pocket full of kouhuns

Girl, what the fuck are you even going to the candy store for if you're just going to buy raisins. Get real. a repository of self-indulgent, sometimes-purple fluff with a level of medical accuracy no one asked for. i am an adult; if you are not, fandom is still for you, but this blog isn’t. masterlist & Ao3 & spotify playlist

[pocketfullofkouhuns]

Figured it was about time to make a masterlist. Forgive the lack of flair, I'm a writer, not a marketer. I'm good at one and absolutely piss-poor at the other <3

Pedro Fic Masterlist

Discordance The Mandalorian - (Din Djarin x f!reader) - 80k - Completed March 2021 Adventure story and slow-burn romance. Canon-compliant (-ish) and takes place in the gaps between storylines/seasons. You come across (read: steal) a crate of goods from an Imperial asshole and find a sizeable cache of beskar within. Compelled by an unfamiliar sensation an awful lot like a song, you slip into the tunnels beneath the surface of Nevarro, finding yourself stumbling into the Armorer's forge. The Armorer tasks the Mandalorian to see that you are kept safe. As your story and unique skills are revealed, safety grows harder to come by, and the fates of Din and his foundling become entwined with yours. Spotify Playlist

Jackson aka "The World's a Long Love Letter" The Last of Us - (Joel Miller x f!reader) - 122k - Ongoing since October 2023 Slow-burn romance that explores the relationships among and between you, Joel, Tommy, and Ellie. Canon-compliant and takes place after Joel and Ellie return to Jackson (TLOU2 never happens here). You were one of the first few of Jackson's inhabitants and still wear the many hats that were required of you when the community was still in its infancy. You were a doctor before the world fell apart and one of your patients, a young woman named Ellie, gets it in her head to set you up with her surrogate father, Joel, who happens to be your once-best friend's older brother. Spotify Playlist

Give in Again The Last of Us - (Joel Miller x f!reader) - 62k - Completed November 2024 Calling this no-outbreak au a slow burn feels almost as out of place as calling it a romance. You've been (somewhat) enjoying a drink with a young architect--cute, if a little boring--and trying to ignore a constant barrage of text messages from the faceless creep you've come to think of as Bar Douche when an intimidating stranger named Joel interrupts and the night takes an abrupt turn. Joel is by turns protective, crass, and completely over-the-top flirtatious, leaving you not quite sure how to respond to him and not quite sure where you stand. You give as good as you get, baring your teeth from time to time, but Joel just seems to enjoy your bite. Fighting his excessive, thick-laid come-ons and wandering hands is too easy at first, but grows progressively more difficult as his tendency to swoop in just in time results in the two of you spending more and more time together. (Not to brag, but this one's based on a dream I had that I would sell my actual arm to get to have again.) Spotify Playlist

Texas Tornado The Last of Us - (Joel Miller x f!reader) - 25k - Parts 1 & 2 out now Absolute indulgence that got me through the stress of the last few months before my boards. No-outbreak au where Joel is a single dad to college-age Sarah and 6-year-old Ellie. He was your high school sweetheart, but things fell apart when you left for med school. Years later, you reconnected by chance on one of many bouts of work-related travel, falling into a FWB situation that’s slowly been eating you both alive. Tons of pining, angst, and it's not a slow burn in the typical sense of the word--half of the first chapter is absolute smut--but it's been a slow burn all the same. Spotify Playlist

[pocketfullofkouhuns]

jackson

part 24/? masterlist

chapter summary: Fourth of July party in Jackson, part 2.

pairing: joel miller x f!reader [no use of y/n] chapter pairings: tommy & joel, joel x reader, ellie & dina (ellie x dina?)

word count: 5.3k (122k total)

warning: alcohol and tobacco use; sexual content (teasing, fingering, dirty talk, the threat of getting caught). see masterlist for overall story notes and warnings. @macaroni676 @orcasoul <3

You were halfway to the door when an absolute wall of a man stepped into your path, holding a near-empty mug of beer in one hand and two flutes of sparkling wine in the other. 

Silas bore out the wine glasses to you and Joel. You took yours readily enough, but Joel hesitated a moment, his hand flexing against your lower back. Impatient. You fought back a laugh and offered your smile to Silas. 

"Thank you, Butch," you said, touching your glass to his and Joel's in turn. 

“You kids getting by alright?” Silas asked. “Making the most of the holiday? Don’t have too much fun, now, Sundance. Tadie won’t be happy if you get hurt again and go missing more patrol.”

He pointed at you, giving a playful warning.

“You’ll see me bright and early,” you promised. “Day after tomorrow.”

Silas nodded his approval, giving Joel a too-rare beat of silence to speak into. 

"Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, huh?" he asked, a smile in his voice as he looked between you and Silas, gesturing at you both in turn with his glass. 

You breathed a laugh through your nose. "I didn't used to talk so much."

"That's not even why," Silas said, waving you off and turning to Joel. "You ever see our girl shoot?"

"Once," Joel said with a nod, smoothing a steadying hand over the middle of your back. 

You tried not to flinch at the memory, tried to shove it into the background, into the sealed-off, thorny part of you that never got to see daylight. 

"That's usually all it takes her,” Silas said. 

It was warm when he said it, but it left you feeling cold. 

The man finished his drink, then put the empty glass in a bin on top of the trash. 

"Alright, now, let's have it, kid," he said, holding out a hand to you and wiggling his fingers. "You promised me a dance; pay up."

You took the last couple swallows of your wine and turned to Joel, your pasted-on smile becoming genuine at the look on his face. He really wanted to leave. 

"Think you can spare me for a song?" you asked, pinching your brows in subtle apology. 

Joel shook his head but there was only fondness in it, no refusal. 

"Not even a verse," he said, taking the glass from your hand and nudging you toward Silas. "But you promised. Man's word is his bond—suppose I'll have to soldier through."

“I’ll make it up to you.” You gave Joel’s arm a squeeze before taking Silas's hand and making for the dance floor. 

The pair of you hadn't even found a dancing posture, much less a rhythm, before Silas started in. 

"Smells like you're holding out on me, Sundance."

You breathed a little deeper, catching the sweet scent of tobacco smoke that clung to your clothes and skin and hair, mingling with your perfume. 

"Sorry, Butch. No cigars 'til you're old enough."

"Little girl, look at these wrinkles," he told you, sending you rolling your eyes. "How much older does an old man have to be before it's 'enough'?"

"For an asthmatic? A hundred," you said, laughing. "After that, you can do as you please. I'll even roll 'em for you myself."

He huffed a quiet sound, then swayed you around in silence for half a verse. 

It wasn't like Silas to be silent; you were just on the verge of speaking when your path across the dance floor brought Joel into Silas's line of sight and he finally broke. 

"Well, I don't know, Sunny—he's a good enough man, I suppose. First through the door to every building yesterday on patrol. Always helping around town, but he’s quiet about it; doesn’t do things to be seen doing them. His horse seems to like him. Sure hasn’t turned that girl of his into some shrinking violet—she is a pistol." He chuckled at the thought of Ellie, then looked Joel over again, pausing before he finished his thought. "Little bit spooky, though, don't you find? Intense."

Turning to follow Silas's gaze, your eyes caught on Joel's as he tracked your movement. There was a smile pulling at his face, and maybe it was subtle enough for Silas to overlook, but it was completely unmissable to you. 

You wondered how much of Joel the other folks in town didn't see. 

"Eh, I'm kinda spooky, too," you said, offering Silas a shrug.

"Mmm...you used to be," he said, as if agreeing to disagree. "But you're such a happy thing these days, kiddo; I'd hate for you to lose that." 

Your chest swelled with a warm bubble of affection for Silas and you squeezed his hand fondly. 

"He make you happier?" he asked. 

The weight that dropped into your gut was so heavy it knocked your next steps out of rhythm. 

"Hup!" Silas tightened his hold on you like you might fall down. "You alright, there, Sunny?"

"Yeah, I just, uh..." You shook your head slightly to clear the fog that had rolled through it. "Sorry, what'd you say?"

"Asked if that Miller boy makes you happy."

Sunlight broke through the fog in your head, warming you from within. 

"He does, Butch," you said, grinning so hard it made you a little dizzy. "He really does."

If you hadn't known any better, you'd've blamed the wild, swirling sensations on the wine settling into your blood. 

If you hadn't known any better. 

--------------------------------------

“That color red ain’t your shade, old boy,” Tommy said, nudging Joel with an elbow and offering him a fresh drink. “Don’t work with your skin tone.”

Confusion tugged Joel’s brows together as he looked at his brother, taking the glass from his hand. 

“Your lipstick.” Tommy pointed at Joel’s face, then tapped the finger to the corner of his own mouth. 

Joel’s face flared hot as he scrubbed at his lips over and over with the back of his hand. Jesus Christ, thank god it hadn’t been Ellie who’d noticed. 

“Now where have I seen that color red before…?” Tommy mused, giving a fake-thoughtful hmm. “Whose lipstick could that be?”

“Your wife’s,” Joel grumped, rubbing his mouth again. 

“Nah, she’s an autumn.”

Whatever the hell that meant. Joel just shrugged, happy for an opportunity to let it die, but he wasn’t that lucky. 

“That’s what I get for putting that coat-closet idea in your head, I guess,” Tommy said. “Didn’t think you had it in you, bein’ honest.”

Joel’s face flushed warm again and he disguised it with a deep drink. Maybe it would’ve been better if it had been Ellie, after all. 

“She caught me with a pocket full of cookies.”

“Leavin’ you no choice but to go smooching on her, obviously.” Tommy nodded sagely, then pointed his drink at Joel and you in turn. “And what were her hands doin’ in your pockets, dirty bird?”

Finally, Joel laughed, a quick bark on a huff of air that seemed to please his brother. 

“I’ll draw you a picture later,” Joel said. 

The song changed, swift tempo and giddy bass yielding to swaying, sentimental steel guitar, and Joel watched his date return to him from across the room on the arm of her partner. 

"You're up, friend," Silas said, offering your hand to Joel. "I gotta go find Sofia, this was our wedding song."

Joel took your hand, leaving a kiss on your knuckles as he pulled you closer, but he made no move to take up a dance. He was just about to let you go when Silas nudged him.

"No you don't." He nodded in your direction, urging Joel to hold you, then took his leave, calling out over his shoulder, "Take the dance, son, trust me. Song’s given me and Sofe thirty years of good luck this fall."

“Hell, I better go get in on that,” Tommy said, skimming the edge of the dance floor with his drink held aloft. He took a swallow then set the half-full glass on a tray and made his way to his wife, scooping her and their giggling infant into his arms. 

A little good luck was pretty hard to come by these days, Joel figured, let alone thirty years' worth, so he held you close and the two of you moved together through the first verse and into the chorus. 

Your focus seemed a million miles away, hand sweeping up and down his flank out of time with the music. 

“What’s the matter, darlin’?” Joel asked, squeezing you tighter as you swayed back and forth.

“Nothin’,” you said, eyes shining with the string lights above you and the bubbles in your veins. “I swear. Just…thinkin’.”

Your accent was thicker than it’d been when he’d handed you off to Silas—slower, like your drinks had started to take hold.

“What about?”

You took a breath and sighed it out mightily, a little sound of discontent humming out at the end. “Newton’s third law?”

He almost laughed, but the distress in your voice stopped him and he settled for a smile he could keep to himself.

“Wildcat,” he chided, brushing your hair back off your face with his fingertips and pressing a kiss to your temple, forgetting all about the room full of reveling townsfolk. “I got no idea what you’re talkin’ about, but I’m sure you’re thinkin’ too hard.”

“And I’m sure you’re prob’ly right.” You rested your head against his chest and released another slow breath. “Newton’s third says that for every action, there’s gonna be—there has to be, always—an equal, opposite reaction. For a…rocket to push up into the sky, the cloud of air, the—shit, what’s the word? The exhaust? Ellie would know.”

Joel squinted down at your crown. “The thrust?”

“Yes!" You braced your hands against him and craned your neck to look him in the face. "For a rocket to push up into the sky, the thrust of it has to push against the ground just as hard.”

You pushed against his chest as if in demonstration. 

“Okay… And why’s that got you lookin’ all confused and spooked?"

"It's stupid." You shook your head. "It's so st—"

He breathed a quiet ‘shh’ and put your head back over his heart.

"Hush, now. I promise it ain't."

You sighed. 

"Silas asked if you made me happy."

Anxious dread spread through Joel and his hold loosened, hands sliding a little further apart across your back.

So much for thirty years’ luck. 

"And that's got you confused and spooked," Joel said.

He wished he hadn’t asked. He wished he hadn’t come. He wished that last glass of wine hadn’t made his blood fizzy and warm, because it made the flash of cold that rinsed through his gut that much more awful by comparison.

"No, hmm-mm—not confused," you drawled, shaking your head against Joel and holding him tight, not letting him get away. "Not for one damn second."

Some of that dread receded a fraction, but he didn’t pull his arms back around you. 

"But spooked?"

"I mean..." You laughed then, and it sounded high and disbelieving to his ears. His gut pinched, but you still held on, rubbing your temple against him in a catlike motion. "Kinda, Joel, yeah, fuck."

He wouldn’t’ve known how to react to all that if you hadn’t come up on your tiptoes to leave a kiss on the curve of his jaw. Your lips lingered against his skin and you hummed a smiling, almost laughing sound that soothed the shifting-sand sensation that had just tilted the world around him a few heartbeats ago. 

“I’ve been fine, but I haven’t been happy in a really long time, you know?” you said. “But I am, now. I really am."

The words were whispered as you bowed close, offering them into the crook of his neck like some sort of confession, then you raised your head to look at him. You might’ve just been taking him in, but if you were trying to gauge his reaction, he needed to give you something.

Be a man and do something about it, Tommy said in Joel’s memory. His voice spurred Joel forward, coaxed him past the sprinting beat of his heart that wanted nothing more than to freeze.

He surprised himself with how steady his fingers were as he lightly traced the crest of your cheek. With the thundering nerves in his chest, he’d half expected them to shake. In another feline gesture, his wildcat leaned into the touch. 

“Right now?” You were grinning, covering your mouth and shaking your head, color sprawling across your cheeks. “There’s nowhere to go but down. And it’s a long way down from up here. You know how scared I am of heights."

Joel tightened his arms back around you, pulling you close against him. He took a deep breath of your scent, then forced out a reply before he could think himself out of it or lose his nerve, not wanting to leave you alone in the feeling. 

"Ain't gotta be scared, darlin’."

You whimpered, god help him, and nuzzled your cheek into his chest, his shirt puckering from how hard you held on. 

"I'm not. Not of this, at least. Not of you." You squeezed against him like you'd never let him get away, and he hoped to fuck you'd pull it off. "I’ve just been livin’ with a constant case of...emotional vertigo, I guess. Dizzy and a hair off-balance."

Hell, Joel knew the feeling. 

“Keep holdin’ me, angel,” he said, smoothing his hand over the back of your head. “I’ll keep you steady.”

--------------------------------------

Nothing ever lasts.

Happiness had always been an ephemeral, fragile, skittish little thing that, all your life, had wilted under too much sun or shadow. Bliss scared the ever-living shit out of you for one simple reason: at the peak of things, there was no more soaring, all you could do was fall. Maybe you'd get lucky and you’d glide for a while, coast on a favorable wind, but some inevitable day, gravity would claim you and you’d crash into the earth. 

But that wasn't why you were sniffling into the warm, wood oil- and smoke-scented cotton of Joel’s shirt. 

"Maybe this is that…’equal opposite’ of yours, wildcat," he had whispered against your temple, quiet and a little unsure in a way Joel never was. "Maybe you and me got pushed into the ground hard enough to fly again."

That was what had done it. 

‘Cause you knew this feeling. It had been a long time since you'd felt it without a heaping helping of grief, but you had been turning it over and over in your hands and you were surprised to find there was no grief, no guilt darkening its edges now. 

Love. 

No matter how long you looked at it, it was just love.

You hugged your arms around Joel’s middle, soaking in his warmth for a long moment as you willed your heartbeat and your voice to steady.

The music began to fade at the song's end and finally, you spoke, lifting your head to meet Joel’s eyes. 

"Let's go home, cowboy."

He held your gaze as the next song began, something upbeat with a loud, obnoxious harmonica that you wanted to wince against, and raised his brows. You sure?"

You had seldom been so sure of anything in your life. 

“C’mon, handsome. Wastin’ moonlight,” you warned, curling a finger in his jeans pocket and tugging him toward you. “Not gonna make me ask three times, are you?”

He looked to be considering it, but only for sport, his eyes warm with affection as they slid down your neck, palms creeping lower over your back. You decided to head him off at the pass. 

“Please take me home,” you asked, holding up two fingers, then adding a third and leaning in to whisper, “I want you to take me home now, Joel."

His hands spread out over your hips and tightened, mischief pulling at his features. 

“See, now, I got down on my knees to ask you nice…” he teased, squeezing his emphasis on the word. 

Your fingers hooked into Joel’s belt loops and twisted, making the leather creak beneath.

“Take me home, and I will, too.” 

Finally, that seemed to do the trick.

Joel preferred to be close at hand for Ellie, and his place was closer anyway, so without ever discussing it, his was where you both headed. He paused on his way out the door to tap Ellie on the shoulder and push into the space between her and Dina to softly order the girl home by eleven, letting himself be talked down to midnight and then one o'clock, which you were pretty sure had been his plan all along. 

The door was still closing behind you when Joel’s palm left your back and his hand found yours, tugging you to face him and holding your body against his, moving to the dulling, distant music. 

Oh, now he wanted to dance. 

You let yourself be led, chest pressed against Joel’s as he swayed on the empty sidewalk. 

“‘Blue river running slow and lazy,’” he sang with the music, quiet and rough, fond eyes wandering over you. “‘I could stay with you forever and never realize the time.’”

Warmth bloomed through you as you looked up at him, unable to keep the smile off your face. You cherished Joel’s sillier moments, loved when playfulness blushed under his skin and he goofily let himself just be. The lyrics continued to ramble from his lips as he sang, matching the low, murmuring tune that hummed out into the night. 

“You ain’t gonna sing with me, wildcat?” he asked after a few lines. 

“Can’t, handsome—don't know the words,” you said, shaking your head and giving a helpless shrug as you added, “Never been much of a Bob Dylan girl.”

Joel’s eyes narrowed, brows drawing down a fraction. “What do you mean?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean?” You laughed at the intensity on his face. “He didn’t personally wrong me or anything. The man doesn’t owe me money, I just— He’s a dork.”

“Bob Dylan is a poet.” 

He almost sounded genuinely offended, and you bit back another laugh. 

“Maybe I’d like him better on the page,” you conceded. “I just hate the way he sings—sounds like he’s stoned out of his mind. It’s like everything he says ends in a question mark. And don’t get me started on the harmonica.”

“There ain’t that much harmonica.”

Shrill, discordant notes warbled out of the bar and you held your eyes to Joel’s, raising your brows pointedly and  slowly covering your ears with your hands as the horrible instrument just kept going. 

“Weren’t you taking me home?” Your voice was too loud, overcompensating for your muffled hearing.

“Don’t know if I want to, now,” he teased, guiding your hands back down. 

“Okay, well…” You pointed to the Bison, stepping toward the bar. “I guess I’ll just go back inside, then, and—” 

The world tumbled on its axis, spinning a squeal out of your throat as you flipped ass over appetite, Joel’s hands holding you tight as he flung you over his shoulder. 

“You ain’t goin’ nowhere, angel, ‘less it’s with me.” He strolled off in the direction of home, his gait smooth and easy and sure. 

“Joel! Put me down!” The thick fabric of his coat dulled the sound of your swatting hands thudding against his back. “Someone will see!”

“Let ‘em see,” he said dismissively. “Hell if I care.”

Bold talk from the guy who’d been blushing all night, face and ears going deep red every time you had tried to get him to dance. 

Still…

“Not up my dress!” you hissed, arm at an awkward angle as you tried to feel for your hemline to ensure your ass wasn’t on display, even with the street vacant as far as you could see. Last thing you needed was for your neighbors to get a peek up your skirt. 

“Why? You got somethin’ pretty on under there for me, sweetheart?” Joel’s hand skated under the dress and up the back of your thigh, smoothing over the curve of your ass as his fingertips traced the lace-trimmed edge of your panties. “Feels like somethin’ pretty.”

“You knock that—ah!!!” you shrieked, smacking at him as his thumb traced your gusset, slipping beneath to tease and touch you right out in the middle of the street. 

Every single nerve was struck alight, your fists clenching in his hair, the fabric of his jacket. You breathed his name, heavier and less chiding than you'd intended it to be. 

The overhead lights faded to near-nothing as Joel spun you both into a black, empty alley between buildings. He dropped you off his shoulder, but only by half, coaxing your legs around his waist and pinning your hips against the wall with his own. The fabric of your dress snagged on the brick as he lowered you down, and cool evening air whispered against the backs of your thighs. 

“I just wanna look at you, that’s all,” he said, a low vow that you immediately knew was a lie. “You got all dressed up—be a crime not to appreciate every part of it.”

Joel’s fingers skimmed your hairline from forehead to temple and all the way down to your neck, sending a tingle over your scalp. 

“Did your hair up so pretty…” His thumb just barely brushed over your lower lip. “Put on that red lipstick…”

The expectation of being kissed had you tilting your face up to Joel’s, but he left you wanting. 

“Perfect match to the red in this dress,” he said, tracing the neckline with his touch and his eyes. His fingers continued over your shoulder around the back of the dress and then down over the line of your zipper. 

A soft buzzing sound from behind you made you take a sharp breath through your nose, thighs clenching around Joel’s middle as your heart leapt in your chest. You would’ve said his name again with that same mix of desire and reproach, but he finally kissed you, keeping you quiet long enough to realize it was just his fingernails humming down the zipper, not him unzipping your dress out in the middle of town. 

But then his hand slid down over your hip and you should've known he was up to something, except he kissed you deeper and your head went all soft and empty, so it took you a second to register the cold air creeping over the front of your thighs. 

Until his fingers brushed between your legs and a rumbling sound of need came from Joel's throat as his lips left yours. 

"Hang on, let me see," he bade as he rucked your skirt the rest of the way over your hips, dipping his head down to look at the deep-blue lace that covered you. They didn’t quite match your outfit, but they were the nicest pair you had and Joel didn’t seem to mind, blowing a slow, reverent breath through pouting lips. "Christ, darlin', you're more than I deserve. Look how goddamn pretty my girl is, all done up for me. You been waitin' the whole night for me to see how perfect you are?"

Some far-off part of you would've agreed, would've gladly acknowledged that you'd gotten dressed that night with a very clear picture in your mind of Joel taking every stitch of fabric off you again later, except the words just wouldn't form on your tongue. 

"Been waitin' for me to make you feel as good as you look, honey?" 

Joel's fingers smoothed over the front of your panties, trailing lower and lower until your breath caught and you tightened your hold on his shoulders. 

"Joel," you pleaded, your hands flexing into the muscle of his shoulders, your hips rolling against his.

“I know, baby—shh, I know.” He silenced you with another kiss as his fingers moved against you. “Just let me touch you, angel… Fuck, I just need to touch you, that’s all.”

Throat and brow and thighs pinched tight, you gave Joel a desperate little whimper that he swallowed down, one arm underneath you, holding you steady. 

The heat of his skin radiated through the thin fabric keeping you apart. Brick scraped your shoulders as your back arched, the material of your dress crackling and popping, catching on the wall behind you. 

“Please,” you tried to beg, the sound muffled against Joel’s lips. 

His touch veered toward the edge of your panties, tracing the lacy edge in the crease of your thigh the way he’d done when you'd been in the coat closet together too long ago. 

Joel’s name was a warning on your lips as you tightened your grip, tangling your fingers in the shaggy, grown-out-but-slicked-down curls just above his nape. 

“It feels so nice, though.” Joel was undeterred, looking at you through lowered eyes, head pulled back. “I ain’t felt lace in a lot of years, baby. Not to mention silk.”

Your grip did not falter, you just shook your head at him slowly. 

“No more teasing, cowboy.”

“Who’s teasin’, sweetheart?” he said, letting your feet find the ground, holding you up until you could bear your own weight on embarrassingly weak knees. “Here, I got an idea.”

Kneeling before you, Joel slid his hands under the hem of your skirt, up your legs and over your hips, the combination of rough skin and cool night air raising goosebumps all over you. 

His fingertips traced the waistband of your panties and then slowly began to tug them down, sending your heart leaping into your throat. 

The fabric grazed over your ass, then your thighs, your knees, until it fell away all at once. 

Joel’s hand closed around your ankle, lifting one foot and then the other, until he held the lacy bundle in his fist, rising to his feet. 

“Here—now I can touch them the whole walk home.” He put his hand in his coat pocket, his other arm winding around your waist and tugging you against him as he hummed a low, satisfied sound. “Darlin’, are these pretty blue panties wet?”

As if your heart hadn’t been pounding already. 

The kiss he gave you was something filthy—slow and deliberate and so deep you made a helpless little noise as Joel held you to your feet. 

“You sure you can wait ‘til I get you all the way home, sweetheart?” His hand slid over your hip and he walked his fingers down, gathering up your dress as he went. “Maybe I ought to give you a little something to tide you over…”

His touch met the skin of your thigh and drifted higher. Your grip tightened around his arm.

“Is that what you want me to do, baby?” he asked. 

You nodded, but Joel shook his head and let your skirt drop slowly from his grasp, pleat by pleat, the warmth of the fabric once more shielding your skin from the cold evening air. 

“Tell me.”

Your face flooded hot and your gaze faltered, pulse thundering all throughout you. Joel lifted your chin with a single finger, raising your eyes to his. 

“I will give you anything you ask for, wildcat,” he vowed. 

You steeled yourself with a slow breath, trying to calm your nerves. 

“Touch me, Joel,” you said, steadier than you felt. Your grip slid from his forearm to his wrist, coaxing his hand back where it had been just a moment ago. 

The look in his eyes went heavy as you gave your order, making Joel look like he'd drawn closer before he'd even begun to. He brought his lips close to yours but didn’t fully close the distance, his nose and the bow of his mouth just barely brushing yours.

Following where you led, his palm slipped back under the hem of your skirt and began to move up your thigh. It took all your control to take it slow, to let the moment breathe and build the way it deserved. 

When you finally led his fingers between your legs and his touch slid against you, you gasped against his lips and gave a desperate little sound. 

"Christ almighty, darlin'," Joel groaned, his other hand sliding up your neck and into your hair. "Fuck."

His fingers moved against you with something like reverence, slow and deliberate, gliding against the wetness made of so much build-up and longing. All of your shyness burned away at the feel of his skin on yours, pleasure singing in your veins at the sound of your name, too rare and almost holy on his tongue as he sighed. 

"Does that tell you how bad I want you, cowboy?" you asked, lips brushing his, teasing as you spoke. "How bad I've always wanted you? Wanted this?"

You flexed your hips, surrendering to Joel's touch. A tingling tension spread over your neck as his grasp tightened in your hair and he pressed his mouth to yours.

“What ‘this’ is that, angel?” he asked, just barely moving his fingers against you. 

A soft little moan escaped you, equal parts pleasure and frustration. 

“You have been teasing me all day, Joel Miller,” you said, then sealed your fate when you added, “I’m starting to think you’re all talk.”

“Is that right?” Joel sounded as amused as you'd ever heard him, but all his amusement grew heavy and dropped away as he traced his fingers against you. “You want me to stop talkin’ and just fuck you right here, angel? Hmm?”

Anxiety and desire warred in your gut, both making your heart beat faster, both making you into something restless and trembling. 

“That what you want?” he asked, stroking your clit, firm and slow and controlled as his voice. “Me to bend your pretty little ass all the way over and fill you up, fuck you so full of me you can't think of anything else?”

You could hardly think of anything else already—you were using most of your brainpower to stay upright as Joel touched you. But you couldn’t quite bring yourself to voice a yes or no. 

"What's stopping you, handsome?" you said instead. The taunt lost a little of its impact when you tipped your head back and sighed, hand clenching against Joel’s arm as his touch sped up.

"Promised myself I wasn't gonna stop 'til I was damn good and sure you ain't gonna be able to walk after."

Heat flooded through you and you clenched your thighs, swallowing down a moan as tension started to rise within you. 

"Can't carry me a few blocks?"  You panted the words, sending your cheeks hot all over again. 

"That's a good point. Reckon I ain't gotta hold back after all." He lowered his face into your neck, leaving a trail of tingling kisses and bites as he went on. "'Cept I really wanna hear you, sweetheart. Bet you can be so loud, bet you sound so damn pretty when you let go and tell me how good you feel. Want you to be comfortable—want you in my bed where you belong. Wanna take my time."

Your breaths were coming in little gasps, your chest tight with the effort of not making a sound as pleasure swelled up around you. 

“You’re close, ain’t you, baby?” he asked, but didn’t wait for an answer. “So close to comin’ all over my hand.”

“Yes.” Your back arched and you rocked your hips against his hand, chasing your release. “Fuck, I’m so close.”

“So close,” Joel said, nodding against your temple. “Just a few blocks.”

The sentence had hardly even finished registering in your mind as odd when Joel’s touch slowed and the urgency between your legs faded to agony.

He quieted your whimper of protest with a kiss.

“Shh, I know. C’mon, now, wildcat. Let’s get you home.”

[pocketfullofkouhuns]

Texas Tornado

part 2 (part 1 holds up as a standalone but there's more to the story)

summary: No-outbreak au where Joel is a single dad to college-age Sarah and 6-year-old Ellie. He was your high school sweetheart, but things fell apart when you left for med school. Years later, you reconnected by chance on one of many bouts of work-related travel, falling into a FWB situation that’s slowly been eating you both alive. Tons of pining, angst, and it's not a slow burn in the typical sense of the word--half of the first 10k words are absolute smut--but it's been a slow burn all the same. (tldr; Your local connoisseur of unconventional slow burns is back on her bullshit.)

pairing: joel miller x f!reader [no use of y/n, no outbreak au, dual pov (reader and joel), first love/former relationship, mutual pining, emotional slow burn], joel & ellie, joel & sarah, joel & ellie & sarah,

word count: 13.5k (25k total)

warnings: joel is a jealous man and a fucking *tease*. medically accurate fanfic (as always)

She and Joel had been offered the last empty booth in a cozy little steakhouse, and just as their food was placed before them, her phone rang. 

She glanced at it and sighed, but answered in a low voice. 

"Can this wait 'til Monday, Ange? I'm on PTO 'til then." 

Joel's brow furrowed as he turned her words over in his mind, then a shit-eating grin smeared itself over his face as realization dawned. 

His chest swelled, warm and full. This hadn't just been a work trip at all—she'd taken vacation days to be here. With him. 

Oh, and she knew Joel knew it, now—she was shielding her eyes with a hand, talking down at the tablecloth and flushed from her ears to her chest.

"What do you mean you need to change my flight?" She swore softly under her breath and scooted closer to the wall, trying to keep her voice from carrying through the restaurant. Her silverware rattled as she dropped her hand to clench it into a fist on the table.  "No—I'm on PTO, Ange, I'm not home, I haven't been checking my email." 

That pretty glow to her skin turned dark and mottled with frustration as she continued to argue softly with her assistant. Joel swapped her empty glass for his mostly-full one and nudged it toward her. 

She threw him a grateful look and took a large gulp before saying, "Fine; I'll be in Zurich Monday morning, but David can spring for a direct flight and I don't want to leave any earlier than noon Sunday; that'll put me on the ground and through Customs right at 8am and I'll be ready to start by 9, I— No, I'll just sleep on the plane." 

A little of the giddy wind left Joel's sails. She'd be leaving early. It had been five months since he'd seen her, and he was losing a whole day. Still, they'd been days she'd specifically carved out for him. For them, together. Not a work trip, not a convenience—just to be with Joel. 

"Oh, and make sure they don't charge my PTO for Sunday if it's a travel day, would you? Thanks. In fact, tell him I want all three days back for this little stunt and if he pulls it again I'll go work for AiM and get a fat raise for my trouble." She listened for the reply and then sighed. "I mean, yeah, I'm pissed, Ange, but not at you. ... No, if I leave, I'm taking you with me and we'll both get paid. I do hope David gets a flat tire on his way home, though. Every day next week. And diarrhea while he waits for Triple-A, 'cause I know his soft hands can't change a tire. ... Yeah, you tell him I said so. I gotta go, okay? Send me the details when you've got 'em? ... Thanks. ... Bye." 

She ended the call and thumped her cell phone down on the table, then put her head in her hands, muttering to herself. Her body language was all tension and annoyance, skin gone darker with either irritation or embarrassment. Joel couldn't do much about the irritation, but maybe he could ease the other. 

The sound of his jeans sliding against soft, creaking leather got her attention and she looked up just in time to catch his eye as he stood, then slid into her side of the booth.

"Been thinkin' I ought to take you out sometime," he said, heart spurring to a sprint as he put the very faintest hints of an offer out to her. "What do you say?"

——————————

Your face was still warm, tingling with a mix of frustration, mortification, and disappointment when Joel sat down next to you and pulled his plate across the table. 

Apparently, heightened emotional states can screw with your hearing, because what Joel had just said didn't make a lick of sense. You asked him to repeat it just to be sure. 

"Said I've been thinking I should take you out."

He gathered a bit of steak onto his fork, then smeared it around in the peppery-smelling sauce and put it in his mouth, humming an appreciative noise. 

Your forehead tensed in question, confusion displacing some of your other emotions as you surveyed your surroundings. 

"Are we... not out right now?"

The shake of his head as he looked back down to his plate was even more confusing. 

"We're at supper," he said, putting another bite onto his fork, "but that ain't the same as bein' out."

Joel bowed close into your space, shoulder brushing yours as he offered you a taste of sauce-covered meat. You leaned in and opened your mouth to take the bite, but at the very last second, Joel's fork drooped in his grasp, dripping sauce on your chin as he planted a kiss against your waiting mouth. 

The absolute silliness of it sent you giggling into him, bringing your hand up reflexively to wipe your face, then adjusting your aim so you could cradle his cheek as you smooched him back, stomach fluttering and shoulders shaking with giddy laughter. 

He swiped his thumb over the smear on your chin and regarded you for a moment before he said anything, like it took some effort to speak. 

"I'm really glad you made the time to be here, Sticks. Even if—"

Joel's phone made a long buzz and he released a tight sigh. 

"Fuck's sake, what is it now," he muttered, reaching for his pocket. "Ellie's at her sleepover, I better..."

You nodded, excusing yourself to the bathroom to give him some privacy and to give yourself the chance to gather your wits about you and chase off the butterflies that had gathered to a swarm in your stomach.  

Joel was all nervous energy when you returned to the table a few minutes later, trying to scan a QR code on the restaurant bill and muttering curses. 

Those butterflies were drowned out by the wave of cold dread that washed through your belly. 

"What's wrong?"

"I gotta get to the hospital." His voice was strained, pulse jumping in his throat. 

"Joel, oh my god," you breathed, hand flying up to cover your mouth on reflex as you sat down across from him. "Is everyone okay?"

"Ellie's friend broke her arm jumping on the trampoline," he said, jabbing at his phone fruitlessly. "Lookin' like she's gonna need surgery. I gotta go an' pick Ellie up."

"Oh, Christ alive... She's alright?" You slid the bill across the table and put it in your lap, then put a hand on Joel's arm. "I swear to god trampolines were invented by a time-traveling orthopedic surgeon, they should be...illegal or something."

"Trampolines are bad?" he asked, a sweet little furrow between his brows.  "I've got one at the house, she goes nuts on that thing 'least a couple times a week."

"Her growth plates, Joely! You might as well just huck her long bones into a woodchipper, they're—" You took a deep breath, shaking your head to get yourself out of Doctor Mode. "Sorry. A soapbox for another time. Which hospital?"

"Dell. Just up the road."

You nodded. "Good. I've rubbed elbows with most of those surgeons for years—even trained some of 'em on our techniques." Joel's hands were a little cool to the touch when you placed yours overtop of them in comfort. "They've got some of the most skilled pediatric docs in the country; they'll take good care of Ellie's friend." 

You gave his hands a gentle squeeze, then patted them and made to retreat to your side of the table. But Joel caught your hands in his and held onto you, uncertainty creasing his forehead again as his eyes jumped back and forth between yours. 

"You should go, Joely, it's okay—Ellie needs you, I completely understand." A pit of disappointment hollowed you out, but it was the only thing to do—Joel had to go be with his daughter. "I'll... I'll grab my bags from the truck and get myself to the hotel."

You very carefully avoided the words 'cab' or 'taxi,' as though acknowledging their existence would undermine the foundation of...whatever all this was between you. 

After dropping a couple bills on the table, you made for the exit, his hand sliding from your back to grab the door for you. 

"The docs there are great, Joely, I swear they are," you said, turning to press a steadying hand to his chest before you opened the truck door to retrieve your bags. "But if there's anything you or Ellie's friend's mom need help making sense of, you go on and give me a call, okay? Doesn't matter what time."

Joel nodded, but his eyes stayed on yours, wide and wavering in a way you didn't think you'd ever seen him before. You patted your hand over his heart and he pressed both hands over yours, holding you in place as his blood pounded beneath your skin. 

His nerves were actually kind of adorable, and you couldn't help yourself from making an offer that would let you spend a little longer together before you went back to your hotel alone. 

"I could go in with you, if you want. Help calm mom down a little, maybe butter up the docs?" You asked the last part with a little wiggle of your shoulders. 

Joel brightened instantly, putting a fond squeeze in your chest. 

"You'd do that?" he asked, stepping between you and the truck door and blocking you from getting your luggage. 

You shrugged like his reaction didn't make your heart race. At least you'd get a little bit more time together—even if you weren't totally sure it was all that wise. But relief had loosened Joel's every muscle and the only place in the world you were more comfortable than a hospital was your own home, so you could convince yourself that this was a favor you were doing for your old friend, and not for own desires. 

"Hey, what's the point of giving their docs all those free lunches if we can't get a little girl a good room when she shatters her arm on a godforsaken trampoline, am I right?" you asked, smiling around the swirling feelings in your gut. 

With no warning, Joel pulled you against him, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pressing a kiss to your temple. He lingered, his lips at your hairline and holding you tight to his body like he was loath to let you go. 

"Thank you, Sticks," he said against your skin, pressing you into him and swaying softly. "I'll owe you one. Hell, I'll owe you two. Twenty."

Warmth flooded through you, followed closely by an almost-nervous, squeezing feeling as he rested his forehead against you. 

The anticipation of being kissed. The desire to be kissed. The need of it. 

Fuck. 

"I'll go change my clothes," you said around that tightness in your chest, patting his back to prompt him to let you go. "Be right back."

And yeah, you needed to freshen up, to get the smell of Joel off of you in case you bumped into a colleague, but mostly you needed a second to collect yourself. 

A line had been crossed, and everything had gone muddy and messy and turbulent in your head. 

It was the stupidest line, too.

An embrace. His hand on your knee and a few casual kisses.

Well, that first one back at the airport wasn't a casual kiss, but it had been casually done, and that's what you were freaking out over. 

Friends with benefits didn't casually kiss outside of the...benefit context. They didn't goofily trick a friend into kissing them, and they damn sure didn't kiss their friend's temple with the kind of tender reverence that brought to mind a different sort of temple, the kind filled with worship and prayer and vows. 

