying, how it crept up your neck and pooled in the pit of your stomach. The blanket begins to feel too tight, clinging too close to you, once comforting now suffocating. You unwrap yourself kicking the blanket towards your feet with a sigh, the air bringing relief. You sit up, eyes instinctively wandering back towards where Joel had been last, lingering on the empty hallway as if willing him to reappear.
Your legs begin to move before your mind registers what you’re doing. Your feet tread quietly across the living room, through the dimly lit kitchen and down the hallway, the hum of the refrigerator filling the small expanse of the house. A thickness had lingered in the air near the bathroom, still warm with steam and the scent of soap. You open the bathroom door, the hinges groaning as you push it open. You pause in the doorway, eyes not looking towards the toilet or the condensation covered mirror, instead you are staring at the door across the hall. Joel’s room
You peel your eyes away and enter the bathroom. The light had been left off, the lowlight of the hallway not allowing you to find the light switch easily. Your hands gliding against the damp tile haphazardly finding the lightswitch. There was a slight buzzing noise before the dim bulb flickered on. The mirror was fogged, a swipe through the center the width of Joel’s fingers. Your eyes roamed around the space slowly, taking in the mess he hadn't quite tidied. His toothbrush lay against the back of the sink. A comb with a few dark and greyed strands sat beside it. The room smelled like him, his soap rather. You imagined him standing there, where you stood. The water dripping down his chest, the steam rising from his skin. The thought made your heart skip.
You catch your reflection in the mirror looking into your eyes, your gaze much too bright for this time of night. Chuckling wryly to yourself, hands gripping the edge of the counter, you felt the slick porcelain wetting your fingers. Eyes falling to the sink, you twist on the faucet the cool water rushing in splashing back at you. You cup the water in your palm tossing it into your face in an attempt to snap yourself back into reality.
Your home has been invaded, your car is probably flipped over in some ditch, you have to call your parents after dodging their texts, calls, and voicemails for a month.
What the fuck?!
The disbelief came rushing in like a tidal wave leaving you stunned in the silence. Then without warning it broke into laughter, crass and sudden, propelling you backward. Your back hit the door with a thud, knees buckling under you, soon enough you were crumpled on the ground laughing like a madman. The laughs came out raw and ugly, aching your ribs. You laughed until you couldn't breathe. Then the laughter shifted, turning into strangled gasps, your breaths grew rapid and shallow. Your chest heaved as panic wracked your body, wild and searing. Tears welled, then spilled, hot and fast down your cheeks. You curled forward instinctively, arms wrapping tight around your torso as though you could hold yourself together with just pressure alone. But it wasn’t enough. You shook, shoulders jerking with every cry as your body trembled against the tile. You stayed there, crumpled and gasping, the silence after each sob louder than the last.
Footsteps rapidly approach the bathroom door, a sharp and fast knocking breaking through the sound of your crying.
“Hey, Hey.” Joel's voice rang out teeming with alarm. “You, Alright?”
The door jutted inward only to be stopped by your body slumped against it. He felt the resistance and didn't push forward, afraid he might hurt you. His voice came out low and gentle from the other side of the door.
“Come on, honey, open up the door. ” His tone was soft but firm, concern evident.
You couldn’t speak. Could barely even breathe. All you could manage was a broken, shaky exhale as you tried to sit up, your limbs trembling like a baby deer’s. You fumbled for the knob blindly, the cool metal slipping under your damp palm as the door clicked open.
It eased inward, Joel was there, shirtless still, clad in a pair of boxers, eyes wide, hair damp, chest heaving slightly from rushing across the hallway. His expression shifted the second he saw you, confusion to worry, worry to something akin to heartbreak.
“Jesus, kid.” he breathed, dropping to his knees in front of you without hesitation.
You tried to speak, to explain, to joke it off in your embarrassment maybe, but nothing came out. Just a whimper as another sob clawed up your throat.
Joel didn’t say a word. He just reached out, hands firm but gentle as they found the hills of your shoulders, giving them light squeeze, grounding you. His thumbs stroked lightly over your skin, warm and reassuring.
“I gotcha,” he murmured, voice low like he was talking to a frightened animal. “You’re alright now. You’re okay, darlin. Just breathe with me.”