Did they? 

Fuck if you knew. 

A thought dropped into your stomach that turned into an anxiety so intense it almost shifted into nausea. 

Jesus Christ, you were about to meet his daughter.

It was all going sideways this time. You knew you shouldn't've come back. 

This one was going to hurt; you could see it clear as day, but there wasn't a damn thing you could do to stop it at this point. 

——————————

"Ellie'll be alright, Joely, she'll just be glad to see you." She patted a hand on his chest and kissed his cheek, then scrunched her nose, smacking her lips. "You taste like baby wipes."

"Better than what my face tasted like before, sugar." He'd scrubbed at his face with a fistful of the powder-reeking cloths while she'd gotten changed. "Well, not better—damn sure not better—but a fair sight more hospital-appropriate."

The elevator dinged and she waved a hand dismissively as they exited into the empty outpatient wing she'd walked them to. 

"Please. Most of the people who work here are freaks; they've got no room to judge. The shit I've bumbled into by walking into the wrong on-call room..." Something she saw on his face stopped her mid-sentence and she cleared her throat. "Sorry."

"No, by all means, please keep telling me how sex-obsessed the folks cutting on my daughter's friend really are, deep down." The edge to Joel's tone surprised him as much as it did her. 

"...My bad." She kept her smile for a second, but dropped it when Joel didn't loosen up any. Grabbing his arm, she pulled him to a stop in the middle of the empty-for-the-weekend, half-lit hallway and turned him to face her. "Listen. These people are completely work-focused when it's work time, Joely. Orthopedic surgeons are some of the most success-obsessed people out there. Perfection is their default setting; it is the only acceptable outcome. It's why they unwind so hard, and I was really just joking about that anyway. Bad timing. I'm sorry."

Joel sighed and finally gave the pit in his chest a name. 

"No, I know, I just... It coulda been Ellie, you know?" he said, half helpless as he looked down the hall toward their destination. "It coulda been Ellie, and it coulda been her goddamn neck."

Her brows pinched together and her grip loosened on his arm, thumb sweeping back and forth over his skin. 

She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, then looked up and down the hallway as if getting her bearings. Tugging him back the way they'd come, she led him to a door labeled 'CONSULT ROOM' and flung it open. 

Joel was hauled inside and then released into the dim, windowless space, only one square in the ceiling emitting a half-strength fluorescent glow. A lock clicked and then she turned to face him, squaring her body with his. 

"You want the lights on or off to holler at me?" she asked. 

"Huh?"

"C'mon, get all your pissed-off out of your system, let's go," she coaxed, waving both hands toward herself. "Let me have it." 

Joel's shoulders sagged. He hadn't meant to snap at her, especially when she was doing him a favor. Hell, she'd only come here because he'd gone all pitiful and deer-in-the-headlights at the thought of braving the hospital alone. 

"I ain't pissed, Sticks, I'm—"

"Yeah you are, you're just shoving it down, and you're gonna blow your stack at the worst possible moment and then you're gonna look like an asshole."

His gut pinched. 

"Don't want me to embarrass you in front of your doctor friends—that it?"

She flinched a little but recovered quickly. "I don't want you to embarrass yourself in front of Ellie and a mother who's even more scared than you are right now, you ornery fuckin' hick."

Heat crept up Joel’s neck and his heart started to thud in his chest. 

"Well, if she hadn't put a bunch of fuckin' babies on a trampoline—apparently some kind of bone-eating goddamn death trap—then none of us would be scared right now, would we?"

"No, we'd be finishing dessert right now!" She threw her hands up in the air. "Instead, we're here in this bleach-stinking goddamn hospital. Anything could've happened to those girls! And it was Ellie's first sleepover!" 

She was egging him on, but his imagination was running wild enough to take the bait. 

"I wouldn't've even been there if she'd gotten hurt," Joel said, the thought alone enough to spur a hollow ache in his gut. 

"And what if something happened to her and they hadn't been able to get ahold of you?" she asked, giving voice to a thought that Joel hadn't dared let himself name. 

"'Cause god for-fucking-bid I get one goddamn evenin' to myself without someone doin' something fuckin' stupid." 

He was getting up a full head of steam now.

"Some fucking village!" she cried, encouraging him. "I mean, if you can't trust another parent with your child, who canyou trust?" 

"Like it ain't already hard enough to drop my baby girl off at somebody else's house?" 

The thought gnawed at him, that if things had gone different at any stage in their evening, it could have been Ellie in that hospital bed, and the call from Olivia's mother could've been missed. The idea of his baby girl hurt and afraid, not having her daddy to hold her tight, was enough to make Joel sick to his stomach. He felt himself pale and he slumped onto an impossibly stiff chair. 

"I never even thought to be worried about a goddamn trampoline."

He'd sunk through anger into the fear beneath and now he was stuck there, spinning his tires. Joel was so far off his feed that he hardly noticed her crouching down before him until she was cupping his cheek in her palm, stroking his skin with her thumb. 

"They coulda knocked their sweet little heads together like the Three Stooges," she said. Joel was nodding along until she added, "God, what if it swapped their personalities?"

He looked at her and pulled his brows together, but she was all sincerity. 

"You could've been walking into a Freaky Friday-type situation right now, think about it. I mean, which one would you even take home, Joely? The one with Ellie's body or the one with her memories? What if you and the other parents couldn't agree on who got who?" She lowered her voice and leaned into his space to whisper. "Would we just have to kill 'em?"

Joel released a breath at last, shaking his head softly and smiling in spite of himself. 

Once he smiled, she finally dropped the act. 

"Feel better?" she asked, skating a hand down over his chest. 

He nodded. His shoulders were looser, his jaw finally relaxed, heart rate evening out. 

"Christ, but you are pent-up," she teased, standing up and pulling him to his feet alongside her. "You need to get laid or something, Miller—even out that attitude."

He made a low, seething noise and grabbed her lightly at the base of her throat, backing her against the wall and pressing a kiss to her lips that was half a threat. 

She was grinning when he released her, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and staring him down with a little shade of hunger coloring her cheeks. 

"C'mon, Doc, let's go get this over with," Joel said, opening the door and lightly swatting her ass, "'fore we have to fight again."

——————————

You didn't know how you expected Joel to introduce you—not only to Ellie, but to her friend Olivia and Livi's mom, Kate—but 'we've known each other since we were kids' was not it. 

It was accurate, but it felt somehow like hedging or a half-truth. Then again, the full truth—'she and I used to date and now we have sex a few times a year when she's in town'—was not only inappropriate for the context, it was fucking humiliating. 

So, 'childhood friend' it was. 

The girls barely made note of your and Joel's arrival, huddled around some handheld video game with Ellie serving as the hands while Olivia sleepily pointed where to go, her pain meds making her giggly and tired. 

Olivia's mom was shaken up and doing an admirable job of hiding it, but after introductions were passed around and the story of Livi's injury had been shared—primarily with Joel, though you supposed that was only fair—small talk had quickly run dry. 

Kate was an accountant by trade, and had no clear recollection of what any of the doctors had said about the plan, other than that surgery was officially going to be necessary. You were helpful as tits on a boar here, it turned out. 

There was a stiff, awkward feeling in the tiny room that you attributed to your presence, the stranger that didn’t belong in the middle of such sensitive things, so you offered to go grab coffee for Olivia's mom so that she and Joel would have a chance to talk freely. 

You pointed at Joel and raised your brows, wordlessly asking if he wanted a cup, too. 

"Thanks, Doc," he said, nodding. 

"'Doc'?" you heard Kate ask softly as the exam room door closed behind you. 

There were about a half-dozen closer places you could think of to grab a cup of coffee in the hospital, but you walked all the way down to the cafeteria anyway, buying time and taking a little space to sort through jumbled thoughts. 

Maybe it wasn't hopelessly fucked with Joel, but you were well within the danger zone. This trip was definitely beyond saving, and you were seriously considering booking the soonest flight you could get just to escape the stink of it all, but there might still be time to salvage the bigger picture. 

If you were very, very careful—and very, very lucky—the ship could be righted and you might get out of Austin with your heart and your pride intact. 

Maybe. 

You grounded yourself with the warm, sweet, slightly burnt smell of coffee as you headed back.

Just down the hall from Olivia's room, a familiar shape came striding toward you, putting a smile on your face. 

"Alan," you said by way of greeting. "Thank goodness—I hoped you'd be the one on duty today."

Dr. Alan Yoakam was a sunshiny, eager young surgeon who, at first glance, was every inch a stereotypical orthopod. He wore a wide grin and had an easy wit, his broad shoulders always hanging loose in the halls, but the second Alan had a scalpel in his hand, he was all stony-faced intensity. The guy wasn't just a maverick, he was a marvel—a quick study and far more humble and curious than any ortho you’d ever met. His was a name you were always happy to see on your training schedule, and he signed up for every offering you hosted.

"Gadget! Hey, you!" he called back, arms flaring out as he beheld you. "I didn't know you were here; didn't see anything on the training board."

You shook your head and held up the three coffees pinched between both your hands. "Unofficial business. No free lunch for you."

He gave you a puppyish smile and pretended to be disappointed, arms coming back down to rest at his sides. 

"Thought you looked too good to be at work. Ah well, cafeteria it is, I guess. Hey, where've you been?" He tapped your arm with his rolled-up notes then pointed back over his shoulder with them. "Coulda used some help in that last case if you were just out here loafing around."

"I'm very busy, thank you," you said. "And you'll never get me in your OR, Aly—you know I can't do bones." 

They're too noisy, you didn't say aloud. Kate and Joel were just on the other side of the door and you didn't know if they'd be able to hear you—they didn't need to have to think about what 'noisy bones' meant right now. 

"I could change your mind if you'd just give me a chance," Alan promised, taking half a step closer. "I'm very gentle unless it's...absolutely necessary."

You laughed and shook your head, then leaned toward Alan so you could lower your voice.

“There is no gentleness anywhere in ortho,” you all but whispered. “Half your equipment is chosen based on the amount of torque it can provide. May as well measure in horsepower.” 

You suppressed a shudder.

“Maybe the surgeries aren’t gentle,” he conceded, matching your low tone. Aly gestured at himself and said, “But I bet the surgeon could surprise you.”

“Surgeons often do,” you said, then turned from thoughts of medical-grade power tools to ask, “Any surprises in that last case? What was it?”

Alan blew out a breath, puffing his cheeks and making a disbelieving whew sound. 

"MVA, rollover—it was all hands on deck," he said with a shake of his head. Car accidents were par for the course at any trauma center, but Dell Children's was the only pediatric-equipped one around, so they saw a lot of 'em. 

"Anything good?"

"Compartment syndrome." He raised his brows and laughed through his nose, adding, "We go to do the fasciotomy and it turns out the femur's fragmented and lacerated the femoral artery, but we didn't know 'til we opened him up and got arterial spray all over the OR. Thankfully it was just a small tear or we woulda been in a world of shit." 

Leave it to ortho to not categorize an arterial bleed as 'a world of shit.' 

"Pulped his hand pretty good, too; had to do some revascularization to restore bloodflow. Vascular was up to their asses in another case, so I guess it's a good thing someone taught me how to hold my own."

He swatted your arm playfully again and your face warmed. 

"Perfusing okay now, I take it?" you asked. 

Alan nodded and a bright little pulse of pride flared up in your chest. It was always gratifying when sharing your skills paid off. 

"Nicely done," you said, praising. 

"He'll be alright." He said with a humble little shrug, pointing toward Olivia's door with the roll of papers in his hand. "Onto the next."

"Doing an ORIF?"

"Radius and ulna, yeah. Trampoline. How'd you know that?" He gave you one last smile. "Reading my mind again? We've talked about that, Gadge..."

Alan pretended at admonishment with a slow shake of his head, smile dimming and eyes sliding down your neck in a way that had you looking away to distract from the silly little bump in your heart rate. 

"Like I said—here on unofficial business today. Mind getting the door?" you asked, holding the coffees aloft again to demonstrate that your hands were full. 

——————————

"She seems nice," Kate said, nodding toward the door that his companion had left through just a few minutes ago. "She the reason you've been brushing me off?"

"I've been...?"

Kate leveled a look at Joel that said he couldn't possibly be that dim, but...he definitely could, because he had no earthly idea what she was talking about. He and Kate had bumped into each other a handful or two of times—of course they had, their girls were classmates and buddies—but Joel hadn’t picked up on anything more than general friendliness and a good sense of humor, someone he’d found it easy to joke with. Was she saying she’d been flirting with him all this time? 

There was no way. He needed to call Tommy.

"I don't think—" He coughed a little to clear his throat and looked over to Ellie, still totally engrossed in the game she was playing with Olivia. "That is, I'm not really, uh... I gave up datin' a while back."

At least, he’d given up dating other women, he thought, remembering the belly full of nerves he’d been trying not to choke on at supper as he asked out the woman he’d been sleeping with for half a decade.

He realized then that she’d never answered him.

Back in the present, Kate raised her eyebrows as if impressed, looking Joel over. 

"Lucky her—-nice work if you can get it," she said, apparently correctly interpreting Joel's relationship with the woman he'd brought with him. She grew a little cooler, breaking their eye contact and turning her attention to her phone as she mused, “Thought about finding something like that, myself, but who has the time, right?”

It had been a while since Joel had experienced full-fledged humiliation without his brother as the architect. Maybe he wouldn’t tell Tommy about this, after all.

Low voices murmured outside Olivia's room for a couple minutes, then a swift, two-beat knock sounded against the door and it opened half a second later. Joel's not-quite-date came in bearing three cups in her hands and a tall, muscular man in her wake, reaching past her to push the door open. The fella's hand came easily to her upper back as he guided her through the threshold and closed the door behind them. Tension spread along Joel's neck and shoulders, curling his hands into fists in his lap. 

She paused just behind Joel’s shoulder, resting her hand on the back of his chair, but he wished she’d put it on his shoulder or his arm instead. Not even to claim him, he thought, just in comfort. Just a brush of her fingertips would be all it took to steady him. 

The doctor pulled off his patterned scrub cap like an afterthought, then ruffled his shaggy hair, letting his attention fall immediately onto Livi. 

"Well, good evenin', Miss Olivia," he said, giving her an easy grin. "I'm Dr. Yoakam. I'll be fixing your arm up for you." 

He moved to offer to shake Livi's hand, then made a show of hesitating. 

"Sorry—do you shake hands or should we just..."

He offered a goofy little curtsy that set Olivia and Ellie both to giggling, then he glanced quickly aside to Sticks as if to gauge her reaction. 

Joel half expected his next trick to be pulling a rabbit from one of the pockets of his too-tight scrubs. 

Then Dr. Yoakam looked from Joel to Kate and back.

"I take it you're mom and dad?" he said, pointing at each of them in turn. 

Joel felt that swiveling finger like a bright, searing spotlight.

"No, I'm just—" Joel shook his head and pointed at Ellie, just as Kate floundered out a, "We're not— I mean, I am, but he's..."

Wasn't exactly in Joel's nature to blush, but he felt his face and ears warm anyway as he and Livi's mom tripped over each other. 

Of all the piss-poor timing in the world, being taken for a couple now was close to the worst Joel could imagine. He felt the warmth of the body standing at his elbow and ached to look up at her, to see how she was receiving all this—but he wasn’t sure what he hated the thought of more, that she might look upset, or that she might not. 

Before he could summon his nerve, she was stepping forward to reach between Joel and Dr. Yoakam.

"Here, let me get out of the way," she said, offering Kate her coffee and some privacy, a little more space in the cramped exam room. "Holler if you need anything, okay?"

She patted Joel's shoulder on her way out the door.

What the Christ did that mean?

——————————

Jesus, that had been awkward. 

At least you'd managed to get out of there before the humiliation burned you alive. 

Truth was, no matter what you'd let yourself believe, you had absolutely no business being here. You'd come to offer support to Joel, but he could have gotten that from Kate—the common ground between their girls had obviously provided the two of them some space to sow the seeds of...some kind of something. He didn't need you for this. 

Offering to come along had been a waste, a desperate attempt at getting a little more time with Joel instead of simply admitting to yourself that this trip, so long in coming, was just gonna end up being a wash. 

You wondered why he'd taken you up on it, why he'd indulged the delusional part of you that wanted to be useful so badly it would conjure a need out of nothing. 

A downward spiral was pulling on you, tugging at the center of your chest and coaxing you to fall, when Joel appeared in the hallway, hand on Ellie's shoulder as he guided her toward the waiting area. 

"Dad, we can't leave yet, we have to wait," Ellie was arguing. "Livi wants me to come say bye before she goes to her surg’ry. I promised."

You took three deep breaths as they approached, trying to steady your stupid heart and blink the frustrated, humiliated tears from your eyes. 

“We can wait a little bit, Bug," Joel said, nodding and a little conciliatory as he pointed her toward the row of chairs where you sat. "But we gotta get you home 'fore long. Gettin' late, and you ain't had supper or a bath yet."

"We went swimming earlier!" she protested. "I don’t need a bath!"

"Nope. Nice try, Stinky—you know you gotta wash. With soap." Joel sat down next to you and tilted his head your way while still looking at Ellie. "Tryin' to make me look bad in front of company?"

“It counts, right?” Ellie asked, leaning forward in her chair to look around her father to seek your alliance. “I changed clothes, after. I’m clean! Smell!”

She stuck her arm out across her father’s chest, but Joel gently lowered it back to her lap.

“Quit tryin’ to win over the troops, General Patton.” 

“I don’t even know what that means!” she said, splaying her hands at her shoulders in a sitcom gesture of frustrated helplessness that nearly made you laugh out loud, distracting from the emotions that had just been swirling through you. Ellie seemed to accept something like defeat and changed the subject. “Can I go play with the toys?”

She was crossing the large room at half a run before Joel had finished giving permission.

“Your mother ever tell you she hoped you had a kid just like you someday?” you asked. 

“All the time.”

“It happened,” you said, smiling. 

“You sure?” Joel looked at his daughter, affection and a shade of skepticism coloring his features. He watched her a long moment, then laughed to himself. “Always kinda reminded me of you. Thinkin’ about puttin’ her in swimmin’ lessons.”

Warmth filled you to the brim, tight and squeezing. That he could look at her with that much fondness and think of you for even a fleeting moment made you almost dizzy. 

“‘Cept you never woulda considered swimmin’ a bath.” His voice was soft and kind of far away, remembering. “Said the chlorine made you itch.”

You’d said exactly that. That you loved to swim but hated the pool, hated the way your skin got drum-tight and parchment-dry, the way your hair turned to straw and your ears ached. 

Something about Joel carrying those memories all these years later made your heart beat faster, even around the lingering dregs of the clumsy, hollow ache that had filled your chest when you stood at his side as he bumbled and blushed over being mistaken for another woman’s man. 

"Here," you said, handing over his coffee. "Black. And these..." You carefully perched three little foil-capped cups of creamer on the lid of his cup. "...are for when you realize that black hospital coffee is not potable."

Joel nodded his thanks then slipped the cream into his shirt pocket. He took a tentative sip, trying for an 'it ain't that bad' reaction and failing miserably when the aftertaste of burnt brown water assaulted his senses. 

Discomfort be damned, you softened a little, a faint smile tugging at your face. 

"Told ya."

"Christ almighty," he muttered, popping the lid off and looking around for something to perch his coffee on so he could doctor it.

"Here," you said, plying it gently from his hands and bearing it out to him as he fished around in his shirt pocket to collect the little cups of milk. Without you deciding to, your body angled his way. "You gonna need some sugar?"

There was a little glint in his eye as he flicked his focus from the coffee to you. 

"Right out here in the hall, Doc?" he asked, playing at sounding scandalized. Joel turned his gaze to his daughter, merrily plundering through a shelf of children's books. He lowered his voice to add, "Best to let me get you home first, darlin'."

A mix of relief and excitement and embarrassment washed over you and all you could think to do through the heat in your face was gently shove against Joel's chest with the hand that held your own coffee. 

Maybe it would all be okay. Maybe if you could keep a steady, ‘friendly’ bearing with Joel, you could get out of the danger zone and things could go back to normal.

And maybe it would rain Reese’s Cups tomorrow morning.

You shoved down the dread, shoved down the knowledge of what you were about to lose, and smiled at Ellie as she came barreling across the room to launch herself back into the chair next to Joel.

“Find anything good?” you asked her.

She straightened the stack of books she’d collected, then, one at a time, she scrutinized the covers and passed them carefully to Joel or you. There was clearly some kind of sorting system in her mind, but you were damned if you could figure out what it was. In the end, Joel had four books piled in his lap, and you had three. 

Perhaps to console you for the discrepancy, you were instructed to read first. Your first book was about a dog that lost his favorite hat, but in the process of trying to find it, discovered that he’d been limiting himself to just one hat instead of exploring the wide, wonderful variety of hats the world had to offer. By the time he found his missing cap, he decided that even though he liked that one best, he ought to wear other hats from time to time.

Joel went next with a story about being brave at the doctor, then was ordered to read another book. 

That was where it all kind of went sideways.

Allie the tiger cub was growing up. Her little tiger stripes were getting stripe-ier and her fangs were getting fang-ier and her whiskers were getting whisker-ier, and things didn’t scare her as much anymore, didn’t make her cubbish fur stand on end or make her want to hide behind her mama-tiger’s rump. But even as big and brave as Allie was getting, she was still nervous about spending the night in her friend Pepper’s tiger-den.

Joel winced when he got to that part, like he knew it would be a sore subject, but he continued on, probably not wanting to bring Ellie’s attention to it by stopping abruptly. 

She noticed anyway.

As Allie conquered her kittenish fear and was rewarded with an up-late bedtime and tasty tiger snacks and fun games, Ellie only slumped further and further down in her too-big waiting room chair. As Joel read ‘The End’, Ellie was basically a puddle, but putting in quite an effort to hide it.

Joel looked down the hall toward Olivia’s room, as if willing the door to open so Ellie could go see her friend and take her mind off her misery, but the door remained closed.

“I was thinkin’ we could grab a pizza on the way home, baby girl,” he offered. “What do you think?”

Ellie shrugged. “We were s’posed to have macaroni at Livi’s.”

“I can make you some noodles, kiddo, if that’s what you want.”

She made another noncommittal gesture. It was hardly ‘perky’, but it seemed slightly less sad. 

Silence settled among them again, and Joel began to idly tap the toes of his boots against the tile, hands fidgeting and patting against his lap. Restless, not sure of what to do about his daughter’s distress, you’d wager. It was the cutest thing you’d seen all day.

“They got a bathroom ‘round here?” Joel asked a few moments later. After you pointed the way, he turned to Ellie. “You gotta go, Bug?”

Ellie shook her head, slow and a little forlorn. 

Joel raised his brows—he’d fully expected she’d go along.

“You sure, baby girl? Ain’t like you to say no to seein’ a new bathroom.” When she gave him another ‘no’, he looked from her to you. “Sarah was the same way when she was little, I still don’t get it. Between the two of ‘em, they’ve seen every toilet in Texas. Girl thing?”

“Little kid thing, I think,” you mouthed with a smile that crinkled your nose. “It’s okay, you can go.”

He looked back as he walked away—twice. Each time, his eyes shifted from Ellie to you and back again. 

——————————

As Joel returned to the waiting room, he found a much-peppier Ellie and a woman who looked like she half-wanted to crawl in a hole. 

“Dad! We’re gonna have a sleepover!” Ellie excitedly declared. “She knows how to make a pillow fort! She’s gonna show me how!”

“I bet your dad could show you,” Sticks offered. “You could have a Dad-and-Ellie sleepover, instead.”

There was an edge of desperation in her voice that made Joel want to come to her aid. 

“I build things every day,” he said, nodding, but Ellie only grimaced.

"Boys aren't allowed at a sleepover." She said it like Joel should have known better and she was disappointed at his ignorance; he almost laughed at the girl's pinched brow and spurnful tone. “It’s girls-only.”

She went back to her book, gleefully scanning the story of Allie the tiger cub like it would provide her with a to-do list for true and proper sleepover-ing.

“I am so sorry,” the woman next to him whispered, all air and no voice. “I didn’t mean for— She just… Fu—frick, Joely, it wasn’t supposed to happen this way. All I did was say—”

She covered her face and Joel breathed a short little laugh, debating whether he was allowed to pat a comforting hand on her leg. 

“Look how happy she is, Sticks,” he said, then looked over at his daughter for a long minute, watching as she kicked her feet and flipped through her book. Joel turned his head back toward his companion, deciding he could risk the leg-pat. “Stop apologizing. Thank you.”

The notion of her and his daughter having a sleepover, not only meeting but bonding during this trip, made his chest so full it might just pop. But Sticks was sitting there all tense and awkward, and Joel couldn’t quite enjoy the feeling while she was head-to-toe discomfort. 

Ellie got up to go rummage through the books some more, and he was finally able to talk a little more freely. 

“What’s the matter, darlin’? You look like you want the floor to open up and swallow you.” Joel took her hand, just long enough to give it a squeeze. “She strong-arm you or somethin’? Need me to say no?”

She looked up at him with a desperate pinch to her brow, color high on her cheeks. 

“I didn’t mean to invite myself to your house, I just—” The sigh she blew out sounded like it came all the way from her soul. “I told her she could make her own sleepover at home as practice. Learn how to make a pillow fort for next time. Next thing I know…”

Joel leaned forward to set his terrible coffee on the table in front of them, then turned in his chair to face her. 

“She’s hard to say no to,” he conceded. “I think she knows it.”

“Her little face! I don’t even know how it happened!”

He smiled, letting his eyes wander over her, wanting so badly to kiss her that his muscles ached with restraint. 

“I ain’t mad, Sticks.” He hoped the ‘duh’ was implied. “But if you don’t wanna spend your night watchin’ cartoons and eatin’ macaroni, I ain’t gonna be mad at you for that, neither.”

The suspense Joel felt as she considered her options made his heart thud. 

“I like macaroni,” she said, finally. 

If he was gonna hold back the goofy-ass grin that was sprawling up his neck, all Joel could do was nod, then he looked over at Ellie, who seemed to have chosen another book and was returning to her seat at almost a run. 

“She’s really hard to say no to,” Sticks whispered. 

Three minutes later, out of the blue, Ellie spoke. 

"Dad, what's 'brush off' mean?"

Joel coughed on a mouthful of coffee. 

Christ alive. 

"It's... The—" He scrambled for an answer that wasn't gonna ruin his evening. 

But he took too long, and the woman on his other side helpfully chimed in, thinking he was having a hard time coming up with an appropriate definition. 

"It's when you treat something like it's not important, you don't care about it," she offered, leaning forward to meet Ellie’s eyes around Joel. "Like...if your teacher assigns homework but you don't care, so you don't do it, you've 'brushed it off.'"

Ellie leveled her father with an expression that was pure scandal, verging on outrage. 

Oh, hell. 

"You told that to Livi's mom?! Dad! That’s— That’s mean!”

Joel could just feel womanly eyes boring into the back of his head. But when he turned to gauge her reaction, Sticks was coolly flipping through a magazine he'd swear she hadn't been holding a second ago. 

Fuck. That was even worse. 

“I did not say—” 

"Alright." Dr. Yoakam appeared in the hallway—of course he did—and clapped his hands together once decisively. Sticks got to her feet at the sound of his voice and took two steps toward him as he approached. His shoes, some painted, ridiculous foam clogs that Joel immediately hated, squeaked stupidly against the floor. "OR's booked. Last chance to get in on the fun, Gadget."

"No chance," she said, giving him a smile. 

He looked at Ellie and then Joel, as if remembering they were there and wouldn't know what that meant.

"Team's getting the operating room ready. One more doc needs to see her—anesthesia—and then she'll be ready for pre-op. Ought to be underway in the next hour or so." He gave Ellie a wink and said, "But not before she gets to see her good friend Ellie one more time."

Ellie jumped out of her seat and hurriedly slid her books into a pile, then ran over to shove them haphazardly onto the bookshelf. The two doctors wandered after her.

"Thanks, Aly." Sticks bumped her shoulder against his as they walked side by side. "I'll bring you a good lunch next time, promise."

He gave her that big, easy, Labrador smile again and squeezed the back of her neck fondly. 

Joel's eye actually twitched. 'Til right then, he'd thought that was something that really only happened on tv. 

"Don't sweat it, Gadge, it's my pleasure. I'll still take that lunch, though." Alan leaned closer, putting his hand on her back and lowering his voice to add, "Or dinner, maybe—you know how I end up working straight through sometimes, works up an appetite. See you soon." 

That last part held the weight of a promise, and when Dr. Yoakam turned to Joel and patted a heavy hand on his shoulder, Joel nearly shrugged it off on reflex. 

"Good to meet you, man," Alan said, earnest enough to actually be believed. "Miss Ellie, right this way."

He leaned down to offer Ellie his elbow, then stretched the other hand out before him in an 'after you' gesture. Ellie giggled and looped her arm through his, her little feet a blur of motion as she kept up with the surgeon's long strides. 

Great, both his girls were giddy over that meatheaded fuckin' goober. 

Sarah would have hated him, Joel consoled himself. Or at least, Sarah would have picked up on Joel hating him, and she would have hated him out of solidarity. It had just been the two of them for so long that their alliances tended to come automatically. 

Joel released a tight sigh and scrubbed a hand over his face. 

"Livi will be alright, Joely," she said, misunderstanding what had his posture all tense. "I know he's kind of got a little bit of a bro vibe, but Alan's a whole different guy in the OR. He did his residency on the trauma team at—"

Joel couldn't bear to hear the rest of it, didn't wanna hear another goddamn word about how impressive the little dweeb was. 

"Don't you mean Aly did?" he sneered, interrupting. 

The look she gave Joel was at once puppyish and annoyed, her chin pulled back and a cocked angle to her head.  

"That's an interesting tone," she said. 

"Least I'm interesting again. Didn't even have to put on some dumb-ass cartoon shoes or 'book an OR' first."

Her face shifted from offense to something almost like amusement, and it pricked hot and sharp in Joel's throat. 

"Are you picking a fight with me right now because you're jealous, Joely?"

"Should I be?"

She laughed, loud and long and was that a tiny wheeze? Joel usually loved to see her laugh, loved that little wrinkle it put in the side of her nose, but this time, he got the distinct feeling she was laughing at him, and it sizzled across the back of his neck. 

"Of what? A man in Lightning McQueen Crocs? I–“ She gave another little laugh and gestured helplessly in the direction he’d just walked away in. “Why the hell would you be?"

"I dunno—seems to me like we got about the same nickname; anything else Joely's sharing with Aly?"

The amusement in her face dropped away all at once. 

"I beg your completely unpardonable pardon?" 

"Beg it all you want, babe."

Joel had never called her or anybody else 'babe' in his whole damn life, and he had no clue why it had come flying out of his mouth just then. 

But boy, did it piss her off. He'd've got a less filthy look if he'd just dropped his pants and shit square on the floor. She came toe to toe with him, mad as wet cat, and read him the Riot Act word for word. 

"First of all, you can't 'share' shit, babe, 'cause you don't own me. I own me. And second..." She jabbed a finger in the center of his chest that Joel felt like a knife, then she looked around the empty space and lowered her voice to a sharp whisper. "Fuck you. I really thought you'd outgrown the jealous asshole shtick, Joel Miller, but here you are, acting like a territorial teenage dickhead—what the hell's the matter with you?"

In one gulp, shame swallowed every other emotion swimming around in Joel's blood. An apology was halfway out of his mouth when she interrupted him, putting up a hand and turning away as if to ward off whatever she thought he was going to say to defend himself. 

"You know what, nevermind, I don't want to hear it," she said. 

Joel was reaching for her when she spun back around on him, and the door that had slammed closed behind her eyes was almost enough to knock him to the ground. 

They'd been so close. 

He'd finally mustered the gall to ask her out, to crack that door open to maybe make this something real someday, something official. She might've even said yes if he'd gotten a chance to repeat himself. After all, she'd taken time off work specifically to spend in Austin, and she hadn't made any plans other than getting together with Joel. She was even going to spend the night having a slumber party with his daughter. Olivia’s injury aside, Joel could hardly have asked for a better start to the weekend. 

But now it had all gone to hell, would all be a waste, unless he managed to find something to say that could serve as a crowbar to pry his foot out of his idiot mouth. 

Trouble was, the words wouldn't come. Joel didn't even know where to start, especially when she looked more pissed-off than he’d maybe ever seen her.

"And I don't know how many people you think I'm sleeping with in general,” she said, whisper-yelling as she scowled at him, “but you thinking it's at least two in Austin seems like a bad sign, since I barely spend any goddamn time here.”

He tried again to apologize, but she just kept going.

“‘Cause let me tell you right now, I'm not the type, Joel. We can't all keep multiple irons in the fire."

That was all it took to fully drown Joel’s instinct to say ‘sorry.’

"That's an interesting tone," he repeated back to her. "Hell's that s'posed to mean?"

"It means you don't gotta 'brush off' Olivia's mom on my account, slick.” She pointed from Joel to the room down the hall as she spoke, then she aimed that finger square at the heart of him again. “You can do whatever and whoever you want, you are free as a bird."

That finger speared through him like a blade. 

Joel’s game face finally slipped and he flinched. 

He couldn’t stop himself. 

——————————

“You’re free as a bird.” 

It was maybe the meanest thing you’d ever said to Joel, but you didn’t realize that right away.

It took a few seconds.

He reeled back like you'd slapped him and you tried not to wince, but your hands immediately ached to reach out to him, to ball the words in your fists and shove them back in your mouth. 

'Slick'? What the hell was that?

And suddenly, you saw the jab for what it was—knew what all this shitty goddamn attitude was about, and it pissed you right off.  

You were such a fucking idiot.

All that hand-wringing about how comfortable things were getting with Joel, how you needed to be careful to avoid things getting too serious, too messy. 

The only thing serious was your level of delusion. 

Affairs are always messy, and this had tipped over into 'affair' territory a long time ago. You'd thought you had time to course-correct, but you'd just been lying to yourself.

You were seized by a sudden, powerful urge to lie down, but you settled for slumping into a chair with a sigh. 

"It's not a nickname—not like yours," you said down to your hands, sitting limp and helpless in your lap. "They're just his initials. Alan... fuck if I know, something-with-an-L, Yoakam. It's how the surgery team tracks who's doing what cases; they put the surgeon's initials on a big whiteboard, along with the room and the procedure and the other staff that'll be attending."

Joel's eyes were on you, you could feel it, but when you looked up at him, he glanced away.

"And I didn't give it to him; some med student saw 'A-L-Y' on the board under 'surgeon', thought it was his last name…called him 'Dr. Aly' around a group of people, and it stuck." You shrugged and shook your head as if to say that's all."Same thing happened to Alanna Engelmann, but she lucked out and got 'Ace.'"

A frustrated sob was clawing its way up your throat and your continued swallowing wouldn’t wash it down.

The door down the way opened and Ellie came sprinting down the hall. 

“Next weekend!” she hollered, flinging herself into her father’s arms. “Livi’s mom says that if she’s feelin’ better, she can try an’ have her sleepover next weekend!”

Her attention turned on a dime and landed on you. 

“I told her we’ll make a pillow fort, ‘cause I’ll know how!” She beamed at you. “C’mon, let’s go, you gotta show me!”

You were fairly sure you were gonna throw up, but you held it together, backtracking to the elevator and back through the hospital. 

The sky was fading into vibrant oranges and pinks and purples as the three of you got into Joel's truck.

It was only once Ellie climbed into her booster seat next to your luggage and looked up to see you getting into the passenger's seat that the full realization seemed to dawn on all of you at once. Or at least on you and Joel.

Neither of you said a word for at least the first eight miles.

Around mile four, you caught a hint of movement in your peripheral vision.

Picking at your nails, hands low over your lap, a flicker near the center console caught your attention. Joel's hand tightened over the gearshift and then he let it go, lifting his hand slightly and moving it almost imperceptibly toward your side of the cab. You stopped your nail-picking and Joel stilled as anticipation surged up around you. 

Any movement from you, any ease or acceptance, and he would put his hand on your leg, you knew it as surely as you knew the sun would rise tomorrow. Your breath caught as you drew a slow breath to steady yourself, considering your next move. 

Steadying as it would be, the warmth of his skin would be a brand only you could see, claiming another bit of you for Joel that you would never get back when this all inevitably ended.  Your skin was cold, though, almost aching with the need for that touch, and you warred with yourself in the gathering dark. 

The leather of the gearshift creaked in Joel's grip when he put his hand back over it a moment later. 

You were being a coward, hurting yourself and hurting Joel because you'd rather do it on your own terms than have it done to you unexpectedly. But would it hurt any less to rip yourself away now, after you'd grown so close, than it would to have Joel pull you apart someday when he found someone like Kate to build a life with?

Either way, you were going to be left in pieces.

As tall grass and scrub brush blurred past the windows, you managed to untangle the knot in your chest enough to make a small peace offering. 

Joel's skin was as warm as you'd thought it would be when you placed your slow, careful hand over his forearm.

The sprinting feeling in your chest made your throat tight and air harder to come by. It was stupid to be so nervous about putting your hand on the arm of the man you'd been sleeping with for years, but berating yourself for it didn't seem to make the feeling fade. 

Joel's absolute lack of reaction didn't help any. 

You wondered what his face looked like right in that moment, were sure that if you could just see his eyes, you'd know what he was thinking. Knowing what he was thinking would pull you past a point of no return, though, you knew, and you couldn't summon the nerve. 

Half a mile later, you took back your hand. Not long after that, you went back to picking at your fingernails. 

The first time Joel had to hit the brakes unexpectedly, his hand slipped from the gear-shift to your knee. After that, it crept up a little higher against your thigh, fingertips ebbing against your flesh. 

A mile or two of peaceful road, and Joel’s index finger began to slowly move over your skin in a wavy line before it paused.

No—not just a wavy line. 

You'd done this years ago, a silent communication you saved for when others were around. 

The wavy line was a letter. An 'S'.

Close behind followed a slow circle. 'O'.

A short line, then an almost-squiggle. It took a repeat for you to catch it. 'R-R'.

You knew what the last letter would be before he formed it, and the goosebumps that flowed over your skin were equal parts from the sentiment and from how the letter's tail dragged up and up and up your thigh. 

'S-O-R-R-Y'.

You brought your fingers to your lips and kissed them silently, then touched them to his wrist. Joel flexed his hand twice, petting you affectionately. 

And if you'd been a coward before for freezing when he'd almost put his hand on your leg, you were absolutely chickenshit for the way you elongated the first shape your index finger made against the back of his hand, and for the way you let your fingertip drag a little after the second shape was formed. 

Whether you'd drawn an 'o-k' or a heart, neither of you would ever really know for sure. 

——————————

There was a car already parked in front of his house when Joel's headlights sprawled up the driveway. 

And, well, Joel hadn't had one single, straightforward, un-mixed feeling all goddamn day, so he reckoned the combination of love and dread that stirred up in his gut at the sight was more or less just par for the course. 

"Sarah!" Ellie cried, clapping her little hands together in the back seat as Joel parked behind the sedan, then wiggling impatiently as he turned around in his seat to unbuckle her. She was off like a shot, flying out of the truck to go to her sister. 

“Oh my god,” the woman next to him breathed, covering her face with her hands and slumping forward. “Joely…”

The pained, whining edge to her voice made him laugh, which earned him a disapproving swat to the back of his hand, resting once again on her leg. 

"It's not funnyyy!" she said, the last word turning into something like a sob, followed by a wry, disbelieving laugh of her own. "I was just trying to—"

"Shh, it's alright, darlin'." He took her hand away from her face and kissed her knuckles. "I'm a grown man, I'm allowed to have girls over."

He said that, but his heart was pounding in his chest as Joel got out of the truck and came over to open her door. She’d be meeting both his girls this trip, and they’d just had their first fight since they were kids—a fight that didn’t feel fully over. He tried to swallow down his nerves, watching while she finished straightening herself up in the mirror. 

"This is worse than the time your dad walked in on us in that changing room at the lake," she lamented, taming stray hairs with her fingertips.

"Says you," he said, reaching over her to unbuckle her seat belt, hurrying her along. "Wasn't your ass out in the breeze for your daddy to see."

That had been spring break of her sophomore year of college, just a few months before they'd called it quits. She'd gone with his family on a fishing trip and things had gotten a little out of hand when they'd been changing into their dry clothes, and...

Joel shook himself out of the memory, skin flushing warm. A thought for another time, when his daughters weren’t waiting for him. 

"C'mon, now." He offered her his hand to help her down, his other on the handle of her suitcase. "Ain't seen that girl in two months. Time's a-wastin'."

They made their way inside—Joel hurrying in, Sticks all but hiding behind him—and found Ellie waiting impatiently outside the bathroom, weight shifting from foot to foot.

"I'll be out in a sec, Bug, dang," Sarah said through the door. "It's a long drive, I just got here. Let a girl pee."

A minute—and a flush and a splash of running water—later, the door cracked open and Sarah appeared in the hall.  

"Hellooooo!!!" she said, greeting her baby sister by grabbing her hands and swinging her in a circle. "Did you miss me?!"

Ellie giggled wildly, melting into a puddle of knees and elbows on the floor as Sarah set her down. 

"What brings you home, baby girl?" Joel asked, tucking the suitcase against the side of the couch, emptying his hands so he could hug his daughter. "Sure ain't sorry to see you, but I'd've had more’n just apple juice and yogurt in the fridge if I'd known you were comin'. Everything alright?"

She didn't look to have been crying, but for the most part, Sarah had inherited Joel's game face, so he couldn't be sure. The feeling of her nodding her head against his shoulder loosened a knot of anxiety in his chest. 

"It was Bug's first sleepover—thought you might be sad about your baby growin’ up, ‘cause you're a big old marshmallow, so I figured I'd come home and we'd order pizza and maybe call Uncle Tommy over. Watch some of your stupid action movies and have a boy night." She pointed to the coffee table, scattered with a variety of her favorite snack foods and Joel’s, then she gestured toward Ellie. "But Bug is here, and I guess you're having...a girl night?" 

Sarah raised her brows at Joel and tipped her head toward the woman standing behind him who was plainly wishing she'd disappear. To her credit, though, Sticks squared her shoulders and stepped around Joel, offering Sarah a smiling wave and her name.

Sarah knew that name, knew it was the same name that belonged to Joel's childhood love but the only indication she gave that she'd ever heard it before was a subtle flick of her eyes over to her dad's. 

Yeah, he'd be hearing about that later. For now, though, she seemed to take a little mercy on her old man. 

"So what happened—you wanted to come home early or somethin’, Boog?" she asked. 

"Huh-uh, Livi broke her arm!" Ellie excitedly declared. "It was gross! It looked like this!"

She held her arm at an awkward angle, twisted off to one side.

The adults all grimaced in unison. Joel's thoughts flew to the trampoline in his back yard, lying in wait to maim his daughter, and he made a mental note to slay the devil with the sawzall in the morning. 

Might use the blow-torch, too, just for good measure.

"We're gonna have a practice sleepover!" Ellie said to Sarah, pointing over at Sticks. "D'you wanna sleep in the pillow fort? I'm gonna grab the pillows from my room—go get yours!”

She tugged on Sarah’s hand to get her to start moving, then ran down the hall and out of sight. Sticks' grasp flexed around Joel's arm as she made a low, lamenting sound. Joel held back his smile but he felt it tighten the muscles across the back of his head.

“Joelyyy…” she muttered, despairing, her face pressed into the middle of his back and muffling the sound. 

He turned toward her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, heavy and grounding. 

“Shh, it’s alright, darlin’,” he said softly. “You just say the word and I’ll tell her no. I ain’t no stranger to bein’ the bad guy when it’s called for.”

“I can’t,” she whined. “She’s so excited, I’d never forgive myself. Do you remember how sad she was at the hospital? She got even littler somehow, Joely, and she’s already so small.”

Joel’s heart squeezed. She might be almost as susceptible to Ellie as he was, somehow. 

“Ain’t fair, is it?” he said, brushing her hair back off her face. “Basically cheatin’ to be that damn small and earnest.”

She nodded, pouting for show, then heaved a sigh. 

“Can I borrow your shower?” she asked, sheepish in a way that didn’t quite make sense to Joel, huddling a little closer and averting her eyes, like she was hiding from him. “I should probably rinse the…everything off me.”

“‘Course, sugar.” He tilted his head toward the door, adding, “Just got the one.”

Joel planted a kiss to her still-furrowed brow and released her, his hands rubbing over her upper arms twice to steady her, but as she and that suitcase went into the bathroom, he thought it left her looking a little less steady. 

He wondered at it, but not for long—Sarah peeked her head out of her bedroom door to check the coast was clear, then closed in on her father the second she was sure the woman was out of sight. 

"Is that the—"

Joel shushed her before she could excitedly whisper-yell the name, pulling her around the corner and into the kitchen by the elbow.

"Don't start," he warned, immediately regretting ever sharing the story with his daughter. 

He'd dabbled in a short heart-to-heart to console a brokenhearted Sarah after she'd cried so hard for so long that her voice had given out. College had cost the girl her first love, too—after two years together, they'd called it off halfway through the first semester and Sarah, usually so restrained and reserved, had crumbled from it. Joel reckoned it must be genetic, figured the least he could do to make up for it was commiserate that she'd come by it honest. 

"Oh my god, it is!" Sarah gasped. "And you were kissing her forehead? You brought her hooome to pillow-fort with your baby?!”

He burned hot from his chest to his ears. Fuck’s sake, Joel was blushing—in front of his daughter, no less. It wasn’t dignified. 

Sarah aimed her phone at him and a camera shutter sound played, then she gave a pretend-emotional sniffle. "My little man, all grown up."

Such a little shit, he thought with a fond tug in his chest. 

"I can still ground you, young'un," he threatened, putting on his sternest, pinched-est face instead of laughing. 

"But then I'd be home all the time," she said, wrapping her arms around his middle and squeezing too hard. "How would you do all your cavorting?"

——————————

"Joel!" Your voice was a harsh whisper, leaning out of the bathroom door you were holding mostly closed while you peeked out. "I have a problem."

"'S the matter, Fishsticks?" he said at normal volume, earning him an urgent 'shh!' as you beckoned him closer with a frantic flap of a hand. He left his daughters in the living room and made his way to you. 

"Why're we whisperin'?" His low tone finally matched yours. 

You opened the bathroom door just a few inches wider, revealing a short black silk chemise dangling from your finger by its thin straps. 

Joel's pupils widened as he looked between the two slinky little numbers before him—you and the nightgown. 

"This don't look like a problem to me, sugar."

"It is when it's all I have to sleep in!" It was your go-to for sleepwear, especially when traveling; silk took up no space at all in a suitcase and dried quickly after being hand-washed in a hotel sink. Nevermind that it felt incredible on your skin and looked good enough to stop traffic. "Unless you want Sarah to see it and to have to explain it to Ellie."

"I mean, it might be worth it—" 

You whipped at him with the silk and Joel grinned. 

"Would you just shut up and give me something else to wear, you...lecherous old redneck?"

"Only if you promise to be wearing that when I come back in a minute."

Joel turned away from you, slipping across the hall into his bedroom as you rolled your eyes at his back. He acted like he'd never seen the damn thing bef—oh.

He hadn't. 

Despite all your sleeping together, you'd never actually slept together. You always ended up together at your hotel, and after falling into your bed, Joel always spent the night back in his own.

A minute or so later, two soft knocks sounded against the door but your hand lay frozen on the knob, pretty sure it was Joel but terrified it might be Ellie or Sarah. Several seconds passed without you summoning the bravery to turn the handle. 

"Alive in there, Doc?" came a masculine voice. 

Sighing your relief, you cracked open the door. There was Joel, a bundle of fabric folded up in his hand as he looked down the hall toward the living room where his girls were talking. You grabbed for the clothes and he held them back out of your reach, stretching out his other hand to nudge open the bathroom door. 

You let him, taking two steps back to make space for the door. 

He blew out a long, slow breath through pursed lips like a whispered whistle as his eyes roamed over every inch of you. 

Your skin felt tight under the heat and intensity of his gaze, your nipples stiffening and the thin fabric doing absolutely nothing to hide it. 

Joel stepped slowly into the bathroom and nudged the door shut behind him. He came closer and closer, eventually forcing you to yield a step, then another, until the backs of your shins met the cold porcelain of the bathtub. 

He leaned into you, throwing off your balance but holding you against him to keep you from falling backward. The shower knob squeaked as he turned on the spray, the room filling with the plinking splash of cold water. Still, even with the blare of white noise to hide his speech, Joel brought his lips to your temple to whisper his praises. 

"You are sexier every single goddamn time I see you, darlin'," he said, hands sliding down over your ass and tightening against you. "Maybe I ought to make a real mess out of you, since you're gettin' in the shower anyway."

You tried to hold back a gasp as his touch slipped underneath the nightgown, fingertips curling like he could grab a handful of you to keep for himself. Your chest swelled against his as you breathed him in.

"Maybe I should take this pretty little negligée off of you so I can see every inch of that perfect skin." Joel coaxed the strap off your shoulder and brushed his lips over its crest. "No, not just see—so I can touch every inch of you. Taste every inch of you."

He left soft, open-mouthed kisses over your collarbone, tongue gently trailing across your skin. You took a shaky breath that turned into a sharp hiss when his teeth grazed your throat.

"But you went to all that trouble, getting changed so I could see you. Hate to waste it." Heavy, claiming hands on your hips tugged you along a couple steps, bringing you to the wide, double-sink vanity. Joel turned you around to face the mirror, your back against his chest.

You watched as his eyes took in your reflection, took in the sight of the two of you as a pair. He breathed a contented sound, pulling you closer by the hips, holding himself tight to you, fingertips sinking into your flesh as he pinned you against him.

"Such a goddamn stunner, baby, look at you." His hands came up from your hips and sprawled out over your waist, thumbs tracing the curves of your breasts. "No, I'd definitely have to leave this on—least at first."

Joel's hand left your middle, then trailed up your back, coaxing you to bend forward and hold yourself up against the sink while your ass stayed pressed to his front. The neck of the nightgown gaped open, putting your tits on full display as he watched, eyes jumping from place to place like he couldn't figure out just which parts of you to stare at. 

"Fuck, you look so ready for me, sweetheart." Joel's touch skimmed up your thigh and back under the hem of the silk, sending goosebumps and nervous expectation blooming all over you. "Need me to touch you, don't you?"

You nodded, not trusting your voice to keep low enough to be discreet. 

"Shh, I know, darlin'." His fingertips carefully mapped the crease of your thigh, starting at your hip and trailing in, trailing down.  He pressed his hips against your ass, the hard promise of him making your jaw drop as you shifted forward against the porcelain. You pushed back, grinding into him, all but begging him to fuck you as you fought to keep quiet. 

Helpless. You were absolutely helpless for him—desperate for him to touch you, to take you, to keep you. The woman looking back at you from the steam-fogged mirror was all but dazed by the sight of Joel, worshipping the version of you touching him, writhing against him, but still unable to keep his eyes off of your reflection. The heat in his gaze made you throb, sure, but the affection on his face made you ache, made you fucking yearn. A sweet pain in the heart of you melded with the desire in your gut and you were overwhelmed for a moment by a desire for him to just hold you.

Shit, this was bad. 

But Joel's touch drifted further down against you and you gasped as he teased you with his fingertips, a light touch over the lace-fronted panties you'd known you should've taken off, casting your pride and self-preservation into the wind.

"That's my girl. I got you, honey, I know. Let me take care of you. Be so good to you..." He leaned over you, his other hand curving sweetly around your chest, palming your tits and kneading them softly, breathing a low rumble of approval as your nipples grew hard under his hand. "But if you made so much as one of your sweet sounds, I'd have to stop. And that would break my heart, angel. You know how much I love to hear you."

Fingers stalling just shy of where you ached for him to touch, Joel hummed a thoughtful sound against your neck, nuzzling his nose into the hair at your nape, and then seemed to make up his mind. 

"Better not, then," he said, withdrawing his hand and retreating a couple steps before turning to open the door, leaving you bent over the sink, breathless and needy. 

"Just gettin' the water started for her," he announced into the living room as the door clicked closed behind him. "You know how tricky it is to get just right."

The water was just right, singing against your skin with a warmth that nearly made you moan as you stepped under the spray. It lulled you into a daydream, let you imagine where things might've gone if not for Joel's restraint. 

He would have fucked you against the counter—would've bade you to keep your eyes on his in the mirror as he drove into you, over and over. He would have swept your hair back so he could see your face, gathered it in his fist and tugged hard, grounding you through the feeling of him fucking you, hard and fast and deep, so deep that you'd've moaned eventually—wouldn't have been able to hold it back. Joel would have put his hand over your mouth, then, to stifle you, to keep you quiet and focused. 

He'd've pinned you down, held you in place even when the cold counter made you flinch, and he would have railed into you, whispering filth about how tight you were, how wet, how miserably fucking perfect he fit inside you. You would have come for him, breath lodged in your lungs, fighting not to make a sound, but Joel would have made it so hard for you, refusing to relent, praising as he wrenched another orgasm from you, made you writhe against him and swallow down a pleading cry. 

'One more, angel,' he'd've vowed, and you would've been helpless to argue. He would have put his hands on you, would've whispered how good you were as he touched you and fucked you and gasped your name. Just as you fell off the edge again, Joel would follow close behind, fingers clawing at your hips or your shoulders or the base of your throat as he slammed into you, losing control and filling you up, marking you for each other... 

Jesus. You were cock-drunk without ever really even being touched. 

The dial squeaked as you twisted it toward the cold water, shocking the fantasy, the memory of Joel's touch from your system and launching you back to reality. 

There'd be no sleep for you tonight, you already knew, just a belly full of guilty, frustrated desire.

Exactly what you wanted to bring to a sleepover.

[pocketfullofkouhuns]

jackson

part 23/? masterlist

chapter summary: Fourth of July in Jackson.

pairing: joel miller x f!reader [no use of y/n] chapter pairings: ellie & joel & reader, tommy & joel & reader, joel x reader, ellie & dina (ellie x dina?)

word count: 7.2k (117k total)

warning: alcohol and tobacco use; nearly-sexual content (teasing, Joel begging, the threat of getting caught). see masterlist for overall story notes and warnings. @macaroni676 @orcasoul <3

When Joel made it back to your place in the early afternoon, he'd really only meant to swing by to iron out the plan for the evening after getting Tommy and Ellie out of his ass and out from underfoot. 

Before Tommy'd mentioned it that morning, Joel had all but forgotten that there was some community shindig he'd been expected to attend. The reminder had been unwelcome at first, but as the day carried on, Joel found a few things to look forward to—grilled corn on the cob and an honest-to-God cheeseburger, holding you close on the dance floor, maybe sneaking off someplace and seeing what Tommy's talk about you getting silly on bubble-wine was all about. The night might not be a total loss. 

The little wooden sign in your window was green, but Joel knocked anyway, only to be bade to 'come in, my hands are full!' 

A simple, sweet smell—flour and sugar, mostly, with a tangy edge of yeast—greeted him as he made his way inside. You were in the kitchen, hands buried in a wooden bowl that bonked softly against the countertop as you kneaded its contents. 

"Hey handsome," you said, looking over your shoulder at Joel, golden sunlight streaming through the window and turning your hair into a halo. "Done with your tinkering already?"

He nodded, coming up beside you and pressing a kiss to your brow, happy-hearted at the endearment.

"Belt wasn't all that tricky to get to, turned out," he said. "Tommy just ain't ever been all that good with his hands."

You snorted a laugh. "See, I knew I picked the right brother."

Joel's chest warmed and some part of him puffed up a little. Still...

"You didn't pick nothin', wildcat," he said, brushing a lock of hair out of your face so you could see. "I picked you."

"Picked me?" You laughed again. "You kissed me and then ran away! On horseback!"

He winced a little at the memory of his ears burning and his gut in knots as he and Gentry trotted off after he'd all but pounced on the pretty little doctor who'd just sewn up his leg.

Joel wrestled himself back to the moment.

"Like an Ol' West cowboy," he lied. "Mysterious. Took what I wanted."

"And then you panicked," you said, teasing. "Like a little boy on a playgr—whoa!"

His hands were on your hips and he was spinning you around to face him before he'd made up his mind to do it. Lips crashed into lips and fingers wound into hair and Joel leaned far enough into you that you staggered back against the worktop before you could catch yourself. He kissed the breath out of you, kissed you 'til you whimpered a soft, desperate little sound and pulled yourself closer, dough-covered hands splayed helplessly by your shoulders.

Finally, with a kiss to your cheek and then your brow, Joel released you.

"Ain't runnin' off now."

————————————-

You didn't exactly have your head in the bread-baking game after that. Joel seemed to know it, standing by and fidgeting with this and that as you talked. 

Mostly, he was distracting you with occasional, 'innocent' touches. Brushing hair out of your face, then claiming the neck of your apron was twisted and needed straightening, then wiping a smudge of flour from your cheek a few minutes later.

He'd been behaving for a while by the time you'd set aside the loaf to rise and had moved on to making cookies for that evening's party. As you took the dough from the fridge and began scooping up balls of the sweet-smelling goop, Joel slipped behind you, pressing against you to help himself to a fistful of blueberries from a bowl on your other side. On his way back, his touch slid from your shoulder to your hip and then obscenely low over your ass, sending you jumping and swatting at him with a shriek. 

The bowl you were using slipped against the counter and your forearm knocked into a small plastic carton, sending a trio of speckled brown eggs careening onto the floor. 

You gasped, hands flying to catch them before they could splatter, then covering your mouth when you failed. 

"Well... Fuck," you breathed, a short laugh following close behind. "Now look what you did, you...horny old man."

There was a twinkle in his eye as Joel moved toward the mess. 

"Here, let me get it," he said, putting a steadying hand on your back to keep you where you were at as he stepped around you.

And you almost said those three dreaded words—'I got it'—but you caught yourself just in time. 

"Thank you, handsome. You can use the towel that's on the handle of the oven, there." You pointed at the target and resumed your work. "Just toss it in the bathroom sink when you're done, I gotta do a little washing today anyway."

Joel plucked up the eggshells, then sopped up the spill and hucked the towel into the sink as instructed, where it landed with a wet, heavy thwack. He washed his hands and looked around for something to dry them on. Finding no other option, Joel was just about to settle for wiping his hands on his jeans when you spoke up, a warm little impulse sending your heart skittering in your chest. 

"Here," you said, tilting a hip in his direction to give him access to the corner of your apron. "Don't get your pants all wet."

He bent to dry his hands, and the moment he rubbed the fabric between them, you planted a kiss on his forehead, then butted his head with yours lightly. 

“Can't believe you fell for that." You returned to your work but kept your eyes on Joel as you started to shape the cookies. 

"Fell for what?" he asked. "Cleanin' up my own mess?"

"Not that. This," you said, nodding downwards. "You wiped your hands on my apron. You’re mine now. Sorry.”

Joel just rested against the counter to watch you, looking amused. “What in the blue hell are you talkin' about, wildcat?”

“They didn’t have that superstition in Texas? If a boy wipes his hands on a girl’s apron, he’s doomed to fall in love with her." Nerves flapped wildly in your gut at the word and you nearly softened it, but Joel's smile only widened, so you just beamed at him and pressed on. "I got you. See that spot right there? Wet from your hands. You're toast, Miller. It's a done deal." 

“Oh no…” he said, coming up behind you and dabbing his fingers in the remnants of flour scattered on the countertop before you. Joel wiped his hands on the fabric again, slow and deliberate, dragging them over your chest and hips before wrapping you in his arms and burying his face in your neck. Your breath hitched at the feeling of him curling around you and you arched your back, pressing your body against his, memorizing the warmth of his skin and the feeling of being claimed.

“Dooooomed. Wretched, devil woman,” Joel lamented, leaving a scattering of kisses from your ear to your shoulder as his hands continued to wander. "A fate worse than death."

You tried to focus on the task at hand, transferring palmfuls of dough to a sheet tray, but Joel's fingers slipped under the apron and into the gaps between the buttons of your dress, erasing all strategic thought from your mind. 

"Joel..." you said, attempting admonishment, but it sounded heated and pleading, even to your own ears. 

"Don't blame me, honey, you're the one who set me up." He bit lightly at your neck, sending goosebumps all over your skin, then soothing them away as he touched you. "Can't bait a hook and holler at the fish for bitin'."

"I'm supposed to bring cookies to the party later," you tried to object.

"You can finish up, baby," he said indulgently, hands sliding up over your chest, tracing over your breasts through the soft linen. "Go on ahead; I ain't stoppin' you."

You made a sound somewhere between a moan and discontent, then offered your final line of resistance.

"Joel, anybody could walk in."

"Yes, they could." His nose traced the curve of your jaw and he breathed deeply. "But all they'd see is me watchin' you work, sweetheart."

"Oh? Is that all you're doing?" you said, bringing your focus back to heel and reaching for another ball of dough. "Seems like you're kind of leading up to something else, there, cowboy."

He hummed a little hm-mmm against your ear and dragged his hands over your hips, pulling you against him.

"Nah, I've got someplace to be in..." Joel cast a glance to the clock on her wall. "...four hours. Way too late to get started on a project now."

"What, does it take you three hours and fifty-five minutes to get dressed or something?" you teased.

"Oh, c'mon now, darlin'; you know that ain't gonna work," he said, shaking his head. "May as well give it up."

"What's not gonna work?"

"Not gonna rile me into rushin'." His touches slowed and chastened, arms coming around you to hold you close. "I ain't got nothin' to prove, wildcat. You already know I'm gonna take good care of you, don't you?"

Your cheeks warmed, a rush of anticipation squeezing through you. 

"You don't think I can tempt you into a sneak preview?" you said. 

Joel shook his head again. 

"Ain't no way." 

"Not even if I get down on my knees?" you asked, starting to kneel, "and asked so, so ni—"

"Nope," he said, grabbing you by your upper arms and holding you to standing. "Pretty as you'd look, 'fraid you're just gonna have to wait, Doc."

You didn’t bother to pout. 

Joel combed your hair back and cradled your cheeks, regarding you for a moment before he spoke again. 

"Be by at six-thirty to pick you up." He kissed you one more time, eyes skimming down your body as he added, "I like how you look in red," and then he was gone. 

————————————-

As you stepped off the final stair, you caught sight of Joel standing by your front door, frowning at a scuff of dirt on his boots and fidgeting with the cuff of his pants, seemingly trying to tug it down over the offending smudge. 

The boots were in dire need of resoling, you noted, but you reckoned the old workhorses were still the nicest shoes he owned, if not the only pair. 

You let a floorboard creak beneath your foot and Joel's attention fell on you at last as you stood in the space between the living room and kitchen. He narrowed his eyes, then shook his head.

“No, ma’am,” he said, pointing you back toward the stairwell. “Not a chance in Hell.”

Your brow pinched and you looked down at your dress. 

“What? I like this dress. You wanted red!”

“And if you think you can just sneak down here looking like that without even letting me watch you come down the stairs, you are out of your damn mind.” Joel stepped closer and waved you away. “Now get your pretty little ass back up there and do it right.”

A grin can only get so big before a girl ends up laughing, but you obeyed, all but floating up the steps, then you leaned over the railing to call out, “You paying attention this time?” 

“On pins and needles down here, angel.” 

With more confidence and grace than you'd ever done it in your life, you slowly and deliberately descended the stairs. 

As Joel came into view, your stomach did a goofy little flip at the smile spreading over his face. 

“Well?” you prompted.

He let out a low, appreciative whistle as you crossed toward him, gaze sliding over every bit of you. 

“You always know just what to say to a girl,” you said with a fond roll of your eyes as Joel took your hand and kissed the back of it. “If we’re done with the theatrics, do you mind giving me a zip here, Shakespeare? I can’t get it to go any higher.” 

You offered your back to Joel and he hummed his assent, reaching to spin you away so he could do as you asked.

The zipper’s teeth chattered, sending a buzz over your skin as the dress slowly loosened its hug over your curves. 

Your stomach fluttered and a smile crept across your face. “Up, sir. Zip it up.”

“I will,” he promised, skimming his lips over the slope of your neck. “Soon as I’m done.”

The scratch of his beard and the heat of his breath on your shoulder made your skin feel tight with desire. 

“This color red looks damn good on you, wildcat," he said, the low rumble of his voice filled with some kind of promise. 

“…But it’d look better on the floor?” you offered, heart beating hard enough to make you a little short of breath. 

Joel hummed a thoughtful noise. “Y’know, I bet it would, but we can’t have this nice dress getting wrinkled, now, can we? It’s about time to leave.” He took up fistfuls of the fabric, raising the hem over your knees, your thighs. “So you can keep it on. Long as I got room to work.”

He pulled your back against him, bracing your hips against his. 

The grandfather clock solemnly chimed the quarter hour, almost apologetic in its duty. You lay your hands over Joel’s, stopping him from lifting your dress any higher. 

“We’ve got somewhere to be, cowboy.” It was a weak protest, half-hearted at best, and he knew it. "We 'ain't got time for a project,' remember?"

You imitated his accent, giving his earlier words back to him. 

“‘S only across the way.” Joel kissed your neck and nuzzled his nose into your hair, vowing against your ear, “We can be quick. Get the first phase over with 'fore we come back later. Like an appetizer."

He traced a finger across the back of your neck, then down along your spine until the zipper ended at the small of your back. A needy tension swelled through you and you curled your toes to keep from clenching your thighs together. 

“Much as I’d love to try, I think people will notice if Jackson’s most eligible bachelor is missing come seven o’clock.” The teasing note in your voice failed to goad him into releasing you.

“Who’s eligible?” He slipped his arms inside the bodice of your dress, arms caressing your bare torso, the calluses of his palms so gently scratching your skin.

You swallowed a sound of pleasure that got caught in your throat as the roughness of his cheek grazed the curve of your neck, hands still wandering over you. 

“I ain’t eligible. I wiped my hands on your apron earlier, ‘member?” His next words were a low vow against the side of your throat that sent a faint crackle of electricity through you. “You own me.”

Those three words and the slow kiss he left on your neck set fire to the last of your resistance. You breathed his name and moved to face him, but Joel held you in place, your bare back pinned to his chest.  

“Think folks'll still call me ‘eligible’ if I show up with you on my arm, all fuck-blushed and pretty and out of breath?” His hands drifted lower, still inside your dress, brushing over your hips, then your upper thighs. So close. “Think they’ll notice I’m sayin’ my howdys and hellos with the smell of you all over me?”

One hand snaked up your chest until his hand cradled your neck, baring your throat to him as the other hand slid between your legs with the faintest touch. You sighed his name again like a prayer, and Joel bit lightly at your shoulder. 

“You're right—I bet they’d notice.” He withdrew his arms from inside your dress and zipped you up at last. “Better get goin’, then.”

And then he swatted you on the ass, opened the front door, and gestured for you to go through it. You felt the disbelief on your face and saw it reflected back to you as pure, devious amusement from Joel. 

He was positively smug. 

“Ooh, I am gonna pun-ish youuu,” you sang, stepping out onto the porch. 

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, wildcat.”

“Big talk from the fella who’s about to walk into the Bison with a hard-on,” you said, looking down with a raised brow, then stepping closer and dropping your voice to a sympathetic whisper. “Better start thinking about baseball, slugger.” You flattened his collar and smoothed the wrinkled fabric over his chest, then let a hand drift down to palm the bulge at the front of his pants. “Tell me… Who was pitching for the Astros that year they won the World Series?”

“See, now, that ain’t fair,” Joel said, a hitch in his breath. “'Course I get dirty-minded talkin' about sports. All them…balls.”

His deadpan delivery almost slipped the joke past you, and it took a moment for you to burst into laughter. 

Mirth and affection and desire lit his eyes and he took your face in his hands and kissed you almost long enough to make y'all late for the party. 

————————————-

"Ooh, don't you look pretty," Ellie said to Joel not ten feet inside the door. She'd come bounding up the moment she'd spotted the two of you entering the bar-turned-temporary dance hall. Ellie licked her thumb and reached out for his face in jest. "Here, you got a little something on your—"

Joel batted her hand away with a scowl, eyes flitting to you, but you just gave him a smile and a small shake of your head. 

Gross. 

Warmth squeezed through Ellie's chest, and frankly that was kind of gross, too.

"Doc," Ellie said by way of greeting, looking you over in your knee-length red dress and matching lipstick. "A hideous disaster as always."

"I don't know how he can stand to be seen with me." You gave a solemn shake of your head and smoothed a hand over the bodice of the dress. 

Someone else came through the doors and wandered past with a covered dish. Your eyes caught on them and you winced. 

"Oh, hell," you lamented. "I forgot the cookies on the table. Someone was making himself a nuisance."

The faint smile that tugged at the corners of Joel's eyes when you shot him a pointed, pretend glare may as well have been a big old puppy-dog grin.

"Sick," Ellie said, looking back and forth between you, two old dorks all googly-eyed for each other. "Want me to go get 'em?"

"You wouldn't mind doing that?" you asked, brightening but still wearing a sincere pinch between your brows. “Thank you, Ellie.”

Ellie bounced her shoulders. "Not like it's far."

And it wasn't like Ellie would be missing much, anyway. Wouldn't be fully dark for a while yet, and while there was food piled everywhere, she'd already stuffed herself full of her newest love, potato salad made by Cat's mom, Sofia. Maybe a walk would free up some room. 

Not to mention take her past Cat's house...if she took a tiny detour. Ellie's cheeks warmed at the thought just in time for the evening air to cool them as she left the Bison. 

Cat had declared the party 'lame as hell' and chose to stay home to practice with her tattoo gun while her folks were gone and no one would be around to bitch about the noise. 

Ellie wouldn't mind spending some time with Cat in an empty house...if she could just stop bumbling like a drunk ferret anytime the girl got near enough to touch. What they'd do with that time alone, she didn't really know, but she'd like to explore the options.

"Hey!" called a familiar voice from behind her. 

Ellie startled a little, spinning around to find Dina jogging down the road to meet her. 

"You're not leaving already, are you?" Dina asked, grabbing hold of Ellie's upper arm once she got within reach. "Stop, it'll be so boring if you go."

"No, Doc just forgot something.” Ellie pointed a thumb over her shoulder. "I'm going to her place to grab it real quick."

"Oh, hey, wait—Talia wanted to loan her a book," Dina said, linking her arm through Ellie's and tugging her toward her own home. "We should stop by and get it first, it's practically on the way."

It...definitely was not, but Ellie's heart was too firmly caught in her throat for her to be able to object around it, so she just followed Dina’s lead. 

"How's, uh..." Ellie coughed, trying to shake off a swarm of nerves she couldn't quite name. “How’s it going with Jesse?”

Dina made an eugh sound. 

“Uh-oh,” Ellie said. Well, shit—she wasn’t exactly equipped to dole out advice about dudes. Or chicks, for that matter. 

“He’s just being such a bitch lately. I thought boys were supposed to be easy, you know? But he’s all hot and cold and jealous drama.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “May as well be dating a girl.”

Something about the way those words came out of Dina's mouth almost made Ellie trip on the sidewalk. 

And frankly, Ellie didn't know about the rest of it, anyway—she'd been fielding plenty of hot and cold these past weeks, and she still wasn't even sure if Cat liked her, liked her. From where Ellie was standing, maybe this shit was just always awkward and muddy. 

But you and Joel seemed to be doing okay, with your googly eyes and your not-that-quiet mushy whispers and your disgusting couch-snuggling. Maybe she just had to be a little older first. 

The idea of yet another thing being beyond her reach until she was ‘old enough’ kind of pissed her off, actually. 

“Do you think it’s easier?” Dina asked as they came to her walkway. 

Shit. Ellie had gone too far into her head and couldn’t remember what they’d been talking about. 

“Is what easier?” she said. 

“Being with a girl.”

Thankfully, Ellie had already climbed the steps onto Dina’s porch, or she really might’ve tripped.

“I don’t, um—“ Ellie stammered, following Dina into the house, her face feeling hot and her stomach tight. Jesus fuck, the drunk ferret was back. “I, uh, haven’t, like— I’m not really…”

Dina didn’t know. Couldn’t know. …Right? Ellie hadn’t told anybody, not even Joel. Hell, she’d never even actually said it to Cat. 

“Yeah, but don’t you think it would be easier?” Dina interrupted her bumbling, thank God, then started rifling around on the counter with a bowl of berries. She offered some to Ellie, who grabbed a few like a sleepwalker, dazed and automatic. 

Fuck, what was she supposed to say to that? 

Not finding much bravery when she went looking for it, Ellie settled on the truth. 

“I dunno—I think everyone’s got their shitty parts and weirdness, y’know? Dudes aren’t special.”

Confusingly, Dina just looked at her, eyes soft as they roved over Ellie’s face. 

After a few seconds’ silence, Ellie got fidgety, twisting the fingers of one hand in the other. 

“We definitely smell better, though,” she offered, then held up her fingers and waved them. “Softer hands.”

Dina took a step closer, fingertips slowly drifting down Ellie’s arm to meet her palm. Heart taking off at an official sprint, Ellie turned her wrist to offer Dina her hand, willing it not to tremble as Dina laced their fingers together. The girl brushed her touch against Ellie’s hand, back and forth and slow.

“Soft is nice,” Dina said, just above a whisper. 

Ellie was frozen, trying to give a nod but not sure her muscles were getting the message. More of that confusing look on Dina’s face, just a couple seconds, and then it faded.

She took a step back, letting her hand fall from Ellie’s. 

“We should probably get going, huh?” Dina said, tone unreadable as she turned toward the door. 

Something logical and straightforward finally let Ellie speak, even if her voice sounded dry and raspy when she did it. 

“What about the book?”

“Right.” Dina crossed over to the bookshelves, grabbing one at shoulder-height without skimming the titles, then waving it toward Ellie before turning back to the door. “Got it. C’mon, we can go.”

It was either some kind of beginning or an end, and Ellie was fucked if she knew which. 

——————————

You had done a round of handshakes and 'how are ya' and were returning to Joel with two mismatched glasses in your hands, bearing one out to him and raising the other in a toast. He touched his drink to yours and brought it to his lips, but your hand on his arm stopped him from taking his first sip of the notorious bubble-wine.

"Hold your horses, there, cowboy," you said. "I've got something I want to say first."

You stepped closer, the hem of your dress sweeping against his calves. The proximity sent a faint wave of desire through his belly and Joel slid one hand over your hip, forgetting to worry about the townsfolk looking on. 

"Just so there's no confusion or hand-wringing later," you said lowly, "I am taking you home tonight, bubbles or not, and you and I are gonna finish what we started this morning."

Joel let his eyes slide down your neck and back up to your face. His hand splayed over the small of your back and pressed you tighter against him. 

"And how long do we gotta stay before you take me home?"

Your eyes glittered in the dim light and he bowed a little closer to you without consciously deciding to. 

"I'll let you know when it's time to go, handsome, don't you worry," you said, then clinked your glass against his and took a slow swallow, eyes never leaving Joel's. 

The bubbles put a sharp tickle in his nose as he drank them down, hints of fruit playing over the back of his tongue.

You swayed softly to the music, focus drifting around the room as you took in the scene, greeting friendly faces and asking if they knew Joel. 

Most of them answered in the affirmative, despite being complete strangers to his eyes. Joel reckoned it must've been a consequence of being a brother to Jackson's de facto ‘First Husband’—the nickname he used for Tommy solely when he wanted to get the man's blood up. Folks knew of Joel, even if they didn't know him personally. 

Unless directly addressed, though, or looking around to catch a glimpse of Ellie, Joel more or less only had eyes for you.

You were humming every song that played, quiet and endearingly off-key, your head bopping side to side on the upbeat songs and shoulders waving back and forth for the ballads unless you were engaged in conversation. To Joel's horror, you kept trying to get him to dance, grabbing his shirt or his hands and wiggling to the rhythm, or something near enough to it. 

"What, are you embarrassed to be seen with me or something?" you finally teased, after he'd frozen in the face of your encouragement a handful of times. 

"Just don't wanna embarrass you, sugar," he vowed. "I don't mind singin', but I ain't shit on a dance floor."

"I don't care what they think," you said, waving a dismissive hand over your shoulder. "I just want to be close to you."

"Then how ‘bout we go on and leave?" Joel stepped into you, backing you up a step and lowering his voice, hips swaying against yours without effort. "We can be close as you want, angel—have ourselves a hell of a night, soon as you say."

"It's not neighborly," you said, admonishing him playfully as you danced in his hold, downing a sip of your drink. "You’re the new kid in town, you gotta let everybody get their fill of you first." 

Joel's response was an automatic, leaned-close confession.

"Ain't a damn soul in this room I want full of me 'cept you."

You coughed your surprise into your wine glass, then covered your mouth, bowing into him to press the top of your head into his chest to hold yourself upright as you sputtered between laughter and more coughing.

He smiled at the sight, smoothing his hand over your back, but Joel's ears and chest grew warm with embarrassment. Christ, maybe there was some truth to the bubble-wine's legend after all. Probably ought to stick to whiskey from now on, he thought.

————————————

"Here, quick, shit, before she looks over here," Ellie whispered urgently, pushing something into Joel's hands. "In your pockets, c'mon, hurry up."

He nearly dropped whatever she was giving him when it shifted in his hand and snapped in half. Joel spoke at his normal volume, jerking his hands back from her. 

"Ellie, what the hell are you—"

"Shh, Joel, Jesus!" she hissed, trying again to pass off her cargo. "Sneaking! We are sneaking!"

He relented and offered her his palm, then peered down at a pair of pale, crumbling cookies. Ellie mimed putting her hand into her jeans pocket and gave Joel a 'go on' head nod. 

"Why am I shovin' cookies in my pockets?" he asked, caving and stuffing them into his pants. "If you want 'em, just fuckin' eat 'em, kid."

"Are you kidding me?! They're awful." She put her hands on his arm, shoving him away. "Go put 'em in your coat pockets and come back, I'll give you some more."

Joel was beginning to suspect Ellie was fucking with him, so he dug in his heels, turning back and batting her hands off him. 

"Knock it off, young'un. The hell's all this about? If you don't like 'em, why have me—"

"They're the ones she made," she answered, jerking her head over to where you were chatting with the other folks who worked in the clinic. "Guess she makes 'em every year."

"But they're bad?"

Ellie scrunched down like a coiled spring and launched forward, grabbing him by the upper arms. 