He drew in a slow breath, nodding his head, exaggerating it for you to follow. Never breaking eye contact. You tried mimicking the inhale, though yours got caught halfway, jagged and uneven. Still, he didn’t relent. He stayed there, steady, kneeling on the cold tile like it didn’t matter, like the cold pressure wasn't making his joints ache. But it didn't matter, in this moment you needed someone and he would be that someone. You weren’t alone in the spiral anymore. He was here. Real. Solid. Warm. Somehow, that made all the difference.
You attempt to follow his breathing once more, this time more successful. Taking a deep breath that filled your belly although it burned in your chest. It rose and fell in short, trembling bursts after as you matched his breathing, you no longer fought for air.
Your limbs feel heavy, too tired to hold you upright. The inner turmoil had passed, but it left you ran through, your body spent, mind groggy, and eyes stinging. Then you gave in.
With a sound between a breath and a whimper, you collapsed forward, into Joel. He caught you instantly. His arms wrapped around you with a strength that wasn't too tight or overwhelming, he just held you. Solid, unwavering, all encompassing. One hand found the back of your head, cradling it gently against his bare shoulder, the other pressing firm to the center of your back.
Your cheek rested against his warm skin, the faint scent of soap gracing your nostrils. His chest rose beneath you, slow and steady, a rhythm you could fall asleep to. You hear the thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear, strong and persistent.
“You’re okay,” he cooed again, voice barely above a whisper. “I gotcha.”
Your fingers curled weakly into his side, grasping for something solid. He didn’t flinch. Just tightened his arms, drawing you closer, rocking you ever so slightly.
The sobs were gone now, replaced by the deep, aching exhaustion that followed after. Your breathing evened out, slower with each inhale, the heat of his body lulling you toward rest even as the tile beneath you stayed cold.
Joel sat with you like that, unmoving, like he had all the time in the world. Hours could have passed and he wouldn't dare move a muscle. You felt at ease in his embrace.
You barely noticed the moment when your body gave out completely. One breath you were trembling in his arms the next you were completely still. Muscles relaxed, hands falling limply to your sides, all of your weight shifting against him.
Joel felt it immediately. His hand still steady at your back moved up to cradle your neck, the other one slipping under your knees. He moved slowly and with tact, careful not to startle you. Then without another word he stood. Your body rose with him, his strong arms carrying you without issue. Head resting against his chest, you didn't fight it. You didn't even think to. The warmth wrapping around you felt safe. The faint thud of his heart was all you could focus on in the moment.
He carried you with care, barely even jostling you as he walked, but he didnt take you towards the living room, he instead took you across the hall. Towards his bedroom.
You didn't have the energy to protest, but didnt think he had any ill intentions.
He nudged the door softly with his shoulder, his bed came into view, rumpled sheets and pillow lay askew as if he had literally jumped out of bed.
Joel closed the distance between him and the mattress, laying you down gently. His hands lingered, adjusting your position on the bed carefully. Laying his comforter over you, tucking you in. The blanket really smelled like him, warm and masculine.
He stood there for a moment just watching you. His fingers lightly brush a lock of hair away from your temple, a tender gesture. Eyes tracing the softness of your exhausted features, lips parted slightly with each breath you take.
“You're safe now, I promise.” He whispered into the quiet room, hoping you heard him. “You can sleep, I'll be right here.”
True to his word, like the good man he was, he sat down in the armchair near the bed. He settled in with an audible sigh, the creak of old wood shifting under his weight.
He didn't leave, didn't look away.
Sleep had finally claimed you for the last time tonight. The last thing you felt was a sense of being watched over, not by a stranger but by a protector.
bitch this is all you’re gonna get. this life, this face, this body. you better not ‘maybe in another universe’ your way out of everything. sit your ass down and face this. go make tea and have a picnic and read a goddamn book. kiss your loved ones, send that damn text, and hug your siblings. this is all you’re gonna get.
bitch this is all you’re gonna get. this life, this face, this body. you better not ‘maybe in another universe’ your way out of everything. sit your ass down and face this. go make tea and have a picnic and read a goddamn book. kiss your loved ones, send that damn text, and hug your siblings. this is all you’re gonna get.