"Holy shit, they're so bad, Joel! I tried one on the way back—oh my god, they're salty and like, hard..." 

She grimaced, looking back toward the food table. 

"I guess word got around or something—they were just kinda..." Ellie shrugged and looked back at Joel helplessly as she added, "...sitting there."

He followed her gaze, regarding the table, piled high with dishes in various stages of consumption. Off to one side, a plate of cookies, rimmed in familiar blue flowers, had been left largely untouched. 

Joel's chest tensed.

"Just huck a few in the trash, kiddo, it'll be alright."

"She might see!" Ellie argued. "It would make her so sad, Joel, don't be an asshole." 

"Well, what do you want me to do with a coat full of cookies?" he asked. 

"Tommy says sometimes the horses'll eat 'em."

Joel sighed and looked at Ellie's earnest face for a moment, then headed for the coat room. 

If not the horses, he reckoned, there was always the pigs.

——————————————

Tommy was pretty damn sure he’d just seen Joel slink out of the coat closet, all pink-faced and shifty-eyed, but you were clear over to the other side of the hall, engaged in lively conversation with Sofia and Joan the same as you'd been for ten minutes or more. Then he’d wandered a slow, stupid path around the food tables and was making for the closet again, which begged the question:

“Who the hell are you sneakin’ around with?” Tommy whispered, spinning Joel around with a hand on his elbow. 

Joel’s brow pinched with confusion that rapidly switched to outright anger as he looked over both shoulders and found that no one was behind him in the short hallway and, yes, his brother was in fact talking to him. 

“Fuckin’ nobody,” he said, “what do you mean?”

Un-goddamn-real. Tommy had really thought that Joel was better than this. Murder was one thing—and it was in self-defense these days, anyway—but cheating? On Tommy’s best friend, of all people?

His chest started to thud, face and ears red-hot with rage that sprouted up from nowhere.  

“You ain’t been interested in a single woman I’ve mentioned in the whole damn time you’ve been here.” Tom was barely keeping his voice down as he jabbed a finger into Joel’s chest and pointed it toward you. “But now that you’ve got her, you’re fuckin’ around with somebody else? Have you lost your goddamn mind?”

He shoved at Joel’s shoulder, and Joel shoved him back, then seemed startled with himself, grabbing hold of Tommy and hanging on tight, trying to keep from making a scene. 

“You are way the fuck out of line right now, little brother,” Joel said with that icy calm that always raised the hair on the back of Tommy’s neck. “I suggest you calm yourself down.” 

Joel moved a hand to his hip and flashed something at Tommy. 

For a moment, just from the posture, all Tom saw was a pistol, shown to him by Joel as a threat. He hadn’t threatened Tommy since those last days in Boston, when Joel had been the blackest shadow of himself. Tommy had prayed he’d never see that version of Joel again…

Finally, his eyes and his brain synced. 

Oh. 

It was a fuckin’ cookie.

The tension in his shoulders all dropped at once. 

“What the fuck are you doin’, man?”

All the indignant anger left Tommy’s voice, and the reflection of it slipped from Joel’s face. Both took on something softer. 

“Ellie said,” Joel offered by way of explanation, sounding almost…helpless? “Nobody was eatin’ ‘em, so I squirreled some away so she wouldn’t think…”

Tommy’s conversation with Ellie popped up in his memory and he was a little ashamed he hadn’t thought to do it himself, but he liked that those two had been spurred to action. 

“Well, Jersey damn sure ain’t gonna eat ‘em, I’ll tell you that right now, and Tadie’ll bite your fingers off for even tryin’, but Gentry’s always—”

——————————————

A sudden, sharp 'psst' jerked the men from their conversation, and Joel looked up to find you with anticipation in your eyes and your little purse in your hand. 

Thank Christ. 

"Time to go, Doc?" he asked, angling his body your way and taking a half step in your direction, the squabble with his brother already forgotten. 

"You wish, handsome," you said with a smile and a shake of your head, coming closer and opening the handbag to reveal a couple sweet-smelling cigars, tucked alongside your lipstick like a secret. "You boys look a little wound up—want to step outside for some fresh air?"

The brothers both nodded. Joel would be lying if he said he wasn't a little disappointed, but a good cigar would be a decent consolation. He hadn’t had one since Benji was born, and that had been a dry, crackly thing that burned hot and kept scorching his throat. The tight-rolled tobacco you offered them was freshly dried, almost overly so, and smelled honey-rich in the cool air of the falling dusk. 

"Call me what you will, but I like my cigars sweet,” you said, bending forward to smell the one you'd passed to Joel. "Reminds me they're an indulgence, something I shouldn't have often."

You produced a little box of matches stamped with FEDRA’s logo. Taking two and striking one, you tossed the box to Tommy, but you spoke to Joel.

“Allow me,” you said, slipping the cigar from his grasp and holding the cut end over the flame, rolling it between your thumb and forefinger. When the match burned close to your fingertips, you used it to light the second, then held the cigar to Joel’s lips until he took it between his teeth. You poised the match before him and held it so he could light the cigar. “Nice and easy, cowboy, I know you’re not one to rush.”

Joel’s face wouldn’t have burned half as hot if you'd just touched the match to his skin, but he still basked in your attention like sunlight.

Tommy muttered something like ‘fuck’s sake’ down at the matchbox as Joel dutifully took slow, gentle puffs ‘til the tip of the cigar glowed bright and cherry red. 

You blew out the match and bounced your eyebrows at Joel, having teased both Millers in one go, to very different effect. 

The three of you chatted softly about the party—the folks inside and the smell of the food cooking off to the side of the building and little events that hadn’t yet begun—and the normalness of it all completely missed Joel’s notice until later. 

It might’ve been any Fourth of July they’d ever had back before things had gone to hell. 

The only thing missing was the constant snaps and bangs and showering sparks of fireworks. But Joel had never been much for fireworks, anyhow, and once Tommy came back from his second or third deployment, the shine wore off pretty fast every year, usually by Memorial Day. The random, unpredictable pops and explosions made him edgy and irritable, prone to blasts of temper or despair.

So while the holiday in Jackson was a bustling, cheerful thing, it was downright peaceful compared to how things had been in Austin, a million years ago. 

Too soon, y'all's laughter and tale-telling was interrupted by someone coming to ask Tommy’s aid with some task or another, and he was stubbing out the smoke on the bottom of his shoe, then tucking it in his shirt pocket to finish later. 

You and Joel found your way back inside before long. You surveyed the room, then turned to face him, taking one of his hands in yours and guiding the other around your waist. 

"What do you think, handsome—you drink enough to be any fun yet?"

And Joel couldn’t stomach the notion of saying no to you again, so he backed you up to the dance floor and began to move. It was just the periphery, and it was hardly even dancing, but holding you close was far from a hardship.

One of the kids from the diner walked past with a tray of poured-full glasses of sparkling wine and you put your hand on Joel’s hip to pull him closer as you stepped out of the way.

"What is this...lump over here? That a—" You slid your fingers into his front pocket, then laughed as you withdrew them, peering down to find one of your cookies in your grasp. "—cookie in your pocket, Mr. Miller, or are you just happy to see me?"

"I...stole a couple for later." 

Joel's gut tensed with the lie, but he damn sure couldn't tell you the truth. It was a Santa-lie, he decided, a fib—a small kindness in a world too empty of it. 

You slipped the cookie back in his pocket and stepped a little closer, eyes alight. Your hands reached for him, straightening his collar, then dragging down over his chest. You knew damn well what those fiddly little gestures and casual touches did to him—you were doing it on purpose, had to be, gaze slipping down to his mouth as you asked, "You wanna go fool around in the coat closet?"

No man in the history of the world had ever said 'no' to that, and Joel damn sure wasn't gonna be the first. 

And while the notion of somebody seeing y'all duck into the closet made his stomach churn—since apparently, folks paid attention to shit like that—to Joel, the promise of getting his hands on you made the risk well worthwhile. Maybe he could blame it on the bubble-wine, though he hadn't had any since that first glass. 

He took a slow step back, pinching your dress between two fingers to tug you along, heart thundering as you followed his lead with a barely-contained grin.

The door had hardly clicked closed when you hauled him into you by the front of his shirt and kissed him like you'd never known a full meal. 

"Seems like you might be wantin' somethin' from me, here, Doc," Joel said, teasing you between kisses, hands drifting from your hips to your ass, pulling you tighter against him. 

You hummed a sweet, pleading sound into the dark and it damn near knocked him flat. But that wasn't the game you were playing just then. 

"Shh, now, wildcat," he whispered, coaxing you backward until your shoulders met the wall. "You gotta be real quiet for me right now."

The din of a hundred voices and music from the jukebox would provide a fair amount of cover, just in case, but anybody who passed by would be able to hear an ill-timed noise, and Joel had no interest in being interrupted again. 

His palms rasped over the smooth fabric of your dress, tracing the curve of your waist, the swell of your breasts. You sighed his name, arching your back and pressing your hips against his. 

His fingertips traced up over your throat and found the angle of your jaw, bringing your mouth to his. The kiss was damn near a vow, slow and deep and seeking. A short whimper left your throat before you could cut it off, and Joel made a soft noise of his own in answer. 

"I do love those pretty little sounds you make." He breathed the words into your neck, tracing the tip of his nose along your skin, dotting his path with lingering kisses. "Save 'em up for me, angel, and give 'em to me when I get you home."

You melted back against the wall, tilting your head away to give him better access, your hands skimming up his arms and holding him close to you. That soft, grassy scent of yours mingled with something spicy and almost sweet, something that made Joel want to breathe you in, lungful after lungful. 

He slipped his knee between yours, pressing his thigh into you, feeling the heat of you through the fabric. You gasped in a breath and rolled your hips, chasing friction. 

"What do you think, sweetheart?" He moved his thigh for you, increasing his pressure between your legs as he kissed your neck. "Isn't it time to leave?"

"Careful, now, handsome—that's twice," you teased, sounding a little breathless. "Three times counts as begging."

"I don't mind," he said. You could call it whatever you wanted, if it meant Joel could finally take you home. "Here..."

It took some doing in the cramped space, but Joel got down onto his knees before you. 

Your hands searched for him as you tried to make sense of the sounds and movement in the dark. You found his shoulder first, fingers curving around and splaying over his neck, sending a sweet tension down his spine. 

"Please, wildcat," he said, brushing his fingertips over your ankle and up your calf, higher and higher. 

Your hand tightened at the back of his neck. 

"Please..." Joel said again, his touch slipping beneath the hem of your dress. The muscles of your thigh flexed beneath his hand and you parted your legs for him slightly. 

"Please." His fingertips whispered against the soft lace of your panties as he traced their edge, earning him a shaky gasp from you. 

Your voice was soft, almost pleading when you spoke, just about the sweetest sound he could remember hearing when you said, "Take me home, Joel."

Joel didn't make you say it again. 

Next Chapter ->

[pocketfullofkouhuns]

Texas Tornado

part 1 (this holds up as a standalone but there's more to the story)

summary: No-outbreak au where Joel is a single dad to college-age Sarah and 6-year-old Ellie. He was your high school sweetheart, but things fell apart when you left for med school. Years later, you reconnected by chance on one of many bouts of work-related travel, falling into a FWB situation that’s slowly been eating you both alive. Tons of pining, angst, and it's not a slow burn in the typical sense of the word--half of the first 10k words are absolute smut--but it's been a slow burn all the same. (tldr; Your local connoisseur of unconventional slow burns is back on her bullshit.)

pairing: joel miller x f!reader [no use of y/n, no outbreak au, dual pov (reader and joel), first love/former relationship, mutual pining, emotional slow burn]

word count: 11k

warnings: piv, edging, orgasm denial, overstimulation, oral sex (f receiving), semi-public sex (Joel's truck)

"Joely! How you been?"

And, yeah, using an absolutely hated nickname in the lead-up to asking for a favor was probably not the best bait to lay, but fuck it—you loved the way it sounded and he always said yes anyway. 

Besides, Joel Miller would always be 'Joely' to you, no matter how old y'all got or how hard he scowled about it. 

And scowl he did—you could hear it through the phone as he hummed a disapproving little noise, but it was all for show and the grumping vanished as soon as he spoke. 

"Christ almighty." Joel breathed a laugh through his nose at the name and you grinned. "Here's trouble. Been a day, but it's gettin' better now; how 'bout you, Fishsticks?"

God, that's so much worse than 'Joely.' 

His use of that wretched old nickname was revenge and then some. Still, your chest grew tight and you pinched your leg to distract yourself. If 'Fishsticks' was putting a fond little squeeze around your heart, it had been far too long since you'd heard it. 

He'd given it to you when you were kids—when your friend Bess had browbeaten you into joining the high school swim team. At first, he'd called you 'Guppy', but when you'd quit one day in a fit of temper, he'd switched to calling you 'Fishsticks.' Because you used to swim, but you didn't anymore.

Not his best work, but you hated it and so it had stuck, so now here you were, still hearing it decades later.

"'A hell of a day, but better now' about sums it up," you agreed, finding yourself at a loss for words already. You'd had a couple lines of small-talk in mind just a second ago when you'd pressed the button to call Joel, you'd've sworn you did, but they'd flown out of your head the second you heard his low, drawling voice. 

He had that effect on a lot of women, you figured. 

The notion made you a little sick to your stomach, but you brought your mind back to heel, tuning into the droning of an engine and the rumble of asphalt under tires that came though the speaker at your ear. 

"Did I catch you at a bad time?" you asked. 

"Nah, I'm just in the truck on my way home. Sarah got me set up with the hands-free 'fore she ran off to ruin the family name."

You laughed. "That's right, she was starting at A&M this year. An Aggie, Joely? My god, how do you stand the shame? Maybe Ellie's your saving grace."

"She'll be my Longhorn, God willing. Reckon there's gotta be some reason she's so damn bullheaded," he said, the fondness in his voice a little out of place next to his words. 

"What's 'bullheaded?'" came a distant, childish voice that could only belong to six-year-old Ellie. 

Your face burned at the knowledge she had been able to hear you, and you ran through everything you'd said so far for reasons to feel more shame. 

"Nothin', baby girl, you can put your headphones on if you want, Dad's just talking boring grown-up stuff." He made a soft uh sound and then in a slow monotone, said, "The...property taxes shot up so high this year, I really think the city council oughta stop spending so much money on code enf— A'right she's back in her own world."

Joel's easy use of fatherly trickery warmed you through. 

"Just don't let her know UT's what you want," you said, voice a little lower knowing Ellie might be able to hear, "or she'll end up Ivy League just to spite you."

An awkward silence filled the air between you, both of you knowing damn good and well why you had called—why you always called, what you were leading up to. It was a little bit harder to reach out every time, each call a little harder to make, and you couldn't figure out why. Joel had never turned you down, but the fear of it seemed to be growing over time, rather than fading. 

"How's travel been, Doc?" Joel asked after a moment, angel that he was. "Been a while."

You loosed a breath and smiled down at the bland, soulless hotel carpet at your feet. 

"Oh, you know how it is. The glamorous life of the jet-set—microwaved in-flight meals and booze in plastic containers. Never a dull moment." You hoped the eye-roll came through in your tone of voice. "David's got me running all over the place. Hundred-some days already this year, I lost track." 

Speaking of booze in plastic containers, you opened the minibar and gave serious consideration to spending seven bucks on a shooter of whiskey just to ease the edgy, nervous feeling your old high school sweetheart always seemed to sow into your bones. 

"Flying into ABIA on Friday," you said, shooting for a casual tone even as your stomach fluttered. "Got a couple days to myself, then I fly out to Zurich on Monday."

You'd had to switch three different flights for the privilege of spending the weekend in Austin, and the days off were vacation days you'd had to fight tooth and nail for, but Joel didn't need to know any of that.

"Is that right?" His smirk was fucking audible, and it made you cringe in embarrassment. 

But after five months, you wanted to see Joel more than you wanted your pride, damn your own eyes. 

"It is, indeed," you said, wincing against the urge to hide your burning face beneath your palm. "I was"—you held the phone away from your head and sighed so hard your posture slumped, then brought it back to your ear—"wondering if you might be able to pick me up from the airport and get me to my hotel. I'll get you a good supper for your trouble."

"Sugar, 'course I'll pick you up—it's about damn time I get to see you again," he said, "but you know food I ain't paid for makes my stomach hurt."

You rolled your eyes—you had this same squabble every single time you came into town and you'd never won once, but you always tried. "I'm not trying to use you for a ride and a free meal, you goofy redneck, I—"

"'Course not." That goddamn smile was still warming his speech. "You're after my rugged good looks and our lively...conversation."

You might've imagined that pause between words, the subtle emphasis on 'conversation' that seemed to imply air quotes. Heat flooded your cheeks and chest. The whiskey would've made this so much easier.

"Exactly." You picked at the flaking paint of the no smoking sign, avoiding your reflection in the mirrors that seemed to cover every surface of the entrance to your room. "Let me pay. Please."

Nothing but the tick-tick-tick of his turn signal filled the silence as he mulled it over. 

"...Couple days in town, you said?" Joel gave a little hmm.  "Tell you what—Ellie's got a sleepover this weekend, she's goin' to the zoo; how 'bout I let you get me on Friday, if you let me get you back Saturday."

An idiot grin pulled at your face and you walked to the sleeping area so you wouldn't have to see it reflected back at you. You rested a hip on the desk—no sitting on the bed while you talked to Joel, you couldn't be trusted with yourself.

"Compromise, Joely? I'm impressed." 

He'd always been more than a bit bullheaded himself; if Ellie hadn't been adopted, you'd've said it must be genetic. Maybe after a couple decades, fatherhood was finally loosening him up. 

"If it means...seeing you twice, sugar, I think I could maybe even be downright reasonable."

Your toes curled against the stiff carpet. The way Joel could always set your pulse to racing made you feel so goddamn juvenile, like you were in high school all over again. But no matter how much self-reproach you summoned, the smile on your face just wouldn't go away. 

–––––––––––––

You and Joel had been doing this dance at least a couple times a year lately, but the steps never seemed to come any easier. 

The first time had genuinely started out completely innocent; a badly-timed work trip had you flying in during the Austin City Limits festival and your car rental reservation had gotten bungled. There were no other rentals available for miles, and with half a million extra bodies in town that weekend, your options had been next to nil. On a Hail Mary and the remnants of a couple complimentary in-flight cocktails, you'd reached out to your old flame for a favor, offering to buy Joel's dinner in exchange for getting you to your hotel. 

Over supper and in your cups, it was like no time had passed at all, except on your faces. Joel had grown into his long limbs and strong shoulders, frame filling out with muscle earned by working with his back for a living. 

The beard, admittedly, had thrown you for a loop—if he hadn't recognized you in the arrivals line and gotten out of his truck to greet you, you might never have known it was him—but god, the scruff suited him well. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes fit his face perfectly, painting a picture of Joel as a man prone to smiling, which proved to be true that first night as you reminisced and caught up. 

Drunk on a lot of nostalgia, a little Jack Daniels, and not near enough Joel, you'd pressed a brief kiss against his lips in farewell when he'd dropped you off at your hotel. It was a thoughtless, automatic thing that had felt all too natural despite the years you'd been apart. You'd been mortified, though, once your lips left his and you realized what you'd done, stammering an apology and scrambling to make your exit. 

Joel had eased your humiliation by grabbing you by the back of the neck and hauling you back into him to kiss you breathless. 

You'd then spent the better part of an hour fogging the windows of his truck before you gathered your wits enough to invite him up to your room. The chemistry between you had always been a living thing, holding you together all those years ago, long after you should've come apart. You weren't surprised to find it was still there, but it had caught you off-guard how much better you both were at applying it. 

The next time you were in town, it had taken you a little extra whiskey before you'd got brave enough to reach out. But Joel had come when called, and history had repeated in the best kind of way. After another just-like-old-times meal and a bunch of easy, familiar chitchat, you'd ended up right back where you'd left off—all over each other in the front seat of his truck, then tangled up in sweaty limbs and hotel sheets.

It had been a few years of this, now. Started out as just a couple times a year, but your meetings had been increasing in frequency to the point that sometimes it was only weeks between visits. You found yourself coming up with reasons to travel to Texas—or to just stop through on your way someplace else—and Joel was finding reasons to see you more than once while you were in town. After the last time, though, shakeups at work had sent your workload soaring and you hadn't been able to get back for five months, which had been absolute fucking torture. 

Doubly so because you were bone-deep ashamed of it being torture in the first place. It wasn't supposed to be hard; the whole point of casual hookups with a friendly ex was that they were supposed to be easy.  

You shouldn't be letting it happen. You were dangerously close to all this tipping over from 'friends with benefits' hookups into a full-blown affair, which could only end in you getting your heart ripped out by Joel for at least the third time. Besides, you were all too aware that a man with a family surely wasn't looking for someone with an ephemeral, there-and-gone presence like yours, anyhow. 

This should really be the last visit; you were truly playing with fire. 

But God, it was just so easy being with Joel. You'd always fit well together and had only come apart because of college; you'd stayed close to home for the first couple years of pre-med, but by the time you went off to UT Austin to finish your degree, Joel still hadn't been ready to leave Arlington, between the pull of hometown and Tommy and his folks, so you'd split up. Eventually. 

That he'd soon ended up in Austin after all—hitched to some filly who'd hauled ass at the first sign of real life—had been an irony you'd never found particularly funny. 

He had been ready to leave Arlington, it turned out—just not for you. 

That had been the second time he'd ripped your heart out.

You worked to blot that last bit from your mind as you stepped on the escalator down to the lower level of the airport a couple days later, your foolhardy heart pounding in your throat as you texted Joel. 

—Headed down now; see you in a few. 

Joel said what he always said. 

—I'll be the guy in the truck

You did the same.

—I'll be the girl with the suitcase. 

–––––––––––––

Joel was sitting in his truck, sweat-spined and restless, fiddling with the radio but too distracted to hear what was playing. He looked up just in time to see her emerge from a cluster of bodies, striding down the sidewalk at that impossible speed of hers, suitcase rolling dutifully along at her side. 

It took her a second, but Joel could tell the exact moment she spotted him in the long trail of cars waiting in the arrivals line. Her eyes met his and she gave a little skip, skirt flouncing out around her, and she beelined for him with a smile on her face that made Joel's chest squeeze with relief. 

She came back. 

Some part of him hadn't believed it 'til he laid eyes on her. 

Next he knew, he was on his feet, opening her door and coaxing the bags from her grasp. The gesture was hardly just for the sake of chivalry; keeping his hands full while she was in arm's reach tended to corral Joel toward something approaching his best behavior. 

Then she'd given him a 'Hiya, Joely' and kissed him hello, an innocent peck on the cheek she'd laid on him a couple dozen times over the past few years that never failed to make him a little stupid. 

Maybe it was Joel's hopeful imagination, but it sure seemed a little less innocent this time around, after a crawling half-year apart. She'd grabbed the front of his shirt to tug him down to her, then absentmindedly dropped her gaze to his lips as she released him. 

Joel's skin tingled and every bit of him pulled to her as if magnetized. He'd never once needed to be enticed into wanting to kiss her—hell, he'd been vibrating with nervous energy and need since his phone had rung days ago and hers had been the voice on the line. But the two of them didn't do that; it was some unspoken rule that they only kissed as preamble, racing down the runway toward some other destination. She hadn't even hugged him since they'd renewed their...acquaintance, and not once in Joel's life had he ever woken up beside her, not even in the years she'd actually been his. 

And she wasn't his anymore, but with her looking up at him like that, eyes roaming his face and a smile on her lips, it was easy to forget. It was always so damn easy to forget. 

She held Joel's face in her hands, fondness lighting up her features. 

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes," she said, something like disbelief in her voice, and then her eyes flicked down to his mouth again. 

So no, Joel didn't need to be enticed, but he didn't mind the feeling, and one look like that was more than enough to make him leave 'best behavior' on the sidewalk, discarded and forgotten right alongside her luggage. He all but pounced on her, lips on hers with her ass half on the car seat and his hands in her hair as he greeted her properly, verging on improperly. If she rejected him, well, he just reckoned he'd have to burn that bridge when he came up to it.

"You're gonna get fined, cowboy," she breathed against his mouth with a laugh, but there was no refusal in it, her fingertips stroking over his neck. "Sign says no parking."

"Don't care," Joel said, kissing her again, his muscles relaxing in relief as she returned the kiss. Though maybe parking someplace wasn't a half-bad idea. His tongue brushed the soft swell of her lower lip and she let her lips part for him, flexing her hand at his nape and humming softly; it was all Joel could do to—

A wolf whistle sounded from the sidewalk behind him—some young buck passing by who thought he was funny—and Joel returned to himself, remembering where he was, where they were. Her pretty cheeks went dark and she pressed her lips together to hold back a laugh, covering her mouth with a hand. 

Christ alive, she'd gotten even more beautiful over the last few months somehow. 

Maybe it was the teenage aftermath of being caught ‘making out’ flushing her face and brightening her eyes. If that were the case, Joel thought, he could happily be her fountain of youth; he'd kiss her senseless right in the middle of Sixth Street every damn day, in front of God and everybody, if it meant keeping that light glowing under her skin. 

But she wasn't his to kiss like that, he chastened himself. Joel knew damn good and well that it was all borrowed time with her, that each visit would all too likely be the last. Hell, this last time, they'd gone so long between visits that Joel had been sure he'd just never hear from her again. They'd had their chance and spent it years ago; this was just an encore—a gift, maybe, or some kind of lucky break. Someday, she was gonna find somebody she wanted to keep for good, and all this would be done and over with. The notion, a recurrent companion of his, put a pit in Joel's chest that he couldn't swallow away. 

Spell broken, Joel turned to toss her luggage in the back, right next to Ellie's booster seat, then closed her door and they were off. 

Rush hour in Austin is a true-blue, certified shitshow, but the time passed quickly as they caught up, chatting about her flight and his work as a contractor and how unbelievably goddamn hot it was in Texas already, even with spring hardly half over. 

She'd crossed her legs and leaned toward him, pressing her body close to the center console to keep out of the searing afternoon sun blazing through her window. The posture brought her bare knee into a proximity to Joel's hand that made his fingers restless, and he paced them over the lines of stitching on the leather gearshift as they talked.

"So why'd they send you to Austin on a Friday evenin' if you're leavin' for Zurich on Mond—damn."

Joel slammed the brakes as some idiot in a sleek black, dark-tinted car cut into their lane at just the same moment traffic was slowing back down. His hand slid from the shifter to her leg to brace her and he swore a minced oath softly under his breath, a habit picked up twice now, for two different daughters—one an absolute parrot and the other prone to asking too many questions about why words were 'bad' and what exactly they meant. 

For her part, his passenger hardly even tensed, other than to suck in a faint gasp as the truck jerked to a stop. 

Joel retreated back to his side of the cab, his skin leaving hers for only a beat before she put her hand on his and brought it back to her knee. 

"You don't gotta cause a wreck just to get your hands on me, Joely," she teased, sliding his hand a little higher, and if the truck hadn't already been stopped, hell, he might've caused a wreck anyway. 

"Darlin', I would bungee cord a dozen raw chickens to my body, then wade into Travis Lake an’ brave the gators to get my hands on you; a fender-bender'd be a hell of a bargain."

He left his hand where she'd set it, but he was too addled to fully relax onto the armrest despite all his tall talk.  

"Those gators are an urban legend," she said, tracing lines and swirling patterns over the back of his wrist with her fingertips as she looked out the window.

"I'd do it even if they were real," he vowed. 

"Sounds cold. And kinda slimy."

"Well, I never said I'd do it naked, sugar."

That got her to look at him. 

"Guess I must've just been imagining you that way," she said, raising her brows and using the grazing edge of her fingernails to paint those lazy, coiling shapes on his skin. 

He tore his eyes off her just in time to have to hit the brakes again. 

Joel swallowed hard, then flicked on his turn signal and took the upcoming exit. 

"Where we going?" she asked.

"Gotta take care of something real quick."

"What is there to 'take care of' way the Christ out in—" She looked around, not that there was much to see except trees and prairie and a distant little farm. "Where even are we?"

He shrugged, pulling onto the shoulder of a shade-dappled dirt road and putting the truck in park. "Dunno."

Joel unbuckled his seat belt and reached over the console between them to press the button on hers, coaxing it over her shoulder so it wouldn't hit her as it retracted. She just watched him, tracking his movements across her body. 

"Then why'd we stop, Joely?" she said through a laugh, a happy little titter that Joel wanted to feel against his skin. 

"'Cause I can't focus on the goddamn road; if I'm gonna get us both killed, I'd like to at least do this first."

"Do wh—"

Joel grabbed hold of her the way he'd done the first night they'd reconnected, hand sprawled over the nape of her neck, and kissed her like she'd be his last meal. 

The sound of surprise she made turned into a humming moan that prickled over his chest and all the way to the base of his spine. 

She kissed him back with fever, digging her fingertips into his upper arm to haul him closer despite the awkward angles of the truck's cab. Frustrated at the leaning and twisting she had to do to reach him, she toed off her shoes and got onto her knees sideways in the passenger seat, lending Joel some of her weight as she bent forward into him. 

Joel's hand slid down her back and over her hip, tracing the edge of her skirt with his fingertips before dragging his hand back up along the skin of her thigh, groaning as his skin met the soft swell that gave rise to her ass. She drew in a sharp breath and said his name with an edge of pleading, trying to lean into his touch and bumping against the divider between them. 

"Fuck this," she breathed. She stood up on her knees in the seat and began to edge toward Joel, angling her body to navigate the obstacle that was the damned center console. 

She was going to climb into his lap, and every single cell in his body realized it all at once. 

"God, there's really no sexy way to climb over this thing," she said, and Christ was she wrong. Hand on his chest for balance and making soft sounds of effort, Joel was instantly transported back almost half a year into crisp, bleached-white hotel sheets and the wet, perfect heat of her as she rode him. The utter, praising filth that had poured from her lips like honey had kept Joel company a lot of nights between then and now. 

If the memory alone was enough to make him a little dizzy, the hope of a repeat here in the truck almost struck him blind. 

In his defense, it had been a long few months. 

"Sugar, you coming here to me will always be sexy," he said, reaching out to steady her, to touch her, to bring her down to him. She squeezed into his space, straddling his lap, and Joel could've caught fire at the sight of her above him. "Just the thought of you can knock me to my knees."

"I do love you on your knees," she said obligingly. 

It was a flippant remark, but fuck if it didn't shoot through Joel like lightning. She'd had him on his knees more than a time or two these past years. 

Hell, if he was honest with himself, he'd never really gotten up after the first time.

"I'm there," he said, every bit of it true enough to ache like a bruise. 

She looked down at him with more affection than he deserved, running her fingers through his too-long hair.

He slid the seat back as far as it would go in hopes of keeping her ass from hitting the steering wheel. Last thing they needed was to draw attention to themselves out here with an ill-timed honk. 

"Yeah?" she said, combing his shaggy curls back off his forehead. "What're you doing there on your knees, cowboy?"

She encouraged him to answer by slowly dragging her hips against his, and Joel's eyes drifted closed as he arched up into the feel of her. God, he had been too long untouched by her. By anybody, really, but especially her. 

"Whatever you'll let me." His hands traced down her back and settled at her waist as he fought back every urge within him that wanted to bury his face in her chest, to wrap himself up in her and blot out everything else in the world. 

Fuck, Joel had it bad.

"You know I'll let you do anything, Joely," she said, sinking down and bending to kiss him at last. 

Joel's grip flexed at her hips and he held her tight to him, pulling her closer against his lap. She gave a little gasp that turned into a sighed-out, whispered 'fuck,' then tightened her fist in his hair and kissed him again, breathing a needy moan into his mouth. 

God, he wanted her so badly he ached, straining at his jeans at an uncomfortable angle as every heartbeat throbbed against the warmth of her, fuzzing the line between pleasure and pain. 

She rocked into him and Joel's hips rose against hers in an instinctive answer, his arms wrapping around her middle to hold her tight as he rambled a mouthful of blasphemy, closed out with a half-whimpered 'God, angel, fuck I missed you.'

Her weight on his lap shifted as she straightened, looming over Joel to the degree the roof of the truck would allow. He lamented the loss of friction, but quickly forgot as she took his face in her hands, her skin soft and cool against his as she regarded him.

"'S the matter, sugar?" he asked, drunk enough on her to almost slur the words. He racked his brain for what he'd said, wondering if he'd shoved his foot in his mouth and made her pull back. 

She didn't answer right away, thumbs stroking his stubbled cheeks and making a scratching sound he felt more than heard. "I just want to look at you a minute."

Joel held her gaze, watching her eyes as they roved over him, not resting on any one place for long. His hands played idly at her waist, thumbs stroking slow lines just beneath the curve of her breasts—not pawing at her, just needing to actively feel her beneath his touch. 

She was looking at him like she was trying to memorize every contour of his face—like she thought she might never see him again. The thought drove a knifepoint into Joel's chest and twisted something vicious. 

He had to shepherd himself toward a casual tone, had to force himself to speak.

"Forget what I looked like in five months, Sticks?" Joel asked, tracing the side of her face with his fingertips.

A burst of something like grief flashed over her, brows pulling together toward a sweet little furrow. Her eyes dropped down to his chest. 

"Felt like longer," she said, sounding almost like a confession. 

Joel's heart thudded in his throat. It had been an eternity, but he hadn't let himself believe she'd feel the same. 

Tell me you missed me, he thought, just long enough for his stomach to clench. No, don't; I'll know it ain't true. Let me believe you might've. 

"Got me now," he said instead.

She kissed him, sudden and hungry and hard, hands slipping from Joel's face to his neck.

Shifting gears from passive to passionate took him a second, but Joel caught up quick enough. He pulled her tighter against him, hands sliding down to her ass and under the hem of her rucked-up skirt as he pressed the length of his cock against her. Those soft, panting breaths of hers gave way to a starved, guttural sound that rumbled against Joel's lips, and she nipped at him in encouragement. 

"Knew it might be in my best interest to wear a skirt for you today, Joely," she whispered, and Jesus, the thought of her getting dressed with the notion of making it easier for him to fuck her just about made Joel see stars. 

"You keep talkin' like that, sweetheart," he warned, "and we ain't gonna be out here long."

"Wouldn't that be a fun little throwback." She grinned down at him, eyes alight with fondness and shit-talk. "Just like old times."

He groaned as if in pain and lightly slapped her ass, making her yelp then sending her giggling.

"One time, that happened." 

Admittedly, the circumstances had been damningly similar. It had been nighttime, though, when they'd got their much-younger bodies all tangled up in his rusted-out, shitty old hand-me-down truck. The cab was too small for the seat to recline, but the Chevy'd had a bench seat they could lie down on, not that they'd gotten to take full advantage of it that night. Anticipation and nerves and the feel of her touching him had overwhelmed his composure and Joel had come in his pants before he could even get her out of her cut-off jeans, then he spent the rest of the night not being able to look her in the eye. 

"'Sides," he said, lips skimming the hollow of her throat, "ain't that kind of a compliment?"

She laughed and pressed a kiss against his forehead. "You'll forgive a girl if a warm fuzzy wasn't exactly the feeling she was looking for."

"No?" Joel nuzzled against her chest, dragging the scratchy curve of his jaw over her collarbone and watching the gooseflesh follow as she sucked in a sharp breath. "What feeling you lookin' for now, sweet girl?"

"Hmm... Maybe a little recompense, now that you mention it." She bowed low over Joel, kissing his neck and biting at it lightly before dropping the world out from under him. 

–––––––––––––

A grunt of impact was knocked from Joel's chest. He was flat on his back and she was towering over him with a smirk. 

She'd bent down over him not just to kiss his neck, but to pull the lever to recline his seat all the way down, putting him flat on his ass. 

Joel gawked up at her, but she just looked down at him, heat and something else coloring her expression. He'd seen just about every emotion cross her pretty face over the years, and this one was familiar, prickling at his memory, but he couldn't quite place it. 

Admittedly, he didn't mull it over for long, not when she was straddling him, skirt scrunched high up on her thighs and just barely covering her. 

"Don't you want to ask what I mean?" she asked, low and leading, fingers slipping beneath the hem of his t-shirt to touch his skin. Joel shifted his hips under her and she made a breathy, contented little sound as the length of him pressed against her. 

Joel didn't much care what she meant, truth be told, long as she kept making those noises, kept rolling her hips against him and touching his skin, but he could play along. 

"What kind of 'recompense' you got in mind, Sticks?" His hands were skimming up her legs and under her skirt, thumbs tracing the lacy edge of her panties in the crease of her thighs. "You sayin' I owe you one? 'Cause I swear to god, baby, I'll give you as many as you can stand."

Joel's touch slipped underneath the fabric as he lazily swept the pads of his thumbs over her, meeting no resistance at all and then groaning at how wet she was for him. 

She let out a beautiful fucking moan, grinding down against him, then put her hands on his forearms and pried his touch from her skin. A slow, deep breath with her eyes closed, then she was collected enough to speak. 

"Oh, no, cowboy; see, back then, you got me all worked up, then finished without me, so I figure..." She moved her hips against his with a raised brow and Joel suddenly had a name for that expression she was wearing. Mischief.

Well, he could work with that. 

Joel reached for her again, hands sliding under her skirt, fingers sliding against that soft, wet, perfect—

Again, she hummed that pretty moan but pulled his hands off of her. 

"Sweetheart, you gotta let me touch you, 'less you really wanna go back in time." He grabbed her by the hips and pressed up into her, rocking her back and forth against the bulge in his jeans. They'd done this a time or two in his old Chevy that last summer before she left for Austin, and a couple times after, when they'd still been trying to make the distance work. 

Maybe a couple times after they'd given up on the distance, too, just for old times' sake—first love has a hard time ever saying 'die', Joel reckoned. 

She let him keep it up for a moment, her head falling back as she sighed and moved her hips over him, but that, too, she eventually stopped him from doing.

"Not a bad start, but not quite what I had in mind." Her hands slid to his belt and began unfastening it, but paused when she leaned forward and whispered a sweet threat against his ear. "I want you inside me when I come, Joely. When only I come."

Her teeth grazed the hollow below his ear, and Joel's senses flew to a higher degree of alert, somehow. 

Christ almighty. 

"You're a damn devil," he declared, torn between arousal and alarm. "Sugar, it has been months; I don't know what kind of restraint you think a man has, but—"

She gave a pitying tsk. "Aww, poor thing," she said, cupping his cheek and looking down at him with earnest eyes. "I have faith in you, handsome. Besides, it's only fair."

Joel swallowed hard as she unzipped his jeans, then groaned when she wrapped her hand around him. 

Pleasure surged through his bones; Christ, there was absolutely no way he could do this. 

"Fuck, Joely," she breathed, giving him a low, hungry moan. "I thought I'd been misremembering how goddamn big you are." 

He smoothed his fingers over her hair, pushing it back so he could see her face. "Spend lot of time remembering, darlin'?" 

Maybe if he kept her talking, Joel could stay up in his head rather than in his body.

"Every." She stroked him to punctuate the word and Joel sucked in a breath through his teeth. "Single. Night." 

Well, that backfired. His muscles clenched and his cock twitched in her hand. 

It was a lie, Joel knew, but Christ Almighty, it was a pretty fuckin' lie. 

"God, you're so hard." She brushed her thumb over the tip of him, smoothing the little bead of moisture over his skin, sending a wave of sensation skittering down his spine. Her voice was half a warning when she added, "And it's been such a long time. It's gonna be so tight, isn't it?" 

She squeezed her hand around him to demonstrate and he hummed a sound that was dangerously close to pleading. He reached for her again, desperate to feel her, but she blocked him from making contact. 

"Fuck, it might hurt to take all of you, Joely, even with me so wet for you, but I don't even care. I want it to hurt, want to keep you with me. I hope I feel you for days."

He could make sure of it, if she'd just let him touch her. 

"Sugar, that filthy fuckin' mouth of yours is gonna be the death of me."

"You should be so lucky."

Joel caught a flash of white lace under her skirt when she repositioned herself and pulled her panties aside, but he was too thunderstruck to realize what she was doing until his cock was drenched in her as she was gliding back and forth against him, gasping and moaning, making him as wet as she was, fucking him against her without taking him inside. Everything else faded away, the whole world narrowing down to just the two of them, to just her skin on his.

She whimpered, a little line of concentration forming between her brows, then disappearing as she relaxed into the pleasure building between their bodies. 

"You feel so good, Joely, just like this. Fuck, so perfect for me." She sighed and slid her hands under his shirt and up the plane of his stomach, bracing herself against his ribs as she moved over him. "Maybe I'll just do this."

"There you go, baby," he said, voice a little strained in his ears. "Take what you need."

He could outlast this, he thought—sliding against her this way was good, and watching her fuck herself against him was incredible, but it was nothing Joel couldn't keep his composure through. Being buried in her, though, completely enveloped by her heat...

The tip of him pressed against her entrance and she made a little gasp that turned into a needy moan, and feeling raced through Joel like an electric shock. 

Oh, he just knew he was fucked. 

Days of anticipation and twenty minutes of her grinding against him fully clothed already had him on a hair trigger; but the head of his cock pushing into her sent a surge of pleasure through Joel that wrapped around his throat like a fist, making him a little short of breath. 

"God, Joely, I need you inside me," she whined, shifting her hips to take him, then crying out as he slowly slid into her. 

And Christ, she had been right; even soaking wet and making those desperate sounds for him, she was fucking tight. Joel squeezed his eyes shut so hard that sparks flashed, panting against the feel of her. 

"All of it. Please, fuck, I need all of you." She was panting, too, open-mouthed, shallow breaths tinged with a whimper that Joel could feel pulse against his cock. "God, give me all of you."

"There you go, angel, just let yourself relax." Joel heard the pleading edge in his voice but didn't care enough to temper it, sliding his hands up over her hips and helping her move. "Fuck, you feel so good. You always feel so good."

He arched up into her as she grabbed hold of his waist and ground down tight against him, every bit of him inside her.

"Mmm, God, feel how you fill me up, Joely? How perfect you fit? So good for me."

Joel's head tipped back and he groaned out a slow breath around the warmth squeezing in his chest. "Jesus Christ. I don't know how long I'll last."

She gave a sympathetic shh. "You'll last as long as I need you to, won't you, Joely?"

When he didn't immediately answer, she tightened around him, making him gasp in a breath tinged with her name. 

"I can take you, cowboy; I can take every. last. bit of you." She moaned as she slid forward over him, taking him into her again in one long, slow stroke. A little whimper slipped out of her as the last of him filled her unbearable, perfect fucking heat. "Are you sayin' you can't take little ol' me?"

The math checked out for only a second—felt so intuitively right that Joel couldn't possibly argue—until she started moving over him and breathed out a vow of 'God, I missed this so much'  that about knocked the wind out of him. 

No, he was definitely fucked. 

She built a rhythm and Joel helped her along, holding her against him and thrusting up into her that way that always made her moan. And she did, a sweet, almost pained sound that had grown so familiar but still lanced straight through him. 

And then she took Joel's hands off of her and pressed her palms to the sides of his hips to still him. 

"This one's mine, Joely," she said sweetly. "Let me take it."

Joel's forehead tensed in question. "What, you want me to just lay here?" 

She grinned down at him and started moving her hips again, long strokes that let him fill her up over and over, slow and deep. "Just enjoy the show, handsome. I know what I want." Her muscles tightened around him again for a beat, making Joel grit his teeth. "Or should I say 'enjoy the ride'? Too crass?"

He didn't fucking know; without anything to distract him, Joel's head had gone empty of all thought except how amazing it felt to be so goddamn deep inside her, over and over.

Too soon, her pace ramped up to something fiendish and hard, and Joel was left again to scramble for something to think about that wasn't the need to come. He was on the verge of a distracting thought—baseball, maybe, who fucking knew—when she tossed her head back with a moan, arching her spine and somehow taking Joel even deeper, even tighter. 

"Fuck, Christ, I can't. God, baby, you're killing me. You gotta let me do something other than just feel you like this." His voice was strained from the pressure mounting in him, the tension that was tipping from anticipation to inevitability. "Shit, I can't. You gotta slow down if you don't want me to come."

Her pace didn't change, she just gave him a "Shh, not yet. You can hold on a little longer, cowboy. Look at me, Joely—be right here with me," and moaned again, riding him and looking into his eyes as she whispered filth about how good he was making her feel, how he filled her up so perfect and she never wanted to stop. 

Her words and her sounds burned straight through Joel, and they damn sure didn't make it any easier to hold back his release.

"You gotta slow down," he said again, an imminent feeling building in his gut that would not be denied. 

"Ask me nice, handsome."

"Please, honey, please. Fuck, I'm gonna come. Please, God, I'm beggin'."

And he was, his voice strained under the tension of holding back an orgasm. 

Joel panted and grunted and maybe even whimpered with a near-painful effort for a few seconds that felt like an eternity before she finallyfucking relented, but slowing down wasn't going to cut it anymore, he needed her to stop. 

"Don't move, don't move—fuck, I'm so close." The strain of holding himself at bay drew a seething rumble of effort from his chest, his grip going so rigid at her hips to keep her still that he'd wonder later whether she'd bruise. Christ, he ached with the effort of holding back, every muscle in his body trembling and clenched tight with the work of it. A tiny bit more movement and he would've fallen over the edge. 

He mastered himself—albeit under a litany of curses—and opened his eyes to find her looking fondly down at him.  

"You look so pretty fighting for control," she praised, then leaned forward to comb her fingers through his hair and press a kiss to his forehead. 

The change in the angle where their bodies joined sent a too-sharp flare of pleasure through Joel and he let out a disbelieving little yelp of a laugh that turned into a warning growl. "Oh, I am gonna get you back for this, sugar."

"That's what we're doing here, Joely. I'm getting back what you owe me."

"You don't seem to be trying very hard to get it," he teased, still catching his breath. She'd been enjoying herself, sure, but she hadn't been anywhere close to getting what she felt she was owed. 

When she was close, she would keep all of him inside her, letting him press against that deep spot that made her beg to come. When she was close, she rode Joel hard, chasing friction against her clit by grinding against his pelvis or his hand. But she'd been fucking him in long strokes that, though it felt amazing to Joel, didn't seem to drive her crazy like it did him. 

"I got distracted, handsome, can you blame me?" she asked, all feigned innocence as she stroked his cheek and gazed down at him appreciatively. "Fuck, look how sexy you are, half a mess and trying so hard to hold on for me. Do I need to put down the visor so you can see yourself in the mirror?"

She folded it down and gestured at it, but Joel couldn't look at anything but her. 'Half a mess' had to be the understatement of the century, anyhow. 

"Let's just keep you focused, here, Sticks; get that pretty little head of yours in the game." 

She tightened around Joel and shifted her hips, squeezing around every inch of him like she'd never let him go. Joel hissed in a breath through his teeth then released it shakily. Chrissakes, she felt fucking incredible, her every move a page from the playbook of what he liked best; normally this would be a dream come true, but this time, it was double-edged.

"See, now, my head is in the game, Joely." She leaned down to kiss him and began taking him again, slow and deep and still squeezing, sighing like an angel, and fuck it had been tight before but now she was fitted around him like they'd been built for each other with no room to spare. "It's just not the game you're thinking it is."

Joel skated his hands underneath her blouse and up over her breasts, the thin, smooth fabric of her bra doing little to keep his touch from reaching her. Her nipples were hard under his hands and Joel thumbed over them, rolling them between his fingers as she rolled her hips over his. This, she seemed willing to permit, humming softly as he touched her.  The tiny bit of distraction, something to feel beneath his hands rather than around his dick, was damn near salvation, but it didn't last long. 

Bit by bit, she increased her pace, fucking him hard and fast and all the way to the shuddering, half-pleading brink again and praising him as she dangled him off the cliff. 

"Fucking look at you, trying so hard to be good for me when you just need to come so bad," she said, leaning forward over him and bringing her thighs together, somehow making the sensation even more intense as she continued to take him in those long, awful strokes. 

"Please, sugar," he pleaded. "God, I can't hold back much longer."

A whimper came from Joel and her whole body seemed to thrill with it. 

"Oh, but fuck, you feel so good when you're close, Joely."

She fucked him until he begged again, and then for too many seconds after, with him holding her to a stop so close to the edge he thought it was far too late. But again, Joel wrenched himself back from the brink as worship dripped from her lips.  

Once he caught his breath and got his dick to stop twitching almost painfully inside her, Joel realized her game at last. 

She wasn't using his body to chase her own release at all; she was toying with him, fucking edging him, and she was gonna keep on doing it—right here on the side of the goddamn road, after five months with nothing but his hand for company—'til Joel made her come. 

And she was gleeful about it, beautiful devil that she was, delighting in tormenting him so sweetly. She'd never give up the game willingly; Joel would have to make her come. 

Oh, this was a whole different fuckin' game, indeed. 

Joel's grip tightened into iron at her hips, resolution dissolving his impending release. 

"You hope you'll still be feelin' me for days," Joel said, all but growling, "i'n't that what you said?" 

He pulled her down hard against him, grinding himself into her, and she gave a whimper of her own as every furious bit of him throbbed inside her. Joel planted his feet in the floorboard and used the power in his legs to thrust up into her, briefly raising her up off her knees as she towered over him.

She yelped in surprise, then hummed a guttural sound of pleasure. "God, Joely, fuck."

"Isn't it what you said?" he prompted, driving into her again, harder this time. 

"Yes," she cried, flinging her hands up to the roof of the truck for balance to keep from falling forward. It pushed her down hard against his cock and Joel groaned, all but overcome by the feel of her. 

"Fuck, god, yes." Her eyes met his and she nodded, pleading and effort drawing her brows together. "That's what I said. That's what I want, Joely. Please."

The touch of one hand slipped from her hip and under her skirt, Joel's thumb finding her clit and brushing over it slow and gentle, earning a gasp from her as he pressed up into her again. "And don't I give you what you want, angel? Even when you make me fuckin' crazy?"

She made an affirmative noise but didn't answer properly, her hips bucking against his while he touched her, trying to spur him to go faster, to give her more. But she had denied him, and he could deny her. At least a little longer. 

"Say it," he said, command punctuated by hard pressure over her clit that made her jump and cry out. 

"You do, you always give me what I want. Fuck. What I need. Please."

Her hands started to droop from the headliner of the truck, easing the pressure of her around him, and Joel warned, "Don't you bring your hands down 'less I tell you to." 

She did as she was told, and he continued his coaxing as he fucked up into her. "Ain't I so goddamn good to you?"

"Yes, fuck, yes—God, you're always so good to me, Joely."

"Tell me what you want me to do, sweetheart." He put more of his strength into those slow thrusts, pounding up into her, leading her to her answer. "Just tell me what you need, and I'll be so fucking good to you, I promise."

"Fuck me. Please," she pleaded, pressing against the roof to meet his thrusts. "God, more, please. Fuck me hard, Joely, make me feel you. I want to feel you after, want to feel you all weekend. Fuck, please. I never get to feel you long enough."

Christ, she was riding his cock, begging for more, begging him to take her, to stay with her even after they were apart. Pleasure coiled around his throat, but with her to focus on, Joel could swallow it down, could ride the wave without being rolled by it. 

And, well, Joel never could say no to her. He'd only done it once and that had been enough to last him a lifetime. 

He held her hard by the hips and set off at a pace that verged on fuckin' mean, molding her next breaths into something shaky and just this side of begging. She whined his name, low and leading, and it just about cracked him in half.

"Is this what you wanted, sweetheart?" Joel asked, holding tight to her and letting his hands wander over her skin. 

"Fuck, Joely—oh my god, yes, just like that," she gasped, mouth falling open and staying there like her breath had got caught in her chest. "God, I feel so full of you."

"Hold up your skirt, you wicked little thing, I want to see you come for me." She brought both hands down from where she was still bracing against the roof of the truck, and Joel amended, "Just one hand, now."

She threw one hand back up to the roof and clenched a fistful of her skirt against her stomach with the other, baring herself to him, and Joel groaned at the sight. Those pretty white panties were tugged aside and absolutely soaked into translucence, her skin and that little patch of curls glistening with her arousal. 

Joel could see quick flashes of his cock disappearing into her as he fucked up into her, hard enough to lift her off her knees, then dropping her back down against him. 

"Please, Joel, please— oh my god."

Her breath was coming in staccato little bursts and Joel knew she was right on the edge. Her hand on the ceiling pushed her down harder against him, grinding against his hand as he touched her. The devil on his shoulder whispered that he should stop, interrupt her release and give her a taste of her own medicine, but she looked so goddamn pretty and wild that he just couldn't bring himself to do it. 

That, and Joel wasn't sure he'd survive the rematch. He reckoned it was best not to risk snatching defeat from the jaws of victory. 

Her begging turned wordless, just pleading little sounds keening from her throat as she took his cock. 

"Eyes right here, now. Hold on just a little longer for me," he bade her. "Don't run from it; just let it build a little longer. Fuck, you're so goddamn beautiful when you're about to come for me."

Holding his gaze, mouth slightly, helplessly open, she gasped in tiny bursts of air, her muscles growing tighter and tighter with her effort. Those desperate little noises of hers crept higher inside his chest as she found just one word—please—and repeated it like a prayer. 

Joel had gotten complacent as he fucked her, he realized, too distracted watching her, feeling her to keep up his punishing rhythm, easing back his power as contentment had crept under his skin. 

But he'd promised her—said he'd be good to her, said he'd give her whatever she asked for. Joel knew how utterly, devastatingly true that was, even if she didn't. 

"Is it hard enough for you, sugar?" 

She just kept reciting her plea, but when Joel bade her, "You want me to fuck you harder before you come?" his girl nodded furiously and found a few more words for him at last. 

"Yes. Please, Joely, harder."

Her voice shook, either from effort or exertion, brows pinched in concentration as she held his gaze. Joel ached to touch more of her, to somehow be closer. 

"Come here to me, darlin', let me hold you."

She all but fell forward against him, collapsing into his grasp on a breeze of sweet-spiced perfume and her. She smelled like someplace far away, but for now Joel could catch her in his arms, sliding his hands up the back of her ribcage to grab her shoulders and pin her close. His eyes squeezed shut as she moved around him, sending flares of sensation through his body that nudged him toward his own release. 

Pushing up with his legs and rocking her down onto his cock by her shoulders, Joel fucked her hard and fast, pounding into her almost deep enough to hurt. She gave a pleading, heart-deep moan as her words left her again, but Joel found he had plenty. 

"Fuck, you feel so good. Take me so well, like I was made for you, darlin'. Fuckin' made to fill you up, take you apart and make you come for me so pretty. But not yet—fuck—not yet."

She whined out a desperate little sound and Joel slid a hand from her shoulder up into her hair, grabbing a fistful and sending her whining again. 

"You hear how wet you are for me? Fuck, I could do this all day. Never let you come, just fuck you off the edge forever while that perfect goddamn pussy makes a fuckin' mess all over me."

"God, fuck, please don't stop, Joely."

"I'm not gonna stop, baby, I'm not gonna stop," he promised, panting against her throat, "not til you get everything you asked me for."

Those pretty pleading sounds grew higher and she began to beg—a hymn of 'please, Joely, please' that was a squeezing fist in his chest—her every muscle pulled tight under his touch. 

"You need to come, don't you, sugar? I can feel it. Goddamn, you feel good when you're about to come."

"Fuck, please, God." Her voice cracked in the sweetest way as she all but wailed it in his arms. "Please, Joely, please let me come."

The work of fucking her as hard as she wanted had Joel a little short of breath, and the helpless little noises she was making for him kept shoving him closer and closer to the edge. So close, he was so close to making it through to the other side of his girl's impossible task, but he was so goddamn close to failure. A horrible, wonderful tension was building in him and he was trying like hell to focus on any sense other than touch. Joel keyed into her panting breath, focused on how shaky and short her inhales were—tuned into the desperate, begging sound that chased after her every exhale.

Fuck, that might've been a mistake. Joel turned his mind back to her directive. 

"You gonna be feeling me tomorrow like you wanted, sugar?" he asked. 

"God, it's so good, Joely," she said, nodding her head against his temple and kissing his cheek, then panting against him to add, "You're so good to me. Fuck, please."

"You gonna remember who you belong to?" Joel bade, then a cold splash of fear crashed over him and he softened the sentiment before she could refuse. "Who this pretty pussy belongs to?"

But she didn't miss a beat. 

"It's yours," she vowed. "I'll know it's yours. Fuck, Joely, make me yours."

Joel clenched his eyes shut against the surge of pleasure in his veins. He couldn't do this much longer without a mess-making truth spilling out.

"Relax for me, now, darlin'," he said, so gentle despite the intensity with which he was driving into her, over and over. "I know you need to come, but you gotta take your time for me."

She obeyed, body relaxing against him as best she could so close to the edge. 

"Just let me take care of you, angel." Joel held her, panting the words against her throat as she moaned a desperate, building crescendo. "Just let it happen. Let me take such good care of you."

He knew she was cresting the wave when her breath lodged in her chest and she gasped a few short bursts of air before giving him an urgent, pleading whine. 

"There you go, let it out, sweetheart. God, you sound so pretty when I fuck you." Her hair fell in Joel's face, blotting out the whole world and surrounding him in her scent. "Fuck, that's my girl—go on and come for me, now, sugar. Let me feel you come for me." 

She did. 

It was as if a bomb detonated between them, sending her crying out, claws clenching into his chest as she came, arching her back against his hold. Her walls squeezed tight around him, blindingly intense after so much buildup, and the only way Joel was going to avoid following her over the edge was to fuck her through it, his thrusts keeping him from feeling the full brunt of her pussy trembling around him. 

Her moaning turned to something more urgent and loud, damn near a wail. 

"Shh, I know, sugar. I know. But you can take it, angel. I know— Fuck, I know you can." 

Shaking arms pushed against him, but her fists tightened in his shirt like she couldn't decide whether to hold fast or try to put distance between them. Her hips bucked against Joel's and he knew what those pretty sounds meant. 

Ain't no goddamn way. Joel wouldn’t be able to make it through a second time.

As she trembled against him, those begging noises building anew, the devil on Joel's shoulder spoke again and this time he indulged the urge it whispered. 

–––––––––––––

You were high on the climb, too dazed to process what Joel was doing as he put his hands under your ass and heaved you up toward him, your shaky-muscled thighs sliding up along either side of his waist, then his chest. You gave a startled little yelp as it happened, catching yourself with your hands on the edge of the back seat as you pitched forward with the momentum, your second orgasm flying from your grasp. 

Joel slid down on his laid-flat seat, knees bumping the dash with a plasticky thud. His foot slipped while he repositioned himself and the truck's engine revved as his boot slammed into the accelerator.

"Joely, what are you—"

Fuck, heat. 

Your question was cut off by a gasp as Joel buried his face in your still-oversensitive pussy, lapping and laving over you in something that felt an awful lot like revenge. 

That second orgasm flew back into view, but it took on a dire, almost sharp quality as you strained to get hold of it. The sound you made was somewhere between a question and a shriek, which was probably fair, given that your entire mental and physical state at that moment basically boiled down to '?!' 

But god, it almost hurt in an incredible way as Joel pulled you down against his face, wrenching your hips back and forth to fuck your clit against the flat of his tongue while he groaned against you. 

Subtly at first, your body began to move of its own accord—a faint roll of your hips to meet Joel's rhythm, helping him along. Quickly enough, though, need and instinct had your movements shifting into something urgent and demanding. 

Joel's voice, his touches became encouraging, nudging you toward what your body was building to, coaxing you to sit on his face and to take what your body needed. 

His hands were like sunlight against your skin, bright and warm and restorative, trailing over your thighs and hips. Joel's grip tightened, palming handfuls of your ass hard enough to ache in the sweetest way, as if staking a claim. 

No one had ever touched you like Joel. He didn't touch you like you were his, he touched you like he was yours, like he intended to make a home out of you and never let you go. It was a lie—he'd already let you go plenty of times—but it was a lie that kept you coming back, even knowing every visit brought you closer to the inevitable disastrous end. 

You thought of him beneath you now, head hidden under your skirt, face buried between your thighs, arms holding you against him—his whole existence narrowed to the taste and scent and feel and sound of you. Joel groaned and pulled you closer, mouth moving over you hungrily, like you were his favorite flavor. 

Power might've sung through your veins, had all your blood not already been replaced by steadily rising flames. 

His lips enveloped your clit and the flames flared white-hot and scorching, making you yelp a desperate sound that seemed to please Joel enough for him to keep at it. 

"Fuck, Joel, I can't. It's too much." You let out an anguished little cry that sent him groaning against you, holding you tighter and doing his damnedest to fucking devour you. You panted and pleaded but Joel refused to relent, even as you tried to arch away from his touch, away from the too-intense feeling that was building in you. 

But Joel wouldn't be denied and neither would your body as you mindlessly fucked yourself against his worshipful mouth even as you begged him for mercy. 

With a disorienting surge, the tide shifted and you heard your voice shift from 'fuck, you gotta stop' to 'fuck, don't stop', and that plea, at least, Joel didn't ignore.

After such a long climb the first time, your second orgasm almost snuck up on you, the world tilting forward as you loosed a sob and went rigid, hands grabbing fistfuls of Joel's hair to anchor you as you trembled against him again. 

When he finally slowed and stopped, you could finally fucking breathe again, but you were still too spent to move.

"There you go, sugar," he said, equal parts teasing and praising as he gave you a light slap across the ass that made you suck in a sharp breath. "That one's on me."

And fuck, it was, you realized as you slid back down over his lap. You'd made an absolute mess of him, his hair mussed and sweat-slick, lips blushed and face damp with your release. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, all flushed and panting and liquid, and realized you hadn't fared much better. Your hair was a mess to rival his and your clothes were hopelessly rumpled. 

Joel returned his seat to its normal height, chest drawing close to yours as he wrapped his arms around you. 

As you got settled and caught your breath, you rested your forehead against his, then punched him lightly in the chest and said with a laugh, "Fuck you for that."

"Promises, promises," he muttered.

"Couldn't just take your punishment like a good boy," you teased, blowing out a dreamy little sigh. "Took you long enough to catch on. God, I genuinely think your dick gets bigger when you're angry." 

"Mind your manners or we'll find out," he warned, nuzzling into your neck to plant a trail of kisses from the base of your ear to the hollow of your throat, then nipping at the crest of your collarbone.

"Promises, promises," you echoed.

Next Chapter ->

[pocketfullofkouhuns]

jackson

part 22/? masterlist

chapter summary: Joel takes you home. Tommy puts a little strain on your just-mended fence.

pairing: joel miller x f!reader [no use of y/n] chapter pairings: ellie & joel & reader, tommy & joel & reader, joel x reader

word count: 5.5k (110k total)

warning: references to alcohol use; sexual content (dirty talk, teasing, grinding, slight somno if you squint, joel gets you to beg for it). see masterlist for overall story notes and warnings. @macaroni676 @orcasoul <3

It had been a hell of a long time since anybody had wrapped their arms around Joel's neck and breathed 'take me home' against his lips like a promise, so maybe his expectations were skewed, but the evening didn't quite pan out the way he'd been imagining it would.

Joel figured he'd be the first to hop in the shower, figured you would stand in the bathroom or maybe sit on the sink and talk to him through steam-thick air as he rinsed the day's horse-hair and adrenaline off his skin. He figured he'd keep you company through your own shower afterward―figured he'd ask about your day and tell you about Silas's endless chatter and then he'd peek behind the shower curtain to make you laugh and he'd only tease you a little, only enough that you would know what Joel had in mind for you next.

But you had wanted to shower before him, had said through whiskey giggles that you were cold and needed warmth, and Joel had immediately surrendered. He'd taken in lungfuls of mint-tinged air and the story of your day with Tommy, heart spurring a little faster at the details of not one, but two frightfully close calls. You'd wrapped a towel around your body and the two of you had switched places, but you'd wandered out into the other room to grab clean clothes, laughing over Joel's assurances they weren't necessary. Somewhere along the way, you'd gotten distracted by your bed and those pretty giggles went quiet, even after he called your name.

Joel stepped out into your bedroom to find you curled up on your side, the skin of your thighs aglow in the bathroom-light, the sweet curve of your ass peeking out from beneath the t-shirt you'd fallen asleep in.

If you'd been going drink for drink with Tommy, you might've had enough whiskey in your veins to knock out a peewee football team for all Joel knew, coach and all. So he pulled the blankets up from the foot of the bed and switched on your bedside lamp before sliding in beside you, holding your body against his and breathing in the warm-sun, vanilla scent of your skin. You clung to him, wrapping your arms around his back and nuzzling against the center of his chest, humming a low, warm sound that reverberated through him like he was the one making it.

You stroked your own arm as you slept, the same way you'd done at the firewatch, dragging a fingertip over your hand and forearm in looping whorls. You hadn't done it any of the other nights you'd spent with Joel, leading him to wonder if there was some common thread that tied the two nights together. 

The humming was back, too―it wasn't quite a melody that meandered around in your chest, just soft, lilting notes that made him think of a sunny-morning meadow. Joel drifted off to the sound and to the subtle dance of your wrist moving against his back.

Hours or minutes later, he surfaced from sleep, gentle and warm, lying flat on his back as you lightly stroked your fingertips over the skin of his neck, the plane of his chest, the curve of his jaw, still humming those same soft, wandering sounds. He returned the touch as best he could with his arm pinned beneath you, only able to reach your upper arm and the bend of your shoulder. The skin beneath his fingertips was impossibly soft but far too cool to the touch. Joel tugged the blankets up over you and was swiftly lulled back under as your hands and your voice washed over him.

So when he woke again in quiet dawn-light, rested and peaceful for the first time he could remember, Joel wasn't exactly surprised to still feel those gentle touches against his chest and shoulder. But as he lay there dozing, thinking about tracing his fingers over your skin in return but too content to move, the effects of your touch steadily grew harder to ignore, leaving Joel thinking about giving you more than just sleepy, tickling grazes. He shifted lightly against the sheets, body growing restless with need.

Joel almost always seemed to want you most in the mornings. The handful of sunrises he'd held you through had been a precious torment, desire and decency making a battlefield of him as he relished in the feel of your body against his. But he'd stuck to his guns―more or less―and though he'd done a little fooling around with his line-stepping wildcat as you'd waited for your concussion to clear, you hadn't crossed over from sleeping together to sleeping together.

Finally, your headache had faded days ago and never returned, and Joan released you back to work―and 'normal activity as tolerated'―early yesterday morning. And now here you were, pressed against him from temple to toes, fingertips trailing over his skin lightly enough that Joel kept getting goosebumps.

He was absolutely aching for you and half-tempted to wake you up properly, but he hesitated, not wanting to drag you out of sleep and into a hangover. Lord knew how much 'unwinding' you and Tommy had done last night after the day y'all had had.

But your hands were sending whispers of electricity through him and his restraint was wearing thin.

You shifted in your sleep, that soft, grazing touch drifting from his shoulder to his chest and then down over his ribs, making Joel's muscles twitch against the intense feeling. Cool fingertips danced over his stomach, and while the skin was so much less sensitive, Joel couldn’t relax, anticipation wrapping around him like a fist. Your touch whispered over the hair scattered just above the waistband of his worn-soft cotton pants and he nearly came unglued, a sharp inhale catching in his chest.

The sweet hum you gave didn't sound like some sleepy almost-melody, it sounded like a pleased little moan, and Joel finally thought to wonder if you had woken up at some point. All his 'if' and uncertainty vanished, though, as those grazing fingers skimmed over the outline of his dick, making him take a shaky, slow breath. You nuzzled against him, lifting your chin to press a kiss to his neck.

"You're a surprisingly hard man to wake, handsome," you said softly, touch roving lightly over his hips and thighs.

"Been awake a while," he said, surprising himself by not sounding half as tense and wrecked as he felt.

"Just laying there, letting me touch you?" You dragged your fingers over the hard length of him again.

Joel's fingers tensed, nearly clawing against your shoulder as his thighs flexed, trying not to lift his hips up into your touch.

"Been touchin' me all night, wildcat," he said. "Not that I'm complainin'."

"What do you mean?" You sounded a little confused, hand coming to his stomach and stilling there, sending him aching from the loss of feeling. "Touching you how?"

Mischief and desire coiled in his belly.

"Like this," Joel said, putting a hand against your upper chest to coax you onto your back as he rolled onto his side against you, reversing your positions.

He offered you a demonstration, fingertips wandering lightly against the skin of your neck and the angle of your jaw. You closed your eyes and tipped your head toward him, allowing Joel better access as you made a sound of pleasure.

"See?" He left a soft kiss on your temple. "That's why I wasn't complainin'."

Joel traced over the crook of your shoulder and your clavicle and he gave a tsk at the feel of thick cotton between his skin and yours.

"This spot was my favorite," he said lowly. "Well, second favorite. But I think it prob'ly ain't the same if there's fabric in-between."

"Then show me," you said, nails grazing over his arm all the way up his shoulder, sending a prickle of electricity over his skin.

So his touch went lower, skimming the tips of his fingers over your thighs, pushing the hem of your shirt up as he went. The same touch lifted the fabric up over your hips, with Joel taking his time offering those light grazes to the creases of your thighs, sending you arching your back and parting your legs for him, even giving him a desperate little whine as that gentle, wandering pressure just barely brushed between your legs before moving on.

"Joel," you breathed, but there was no direction in it, no demand, just tasting his name on your tongue.

He wanted you to say it again, wanted to hear you plead and sigh and moan his name, over and over. Wanted it to dance on your tongue and crumble in your throat, wanted it to be the breath in your lungs, the sound on your lips.

Higher and higher, Joel stroked your skin, rucking the shirt up over your stomach with reverent, light touches that sprawled toward your chest. His fingers rose along your rib cage, swirling over your flank as you sighed and pulled your shoulders back, letting him touch more of you, always more of you.

The lower curve of your breast was high on Joel's list of his very favorite parts of you to touch. So soft and smooth and warm, and every time his skin met yours there, you―

You made a small, pleading whimper and satisfaction washed over Joel like a wave.

"I know, darlin'," he said, almost pained as his fingers slid beneath your shirt to trace up and back down over the valley between your breasts.

Joel mustered just enough cruelty to tease you, his touch retreating back along your rib cage, dancing over you until you shifted beneath him, trying to coax his fingertips up toward your chest.

"Please," you asked, all breath and so little voice. "Joel..."

There was definitely some demand in his name that time, sending a squeeze of pleasure through Joel that made his muscles tighten, his cock lightly pressing into your hip.

Your hand reached for him, but he caught it in his own.

"What is it, baby?" he bade you, bringing your hand to his lips to leave kisses over your wrist and the base of your thumb before nestling his cheek into your palm. "Tell me what you need."

Without him deciding to, Joel's fingers returned to your skin, painting temptation over your ribs where they began to give rise to your breasts.

"Touch me," you said, eyes falling closed as you arched into his touch. "Fuck, it's so good when you touch me."

"I am touchin' you, ain't I?"

"Higher."

Joel's fingers skated up your side, barely grazing the outer swell of your breast, then following the curve around to the center of your chest.

You made a pretty little heart-deep moan that Joel wanted to fold up and carry around in his shirt pocket. Seeking a repeat, he circled his touch around your other breast, nails rasping gently against you, and he was rewarded with an even sweeter sound.

Fingers just barely whispering against your skin, Joel slid his hands into the neck of the shirt, widening the opening to slip it over your head and then pulling it off along your arms.

When you lay bare before him, Joel let his eyes feast for a greedy moment, taking in the sight of every curve and line.

"More beautiful every time I see you, angel."

As his fingertips finally moved over your shoulder and up the slope of your neck, light as he could muster, you rolled your head to the side to give him more space to touch. Your pulse pounded in your throat and he traced it softly as you gave a rumbling little hum. Joel bowed into your neck to replace his touch with a kiss, the stubble around his lips brushing against your skin, coaxing another moan from his wildcat as you writhed against him. 

"Better when I touch or kiss you here, sugar?" he prompted.

"Kiss," you said, a little shakily. "Definitely kiss."

Hmm.

"How 'bout here?" He dragged his fingertips over your collarbones, then left a trail of light kisses in a meandering line. "Touch or kiss?"

"Touch," you replied. "Please. Again."

Joel obeyed, skimming over your upper chest again. As you breathed into the feeling, his fingertips drifted lower, leaving a light, wandering touch over your breasts, your nipples stiffening in his wake. His kisses were open-mouthed and nuzzling, teasing his tongue and the stubble of his cheek and the soft worship of his lips against you.

"Touch or kiss?" he asked.

"Both, fuck." Your hands reached for him, one sinking into his hair, the other touching the hand that was touching you. "God, Joel, everything. More."

Lower and lower, Joel made his way over every bit of skin he could reach, your ribs, your stomach, your flanks and hips as you hummed your encouragement and impatience, telling him whether you preferred the feeling of his hands or his mouth.

Joel's fingers dipped between your legs, flitting over you and just barely making contact as you gasped. His mouth followed with the faintest pressure, his tongue trailing and tasting and promising, pulling back slightly when your hips lifted toward him, seeking a more intense feeling.

When he prompted you for your verdict that time, you went off-script.

"Quit holding out on me, cowboy," you said, breathless as your fingers flared out over his scalp, cradling his head and bringing his face up to yours. "You know what I want."

He hummed a hungry, pleased sound against your mouth, holding his body overtop of yours and grazing his lips against yours but not quite kissing you.

"And what is it that you want, wildcat?"

Your hands left his neck, sliding down over his chest, and then his sides, until your fingertips met his waistband and slipped beneath. Feeling raced through him like a lit fuse and Joel gave a soft bite to the side of your throat.

You traced the band's path around to the drawstring, tugging the bow loose and then hooking your thumbs into the fabric. You were not hesitant or shy in pushing his pants over his hips, then his ass, then his thighs, until your hands could reach no further.

Joel slipped them off the rest of the way and you helpfully toed the bundle of cotton loose from his legs.

Your soft, cool hands traced back up over him, soothing the heat of his skin as you swept them over his hips and back. You took so much heat from Joel that by the time you paced your hands back down his sides, you'd warmed to match him.

"I want you, Joel," you said at last, your touch skating low against his stomach and grazing over the length of him. "I want all of you."

You wrapped your hand around him and Joel took a full, deep breath that felt like the first he'd ever known.

"I want you inside me," you continued, staking your claim and stroking him slowly as his breath fled him in damn near a tremble. "Filling me up, over and over."

It wasn't gonna be a whole lot of 'over and over' if you kept touching him like that. Mercifully, you didn't keep it up for long.

Ever an impatient thing, you wrapped your legs around his hips and pulled him down to you, guiding the tip of his cock against your wet, perfect heat. And though Joel had every intention of just letting you go on as long as you wanted, that first touch set a match to every bit of planning and restraint in his body. It smoldered in him, just waiting for the flame to catch.

――――――――――-

You were going to burn up from the inside if Joel made you wait any longer.

You whined his name, arms curving around his neck. But he held himself apart from you, even as he laid sweet, tempting kisses over your face and neck.

"I know, wildcat," Joel soothed, breathing deeply against your throat and flexing his hips, deliberately teasing you with what you wanted―what you were embarrassingly close to begging for. "But we ain't got nowhere to be. I got the whole day off, and by God, I mean to use it."

"Well, then get to using it, already," you said, playing at reproach. "You're wasting daylight, cowboy."

"Ain't a waste, I'm just takin' my sweet time." He slid his hand up your chest and over your throat, cradling the curve of your jaw and kissing you, deep and slow enough to make you writhe against him, desperate to be closer. Joel's voice was low and rough when he spoke next, eyes scanning your face. "Waited so long for you, darlin', I damn sure ain't gonna rush."

He flexed his hips again, pressing himself against you and almost, almost inside of you. Your gasp turned into a moan, then crumbled into something close to a sob of frustration.

"Please," you urged, trying to pull him against you with your arms around his shoulders and your legs at his hips.

But he just kept touching you, kissing you. So you tried cheating instead.

"Joel," you breathed, and he made a humming sound of pleasure against your throat, hand drifting down to graze over your breast.

He always looked a little pleased when you gave him his name. Always kissed you a little harder, held you a little tighter, pulled you a little closer.

"Please, Joel. I need you."

It might've been cheating, but it seemed to get the job done.

"You sound so goddamn pretty beggin' me to fuck you," he praised, pressing against you. "You can wait just a little longer, though, angel."

Joel lowered himself down onto his elbows, body tight against yours, skin furnace-warm even in the chill morning air.

"Might take my pretty little wildcat apart again and again, so fuckin' slow. Be so good to you, make you all relaxed and happy." His touch roamed down over you, alternating between light teasing and greedy handfuls. "Don't that sound like a hell of a way to spend a day?"

You smiled and moaned against his mouth, pulling him close and then rolling your hips against him. If he was set on dragging this out, you'd just have to strain his composure. Someone would win eventually.

"You going soft on me or something, Miller?"

You nipped at his lip gently, but if anything, his kisses only got slower, softer.

"Mmm," he hummed, hand sliding up to cradle your face. "Y'know what, darlin'? I reckon I might be."

Painfully sweet as this all was, after two and a half weeks of constant proximity and false-starts, you'd just about run out of patience for nice and slow and soft.

You hooked your leg around Joel's, then wrapped your hand around his arm on the same side. In one fast, fluid motion, you tugged on both limbs and pushed off with your other leg, rolling the both of you over before he could figure out what was happening. You towered over him, straddling his hips and wrestling down a smirk as confusion gave way to amusement in Joel's eyes.

"You takin' charge, sugar?"

"There'll be plenty of days for you to tease me, handsome." You skimmed your fingers over his chest, down his rib cage, and to his waist. Your hands slid over Joel's and brought them over your thighs, trailing higher and higher. "But right now, I want you to show me what you meant when you said you had to be gentle with me when I was hurt so you could be rough with me later."

"Is it later, wildcat?" His grip hardened over your thighs, kneading the soft skin as he looked you over.

You nodded and then bowed over him, kissing his chest and neck.

"I think it's later, cowboy."

"No thinkin'," Joel said, hands sliding up to your hips and tightening, holding you close enough against his arousal that it sent a thrill through you. "You'll tell me what you want, sugar, or you'll take what I give you."

Either one sounded good to you. You rocked against him and the tip of his cock brushed over your clit, making you moan.

"I want everything, Joel," you said in his ear, body setting a rhythm with your hips without your conscious say-so. "Everything you've been thinking about, everything you've been holding back. I want it all."

Joel groaned as you left claiming kisses and taunting little bites everywhere you could reach, still fucking yourself against him.

"You want it all, huh?" he asked, matching your pace and holding you close against him.

When you hummed your assent, his warm hands grabbed your ass just this side of roughly, lifting you up onto your knees. The suddenness of it threw you off-balance and you caught yourself just shy of colliding into Joel, your hands sinking into the pillow as they landed on either side of his head.

His hold on your hips tightened into something claiming as he positioned you to take him.

A solid, wooden sound grabbed your attention and your stomach dropped as you turned your head toward the open bedroom door, breaking the kiss.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me," you mumbled, huddling down against him. And though you hadn’t noticed the telltale sounds of him jogging up the porch steps or opening the front door, you did finally catch on when your living room floorboards creaked under a heavy, familiar gait. 

Joel groaned and put his hands in your hair, pulling you close and burying his face in your neck.

"Got your customary ass-save breakfast sandwich," Tommy's voice called through the house. "Even put it on French toast for you."

A hot, rumbling breath poured against your throat as Joel wrapped his arms around you and made a noise of seething disbelief.

"You sure you couldn't've let that fucker shoot him yesterday?" he whispered. "Just in the leg?"

Your chest shook with quiet laughter, winding your fingers into Joel's almost-curly hair and cradling his head against you.

"I'll definitely weigh my options next time," you whispered back, putting a kiss on his forehead. "Maybe he'll go away? Assume I'm not here?"

Tommy moved through the house a few more seconds and you thought you might die from preemptive embarrassment, lying against Joel and trying not to move.

"Jesus, you ain't still asleep up there, are you? Didn't give you that much whiskey."

Those thudding footsteps echoed towards the stairwell and you took a sharp breath, bunching up your shoulders and shrinking down further into Joel.

Joel turned you both over onto your sides, wrapping himself protectively around you and shielding your body from view with his own as he finally spoke, low and warning.

"Come up them steps and I'll knock you straight back down 'em."

There wasn't a hint of humor in him, but you still had to pinch your lips between your teeth to hold in a laugh.

Absolute silence followed for three full breaths, finally broken by the sound of Tommy's boots on your floor, lighter and slower as he retreated from the foot of the stairs.

"Thank god you didn't wanna rush, huh?" you teased, whispering against Joel's temple.

He gave a seething hum and bit at your neck, rolling you onto your back and pressing against you hard enough to nearly feel like a threat. 

"Keep it up and I'll take out my frustration on you instead of Tommy."

"Mmm, promise?" you asked, wrapping your legs around him and pulling him closer. You put your lips to Joel's and he deepened the kiss immediately, sounding strained when you bit his lip in encouragement.

"Get your pretty little ass out of this bed, wildcat," he warned, raising his voice to call out, "'fore I change my mind and just let Tommy hear what he ends up hearin'."

―――――――――――-

"Tommy's heard plenty, thanks," he hollered from his spot next to the kitchen island. "Tommy never wants to hear anything again, actually."

He hadn't heard much, thank Christ, except some giggling just then. Still, Tommy reckoned his days of barging into your house without knocking―or Joel's, for that matter―were officially behind him now. Some risks just ain't worth taking.

Maybe he was an idiot for not thinking about it before opening your door, given what he'd heard you say to Joel last night, but really, Tommy'd just figured that even if Joel had taken you home, he still would've been gone by now. The man wasn't usually one for sleeping in, and more often than not had started his day before the sun came up.

Though it didn't sound like sleeping in was what you and Joel had been doing up there. Tommy grimaced and shook his head, trying to shake loose that godawful mental image.

His big brother and his best fuckin' friend.

Or maybe the order needed to be switched on those last two words.

Eugh.

It wasn't that he was bothered by it, exactly―you and Joel made a fine match, though you both had a bloody past and some jagged edges, not to mention that neither of y'all was much good at compromise or being denied.

A quiet shadow coiled around his heart, and Tommy began to fret. Being loyal to both halves of a couple came with a hell of a downside: if things blew up between you two, Tommy might end up losing one or both of you all over again.

Sounds of movement drifted through the house, you and Joel making your way downstairs to Tommy. Sheepish discomfort displaced that fretful shadow, making him a little restless.

Maybe he shoulda just left, but hell, wouldn't that just make it weirder for longer? He'd finally started to get things back towards normal with you, he couldn't stand the notion of losing ground on account of some piddly little awkwardness. 

So Tommy loosened his shoulders and put some ease into his posture, just in time to see you coming down the stairs with Joel not far behind.

There was a little glow to your face that Tommy didn't particularly want to consider the origin of, but Joel didn't wear a goddamn hint of it; rather, his face was painted with something so close to a scowl that Tommy very nearly laughed out loud.

If looks could kill, Tommy would be a dead man.

He held up his breakfast offering and you reached out to take it.

"Enh," he grunted, pulling back the paper-wrapped sandwich before your fingers could close around it. "Wash your hands, dirty bird."

You shoved Tommy's shoulder hard enough to stagger him, but you laughed. You held your hands out toward his face, threatening to touch him as he yielded a step back.

"Washed 'em upstairs, goofball," you said, putting your hands on his cheeks, giggle turning to a cackle when Tommy flinched and pushed away your soap-scented touch.

He handed over your breakfast and you nodded your thanks, setting it on the counter for a second while you filled the kettle and set it on the stove.

"You off today, too?" you asked.

Tommy nodded.

"Gonna try and tackle that damn washing machine once and for all." He took an elderly apple from the bowl on your counter and polished it on his shirtsleeve. "Lamar reckons I can get another few months out of the belt if I grease it up good and maybe hit it with a heat gun. Bit tricky to get to the damn thing, though, so I was thinkin'..."

Tommy turned pointedly to Joel and raised his brows as he took a bite of the apple.

"I want you to play back the last five minutes in that thick-ass head of yours," Joel grumbled, "'fore you go 'thinkin'' about askin' me for so much as goddamn pat on the back, little brother."

You masterfully disguised your laugh as a cough as you worked on the first bite of your breakfast.

"God, this is really good," you marveled, offering Joel a bite. He shook his head and you pointed from Tommy to the other half of the sandwich, still wrapped on the counter. "Tom?"

"All yours." He waved you off, heart straining a little fuller and warmer. "You earned it."

"Suit yourselves," you said, then hummed a sound and paused your chewing to add, "She'll eat the other half" just as Ellie threw open the door.

The girl frowned as she surveyed the room.

"The hell is this? You jerks are having breakfast without me?"

"She's havin' breakfast, pup," Tommy said, pointing at you as you were sliding the other half of your sandwich across the kitchen island toward Ellie, and then he pointed at himself. "I'm droppin' it off 'cause rules are rules, and your old man is...here."

That got her attention to shift to Joel, at least. Ellie squinted his way, then brightened.

"Ooh, that's yesterday's shirt―did someone sleep here last night?" she asked, her voice all teasing and singsong. "Joel, you..scoundrel!"

Joel's ears went red and he turned to Tommy.

"So...that washer of yours..."

You burst into laughter, but Tommy wasn't gonna look a gift horse in the mouth.

"C'mon then," he said.

"Walk of shame!" Ellie called after Joel, unzipping her coat and loosing the orphaned squirrel pups you and her had been looking after.

Tommy turned back to the lot of y'all, you girls across the house and his brother a few steps at his heel.

"'Fore I forget―see y'all at the Fourth of July thing later?"

Joel shrugged and motioned impatiently toward the door. Ellie hummed an affirmative as she dug into the other half of the sandwich with a curious ball of fur perched on either shoulder. But you made a groaning ugh noise, clanking your kettle against the countertop.

"Fuck, is that today?"

You swore again when Tommy nodded.

"I thought you liked Fourth of July," he said, hand on the doorknob.

"Eugene's light thing always makes me barf."

"'Light thing'?" Ellie asked, muffled by a mouthful of eggs and bread.

"Can't exactly do fireworks anymore," Tommy said by way of explanation.

"Much as Eugene begs to differ," you said, filling two of the three mugs before you.

"He always does." Tommy shook his head.

The industrious spark-plug of an old fella had argued his case passionately to the council, like he did every year. But eventually he was forced to admit―as he always was―that literally beckoning Infected toward Jackson with explosions of light and sound was probably a bad idea, no matter how clever he'd been in figuring out how to do it. He'd masterminded another indoor laser light show instead.

Still, though...

"Don't think the lights are why you barf, Rager," Tommy said with raised brows and a knowing tilt of his head. He turned his gaze to Joel. "Any booze with bubbles, and that gal of yours ends up sleeping on her back porch. Says the oak tree 'grounds her and makes her stop spinning.'"

You sputtered a laugh into your tea, and Tommy took note of the shift in Joel's brow, the slight tension that pulled at the corners of his eyes and lips as he failed to fully hold back a smile.

"No way, drunk Doc sounds awesome," Ellie said, beaming at you. "I'm stealing a bottle, I gotta put that away for an emergency."

You were still laughing together as Tommy and Joel left a moment later.

"How come I don't get a sandwich when I save your ass?" Joel asked.

Tommy shrugged. "Never asked for one."

"Didn't know it was an option," Joel said, tucking his hands in his coat pockets. "Smelled good, though."

"Well, shit, come on then," Tommy said, bumping his elbow against Joel and gesturing him down the sidewalk. "I ain't makin' another one, but I'll buy your ornery ass some breakfast 'fore we get started."

"Owe me a hell of a lot more'n some goddamn eggs after what you just busted up." Joel scowled and shoved at his brother with his shoulder.  "Fuck. Worse than when we were kids."

"Ease off, old fella," Tommy said with a grin, poking the bear. "Didn't sound like it was goin' all that well anyhow. Dead silent when I walked in. Mighta heard her snoring."

"It was goin' just fine, trust me. Jesus Christ, you know that was the third fuckin' time you did that?" Joel said, shaking his head. "I oughta put your ass on the ground, Tommy."

Tom's shoulders shook with laughter, even knowing there was a non-zero chance Joel would actually deliver on his threat. Some impish, shithead-little-brother corner of him delighted in cockblocking Joel; didn't matter that it hadn't been intentional to start with, he was gonna irritate the hell out of the man for at least an entire meal.

Fuck, it was good to have Joel back. 

Next Chapter ->

[pocketfullofkouhuns]

jackson

part 21/? masterlist

chapter summary: You spend some time with Ellie as she prepares to do you a favor so you can mend a fence. Your long-awaited return to patrol has its wins and losses.

pairing: joel miller x f!reader [no use of y/n] chapter pairings: ellie & reader, tommy & reader, joel x reader

word count: 5.9k (104k total) Thanks for reaching the hundred-thousand word mark with me! Next chapter will bring a little reward <3

warning: brief discussions of child/spousal/parental loss, alcohol use, barely-sexual content, mentions of canon-typical violence. see masterlist for overall story notes and warnings. @macaroni676 @orcasoul <3

"You sure you don't mind doing this?" you asked. 

For like the third time. 

Ellie rolled her eyes, but you wouldn't be able to see, not with Ellie sitting on the floor between your feet. 

"Fuck's sake, dude," she said, trying to convey the eye-roll in her tone. "Yes, I'm sure. I'm babysitting them, not...letting them eat my eyeballs. It's not that big a deal."

You gave a soft snort of laughter and combed your fingers along Ellie's hairline, gathering another small section of hair. 

"It's a big deal to me," you said earnestly, weaving the hair into the braid in your hands. "I really appreciate you looking after them. I know giving up your day is no small thing."

Nice as it was to have someone ask her preference rather than bark orders, Ellie couldn't imagine turning down an opportunity to have the three scrabbly little ground squirrel pups—at least, that was your best guess at the critters' identity—use her as a jungle gym and hot water bottle for the day while you went out on patrol. 

The pups were an absolute shitshow in the best way, all greedy little hands grabbing for the syringe of milk, a bit of fruit, or a gross bug one second, then curled up in a sleepy, fuzzy little ball the next. 

Ellie's favorite part was when they were all awake, chasing each other around. They'd race around her legs or shoot up to your shoulder, burrowing into your tied-up hair to hide and then getting so dazed by warmth and safety that they'd pass out for an hour. 

That was why she was sitting on the floor for you. Ellie's hair was thin and kinda short, which didn't make an ideal nest for the little fuzzballs, so you were loosely braiding her hair to give them some support and something to wiggle into. 

It wasn't an unpleasant sensation, but it was foreign and kind of weird, feeling someone else's fingers skim along her scalp, and Ellie kept finding her arms crossed, shoulders drawing up high and tight like they could squeeze away your touch.

She closed her eyes and took another slow breath, consciously relaxing her muscles and letting her hands slide into her lap. 

The sleepy, golden glow of dawn was starting to build just outside the window, and Ellie trained her attention on the growing light and the din of birdsong. It was constant, the shrill chirping, and it had a way of intruding into Ellie's sleep most mornings. She wished she could just leave her stereo on all the time to drown out the racket, but she didn't want to waste its precious, limited lifespan on hours she spent asleep. So Ellie tossed and turned through the sunrises, hiding her head under a pillow and cursing the birds, hoping none of their sharp, incessant mating calls ever fucking worked. 

"Alright, Miss Ellie, let's have it," you said, pulling your knees together to lightly nudge against Ellie's sides. 

It was a gentle, fond thing, like the movement Ellie made to get Shimmer to go forward, but it somehow still made Ellie jump. 

The tension over Ellie's scalp fell away all at once.

"I'm so sorry," you breathed. "Did I hurt you?"

Ellie's face warmed and a tug of some shapeless emotion squirmed in her throat. You had barely touched her, but Ellie had startled like she was some little kid who'd gotten pinched by a shithead classmate. 

"I'm fine," she said, a bristly edge to her tone. Ellie breathed again to smooth it out and tried once more to reply. "I was just...distracted. What did you say?"

She felt the weight of your attention like an itch against her skin for a moment, then fingers were combing through her hair, brushing out the fallen parts of the braid, gently untangling the strands before gathering them back up.

"I said, 'let's have it.'" 

As her easy-on-the-bullshit shrink, it was what you always said when Ellie went quiet and you had a feeling she was holding something back.

That squirming feeling in her throat flared back to life, and Ellie tried to swallow it down. 

"Have what?" she asked. Ellie had been thinking about annoying birds, last she could remember—not really a topic that was gonna shake the world's foundations. 

"You're all drawn up," you observed, lightly touching your finger to Ellie's shoulders, then pointing at her pulled-up knees, cradled close to her body with her arms crossed over them. 

Ellie let go of all that tension like a dropped marionette. Not very subtle, and it kind of proved your point. 

"Want me to just tie off the braid here and be done?" you asked. There was no judgment or hand-wringing concern in your voice, just an open offer. 

"No, it's fine; it's not that, it's just—" Ellie took a long, slow lungful of air and let it fall from her chest. "I don't— Ugh. Nobody's ever...braided my hair before."

You were silent behind Ellie’s shoulder.

The squirmy-throated feeling surged and tried to choke her, but she pressed on. 

"...'Least, not that I can remember." She shrugged. An urge to duck her head, to hide her face rose up around her, but Ellie fought it down, tipping her chin up in defiance. 

She was fine. It was no big deal, just a little weird. Disorienting, maybe. 

"It's fine," Ellie said, then realized she was repeating herself. "I'm... It's no big deal."

Shit. 

But it had to be some kind of deal, right? To make her all fidgety and tense and freaked? Ellie wasn't sure, couldn't suss out the ground level of what she was feeling under the fog of an orphan's embarrassment at how dizzying it was to experience casual touch and affection. 

She really was broken. 

No wonder Cat had pulled back from her over the past few days, despite Ellie trying to play it cool and detached after nearly slobbering all over her while she'd painted Ellie's arm. 

Even Dina must've scented Ellie's weirdo desperation—not even the straight girl with a boyfriend could keep up a front of fond friendliness in the face of Ellie's oddball, 'please notice me' shtick. She'd grown detached and shy with Ellie, but only sometimes, like she'd forget to avoid her or something, and Dina would occasionally go back to her normal, so-confident-it-almost-felt-like-flirting self for a while before pulling away again. 

Ellie didn't know how to act, what to say, what to do. If she couldn't even put the words together for her shrink, then what hope did Ellie have of having a normal, like, relationship one day, or whatever? 

And, yeah, sure, her shrink was...boinking Joel—ew—but Ellie didn't really care about that. Fuck it, at least somebody was happy. But if Ellie could make a therapist all stiff-limbed and awkward and silent—and you were never silent—then Ellie must be in a lot deeper shit than even she had realized. 

-----------------

'Nobody's ever braided my hair before.'

The words had wrapped around your chest like a vise and you hadn't been able to breathe around them since. 

You'd known a little about Ellie's upbringing—the girl had told you some of the scraps she knew of her own story and you had done a middling to decent job of holding your shit together, not letting yourself break down into tears until after Ellie had left—but you had never really fully considered the practicalities of Ellie growing up with FEDRA in lieu of parents. 

Had anyone rocked her to sleep? Comforted her through a stomachache? Christ, did she even have someone to go to when she woke from a nightmare, sweaty-skinned and shaking?

It started as a memory—a vision of a small, messy-haired girl standing in an open doorway, backlit by dim hall light and calling out to you. 

'Mama?'

The teary thickness of the voice brought you alert. 

'What is it, Zoze?'

A short sniffle, while the silhouette swayed gently, hands worrying at the edge of her nightgown.

'I had a bad dream.'

'Oh no, Bug, I'm sorry.' You clicked on the bedside lamp and extended a hand to your little girl to bid her closer. 'Do you want to come lay here and go back to sleep or do you need some milk-tea?'

'Milk-tea,' came the sad, small voice as its owner padded closer. 'But can we have cuddle-up first? In the big bed, ‘cause Daddy’s not home?'

''Course we can, baby.' You scooted over in the otherwise-empty bed and lifted the edge of your blanket with one arm, then reached out to receive your daughter with the other. 'C'mere, sugar-beet. I've got you.'

But as the warm, tiny weight climbed in next to you and snuggled up against your side, the dark, curly cloud of hair you were lovingly stroking straightened out into waves, its color warming to a sunny brown. 

Ellie. 

It had started as a memory, but it drifted into daydream, the desire to reach back through time and offer comfort to a soul who'd known too little of it. 

A wave of grief that was only partially your own rocked you, nearly dragging you under, but you bolstered yourself with a breath, bringing your attention back to the moment, back to the girl sitting between your feet. Ellie was so grown but still so small, curled up on herself again, her head drooping down toward her chest. 

"Zozie hated when I braided her hair," you said softly, then breathed a short laugh. "Said it 'made her head too small.'"

Ellie's posture straightened a little and her voice was a little lighter when she spoke. 

"Like...in the mirror? Or like the tension of the braid made her head feel too small?"

Your hands stilled in Ellie's hair. 

"You know, I'm not sure." Another twinge of grief pinched in your throat at the thought that you'd never know which one Zozie had meant. You had always assumed that it was because Zoze usually had such a big puff of hair—that having her hair braided made her look smaller. The loss of that certainty was an odd weight. 

"Kind of fucked up, isn't it?" Ellie asked, then elaborated, "The questions we get stuck on. Not big stuff like 'are you proud of me' or 'who did you hope I would be.' It's dumb shit like ‘was your braid too tight’ and 'did you get cravings for biscuits and gravy when you were pregnant with me—is that why I'm basically obsessed with it?'"

A smile made the tears in your eyes blur your vision. 

"You might be onto something. I was double-fisting mango popsicles for basically nine months straight, and then Zoze used to demand her body weight in mango anytime we had it in the house. It was the only way I could get yogurt into her, adding a fat blob of mango puree into it."

You skimmed your fingers along Ellie's nape, gathering the last piece of hair and your every drop of courage. 

"And I may not have known your mom, but I know for sure that she would have so many reasons to be proud of you. You're funny and brave and loyal and you do what you think is right, even when it sucks, and you’re working so hard." Your chest squeezed as Ellie shifted on the floor, rhythmically wiggling her toes. Self-regulating. "And sure, you might get fidgety when someone compliments you, but you aren't running away or shutting me down, and that's really hard, so I think that’s brave, too."

You tied a scrap of cloth around the tail of the braid and then tucked it up underneath, weaving it back up against her scalp and filling out the would-be nest. 

"It shouldn’t be this hard, though, right?” Ellie asked, sounding too defeated, too hopeless for your taste. “For like…normal people?”

You blew out a short breath through your nose. 

“Who’s ’normal’, Ell?” You tucked a lock of hair back into the braid, longing for a bobby pin. “Everything got flipped on its ass, years before you were born, but everyone still in charge has a whole different frame of reference, a whole different ‘normal’.”

You both sighed, not sure the other was understanding your meaning. 

“You’re normal, Ellie. I know it doesn’t feel like it—no one feels like it, especially at your age—but you are. There’s no standard for growing up in a new world, you get to forge your own path. And you are doing so well, I swear to God you are. Just…try and let the world be good, okay? It might not seem like it, but people are usually good, if we let them be. You included.”

You danced your fingertips along Ellie’s hairline, tucking away stray strands, your heart straining with fullness and grief and something dangerously close to maternal instinct. Your hands ached with the urge for affectionate touch, to announce that you were all done by smoothing the shoulders of Ellie’s shirt, but you doubted Ellie would like it, so you just patted your hands on your own knees and said, “There you go. Perfect to get a little Peanut Butter stuck in.” 

You both rose to standing, Ellie still looking drawn-down and a little sheepish. 

Softened by the sight of her, your heart overrode your fear of overstepping. 

“I want to offer you a hug, but I know you probably—”

Ellie threw her arms around you and squeezed, a nocked arrow let loose with almost no effort at all. 

The gesture sent prickles of emotion along your skin from crown to feet and left you frozen for a heartbeat, suppressing a small, confusing sob. You folded Ellie into an embrace, wishing for more arms that you could wrap around the girl.

-----------------

"Which one of you fuckin' comedians saddled Tadie up in here with Jersey?" Tommy demanded, storming through the barn in search of the offending stable-hand, a dull ache still radiating through the back of his arm. "She just about bit a chunk out of my—"

"Sorry, Tom—I only stepped out for a minute. Thought I'd be back in time to keep the old girl minding her manners. Did she get you? Want me to take a look?"

Your voice was earnest and apologetic, soft and a little guarded. A far cry from your usual straight-spined demeanor. 

Against his will, the tight knot of ire in Tommy's chest came undone. 

"I'm fine," he said, still managing to be a bit aloof. "Where's Joel?"

You fidgeted with the leather edging of your bag and averted your gaze a second before meeting Tommy's eyes to answer. 

"Got him to swap me patrol partners for the day."

Tommy's brows raised. Joel was gonna have the talking-est day of his life. Or, rather, the listening-est; Silas was a good man, but lord did that fella love to yammer on. 

"You spent your favor on that?" 

He wanted to lash out, wanted to tack on something petty like, 'we ain't even friends anyway', but he just couldn't summon the gall. Or the cruelty. 

In the end, all Tommy had was genuine curiosity and a soft little squeeze in his chest at the hesitant, bracing look on your face. 

"Talked him into a bonus favor." You waved him back toward your horses with the hint of a smile in your eyes. "Which is lucky, 'cause I'm kind of loving 'Lonesome Dove.' I'd've been sad to give it up."

You bumped his shoulder with yours, coming up on your toes mid-stride to do it. 

"I would've done it, though." You looked up at him and waited for Tommy to catch your eye. "To catch up with a friend."

That prickly impulse fired off again, and Tommy didn't manage to smooth it down in time. 

"Oh, we're friends again," he said sarcastically. "Goody me."

You looked down at your feet and nodded to yourself. "I deserve that."

Tommy sighed, shame rising up and lapping at his throat like floodwater. 

"No, you don't, Doc, I'm sorry. I'm—" He shrugged and splayed his arms to the sides. "Short-fused lately, is all. Extra patrol, the mess with Dina and then the firewatch, and now the baby's going through some...sleep repression or something."

"Sleep regression," you said, small-voiced. "That must mean he's sitting up, or at least getting close."

"How'd you know that?" 

"More than just a head-shrinker, Tom. If you wanna know the mind, you gotta know the brain first." You finally gave him a small smile, then shook your head. "You and your brother, I swear. Underestimating me must be genetic."

Tommy would have defended himself, but he didn't think you really meant anything by it, so he let it slip past. 

"Hey, ain't you still on rest?" he said instead. 

"Officially symptom-free," you declared, giving him a goofy little bow. "Joanie says I'm good as new."

Tommy sincerely doubted Joan had said anything of the sort, but he at least believed that you had been released back to duty. No chance Maria didn't confirm it with the other doc before adding you back into rotation. 

If he knew his wife, Tommy reckoned you and him would likely be assigned the West Creek trail; the terrain was rocky in sections but fairly flat and open, which made for easy riding. Not to mention that the recent fires in the area made for good scouting conditions, not that anybody had seen any Infected out that way lately. The most notable part of your patrol would probably be getting splashed with the always-frigid river water when you crossed over at the start and end of your route. He'd feel a little guilty for the easy day, but after nearly two weeks’ worth of extra duty with the short loss of Joel and the longer loss of you from the roster, Tommy sure wasn't gonna complain.

-----------------

Well, Tommy had been right about one thing, at least. Y'all had been given the ‘easier’ West Creek trail, and the day had been peaceful and uneventful…riiight up ‘til the end, when it all went spectacularly to hell. 

“You’re a shit magnet, you know that?” he said, pouring a liberal measure of whiskey into his glass and shoving the bottle across the table to you. "I ain't never seen the like."

You scowled at your partner and filled your glass, then leaned back in the rocking chair on Tommy and Maria's front porch, tucking one foot up into the seat with you. 

"Sorry, did you not want me to shoot the prick's head off? Did I get the signal wrong?” The liquid sloshed in your glass as you pointed a finger at your chest and continued carrying on. “'Cause I thought you wanted me to shoot the prick's head off, what with him aiming a gun at you and you being all, 'shoot the prick's head off', but if you want me to just hold tight and see how it plays out next time..."

Tommy had forgotten that you got a little bit spicier after saving his ass. He wondered if Silas had to deal with this shit. Still, there was a grin tugging at his face when he replied. 

"Always shoot a prick's head off when they're aiming a gun at me," he said, then jokingly added, "'Less it's my brother. He usually don't mean it. But you are a true-blue, bona fide shit magnet, Rager. There ain't been nothing of note on that damn trail for weeks. You saw the logbooks."

It had been so quiet that the council had been toying with the idea of only patrolling that route every other day, leaving them the opportunity to add another route, extending Jackson's perimeter.

That had probably all gone to hell now.

Not only had y'all been ambushed by a pair of Raiders at your last stop, you'd heard a random sound while riding down a random street on your way back and decided to investigate, opening the door to an old tourist shop and walking face-first into a group of eleven Runners. 

What the Christ they were doing in there and how they’d got in was anybody’s guess, but when your gun jammed and Tommy’s clicked empty, he’d thought you were both dead. 

So, yeah. Shit magnet. If you didn’t want the crown, you shouldn’t earn it. Tommy had been on that route at least three times during its win streak; he clearly wasn’t the one at fault here. 

You'd both been too wound-up to endure the noise at the Bison, but too wound-up to fully skip choir practice, your euphemistic name for the post-fiasco drink-and-debrief that had become customary for you and Tommy during your years at each other’s backs. 

As it usually did, your drink seemed to hit first. The first sign was that you'd developed a complete inability to sit in a chair like a normal human being. 

"Was I really your best friend?" you asked, turning sideways in your rocker and curling your other leg up against your body. You leaned your head against the seat-back and regarded him, but the patience in your face wasn't necessary. 

Tommy could answer that one off the cuff.

"I sure thought so, 'til you started with all this past-tense bullshit."

He'd've walked into fire for you; Tommy couldn't quite figure out where he'd gone wrong, that you could be so blind to the fact. 

"You’re my best friend, but I always figured I was just some stray you couldn't shake." You looked down into your glass and brought it close to your face, gaze falling into the middle distance for a moment before you continued, "The new kid in town you got stuck with, too stubborn and wander-hearted to come off patrol, even once we had more than enough bodies to leave her stuck in the clinic."

Something in Tommy's chest fractured. 

"There's that self-size blind spot again," he said with a shake of his head, his heart warming up to a hard, racing beat that was equal parts grief and frustration. "You are my child's godmother for Chrissakes."

He took a mighty slug of his drink, washing down the bile that rose at the notion he needed to voice.

"That ain't just some...Hallmark bullshit, neither, like it was in the old days." Tension pulled his brows together as he held your gaze. "There's a very real chance something could happen to me an' Maria, and you are who I chose to raise him. I asked you—and my brother—to raise my son. Please tell me you know that ain't nothing. He is the best of me, Doc."

Your throat bobbed and your eyes started to gleam in the weak light spilling out of the living room window and onto the porch, but Tommy didn't see a shred of acceptance on your face. 

"What more is there? What the hell else can I do here?" He drank down the last of his drink, hoping the whiskey-burn would at least clear the ache from the center of his chest. "If you were a man, I'd just…beat on you a little 'til you started talkin' sense, but you got me at kind of a loss, here."

"Not like you to let chivalry dictate how you act with me," you said with a sip and a pretty decent attempt at a smile.

It was true—the pair of you had tussled more than a time or two to settle disagreements. Something almost fraternal had crept in between y'all over the years you'd shared. 

"Yeah, well, things change," Tommy said, shrugging. "Now I gotta worry about my big brother dragging my ass out into the street if I do what it takes to knock some sense into your stubborn ass. But Christ almighty, kid—fuckin'...somebody ought to."

You laughed, finally, and he wasn't sure what to do with the relief that bloomed in his chest. 

You tossed back the rest of your drink, a too-big swallow that he watched you fight down, then wrestle to keep down. 

"Albie told me you never left my side those first few days," you said after a moment, quiet and confessional. "Said they'd had to finally shoot you in the ass with a sedative while you were sleeping in the chair next to me, then carry you out."

You were talking about your recovery from that goddamn Clicker. The surely-bruised horse bite on the back of his arm sent off a flare of ache through Tommy that radiated into the bone, like Tadie knew he’d need the reminder. 

Tommy nodded. "They locked me out of the clinic."

He'd climbed in a window after, but he couldn't quite bring himself to admit to it if you didn't know already. Let that be a secret he'd keep for himself. 

Your voice was tentative and small when you spoke again. 

"'Cause you thought I was gonna turn?"

Tommy's brows pinched together and he was a little grateful you were still avoiding his eyes, missing the hurt on his face. 

"No." The word was wounded and raspy in his ears. "I knew you hadn't got bit. Wasn't me that thought you was gonna turn."

Those days he'd spent at your bedside, Tommy'd held a pistol in his lap, loaded and cocked, but not because he thought he'd need to use it on you. 

"Guess the vote came down on my side again, huh?" You laughed down at the glass in your hands, but it was a humorless thing. "Christ, and here I'd convinced myself all the danger in Jackson was outside the walls."

The vote had not, in fact, come down on your side. The council had unanimously decided to eliminate the threat they believed you presented, to stop 'wasting resources' on someone they thought was doomed to turn or die anyway. But when faced with the prospect of having to take out Tommy to get to you—and the risk of him taking a couple of them out with him—they hesitated, if only long enough to prove that you hadn't contracted the fungus. A couple folks in town had remained unconvinced, though, and Tommy kept vigil at your bedside until they too were forced to admit you were uninfected. 

"They knew you and me were a package deal," Tommy said. "They weren't gonna take you out 'less they took me, too."

"'Were'?" You reached out to nudge his arm with a foot, teasing about his use of the past tense. 

"Are," Tommy amended. "'Specially now."

That got you to look at him at last, a squint and a little smile on your face. "What's special about now?"

"Don't be coy with me, kid, it doesn't suit you." 

You had the gall to look genuinely confused. 

Tommy smiled and shook his head. "Christ almi— More nerve than a toothache but still just...dumber than sand, the both of you."

"Love you, too, Tom, Jesus," you said dryly. "What are you talking about?"

"You and the ornery old bastard you got wrapped around your finger."

"Oh, he is not." You waved a hand at him. 

Tommy just barely held back an eye-roll. "Quit lyin', it'll make your hair fall out."

It might've been more convincing if you weren't grinning ear to ear and flushing all the way down your neck, highlighting the scars that hugged your throat. 

Joel wasn’t the only one with an inkling, Tommy mused.

"He is not what I expected him to be, your brother." 

Tommy shook his head. 

"Me neither." He uncorked the whiskey and poured another, smaller measure into both glasses. "God, when he showed up here that first time, I had this bone-deep flash of just...fear." 

Before that, the last time Tommy had seen Joel—way back in Boston—he’d been absolutely certain that his brother was a deadly, corrupted thing that would sooner kill him than stand at his side. 

"But then I turned and saw his face and he—" Tommy was thrust back into memory, able to feel the winter sun on his skin, the weight of his coat, the popping crunch of snow under his boots as he ran to embrace his brother. "It was like he was himself again. Really, actually himself. I thought that version of him had died, had...starved to death over the years, alone in the dark." 

The warm amber of the whiskey called to mind the light that had lived in Joel’s eyes, once upon a time. 

"He's almost the man I used to know, now." Tommy swallowed a mouthful of whiskey. “He’s really almost Joel.”

The chair creaked beneath your weight and the porch creaked beneath the chair as you weighed your words. 

“I can—” You sighed and dragged down a swallow or two. “I understand it—getting stuck in the past, not being able to move out of it and live in the moment. It’s…a prison, Tom. There’s no sky, no food, no…air. It’s not a life; there’s nothing to live for.”

Tommy considered what you had lost in those early days of the infection. You'd never given him the whole story, but from the bits you held back, he knew it had to be bad. 

“How’d you survive it?” he asked, years too late. “Christ, to lose not only your daughter, but your husband, too…”

You were quiet for a lot of moments, swaying slowly back and forth in the chair and staring out into the gathering dark. 

“Don’t forget I did my own stint of starving to death in the dark, Tom,” came your answer, frank and fragile, almost lost to the din of cricket-song and frog calls. “Twice.”

It was hard to recall—how cold you'd been, once. How distant, thorny. Tommy told you so, then added, “I only remember you like this. You ain’t no sweet little cupcake, but you’ve been good to me, even before you…” He searched for a phrase. “…sanded down your splinters.”

“Those splinters snagged on plenty of folks here in town, Tom, and they remember the truth,” you said, cradling the glass to your chest and rocking gently. “That’s okay. I’ve made my amends; they’ll forget or they won’t.” 

Tommy thought you'd garnered a lot more forgiveness than you realized, but you didn’t seem to need the comfort, so he just held his peace. 

“Comes down to finding something to live for, I think,” you said after a time. “It’s like a…tether, a string that leads you back to the world. For Joel, it was Ellie. For me, it was Em.” 

You sighed and brought the glass to your lips but didn’t drink from it. 

“‘Til I lost her, too; found myself back in the dark.” You took a swallow and shrugged. “Came in handy in Green Bay, at least. Nothing to live for meant nothing to lose.” 

Your eyes found your friend's, and there was the strangest combination of emotions on your face, like you'd realized you were damned and saved in the same heartbeat. 

“I’ve got too much to lose, now. More than I realized.” Your voice was a breathy confession as you said, “It’s getting harder to be brave, Tom.”

“No, it ain’t, Doc.” 

Your brows pinched, a little disbelieving that he’d disagree with such an existential thought. But you were wrong, and if you were gonna fret about it, you needed setting straight first. 

“It gets easier to be brave when there’s something to fight for, somethin’ to defend. Just gets harder to lose, is all. Harder to leave behind, harder to die.” Tommy soothed the thought with a mouthful of whiskey. “Which is fine by me—I don’t want dyin’ to sound easy to you ever again.”

Christ, y'all's whiskey-talks usually didn’t get so goddamn bleak. But with half a year’s worth of backlog and a couple near-death experiences pressing down on the both of you, maybe this was what you needed to clear the air. A reminder of your common ground, common language. 

No sooner than Tommy had thought it, a piece of that common ground came striding up the walkway. His talk with Joel at the Bison had been remarkably similar to this one with you while still bein’ wildly different, which just about perfectly summed up the new-formed pair of you.

“Little late getting back,” you observed, calling out to Joel and nodding out into the fading twilight with a smile in your voice. “Everything okay?”

Joel nodded. “Checked the Bison first, but y’all weren’t there.”

"How was our buddy Silas?" Tommy asked, raising his brows and pointing at the seat to offer his brother the chair, but Joel shook his head. "Anything exciting happen?”

"Runner and a Clicker inside the old school," he said with a shrug, leaning back against the porch railing and crossing his arms over his chest. "Bit of a shitshow, but nothin' we couldn't handle. Partner of yours sure likes to talk, though."

You smiled and gave a faint nod. No point arguing what everybody present knew to be true. 

“What I’m hearing is you wanna make the swap permanent,” you teased. 

Joel just leveled a look at you. Not likely. 

"How 'bout y'all?" he asked. “Is porch-drinkin’ a good sign or a bad ‘un?”

You and Tommy caught each other's eye. 

You put your gun down on the small table first. 

"Four." You followed it with the knife from your thigh. "Two."

"Three," Tommy said, putting his gun next to yours, then adding his knife. "Three."

Joel swallowed hard but held his composure, a muscle ticking in his jaw before he answered. 

"'Least y'all tied?" he offered. 

"No, Mister Showoff over here broke one's neck," you said, rolling your eyes as you and Tommy put your weapons back in place. 

Tommy mimed jerking the Runner's head around hard enough to sever its spinal cord. Technically, the knife had killed that one, too, but snapping its neck had incapacitated it. 

It was a sound he could still feel echo through his fingertips. Tommy shoved the thought away. 

"So much for 'takin' it easy' your first day back on patrol," Joel said, eyes roving over you. 

"Barely even broke a sweat, handsome, don't you worry." You tossed back the last of your drink and winked at Joel. “Saved allll my energy for you.”

“Christ alive,” Tommy groaned, wishing he would go deaf. 

“How much whiskey’d you give her?” Joel asked, fighting back a grin as a flush crept up his neck.

“What, I gotta be drunk to flirt with you now?” You reached out to hook a foot around the back of Joel’s leg, pulling him into arm’s reach. 

Tommy added blindness to his list of prayers, even as he felt a smile pull at his own face. He could be happy for y'all without being subjected to the full visual evidence of your affection, thank you very much. 

“I’m goin’ in the house,” he said, snapping up the bottle and the glasses as he stood. “And I’m takin’ my whiskey. I hear any noises out here on the porch and I’m comin’ back with the hose.”

Your giggling followed Tommy into the house, and he was pretty sure he heard a smooch and a whisper of ‘take me home, cowboy’ as he shut the door. 

Next Chapter ->

[pocketfullofkouhuns]

jackson

part 20/? masterlist

chapter summary: Joel comes upstairs to you. Lots of softness (and a little angst) follows. Tommy confronts you about something he heard from Joel, leaving you with a fence to mend. You ask for Ellie's help on a project, and Joel and Tommy spend a little more time together.

pairing: joel miller x f!reader [no use of y/n]

word count: 7.8k (98k total)

warning: brief discussion of near-mortal injury, alcohol use, barely-sexual content, offhand pregnancy mention, grief/loss. see masterlist for overall story notes and warnings. @macaroni676 @orcasoul <3

You woke just enough to turn over in bed, the sheets sliding over your skin with a whisper. 

You thought you'd heard footsteps on the front porch, thought they belonged to Joel, but when no other sound—and no light—intruded on the pure, silent darkness, you were forced to admit to yourself that it had only been a dream. 

Sleep came back over you like a sun-warm breeze.

A little while later, the mattress dipped next to you and the sheets moved against someone else's skin.

The long, slow breath you took as you surfaced from sleep filled your lungs with the scent of whiskey and soap and Joel.

"How was boys' night?" you asked, stretching your arms long above your head. "Manage to avoid getting yourselves Joanie-ed?"

There was a rustling of fabric, then the faint whump of a bundle of cotton hitting the floorboards as Joel shed his shirt.

"Only casualty was what little's left of my hearing," he grumped, settling down against you, accent gone thicker, rougher with the whiskey and the lateness of the hour. "So goddamn loud in there. Man can hardly hear hisself think."

You smiled and moved a little closer, saying, "Think that's half the point of a bar, handsome."

You were wrapped up in warm arms that smelled faintly of tobacco smoke.  A kiss was pressed to your hairline as Joel loosed a soft, contented hum. 

"Thought you'd gone home," he said, pulling you tight against him. "If I'd known you were up here, I'd've come to bed sooner."

"Sorry," you murmured, shifting against his chest, pressing your cheek to the searing warmth of his skin. "The book made me sleepy. I should've just stayed on the couch, but I--"

Joel shushed you, his hand tracing slowly up and down your back. You bowed your shoulders to flatten the plane of your spine, arching into his touch.

Reading had also made your bruised head ache and your vision strain, spreading tension down your neck and upper back that was soothed by the gentle pressure of his hands.

"Nothin' to be sorry for, darlin'," he said, pressing his face into the top of your head and breathing in slow and deep. "Findin' you in my bed's about the second-best thing that's happened to me today."

"Second-best, huh?" you mused, tracing the curve of his flank with your fingers. "The whiskey was that good?"

"Their servin'-whiskey's a step above rot-gut and you know it."

It was true; the stuff was quickly made and barely aged, a sharp-edged thing that almost hurt to drink but turned the world on its ear with surprising ease.

You hummed, playing at thoughtfulness as you draped your leg over Joel's. "Then what was the best thing?"

His hand skated low and crept under the edge of your skirt, palm rasping over your thigh and all the way up to your hip. You shifted under his touch, body coming awake and restless as desire began to build. 

"You already need remindin', wildcat?" he asked, hand cresting the swell of your ass. "'Cause all I had for supper was some popcorn an' a bit of whiskey; you say the word and I'll make a goddamn meal out of you, just like you deserve."

You giggled, arching against him and tipping your head back to plant a kiss on his lips, or as near as you could manage in the dark. The memory of Joel in your bed that afternoon replayed through your mind, adding to the restless, needy energy building under your skin. 

"Well, I guess we can't have you going to bed hungry." You combed your fingers through his hair and nuzzled into his throat to bite gently at his neck. Joel made a noise somewhere in the neighborhood of a growl and lightly swatted your ass, sending you giggling again.

"Ain't me that's s'posed to be gettin' snacked on, wildcat," he warned.

A contrarian little spark flared in your chest, burning brighter as it settled lower and lower.

"You really gonna stop me, cowboy?" You rolled over against him, coaxing Joel flat onto his back so you could straddle his hips. "'Cause all I had for dinner was popcorn; didn't even get any whiskey. So if anybody's got a right to have an appetite..."

You kissed his neck, leaving a light graze of teeth at his collarbone as you drifted lower. Joel's hands slid over your shoulders, sweeping your hair back and touching your skin.

He hummed a sound that shifted from pleasure to protest, then his fingers curved around your nape and brought your lips back to his. 

"You stay right up here with me, sweetheart; you've had your light duty for the day, no more workin' for you." Joel smoothed his hands down your sides and rested them at your hips, pulling you down against him and wrapping his arms around you. "Better hold off 'til Joan signs off official."

"I would ask you to stop thinking about Joanie when I'm on top of you." You smiled against his lips but threaded your fingers into his hair and tugged lightly. “You’ll ruin a girl’s confidence.”

“I think confidence is just about the last thing in the world you’re short on, darlin’,” Joel said, raising his chin to kiss you. “But if it’ll make you feel better…”

Gravity shifted around you in the pitch-dark room, eliciting a soft little squeak from both you and the bed frame, and then you found a mattress at your back and the warm weight of Joel pressing down against you. 

“There—you ain’t on top anymore.” 

You had the feeling of his face coming slowly closer to yours, but the black of the room was so impenetrable, you couldn’t be sure until his nose brushed your temple, followed by a kiss that landed at the crest of your cheekbone. 

“Just couldn’t get Joanie off your mind, huh?” you teased. 

Joel’s answer was a rumbling ‘mmm’ in his chest as he settled his hips against yours and flexed them slightly up into you, his next kiss landing at the corner of your mouth as he sought your lips. Your soft, contented sigh warmed the air around you as his desire pressed between your legs and you arched up into the feeling. 

“Ain’t her that does this to me with a couple sleepy kisses and her head on my chest.” He shifted his weight on the mattress, his fingers skimming over your neck to find the curve of your jaw. “Ain’t her that’s had me pent-up for days—achin’ for her, but not able to do a damn thing about it. Hell, never even alone to be able to take care of myself.”

Heat flared through you and warmth lingered, radiating from your chest, your grin making you glad for the darkness of the room. 

“We don’t know that for sure,” you said with a smile in your voice, tipping your chin back to bare your throat to Joel. “You ought to at least try giving her some sleepy kisses, don’t you think—in the spirit of scientific inquiry?”

The softness of his lips and the scratchiness of his stubble were a dizzying combination as he skimmed them over your neck to nuzzle into the crook of your shoulder. 

“I’m gonna be way too busy for all that, wildcat.”

“No time for science, no time for church,” you tsked, hands sliding up the smooth, strong plane of his back to curve around his shoulders. “What’re you planning to fill your days with?”

“Oh, there’ll be worship and praise,” Joel vowed, kissing a line back up your neck, leaving a gentle bite beneath your ear that had you curling your toes and giving him a short little moan. “And there’ll be… What they do in science.”

You giggled softly and offered, “Experimentation?”

He hummed an affirmative sound that somehow managed to be filthy. “That’s the word.” 

Joel claimed a kiss at last. It was a leisurely, indulgent thing, his fingertips gently brushing over your hairline, his tongue tracing over your lip, shared breath warming your skin. As it ended, his weight settled next to you and you were rolled over into Joel, your head returned to his chest and your body pressed tight against his.  

“But I gotta know you’re okay first, Owyn,” he said, holding you close. 

A happy haze blurred out your frustrated desire and you lifted your head in the direction of Joel’s face, sleepy hands seeking his skin. 

“So I get to lay here and kiss you slow, as long as I want?” you asked, offering last night's words back to him. “And here I thought there’d be bad news, cowboy.”

----------------------

It was about the weirdest damn night of sleep Joel could ever remember having. He’d dropped off without realizing he was even drifting and then slept like a stone. Some dreamless stretch later, he’d startled awake into the coffin-dark silence with the dread-filled feeling of having fallen asleep on watch, body held down by a warm weight that adjusted against him as he struggled to find his bearings. 

“You okay?” the weight muttered sleepily, nuzzling into him, hand sliding up around his nape. 

Tess. He wound his arms around her, but then froze halfway through the gesture. No. 

Not Tess. Tess is— 

Joel’s chest squeezed tight and hollow with a fresh bleeding of scabbed-over grief. 

Tess is gone. 

His hold loosened. Who the hell else could possibly be in his bed?

Shifting blankets and skin stirred a sweet, grassy scent into the air. Realization dawned and Joel’s whole body relaxed, heart rate easing back from a sprint. 

“I’m okay, wildcat.” He tightened his hold on you and kissed the top of your head, breathing in the perfume of your crown. “We’re okay.”

Sleep took him back under quickly. It was a deep, placid thing that swallowed him whole. 

He snapped into consciousness alone, patting wildly at the space around him, desperate to find her, desperate to know she was okay. Which ‘her’ he was so worried about, Joel wasn’t exactly sure, he only knew he needed to find her. Panic mounted until bed-warm fingers stroked over his arm and a close voice made a soft shushing sound for him. 

“I’m right here,” the voice said, its owner sliding closer to Joel on a whisper of sheets and warmth. Her arms wound around him and coaxed him to lying down, guiding his head to rest in the center of her chest. The steady beating of her heart was a grounding lullaby, and Joel felt his own heartbeat slow in answer, as if matching itself to hers. 

Then he was out again, for an instant and an eternity, before jerking awake in the dark another time, scrambling out from under the weight holding him down. It took entirely too many seconds for Joel to realize there was a mattress beneath him, rather than leaves and earth—it was a headboard at his back, not a tree trunk. 

“Is it like this every night?” asked a voice, sleep-thick and raspy, but soft and kind. 

His wildcat. He’d fallen asleep next to you. 

Joel took a handful of breaths, filling his lungs with sweetgrass sighs and feeling like he ought to speak but not knowing quite what to say. 

“Not…as far as I remember,” he admitted. “Just since we came here.”

Joel didn’t want to say it was worse with you lying next to him, ‘cause you might go, but waking up pinned down by a stranger he couldn’t see—however briefly you remained a stranger before he recognized you—certainly added a more immediate feeling of danger and fear to his already-disoriented wakings. 

At least the dreams weren’t plaguing him; freedom from his vicious nightmares was more than worth the trade-off, honestly. The panic faded quickly--his nightmares tended to linger, tended to haunt and revisit him, whispering down his neck even after dawn had broken. 

You hummed a thoughtful sound, then the bedside lamp flared to life with a click. Joel flinched from the warm-toned glare as you shifted yourself up to sitting, nestling your shoulder underneath his and slumping forward rather than resting against the headboard. 

“You know what two things I remember about being in a QZ? Well, three. No…four.” You rubbed your eyes and flopped your hands on top of each other in your lap, lazily ticking items off on your fingers: “It stinks to high hell, privacy is a distant memory, it’s so loud, and…it is never, ever fully dark.”

“Makin’ me homesick,” Joel said dryly. “What’re you gettin’ at, wildcat?"

“It’s never dark. You weren’t waking up in pitch-darkness in Boston, right? There was always some light coming into the room? Enough to see by?“

There’d been a floodlight right beyond the window, its buzzing halogen bulb blaring a sickly yellow glow and an insect-swarm droning into the one-room apartment he’d shared with Tess. ‘So loud and never dark’ was an understatement. 

You must’ve seen the memory on his face. 

“Couldn’t that be what’s changed? You used to be able to orient yourself by sight.” Your eyes flicked to the window beyond the foot of the bed, a full-black rectangle framed by curtains. “There’s not even moonlight right now.”

“Nah, 'm alright,” he muttered, face warming; he knew what you were leading up to—had some idea, at least—and he didn’t want nothing to do with it. “I’ll adjust.”

“Joel.” Your voice was a toothless reproach as you repositioned yourself on the bed to better look at him. “It’s been, what, over half a year? You need decent sleep, especially with a heart...issue. I’m not saying it’s gotta be forever, just try it for a couple nights, at least ‘til the moon starts to come back.”

Embarrassment squirmed in his chest. He wasn't a child or some frail old man. “I don’t need a goddamn nightlight.” 

You rolled your eyes and gestured to the fireplace. 

“Then make a fire; the nights are cool enough.”

“You’re thinkin’ too far into this.” He tried to dull the edge in his voice, tried to bite his tongue before it could form the word ‘shrink’. “I’m a grown man, I can handle it.”

“You’re not thinking far enough," you said, shaking your head, but not rising to anger. You were matter-of-fact about it, warning him, "You’re gonna wake up in a fight-or-flight panic and bust me in the face or choke me half to death."

The notion rooted and gnarled in Joel's chest like a thornbush and he had to resist the urge to move away from you.

"You really wanna go through another round of ‘I don't beat on her, I swear’, except this time with the townsfolk?" you asked, twisting the knife to underscore your point. "‘Cause I dunno how you felt about the doubt, but I didn’t particularly care for the pitying looks.”

Joel's gaze dropped from the bruise on your face and landed on your hands fidgeting ever so slightly in your lap, fingertips finding every loose thread and imperfect texture on the face of his quilt.

You weren't at peace. You were in his bed, but you weren't comfortable there, not now.

But Joel reckoned he probably wouldn't feel relaxed either, if he thought there was a chance he was gonna get punched awake if he fell back asleep.

It occurred to him all at once that this was exactly the kind of moment he didn't know what to do with--Tommy's 'boring bullshit that comes with living a life.'

Joel could have you in his arms, or he could sleep alone. He could have his pride, or he could shelve it for a few hours to show you he'd do whatever it took to make you feel safe. Not just protected--safe.

"Alright, baby," he said, settling down against his thin pillow and stretching his legs out beneath the blankets. Joel patted a hand against the center of his chest and offered you his arms. "We'll give it a try. Come on here to me."

Your shoulders loosened and you relaxed down against him, nestling your head beneath his chin and pressing a kiss to the hollow of his throat.

"Thank you, handsome."

A hint of tension spread over his face, a quick temptation to smile. Maybe compromise could give Joel a different sort of pride.

“Gonna run out of lightbulbs eventually," he said. Joel wasn't sure how many your little town had squirreled away, but it certainly had to be a finite number.

“And when we do," you promised, "I’ll go find a lightbulb factory and stage a heist.”

He thought it would take him a while to doze off in the brightness, but the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of your chest against his swiftly lulled him under. When he startled back awake with that ‘oh shit’ feeling in his gut and quailing from a creature’s warm breath against his neck, Joel looked down to find his arms holding onto a familiar shape like a life preserver, a familiar face turned up toward his in sleep. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, taking a long, slow inhale, and went back to bed. 

----------------------

“How was the rest of your sleep?” you asked, bleary eyes and the golden light of dawn turning the world into a dreamy, soft-focus scene as you shifted in Joel’s arms, tipping your chin up to see his face.  

He took a moment to reply, looking a little sheepish and just offering a nod, then tightening his arms around you. Better. 

You stretched your legs long and wiggled your toes, letting yourself have a yawn as you mulled over your next words. 

“Alexei deployed with an artillery unit right in the middle of his trauma residency,” you finally said, shifting in Joel's hold. “That was how we’d met—he was another Army doc, couple years further along than me.”

The blanket slipped off of your shoulder, but Joel pulled it back over you and tucked it in before the morning-chill air could cool your skin. 

“He could’ve gotten out of it, but after a few years drilling together, that unit was like his family. So he went with them. We got married before the deployment just in case he—” You cleared your throat and shook your head against Joel's chest. Man had been dead twenty-one years and you still couldn’t consistently say it. “You have to be a spouse to get notified if something happens. His folks were, uh… His folks wouldn’t have told me.”

They’d had a pretty specific idea of who they wanted their darling Lyoshka to be with, who they wanted to bring into their family, and it certainly hadn’t been you. After what they’d been through, you couldn’t even blame them, but it still hurt to be shoved so hard out of such a close-knit group. 

“I was still in med school. Found out I was pregnant eight days after he left, actually,” you said, humming an oof sound at the memory. “He hadn’t even left the country yet, the unit was just down in Oklahoma getting ready… But that’s neither here nor there.”

If Lexei’s folks had been contemptuous of your relationship before—and they absolutely had—it paled in comparison to the ire they threw your way when they found out you’d gotten hitched. And they blew their absolute stack at finding out the golden boy had knocked you up before he’d traipsed off to another continent for over half a year. 

You drifted too far into memory and forgot to keep talking for a couple minutes. Joel just paced his hand over your back and held you, apparently content to wait for you to return to the story on your own time. 

“After he got back, everything was great…for a few weeks.” You sighed and shrugged against him. “But that’s how it goes—you start feeling safe and your brain finally starts taking down the fences it had built around the bad stuff.” 

The dull throb in your cheek, the renewed ache in your head might’ve been from your still-fading bruise or just from memory. 

“Then one night, he flailed awake and clocked me in the face with an elbow. Thought he’d die of the horror and the shame; he hadn’t been in control of any of it, obviously, but blacking the eye of your heavily-pregnant wife…” Your face pinched in a grimace and Joel held you a little tighter, pressing his cheek to your crown. “It was fine again for a little while, but I think it was just because he wasn’t letting himself actually sleep. He finally let his guard back down, relaxed, thought maybe it was just a fluke, and then woke up a few nights later with his hands around my neck. I had to punch him awake to get him to let me go.”

There was an edge of guarding, of protectiveness to the way Joel’s arms came around you, as though he could shield you from the past. Your nose and eyes burned with emotion and you took a few slow breaths before going on, anchoring yourself with the steady beating of Joel's heart against your ear.

“Lexei started sleeping in the guest room after that, and then Zozie was born three days later,” you said, matter-of-fact. “Wasn’t until Zoze moved out of her crib and into a toddler bed in her own room that he and I started sharing a bed again. He was so afraid of hurting me. Hurting us.” 

He’d also switched to the night shift around that time, claiming that it was the only spot he could get as a new attending physician. It might’ve been true, but it had the side effect of ensuring the two of you weren’t often in bed at the same time. 

“I still think the only reason he started sleeping next to me again was because he was afraid he’d leave his bed and end up hurting Zozie.” A pit opened in your chest, a whirlpool that threatened to suck you under. You took a breath to buoy yourself, but your voice still broke as you mused, “Oh, irony.”

Joel‘s hands stilled on your back and he made a small noise of question, but you just gave a dismissive shake of your head.

“Long story.” One you weren’t sure you ever wanted to tell. You yawned again, pulling in a full, aching lungful of air. “But I’d gotten used to the nightlight in our room—I’d put it in to make those midnight feedings easier—and so I left it plugged in. Lexei still startled awake, and I won’t lie and say I never caught a stray elbow again, but…it helped. He could see his surroundings, knew he was home and safe and not…someplace else.” 

Alexei had also gone to a shitload of therapy and had your whole residency’s worth of VA psychiatrists in his corner, but you reckoned that ship had sailed for Joel now. Your gut twisted with something like guilt, but you pressed on. 

“It wasn’t his fault, Joel. None of it. And it’s not yours, either. Our brains lock away”—you swallowed down the word ‘trauma’, which men always seemed to balk at—“extreme stress in weird ways. The only goal is survival in the moment, we're not worried about the long-term effects of what we do to get by. So by the time the smoke starts seeping under the door, there’s a fucking inferno on the other side.” 

It was a long moment before Joel spoke, and you might’ve thought he’d fallen back asleep if his hands weren’t slowly pacing over your skin, his heart beating a little faster against your cheek. 

“I’ve done a lot of wakin’ up with someone missing,” he said, quiet and careful. “Lot of wakin’ up to danger.”

It was your turn to hold Joel a little tighter. 

“Your body remembers. That’s its job,” you said simply. “It’ll learn in time the danger’s mostly passed. Just be patient with yourself and give it a little help. A little light.”

A symphony of slow, easy breathing and morning birdsong were the only sounds for a while. Finally, Joel took a deep breath, tucking his chin to bring his face closer to your crown. 

“The light helped,” he admitted. “Bein’ able to see you…helped. You were right; sorry I was ornery about it at first.”

You smiled against the warm skin of his chest. 

“You’ll make it up to me,” you said. 

He hummed a thoughtful sound. “Coffee?” 

“Two mornings in a row?” You groaned happily and raised your head to look at him. “You’ll spoil me.”

Joel left a kiss right between your eyebrows.

“I’m damn sure gonna try,” he said.

----------------------

The cold mists of morning still hung low to the ground when you left the clinic after your follow-up appointment with Joanie the next day. The near-dawn hours were a special time in Jackson, with lots of sleepy movement and the sounds of life just beginning to rise through the streets.

Most of the town got going a little later in the morning, but Tommy was hard at work already, fixing up another of Jackson’s houses, readying it for the next occupant with the help of Jake, a younger guy who was new-ish to town and had recently taken up firewatch duty with his brother Ben. The men were hammering at the front steps--the first thing to be redone on the houses, more often than not. After twenty-plus years exposed to the elements, they’d all rotted to hell and back, making themselves a hazard to everyone working on the house.

“Heya, fellas,” you said as you walked by, eager to get past the racket. Your head still ached off and on, and it was currently very uncomfortably ‘on’.

“Rager!” Tommy called out to you, mercifully pausing his hammering. He took a step in your direction and beckoned you over with a wave. “C’mere a minute.”

You ambled over to him, the old nickname washing you in a wave of nostalgia. It was one of many he’d given you over the years—a trait that he apparently shared with his brother. Years ago, he'd taken note of your quick temper and tendency to explode, remarking anytime you got upset that he could see a 'red rage' on the horizon. He took to using it as your nickname, eventually landing on Rager.

You'd cooled your temper over the years, but the label persisted, presumably because Tommy liked to show affection by annoying you—also a Miller family trait, it would seem.

“What’s goin’ on, Tom?”

“Listen, I just wanted to…” He cleared his throat and shifted his weight from foot to foot, focusing on something over your shoulder. “I was talkin’ to Joel the other day and he said somethin’ about— He wasn’t stirring the pot or nothin’, he just was sayin’ you’d told him about how we used to be good friends.”

You nodded your understanding and waited for him to continue. Tommy’s face flashed something between a wince and a scowl.

“Used to be,” he prompted. “As in, not anymore.”

Oh, hell.

Your heart dropped down to your feet and your face flushed warm.

“That wasn’t what I meant, Tommy, I just—”

“You just what?" He threw his arms out to his sides, his brow furrowed tight. He wasn't angry, wasn't yelling, but you almost wished he was; the hurt on his face was so much worse. "I knew I hadn't been seeing you around as much, knew there'd been a little distance, but I thought we were just...missing each other. Busy with other things. Imagine my surprise when I found out it was 'cause we apparently ain't friends anymore." 

"We're still friends, Tom, I just-- You had a lot of people to make space for, and I wanted to let you do that. Your real family had gotten so much bigger so quick, and that’s such a blessing and such a big change; I figured it was only decent to just…bow out. Or, well, step ba--"

“’Real family.’” Tommy echoed, his voice having taken on the quality of a balloon after the helium had worn off, bouncing slowly to the ground. “You bowed out to make space for my real family.”

Even if the flatness in his speech hadn’t been warning enough, his use of your words was an unmissable alarm bell. A weight settled in your chest and your heart began to pound with nerves, making you tremble clear down to your fingertips. The dull ache in your head ramped up to something closer to a roar, but you shoved it into the background. 

“Tom, listen, I—”

You reached out to offer a calming touch, but Tommy yanked his arm away from you, then took a step closer, all but looming over you.

“You listen. You’ve taught me so much, doc. You’re so smart. I forget sometimes just how fuckin’ dumb you can be.” He turned on his heel to leave.

Your voice was all shock and a little chiding as you called after him. “Tommy!”

Your hand was outstretched to grab for his arm, fingers an inch from the fabric of his coat when he spun back to face you suddenly. You stopped short to avoid colliding into him as he jabbed a finger at your heart.

“You’ve got a blind spot that is exactly your own size, you know that? It’s incredible.”

A lump formed in your throat and you bit the inside of your cheek, willing yourself not to cry from sheer overwhelm as Tommy went on. You wondered if Joanie’s ridiculous proclamation that you needed to continue to avoid situations that might increase the pressure inside your skull applied to crying. Probably, since it apparently included patrol—and horseback riding in general—lifting anything over twenty pounds, climbing more than one flight of stairs at a time, and any household chore you couldn’t accomplish standing upright. 

If Joanie could have banned you from sneezing or laughter, she probably would have. 

All this over a headache, but you still had to endure the misery of that look on Tommy’s face. 

“You’ve made yourself a little scarcer here in the last few months, but I just figured it was my fault, b’tween the baby coming along, and Joel and Ellie, and us not patrolling together anymore." He shook his head and looked off into the distance, then down to his restless hands, picking at his fingernails. "I thought I’d just been too far up my own ass to make time for you. The cake was…I wanted to check in, I guess. Reach out, try harder.”

Tom raised his eyes to yours, brow pinched with so much sincerity it made you ache.

“Plus, it was your birthday, I wanted you to know you’re—” He shrugged and shook his head again, his focus falling on the bruise across your cheek, then to the scars at your throat for just a heartbeat. “I wanted you to know I’m glad you’re here. But, no—turns out, I had to do all that reachin' because my best friend had just taken it upon herself to step back and bow out of my life. What the fuck, man?”

The footsteps that gathered up behind you would've been a comfort any other time, but just then, they felt like an interruption to a chance you'd never have again.

"Y'all alright?" Joel asked.

Tommy's gaze flicked to his brother and then back to you.

"Just fuckin' ducky," he muttered, turning his back on the two of you and returning to his work.

The sound of hammering resumed, and it might've just been your imagination or the throbbing ache in your head, but it sure seemed more forceful than before.

----------------------

A couple days later, you were fiddling with the zipper of your jacket one more time, then securing it just so over your hips before drumming your fingernails on the glass of Ellie’s door. 

Ellie’s head snapped up from where she’d been hunched over her guitar, picking at the strings as she worked out a song that you had recognized but not been able to name. She waved you in through the window.

“Hey. Joel okay?” Ellie asked, craning her neck to peek around you as if she thought he might be behind you.

“Still out on patrol, I think. Should be back in an hour or two.” You closed the door behind you. “I wondered if you might wanna help me with something."

“Sure. What’s up?”

She rose to her feet to put the guitar in its stand, then crossed the room to sit on the coffee table with one leg curled underneath her.

“Mind if I—?” You gestured to the old futon opposite the coffee table.

“No, sorry, I promised Joel I wouldn’t have people over when he wasn’t home. No face-bruise loophole.” She splayed her hands and shrugged. “You gotta stand.”

“Oh, uh…okay. Well, I’ll make it quick, I guess. Me and Si—”

“Would you sit the hell down, oh my god.” Ellie shook her head, feigning disappointment. “I expected better from you.”

“More fun to feint than fight sometimes, my dear. Write that down.”

Ellie mimed scribbling onto her palm and rolled her eyes.

You took a seat, slow and careful, pressing one hand to your stomach and the other to your chest.

“Holy shit, you’re pregnant,” Ellie breathed, eyes wide.

The burst of laughter that exploded from you caused a scrabbling feeling to spread against your stomach. You flattened your hand against the sensation with a light, gentle pressure.

“No. God, take it back.” You pretended to spit, warding off the girl’s declaration instead of explaining its impossibility—it had been a long time since medical school, but you seemed to recall that one can’t get pregnant if one’s not getting laid. Fuckin’ Joanie. “I am absolutely not pregnant. Don’t put that crap on me. With no hope of an epidural? Shoot me.”

Ellie’s brow furrowed and she looked you over. “Then what the hell is all…that?”

“You have to be cool,” you said, waving Ellie closer and unzipping your jacket a little. “They’re tiny and skittish and so, so wiggly.”

You reached down the neck of your overshirt and began fishing around.

“Please tell me we aren’t talking about your…” Ellie held her hands up before her chest, miming a pair of breasts. 

“Excuse me,” you said, pointing to your own chest, “these are perfectly sized and, frankly, they're not all that skittish.”

Ellie made a gagging noise. “Mercy. No more, you win.”

You grinned, the absurdity of the situation warming you through. Your fingers finally closed on a wee furry body that tried valiantly to escape your grasp. Withdrawing your hand and cupping the other around it, you presented them to Ellie, blondish fur poking out between your fingers.

Ellie held out her hands and you deposited into them a tiny ball of stripes and fur and tail. That was all you saw before the critter shifted and Ellie enclosed it in her own hands, a half-panicked look crossing her face. 

“What the fuck is this?!” The animal nudged its tiny nose through a gap in Ellie’s fingers, and the girl's half-panic went full for a second. She held her hands away from her body until her bravery returned, then brought them back against her chest. “Well, hold still so I can see you, you little f—oh my god what are you?!”

Pure delight burst from Ellie like a shockwave and your heart surged at the sight. 

Ellie opened her hands a little more and a tiny head popped out, then tried to force its body through the opening. Her jaw dropped and she released a breath in a soundless, gleeful scream. 

“What are—” The animal pried itself loose of her grip and clawed its way up her sleeve, stopping at her shoulder. Ellie froze but did not look afraid, more like she was trying to avoid spooking the thing. “Where did it come from?”

You plucked it off and returned it to Ellie’s hands. “You sure you wanna know?”

Ellie raised her eyes to look at your face, pinched up in pre-apology, and she sighed.

“Was it Seth and his fucking monster-dogs again?”

You bared your teeth in a wince and nodded. This was at least the fifth family of small mammals they'd massacred since the spring.

“Got their mama,” you said. “And a couple siblings, too, I think. Me and Silas did our best—I’ve got the three survivors.”

You’d come upon the gruesome scene while returning from walking your horses a little ways out and back from the settlement to ease the penned-in energy that the lot of you had been building from not going out on patrol. Seth and his pack of snarling hellbeasts were doing some kind of ‘training’ just outside the gate but had stumbled onto the burrow of some ground-based critter or another. 

To the dogs’ credit, they’d obeyed when ordered to ‘leave it.’ To Seth’s damnation, he hadn’t given the command ‘til he’d seen you and Silas approaching. 

Ellie whispered a truly impressive mouthful of profanity.

“Those dogs are menaces.” She held the little creature close and scritched between its tiny shoulders, whispering that it was a poor little fuzzball. “I can’t believe Maria lets him keep them.”

“I know,” you said. But Seth’s a menace, too, and we keep him. “I’m gonna try to raise ‘em, but I don’t even know what they are. I thought you might be able to help me.”

“Me? I don’t know anything about…” Ellie looked at it and tilted her head. “Chipmunks? Squirrels, maybe? What do prairie dogs look like?”

“Bigger, I think? I’m not really sure. Though they are babies…” You craned your neck to peer into Ellie’s hands. “Did I see some books about wildlife on the shelves in the house? Think Joel’d mind if we looked at ‘em?”

You knew you had, and you knew he wouldn’t mind, since he’d already given you permission to borrow what you pleased from his shelves, but you thought Ellie might like it and you wanted to do this with her. Plus, you weren’t quite bold enough to go in the house unaccompanied; just sitting in it alone the other night had been odd enough, and you’d been welcomed inside first. 

Ellie shrugged. “Can’t hurt to look. We can build a big-ass fire to warm ‘em up; it’s kind of cold in here. ‘Less you want to put my friend Peanut Butter back in your…” She gestured a hand at your chest. “…bazongas.”

The wild, wheezing laughter that answered from you sent a zap of pain behind your eye and a fresh round of frantic scrabbling across your stomach. Ellie looked pleased with herself, trying to bite back a grin and mostly not pulling it off.

“Peanut Butter?” you asked.

“He’s obviously a ‘Peanut Butter’,” Ellie said, holding the creature up in evidence and continuing, “look at ‘im.”

Keen black eyes stared at you from amid a spread of mussed, brown-blonde fur. ‘Peanut Butter’ seemed as good a name as any. 

“Well, I’ve got two more in here that need names.” You got to your feet and nodded toward the main house. “Why don’t you brainstorm while we go infest Joel’s house with rodents.”

----------------------

Joel heard overlapping, familiar laughter sounding out across the front yard before he’d even reached the porch. His steps slowed and lightened, and he sat down silently on the stairs, good ear turned toward the happy sounds that spilled out of his home.

He’d know that laugh—both those laughs—anywhere. They were a magnet he couldn’t help being pulled to, a tide that could never fail to lift him.

Ellie liked you, he knew that already, and your love for Ellie had almost kept you and Joel apart. But some part of him was still knocked straight to the ground at the sound of you giggling together.

For several long minutes, he sat there listening, willing the noise to go on forever.

“You alright?” 

Joel’s head whipped around to the voice, hand freezing halfway to the pistol on his hip as recognition dawned. It was Tommy, his approach having literally fallen on Joel’s deaf ear.

Joel nodded then held up a fist in silent directive. Be quiet. Tommy’s brow furrowed in question, but he obeyed out of a soldier’s habit as Joel cupped a hand to his ear—listen—then pointed to the house. 

Tommy crept forward, coming closer to Joel’s side to hear. The interior had gone quiet, and the men were held in suspense for a short moment before another burst of laughter rang from within. Lightness buoyed up in Joel’s chest and a laugh of his own nearly broke the surface. 

“Ellie ‘n’ the doc,” Joel whispered.

But Tommy didn’t respond, he just regarded Joel.

The weight of his little brother’s appraisal made his skin itch, and after a handful of seconds, Joel barked, “Why’re you lookin’ at me like that? Quit it.”

“Lookin’ at you like what?”

Tommy’s smug look sparked the kind of embarrassment in Joel that only a sibling can elicit, sending him on the defensive for no particular reason he could point to.

“Shouldn’t you be goin’ home, anyway?” Joel asked. “You were with me all day.”

It had been nice to go back to their normal routine patrol, the catching-up and the comfortable silence. But they’d been eight hours side by side, and Joel figured Tommy would be more eager to get home to his pretty little wife and their grinning, good-natured butterball of a young’un.

“Maria’s still running her meeting,” Tommy said, low voice matching Joel’s. “Figured I’d see if you wanted to grab a drink. But you ain’t going anywhere, are you?”

“What d’you mean?"

A soft giggle—yours—rang from within, and Joel’s head turned to follow it until it faded. He looked back to his brother, and Tommy just leveled a pointed look at him, then smiled and shook his head.

“Go inside; see what they’re laughin’ about,” Tommy said, nudging him with a boot. “Bison tomorrow for lunch and that drink?”

Joel looked at his little brother for a moment, wondering how long he’d been noticing more than he let on, then he nodded once and hauled himself to standing, not needing much encouragement to join the merry scene in his living room.

“You got a hell of a lot more’n an inkling, big brother.” Tommy patted him on the back, giving him a smile and a fond shake of his head before pointing up the steps. “Go be with your girls. They’re waiting for you. I'll catch you tomorrow.”

A little hesitation popped up at the thought of nosing in on your time together, on disrupting your girls’ night by barging in; the grumpy old fuck with the asshole voice, come to wreck everyone’s good time. But, despite himself, he wanted nothing more than to go inside to the two of you.

My girls. Joel liked the sound of that.

----------------------

Tommy stood on the sidewalk as Joel crossed the porch and opened his front door. The two-woman chorus of ‘Heyyyy!!!’ that went up in greeting as he entered the house would have done enough for Tommy’s spirits on its own, but the grin on Joel’s face as he had shed his jacket and closed the door was a balm to his soul.

It had been far too long since Tommy had seen Joel’s face light up with that kind of happiness for more than a flicker of a moment. Too often, Joel seemed to sense himself being boosted and then he’d respond by cutting himself off from the feeling. A breaker would flip, and the light would go dark.

Tommy couldn’t blame him, not fully. Losing Sarah among the crumbling of society, losing all the plans and dreams Joel had cooked up for the two of them—or maybe all three of them, he supposed—had cast Joel into a darkness Tommy had worried he’d never emerge from.

Never able to find the right thing to say to light the dark all those years ago, Tommy had eventually just…quit trying. He left his big brother in that darkness all alone; it’d never occurred to him that Joel might not be able to find his way out by himself. ‘Course it hadn’t—his whole life, the one thing Tommy always knew was that Joel could do anything, fight anything, and win. 

But Tommy had been wrong, and by the time he’d realized the truth of it, the dark had claimed Joel fully. Twisted him. Made him into someone Tommy didn’t recognize and didn’t like. Someone he couldn’t stomach the sight of anymore. Not one minute more.

I don’t ever want to see your goddamn face again. And Tommy had meant every word.

Joel had been God-damned back then, indeed. 

Tommy had been scared to death of Joel the day he’d finally snapped and walked away. He’d had to summon all that rage just to keep his voice from shaking. Turning his back on Joel took every scrap of his will and composure in that moment, like he was giving his back to a wolf or a grizzly. He’d expected teeth in his neck the whole way to Marlene’s, and for months after.

And then, years later, there Joel had been. Not the monster he’d turned his back to, not the predator who’d grown to love the darkness—just Joel. His ornery, loyal big brother. Still in shadow, maybe, but turning his face toward the sun. Trying.

These months later, he was damn near himself again, but Joel still kept flinching away in those bright moments.

Until tonight.

Go be with your girls. They’re waiting for you.

Joel’s face had lit and he hadn’t flinched from it this time, hadn’t shoved himself back into the darkness. Maybe it could last.

You certainly had your flaws—God knows Tommy did, too, and your flaws tended to combine like diesel and dynamite—but there was a reason the two of you had gotten so close. You were as ruthless and pig-headed as a Miller, but you were funny and kind and you loved with every inch of yourself. You and Joel could be good together, Tommy thought, so long as you didn’t swallow each other whole.

Tommy climbed up his own porch steps, hearing the bustling of his family within as Maria unloaded herself and the baby, finally home after her meeting.

“I owe you a foot rub,” he announced into the house, knowing his wife would hear him. “I just came from Joel’s, and you were right—giddy as a schoolboy. Didn’t even take a month."

Next Chapter ->

[pocketfullofkouhuns]

jackson

part 19/? masterlist

chapter summary: a second attempt at Ellie's movie night is interrupted when Tommy shows up for his regularly-scheduled Whiskey Wednesday with Joel. Tommy provides Joel with a little insight into your past and your friendship.

pairing: joel miller x f!reader [no use of y/n]

word count: 5k (90k total)

warning: brief discussion of near-mortal injury, alcohol use, grief/loss. see masterlist for overall story notes and warnings. @macaroni676 @orcasoul <3

"Tell you right now, I never woulda made it as a movie hero," Joel murmured against your temple, the warm air of his breath sending a tingling trail of goosebumps over your neck and upper arms. You had resumed the previous day's movie-watching posture, turned sideways on the couch and leaning against Joel's side as he sat with one arm draped over the backrest. 

You shifted your legs against the cushions, a fresh wave of restless energy washing over you. The fidgeting uncovered a bit of your leg and Joel smoothed the blanket back over you, leaving his hand to rest on your thigh. 

"Why's that?" you replied, craning your neck around to peek at him in the shifting glow of the television. 

"Just ain't got a leading-man's taste in women, apparently. Sad Elf Lady over her?" He nodded toward the tv as Éowyn swung her sword in practiced, careful strokes. Joel tucked your hair behind your ear slowly, fingertips trailing down your neck as he leaned closer to offer a rumbling, "But I reckon I got a weakness for her type of woman, don't I, Owyn?"

Owyn. Joel's seldom-used nickname for you was short for Éowyn. 

You snorted softly before you could control yourself, even as your heart grew recklessly full and warm. 

"I wish I was an Éowyn," you whispered, sliding down against his side, your head resting back against his chest. "I'm a Pippin if I'm lucky."

"Darlin', you are exactly an Éowyn," Joel said, his low voice making it harder to keep the volume soft. "Soldier-turned-healer whose greatest fear is bein' cooped up in a cage? No, you're right--that don't sound like you at all."

Tears pricked at your eyes as your talk on that first day together replayed in your mind.

"Do you guys mind?" Ellie grumbled from the recliner on the other side of the room. "I'm trying to watch the movie and the whole...smoochy-smoochy thing is killing the vibe."

You shrank a little under the girl's half-hearted glare and mimed zipping your lips. 

Being chastised like a rowdy teenager apparently woke a youthful mischief in Joel; his hand wandered slowly over your thigh, occasionally slipping a little higher, a little further, just for one pacing stroke before resuming a more appropriate path. 

The touch was perfectly chaste, technically--nothing anyone would clutch their pearls over--but there was an edge of heat and promise to it that had you fidgety and restless. Maybe it was just your imagination or wishful thinking. 

It was only a few minutes later that footsteps sounded on the front porch; you announced Tommy's entry before he could even open the door.

Ellie groaned and flung herself out of the recliner to smash the pause button as Tom brazenly flipped on the living room light switch. Joel's hand stilled on your leg but he didn't pull it back. 

Tommy's gaze fell straight onto you and Joel, the same wide-eyed amusement and surprise on his face as when he'd barged in on you the day you’d gone up to the firewatch. 

"You're just lettin' this happen?" he said to Ellie, playing at offended shock. "Right under your roof?"

Your face heated, not from Tom's teasing, but from him roping Ellie into it. You still hadn't fully reconciled your feelings about the girl being privy to your private life, but you knew that it was your hang-up to get past and likely yours alone. After all, Ellie'd been scheming for weeks before you and Joel finally broke down; from Ell's foxhole, she'd already processed through far more of the potential weirdness than you had. 

"If they're gonna do it, I want 'em to be safe about it," Ellie said sagely. "Besides, my roof is out back--this den of sin is out of my control."

Tommy turned back to his brother and the woman resting comfortably against his side, then shook his head in mock-disappointment. 

Him, at least, you knew how to deal with. 

"Y'all keep it up and I’ll give you something to shake your head at,” you threatened. Joel's hand squeezed against the side of your thigh, unseen by the others. “Maybe I’ll turn myself into one of those women who's constantly sitting on her man's lap, no matter how many empty chairs are around.”

Tommy grimaced and put his hands up in surrender. 

"Mercy, damn. I'm just here to relieve you of this ugly fucker," he said, gesturing at Joel and motioning him to stand. "C'mon, old boy. Whiskey Wednesday. You skipped last week to go put on a PDA display at the diner with the good doctor here, you're not gettin' out of two in a row."

“Hey, hey.” Ellie took a step toward Tommy and put her hand up to make him step back from Joel. “Uh-uh, fuck off, this is my make-up movie night. I’ve got dibs.”

You turned to grin at Joel. 

“Mister Popularity over here,” you said quietly for only him to hear, shifting your leg beneath his hand. There was a pleased gleam in his eye that put a warm little squeeze in your chest. 

Tommy turned to glare at Joel, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“You told me yesterday you couldn’t grab a drink with me ’cause you had to go home…for movie night.”

“I did, damn.” Joel was doing an admirable job of sounding almost annoyed, but the façade fell apart if you looked at him long enough to notice him fighting back a smile. “Just…fell asleep ’fore it ended. We all did.”

“Then it sounds to me like you already had your movie night, pup,” Tom said to Ellie. “Sorry you wasted it on a nap.”

“That’s bullshit, no way.”

It was so cute, so normal that you almost couldn’t stand it. 

After a bit more squabbling and a highly-contested game of rock-paper-scissors, Tommy won out, sending Ellie off to pout in her garage as Joel got to his feet. 

————————————

"You boys be good." You unfolded your legs and started shifting to stand. "Joanie's on call at the clinic this week, so any rowdiness'll have you seeing her, and she doesn't give out lollipops or stickers, just a stern talking-to."

Joel reached for you, putting his hand on your shoulder and gently pressing down, coaxing you to keep your seat. 

"Stay, wildcat, I'll be back soon."

"Joel. I'm not gonna sit here like some puppy-dog, on hold 'til you come back."

Christ knew Joel would have. Once you’d touched him, Joel would've waited on your porch forever like a fed stray. 

He hummed a thoughtful sound. 

Holding up a 'wait here' finger, he walked around the couch to the bookshelves lining the wall. He skimmed over the rows of battered and creased spines as though he didn't know exactly where his newest addition was placed, and then slipped it off the shelf. 

"This'll keep you busy. Damn near a thousand pages."

The copy hadn't been loved properly in its first lives, leaving all its pages bound tight together, its spine still straight and strong. It looked for all the world to have never been cracked open once. It needed you, needed your hands to hold its weight as it gave you its story. 

"'Lonesome Dove', huh?" you mused, turning it over in your hands.

You’d never read it, you had told him once, sitting right over there in front of his fireplace and trying to be casual and friendly. Joel had been fully dialed in to the conversation, trying to distract himself from the strange, hollow pull of conflicting emotions that had formed in his chest when you’d declared that for Ellie's sake, you ought not to indulge the feeling between you.

"Hope you like beans and sad cowboys," Tommy muttered. "Weird amount of bean talk."

"Don't listen to him; you know he can’t read," Joel said, waving a dismissive hand back toward his brother. "Give it a hundred pages. If it don't grab you, I'll owe you a favor. Whatever you want. Fix that broken shelf of yours or somethin'."

He wanted to offer something a whole lot better than handyman services, but with Tommy standing by, he didn’t dare. 

Still, when Joel’s gaze passed over you, you seemed to take his meaning, and you wore a coy grin as you replied, "How will you know I'm not just lyin' to get a free favor?"

"'Cause I'll make you give me the book back and you'll never know how it ends."

You cradled the novel to your chest with both hands, looking scandalized. "You wouldn't."

And, yeah, you were probably right. But you didn't have to know that; Joel could put up a little bit of that stern veneer that always seemed to fall away when you were around. 

"I'm a mean man, Doc."

He bent down to kiss you goodbye, not really even noticing how easily it had come to him until he was stepping off the porch to leave and his brother started in on him.

"So that's comin' along," Tommy said, elbowing Joel once they got onto the street and could walk side by side.

Joel didn’t have much in the way of a snappy comeback, but he didn’t particularly care for the warmth in his face or the restless squeeze of embarrassment Tommy’s teasing put in his chest. 

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he said, shoving his hands in his coat pockets and tucking his chin against the cold evening air. 

"Talkin' about you snugglin' up on the couch all cozy with a girrrrl," Tommy said, his tone moving over into fully taunting. "'Stay here and wait for me, kitty-cat, I'll come home to you soon, mwah-mwah-mwah.'"

Fuck’s sake. He was worse than Ellie. 

"Tommy, I swear to god..."

"Joel's got a girl-friennnnd," he singsonged. 

Joel only knew one surefire way to shut his little brother up. 

It wasn’t a fight-starter of a gut-punch—just a love-tap, really—but it did knock the wind out of Tommy. 

It was one of the first things you learn when you’ve got an absolute pest as a brother: man can’t run his mouth if he can’t breathe. 

They walked the last couple blocks to the Bison in blissful silence. 

————————————

"Christ, she’s hard to read sometimes," Joel said with a shake of his head. "I never knew what to expect, she just kept putting me on my back foot."

Tommy made a sound of agreement. Joel had spent most of their first drink catching him up on the parts of your time at the firewatch that hadn't made it into the brief with Maria, including your little bits of theater with Dalton and your dance with hypothermia.

"That was why I sent you up there with her," Tommy said. "Thought maybe if you'd been kissin' on her, you might have enough background to be able to keep track of her."

He bumped Joel with a shoulder at 'kissing', but had mercifully lowered his voice.

"Only other possibilities were me and Silas," he said with a shake of his head, "and the old boy wasn’t up to the trip."

Joel recalled the humming, musical quality of Silas' breathing when they'd met that night at the diner. He couldn't imagine the man climbing twelve flights of stairs up into the firewatch in that condition. Or carrying a deer through the woods, for that matter.

"I should’ve gone," Tommy said, rueful and a little guilty. "It was selfish of me to stay behind."

"It went just fine." Joel waved him off. Much as he wished a few things had gone differently, he wouldn't have given up that time with you for hardly anything.

"Five days is a long time to be in one room together." Tommy finally caught the eye of the kid behind the bar and held up two fingers, then gestured between himself and Joel to request another round. "Might go in as something like strangers, but it ain't what you come out as." He chuckled, adding, "Long as you both come out at all. Five days is a hell of a long time. Reckon there's always the chance of just the one survivor."

"You two ever go up there together?" Joel asked, fiddling with the splintered edges of a heart that had been carved into the bar. “Y’all used to be pretty close, I hear--probably get along well enough to pull it off.”

“’Used to be,’ you heard?” Tommy asked, a jagged, wounded edge to his tone that left Joel fighting back a wince.

Shit.

Mercifully, the barkeep came over to fill the empty glasses in front of them, giving Joel a moment to choose his next words.

“I didn’t mean anything by it, Tommy, I just—” He took a long, slow sip while he searched for what he wanted to say, but the burning in his throat didn't spark any words to life on the way down. Unable to come up with any softening that wasn’t an outright lie, Joel was forced to settle for the truth. “It was just how she put it. She said y’all were closer, up ‘til recently. Up ‘til I came back around, I gathered.”

Some part of him felt disloyal for speaking about your business, especially when you weren’t there, but it was too late now; there was no pushing the cork back in the bottle.

Tommy shook his head and looked off into the distance, some expression on his face that Joel wasn't sure he'd seen before.

He muttered a response that sounded like 'fuckin' blind spot' to Joel's ears, but it was so damn loud in the bar that he couldn't be sure. Tommy followed it up by holding his drink aloft to Joel in mock salute and offering a bitter, "Good fuckin' luck, old man."

And despite all Joel's earlier jealousy--and the way it almost flared back to life at that look on Tommy's face--he couldn't stand the frustration and hurt in his brother's posture.

"She didn't sound mad or nothin', little brother--wasn't like you'd done her wrong, just sorta...drifted, maybe, but she only had good things to say." At that, Tommy looked up at him at last, so Joel continued, "Said you had her back a lot of years. Told me you saved her life at least once."

Joel gestured vaguely at his throat and Tommy heaved a sigh.

“What she forgets about that day is that she saved me first. I’ve tried telling her, but I guess since she don't remember it, it doesn’t feel real when I say it. But that goddamn clicker was closed in on me, Joel, had me backed in a corner and I mean fuckin' literally. Out of ammo, out of options…out of time. I could feel its breath on my face--I was dead and I damn well knew it. Mouthed for her to get the hell out of there, waved her to go, made it clear as day, but she just…wouldn't.”

Tommy sighed again and washed down the memory with a mouthful of whiskey. 

“Pretty sure she’s done losin' people,” Joel said, memory turning back to the whole ordeal with you stepping between him and Dalton. Twice.

“Yeah, well. We almost lost her because of it. She beaned that damn thing in the side of the head with a rock, Joel; whipped a pitch at it like she was Nolan fuckin’ Ryan. And it just…flew at her, no hesitation, like it could see her perfectly. It went after her in a goddamn frenzy. Thought it was gonna rip her in half. I managed to get it in a headlock while it was"—he shook his head—"distracted with her. Slit its throat with a piece of broken glass.”

Tommy held up his hand and showed off the long scar crossing his palm, studded by smaller scars on his fingers. He looked at the old wound and raised his brows in some kind of disbelief.

“Barely even bled, I held onto her and the reins so tight on the ride back. I rode like hell—way too fast for those rocky trails. But even Callus seemed to sense how bad it was, I couldn’t’ve slowed him down if I’d wanted to. We were only ten minutes out, but she lost consciousness before I could even get her back to town. Medic took one look at her, as I’m holding her throat together with my bare hands"—Tommy brought his hand to his own neck—“and told me to just let her go, let her die; that there was no way she’d make it and even if she did, she’d turn. Him and Maria refused to believe she could be that hurt and not have gotten infected. But I saw the whole damn thing, Joel, every wretched second of it, like slow motion, and I knew…”

Tommy’s voice cracked, and Joel was almost knocked sideways by a surge of affection for his brother.

“I knew she hadn’t been bit. She wasn’t infected, and I couldn’t just let her die.” Tommy's voice had an edge of distant disbelief as he continued. “I drew down on Albie to get him to treat her. Gun was empty, but I’d forgot. Good thing he didn’t call my bluff.”

The scene that played out in Joel's mind spread goosebumps down both his arms. He'd seen that cold, hard side to his brother and knew Tommy didn't like that part of himself. Joel turned Tommy's memory to something warmer.

“She said you gave her blood.”

Tommy nodded, then shrugged. “She saved my life. I owed her. Owe, still. What’s a little blood at that point?”

“She said it was more’n a little.”

“Shit, it still almost wasn’t enough.” He took a long drink. “I think that’s the most scared I’ve ever been, Joel. At least in Jackson. I had to hold her up against me with my hand around her neck—if I’d flung her over Callus with her throat clawed open like that, she’d’ve been drained dry in minutes.”

Joel could hardly stomach the thought. He tossed back the last of his drink to rinse down the mental image.

“I’m glad you were there. She’s— I’m glad I got to meet her.”

It was a wimpy form of the truth, but Tommy seemed to take his meaning.

“Think it’ll stick?” Tommy asked after a moment’s quiet and another sip. “You and her?”

Joel blew out something like a scoff.

“Hell, I don’t know,” he said. “Hasn’t even been that long.”

“Yeah, but you got an inkling by now, one way or the other.”

Joel was seized by a powerful urge to lay his forehead against the bar.

“I’ve never been any good at this shit, Tommy. None of it.” He groaned out a sigh. “I failed at being a husband more or less immediately; failed at being…whatever I was to Tess. Jesus, we never even named it. Years, and we never even named it.”

He looked down into his empty glass and turned it absently on the bartop, then shook his head.

“I’ll do anything to protect people I care about, you know that,” Joel said. “Kill for 'em, go to the ends of the earth for 'em. I can bleed and suffer and sacrifice, and do it gladly, but I don’t know how to…”

The word wouldn’t come to him, but Tommy supplied it.

“—live for ‘em,” he said. “You don’t know how to share a life with somebody. All the boring, awesome, average bullshit that comes with living a life. Not surviving like we did in Boston--living a real life. Dying for somebody is easy, quick; just takes one moment of bravery, and you're the bravest motherfucker I know. But living for somebody…”

Living for someone takes a long time. A long time during which Joel could fuck things up. A long time during which, historically, he always had fucked things up.

“Yeah,” Joel said, bowing his head to hide the hurt on his face. “Feels too late to learn. What am I gonna do, practice with somebody at my age? I can't do that to her, she’s…”

Joel knew exactly what he wanted to say, but couldn't quite force out the words.

Too good for me.

“Well, you’re definitely punching above your weight,” Tommy agreed, seeming to take his meaning. “But, shit, if she wants to slum it, let her. She’s patient. Kind, if you let her be. She’ll show you what to do; just follow her lead an' try not to step on her toes too much. And whatever you do, don't piss her off any more than you have to."

Joel groaned at the memory that flared to life.

“I’m tryin’, but fuck. Almost set fire to it more’n once already--can’t seem to keep my damn foot out of my mouth.” Joel longed for another drink, something that would help him steel himself to admit, “Accused her of havin' a thing with you.”

“Jesus Christ, Joel,” Tommy groaned, rubbing a hand over his face, then tossing back the last of his whiskey.

“Went over ‘bout as well as you’d expect.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you said she knocked you on your flat old ass,” Tommy said.

“Hell, I wish she had,” Joel said, flooded with shame at the memory of you having a flashback while he was making an ass of himself. “Would’ve been less of a blow.”

“Spoken like someone who’s never seen her fight,” Tommy muttered. He motioned to the kid behind the bar for one last round. “And not that I need to say this, but no, you dumbass, there’s never been anything between her an’ me. I ought to beat your ass for even thinkin' it.”

“Smart, beautiful, competent women ain’t your thing?” Joel asked dryly.

It still didn’t make sense to him, that Tommy could’ve spent months’ worth of days—maybe even years' worth—at your side without falling for you. Joel hadn't even had two weeks with you and could already see the edge of the cliff. The vertigo of it had him fearful and spinny-headed, but there was a tiny, daredevil voice in the back of his mind that whispered to jump and nudged him toward the fall.

“First of all, why don’t you think about my wife for a second and then reconsider what you just said, big brother,” Tommy said, hitting Joel in the shoulder lightly. “Second, Doc’s great. I love the hell out of that girl. But ever since Maria, there’s only been Maria. Never even occurred to me to look at anybody else. She’s my friend, and that’s all.”

He bumped Joel with his elbow and amended, “‘Less you can quit fuckin' up, maybe make her my sister-in-law." Tommy nodded at the bartender as he topped off their drinks. "Wouldn't that be something—if the young'un's godparents were strangers when he was born, then went and ended up together?"

Tommy raised his glass in salute, and they drank in silence for a couple moments. The dazzling daylight possibility of it all painted itself across Joel’s mind, warm and hazy and so foreign a concept that he almost couldn’t imagine himself in the picture. It was a hell of an image, but no sooner had it taken shape than it began to wilt and wither in the heart of him.

“Everyone I’ve ever cared about, I’ve eventually lost,” Joel said, voice quiet and careful. “I’ve failed every single one of ‘em. You and Ellie, I’ve got the chance to try again, maybe make it some kind of right someday, but I still… All I can think about anymore, every person I care for, is losing ‘em. I don’t think I can do it again, Tommy; I don’t think I’d survive it. So now, it’s like I don’t know how to—” He grimaced at the word before he could say it. “—love like things will work out. Like I’ll get to keep hold of 'em.”

His little brother tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the bar, plainly holding something back.

“What?” Joel said, the vulnerability of the moment making him squirmy-hearted and edgy.

“I’m tryin’ to think of a nice way to—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Tommy, I’m a grown man. Just say it. This is bad enough already.”

“You think your fear makes you special?” Tommy blurted. “You think everyone else in the whole damn world isn’t afraid to lose the people they care about? Twenty years into the fuckin’ apocalypse, and you’re the only motherfucker who's caught on to the goddamn...fragility of life? We’re all afraid, all the time. But what else is there, Joel? Jesus Christ. What’s the point, if not this?” He gestured between the two of them.

Joel looked away from Tommy’s face and down to his own drink.

“Philosopher drunk is new for you,” Joel said.

"Think it’s my dad powers comin’ in.”

The smile in Tommy's voice was audible, getting Joel to look up at him. The man was aglow in a way Joel had never seen him, all bright eyes and loose-shouldered ease. Tommy deserved every bit of that happiness, but Joel hated that it had taken so long for him to find it.

A small, shameful part of Joel envied it so strongly that it put a rotten, toothache pain in his chest. He swallowed it down with the last of his whiskey.

“You’re doin’ great. I’m proud of you, Tommy.”

It was the first time he’d ever said it, and guilt twisted in Joel’s chest at the way hearing it seemed to put Tommy at a loss for words. Too guarded—he’d spent a lifetime being too guarded with his brother, holding emotions at arm’s length instead of speaking plain. They’d run out of time once already. Someday, they’d run out of time for good.

Joel took a long breath to gather his courage.

“I’ve got an inkling,” he confessed. 

Tommy didn't look surprised in the slightest. If anything, that was relief in his eyes.

“Then be a man and go do somethin' about it,” he said, clapping a hand on Joel’s shoulder and rising to his feet. “Do the work. Stop trying so hard to fuck things up. Hell, even if you’re right—even if you’re gonna lose this person you care about either way—you might as well get the good parts, too, ‘stead of just the loss.”

That was easy for Tommy to say, but Joel wasn't sure he was cut out for that kind of thing anymore. He'd grown too hard over the years, his edges honed too sharp to be safely held.

Joel loved like a hand around the hilt of a blade.  Love made him preoccupied with loss, with protection and defense.

You loved like a feast, he thought. Your love could make a field rise up and follow you for the chance to feed those to whom you devoted your whole self.

He could’ve loved like that once, Joel thought. When he was young. He had loved Sarah like sunlight streaming through kitchen windows, like a bedtime story, or a sunflower seedling stretching toward the sun. Warm.

But the warmth had left him. Try as he might, all Joel’s fire burned cold now.

————————————

The house was dark when Joel came in the front door--silent and empty.

His chest had been light and warm just a minute ago, but now his heart sank clear down to his feet.

You had gone.

He couldn't rightly blame you; he reckoned he wouldn't be all that fond of sitting on his own in somebody else's house, either. Hell, he didn't much care for doing it in his own place. The stillness and peaceful quiet too easily tipped over into lifelessness, and Joel just couldn't bear it.

Still, he'd been kinda looking forward to coming home and finding you here--had been looking forward to a taste of play-acted intimacy, of a glimpse of what it would be like to come home to you.

He was a fool.

Joel blamed Tommy and his bullshit 'inkling' for the moony-eyed sentimentality.

There was something of you still lending itself to the house, though, moony-eyed sentimentality or no. Joel thought he caught half a breath of your scent as he shed his coat, could've sworn a hint of your presence slid over his skin while he bent to take off his boots. He left the lights off, not wanting to break the spell.

It was a little like being haunted, except it was almost comforting--fond, rather than spooky.

Joel sat on the couch for a moment, right where he'd left you, and imagined your warmth seeping into him from the cushions. He tipped his head back, resting it against the back of the couch, and closed his eyes, just for a second.

He didn't mean to doze off, but the whiskey was whispering so sweetly in his veins...

Joel snapped awake an unknowable time later. His body still felt whiskey-loose and not achy from the awkward position he'd drifted off in, so he reckoned it had only been a short while that he'd been out. Took him a couple tries to convince himself to stand, and then Joel made his way to the stairwell, flipping on the light and staring up at the top, where another night’s dreadful sleep awaited him.

As his foot met the first step, though, he paused, considering whether he was fool enough to make the short walk over to your place.

He almost did it, almost turned right around and put his boots back on. But in the end, Joel talked himself out of it, trying to look forward to the first full night’s sleep he’d had in a week. The morning would come soon enough, and he could put himself to better use once the whiskey and exhaustion had stopped sludging his blood.

Joel pushed open his bedroom door and realized he was still downstairs on the couch, sleeping off his whiskey. He must’ve been. It was a whiskey-dream; it could only have been a whiskey-dream that had him coming upstairs to find you curled up in his bed, sleeping like an angel in the weak glow of the hall light.

Next Chapter ->

[pocketfullofkouhuns]

Give in Again: Masterlist (& Spoiler-Free Favorites)

Joel x f!reader, no-outbreak au. 62k. Complete.

I’m already sad this story’s over (and considering a fluffy, smutty holiday one-shot 🫣) and it needed a masterlist, so here we go, plus one of my favorite spoiler-free lines from each chapter:

Synopsis: You've been (somewhat) enjoying a drink with a young architect--cute, if a little boring--and trying to ignore a constant barrage of text messages from the faceless creep you've come to think of as Bar Douche when an intimidating stranger named Joel interrupts and the night takes an abrupt turn. Joel is by turns protective, crass, and completely over-the-top flirtatious, leaving you not quite sure how to respond to him and not quite sure where you stand. You give as good as you get, baring your teeth from time to time, but Joel just seems to enjoy your bite. Fighting his excessive, thick-laid come-ons and wandering hands is too easy at first, but grows progressively more difficult as his tendency to swoop in just in time results in the two of you spending more and more time together. It's a slow burn on your end but definitely not on Joel's.

Chapter 1: "Christ almighty, that's stronger'n you look,” he said, swallowing a cough and patting his pockets in order to drop a few bills onto the bar. Then Joel put a hand on your upper back and steered you toward the street-side exit of the bar, the crowd parting for you with uncharacteristic ease, given the guard dog at your heel. “Let’s get you home, darlin'. I got about twenty minutes 'fore that hits me.”

Chapter 2: “I am miles better, darlin’.” He grabbed your coffee cup from the counter and took a leisurely swig, completely unmoved by your anger. “Whatever you think of me… I’m not a good man, sugar, but I ain’t his kind of bad. I’m worth ten of that little dickhead. More.”

Chapter 3: “It’s inevitable, sugar, our fortune's right here in black and white,” he warned against your ear, spreading a thrill of goosebumps down your neck. “I sure don’t mind the chasin’, but I know you gotta be gettin’ tired of running from me.”

Chapter 4: “The young man from California blow it already?” Joel asked, his demeanor thawing a bit as he looked at you, gaze flitting from head to neck to torso to hands as if checking you over. “He ain’t step out of line, did he? I don’t reckon that boy coulda manhandled his way out a kindergarten classroom, but there’s other lines to step.”

Chapter 5: “You wanting me to kiss your friend, darlin’?” He said against your ear. Jesus, he was right behind you, so close the heat of him was like a weight against your back. “You like feeling all riled up and possessive?”

Chapter 6: “Shut the fuck uuup,” Hazel said, disbelieving and far too loud, earning at least her twelfth stern shushing in about five minutes. She shifted in the armchair, lifting herself up with her arms so she could cross her legs underneath her. “This is my entire life now. This is my Real Housewives, my Love Island, my Bachelor in fucking Paradise. Cancel my Hulu, this is all I care about. Who the Christ is this guy?!”

Chapter 7: "I'm a jealous man, darlin'. Ain't no way." With nowhere else for you to go, he pressed against you, turning up the thudding in your chest. "My pictures. My shirt. My girl. Mine.” His hands found your hips and his stare dropped to your mouth. “Ain’t no goddamn way.”

Chapter 8: "Don't you fuckin' dare," he warned against your ear, his hand sliding over your throat as his fingers caught the curve of your jaw, baring your neck to him. Joel bit his warning against your neck, holding you still on that agonizing cliff's edge, right at the precipice of what you wanted so goddamn badly.

What lines called out to y’all? If you don’t wanna reply here, anon is on in my inbox. I wanna knowwww!

[pocketfullofkouhuns]

Give in Again

part 8/8 [previous]

summary: Our finale. You and Joel finally make it back to your place. (This is PART TWO of the finale; make sure you’ve read the previous chapter!)

pairing: joel miller x f!reader [no use of y/n, no outbreak au, protective, sleazy joel is also a shameless flirt, and a little murdery, and maybe a little stalkery]

a/n: Hey, so, listen… This whole part is basically just filth with some flirting thrown in. I don't have any defense of it. You two are so goddamn pent-up for each other and so stubborn that I'm not sure this ever could have gone any other way. (I tried to get you here faster but you just would not shut up.) Anyway, if you want a closed-door option, respect; just bail to the third-to-last divider when things get heated because we don't really ever come back to much of a plot after that. Idk how to tag any of this, I've never written anything remotely like it before but that's not because it's super crazy, it's just because I don't usually write explicit scenes, so tldr; everything in here is extremely consensual, no one is degraded or harmed, there is very light bondage/a little roughness, and smut is not sex-ed (and I don't treat it as such). If you want to know about anything in particular, feel free to reply or inbox me, I'm more than happy to answer.

word count: 15k [62k total...sorry/not sorry]

warnings: canon-typical violence; eventual smutty payoff to a slow burn; sexually explicit dialogue; sexually explicit everything tbh; joel just wants to put his hands on you and get you to yell at him a little; and he'll do whatever it takes to get it to happen; possibly including manslaughter; don't worry about it, darlin'

*I picked this gif because with the extensive shadow, it feels like the skintone of the girl’s hand is fairly ambiguous. His fingertips look lighter than the back of her hand, but her fingertips look lighter than his cheek/ear and variances in her skin could be attributable to playful light or reflection off of fabric. I hope you are always able to see yourself in my Readers, and I encourage you to tell me, even on anon, if you feel erased or invisible, so I can do better. I love yall!

"This way, dummy," you said, pointing Joel up the stairs toward your apartment. 

He kept his post, gesturing at the back door to the cafe. "I was promised coffee."

'Promised' wasn't exactly the word you'd use—Joel had just...declared his intent to return for coffee in his note that morning, it wasn’t like you’d offered—but you let the distinction slide. 

"I'll make you a French press upstairs, c'mon." You beckoned him over with a tilt of your head. "We'll start there, work you up to espresso."

"You think I can't handle espresso, baby?" he challenged. 

Mischief coiled in your chest like a spring and your heartbeat sped up. 

"Just figured a man your age probably ought to steer clear of high-dose caffeine before engaging in cardio."

You watched the remark land, watched him shift from offense at 'a man your age' to a shade of confusion over 'cardio' until his filth-minded baser nature whispered the answer in his ear and every part of him turned wolfish.

Seeing it dawn in his eyes, you turned and fled up the stairs with your mischief urging you onward, realizing all at once that you had never really seen Joel move with urgency, leaving you clueless about how closely he might follow on your heels. 

Not very, it turned out. When you reached the landing, heart pounding in your chest before the exertion had even caught up with you, he wasn’t even halfway up the steps, moving at a leisurely, unhurried pace, eyes never leaving you. 

“Better hurry, sugar,” he said with a warning edge in his voice that made your stomach flip and your hands shake. “No more runnin’ once I get up there.”

You scrambled with your keys, nearly dropping them as you searched for the one that would unlock the door, fingers clumsy with haste as you plucked one up and jammed it at the lock. 

It didn’t fit. 

You were too flustered, too distracted by Joel’s slow, ever-closer footfalls to recall the same thing happening that morning. The keys occupied so much of your attention that when Joel rumbled ‘time’s up, darlin’’ against your ear, you yelped, dropping them onto the doormat. 

He bent to pick them up, hooking a finger into your belt loop for balance. The ring jingled in his hand as he searched for the right key—one of the shiny new ones on the keychain branded with his initials—then he put his arms on either side of you, looking at the lock over your shoulder as he slid it home and opened the door. 

The moment you stepped forward over the threshold, though, his arms closed around you and Joel held you through a handful of staggered-forward steps as you admonished him. He kicked the door closed behind him and spun you around, pinning you into the space between the fridge and door that your memory reminded you had been the spot where you’d wrapped your hand around Joel’s throat as he’d vowed that you would ‘own’ him if you weren’t careful. 

Now, though, he was putting his hands on you like you were the one who was owned, hands brushing over your hips, thumbs skimming under the hem of your shirt to touch you. 

Joel growled a satisfied sound the instant his skin met yours.

"Finally, angel," he groaned, burying his face in your neck as relief sounded through his every word, "Christ almighty, the things I been waitin' to do to you..."

Sprawled-wide hands flared out over your ass, then slid down the backs of your thighs as Joel bent to pick you up, pressing your shoulders into the corner until you wrapped yourself around him, ankles hooked together around his back and hands on his neck.

You meant to object—absolutely would have objected, would've sworn and swatted and scrambled away from him holding you off the ground—except that Joel silenced you with his mouth against yours, your tongue too busy with his to manage an upbraiding. And then he ground his hips into yours, pulling you down to him as he flexed up against you, hard length pressed between your legs. As viciously as you fought against giving him a reaction to the feeling that shot through you, you still stole half a breath from his lips in the form of a gasp, your hold clenching against his shoulders.

And, fuck, he took that as encouragement enough anyhow, licking into your mouth in a way that sent you whining and shifting your hips against him. At that first sound, though, Joel seemed to consider his work done; he bore you the handful of steps to your counter and deposited you atop it, then kissed you one more time and pulled back.

His hands played at your hips as he regarded you expectantly.

You leaned forward to put your lips to his, but he didn't make it easy for you, leaving you flexing your stomach to keep your balance on the counter as you stretched toward him. 

"...What're we doing here, cowboy?"

"Just needed a taste to tide me over 'til you're done with my coffee," he said. "Gotta behave myself so you don't get burned; you get hurt around me one more time and I reckon I'm gonna have to take a first aid class or somethin’."

You snorted and shook your head, but slid down off the counter with Joel's help and set to work.

And at first, he was fairly well-behaved; he stood a step behind you, slipping his coat from your shoulders and onto the hook by the door, then roving a hand gently up and down your back as you prepared things. You weighed and ground the beans—‘you makin’ coffee here, baby, or cookin’ meth?’—filled the kettle from your water filter, and readied a mug, humming softly to yourself. It was a practiced, automatic routine that you lost yourself in—so much so that you only brought down one mug. You realized this after a minute or two and reached up into the cabinet for a second, smaller mug.

Then you grabbed the press from its spot on the counter and placed it before you, removing the strainer and setting it aside on a tea towel.

"The hell is that?" Joel asked from his spot behind you. 

"It's the coffeemaker," you said, narrowly suppressing a 'dummy'. "You've never seen a French press before?"

"That ain't a French press." He had the balls to sound like he was suppressing his own 'dummy'.

You looked at him over your shoulder, staring up into his face with 'I beg your pardon' written all over you. "Oh?"

"This is a French press, sugar," he said, crossing his arms over your chest to palm your breasts, then burrowing his face into your neck and making a cartoonish, bassy 'on-hon-honn' sound as he pulled you against his front, honking handfuls of your chest.

It was the single goofiest thing you'd ever seen from Joel—maybe from anyone ever—and the combination of the ridiculousness and the fierce tickle of his stubble against your skin sent you giggling, even as you tried to squirm out of his grasp on half-buckled knees.

“You’ve been planning to do that since I mentioned the French press downstairs, haven’t you, you fuckin’…goober?” you accused, smacking behind you to hit him in the leg. “I can’t believe you honked my tits.”

He had the decency to look a little sheepish, but only for a moment before his hands were all over your body again; once Joel had started touching you, he seemed loath to stop. 

His palms slid down past your rib cage, over your waist and hips and then under your shirt, work-callused fingers sending an electric prickle over your bare stomach as he worked his way higher, kissing at your neck.

“I been plannin’ to do all kind of things to these soft, perfect tits, angel,” he said in your ear, biting just hard enough to send goosebumps spilling over you. Joel pressed his hips against your ass, pinning you against the counter. The icy tile met the flushed-hot skin he’d exposed by lifting your shirt, and you nearly flinched away from the cold.  

His thumbs grazed the lower curve of your breasts and you almost whimpered in anticipation. You could suppress the sound, but not your body's reaction as your back arched against Joel and your nipples peaked. 

The kettle, rumbling in the background all this time, finally began to whistle, clearing your head enough to let your heart rate settle as you switched off the burner. 

"Do you want your coffee or not, pervert?" you breathed, pushing at his hands and trying not to pant. 

Joel didn't release you immediately, just kept kissing your neck, his thumbs playing at the waistband of your jeans as he squeezed at your hips. 

You pointedly cleared your throat, saying, “Kettle’s getting cold.”

"I'm thinkin' about it," he said, biting at the curve of your shoulder instead of breaking from his work to let you move freely.

“If I get burned, it’s on you,” you warned, reaching for the kettle and filling the press to warm it, then dumping the water into the mugs to warm them, too. You went through the rest of the process of starting the brew, then set a timer for a few minutes. 

It was an old souvenir thing in the shape of the Texas flag, the star serving as the dial for you to set the time—Hazel had sent it to you when she’d been trying to convince you to move down here. 

The timer made a faint mechanical hum as the seconds began to tick past, hardly audible over the thumping rock music coming from the shop below, and you barely got it sat down on the counter before Joel was turning you around to face him. His hand skated back underneath your shirt, this time rushing past all preamble and making straight for your breast, thumb brushing back and forth over a nipple, sending a shuddering tremble through you. 

“Reckon we can beat the clock, hellcat?” 

“It’s a three-minute timer,” you replied, fist tightening around Joel’s sleeve, “so that better be a resounding ‘no.’”

He pinched down, making you gasp. “You oughta know I don’t back down from a challenge.”

Joel’s lips met yours and his hand slipped down past your waist, fingers curving between your legs. 

He groaned approval into your mouth. "Are these jeans wet, sugar?" His fingertips flexed hard against you and you took a sharp breath, your hips bucking at the intense feeling. “Poor girl just needs to be fucked so bad.”

As he began to rock his hand back and forth against you, a low hum of pleasure fought its way out of your throat. It turned to something desperate as his rhythm built and Joel made a sympathetic sound. 

"Shh, it’s okay, darlin’,” he soothed. “Let me take care of you, give you what you need.”

His other hand roamed your body as he touched you, grazing over your breast one minute and making you gasp, then grounding you with his fist tightening in your hair the next. 

The timer buzzed and Joel froze as you fought not to whine. 

He eased back from you, giving you a second to find your feet before removing his support completely. The sudden switching-off of stimulation when it had been building so quickly was fucking agony, leaving you panting and restless. 

"Better luck next time, angel," he said. 

"You're a fucking monster," you replied, matter-of-fact.

"I know, baby." Joel kissed you right between your brows and pointed you back to your task, gathering himself up behind you again to watch you—or just fluster you by putting his hands all over your body while you worked. His fingers slid under your shirt again, idly tracing the edge of your waistband and dipping beneath for just a heartbeat or two, making your breath catch in anticipation every time.

Your hands shook a little and your mind ran riot as you stirred the coffee and then carefully skimmed away the grounds that hadn't sunk to the bottom.  By the time you were covering the press and setting another alarm--far longer than the last--you'd gathered your wits and a plan. 

History almost looked to repeat itself, with Joel turning you toward him again the moment the timer clattered against the counter. This time, though, you backed him up into the corner of the kitchen, your hands on his chest drifting lower once his shoulders met the wall. 

Your touch roved down his sides, fingers clawing lightly at his shirt as he watched your face from beneath heavy lids, then your hand slid over the hard bulge of his cock and you gave him a low, drawn-out, pleased sound as he drew a deep breath. 

"My turn," you warned, stroking him through his jeans. "Think you can last ten minutes, cowboy?" 

"I'll last as long as you tell me to, hellcat."

"Good answer," you praised, dragging your fingernails over the denim, earning a sharp gasp from Joel. "Let's find out if it’s all talk."

You kissed the crook of his neck, biting lightly at his skin—just a graze of teeth that had him sucking in a breath and shifting his hips against your hand as you touched him. 

“Said I’d make it worth your while if you made me coffee, angel. This ain’t—“ His breath stuttered in his chest as you grazed your palm over him and squeezed lightly. “This ain’t exactly what I had in mind.”

Slowly, you lowered yourself before Joel as he watched you with predatory intent clear on his face. 

“C'mon now, handsome," you admonished, knees meeting the hardwood as you trailed your hands over his thighs, "you're telling me you haven’t had this in mind?” 

You skimmed your lips over the fly of Joel’s jeans, a little disappointed to find your lipstick had all worn off and wouldn't mark him. 

“Christ,” he breathed, hands clenching for support against the edge of the counter. 

“No need for fancy titles; you can just call me by my name.” 

"Sugar, I ain't even sure about my name anymore."

A gratified little smile pulled at your face. 

“You love running that filthy mouth," you said, popping open his obnoxious belt buckle. "I’ll keep going as long as you’re talking--how’s that sound?”  

His gaze followed your every move as you dragged down his zipper, slow and deliberate. You knew you were under a time crunch, but found yourself wanting to take your time anyway. 

You wrapped your hand around him and Joel groaned, low and long and rumbling. God, you'd known he was big--had felt how big he was when he’d held you against him--but the reality still managed to surprise you. It would likely hurt to take all of him. Tingling expectation washed over you, but a moan from Joel brought you back to the moment. 

"Fuck, baby. Look at me; let me watch you," he urged, combing his fingers through your hair as he looked down at you. "Wanted you to touch me like this for so long."

That fond, heated look burned through you, and your only thought was how badly you wanted to taste him. You gave him your eyes as the velvet-soft warmth of him slipped between your lips and over your tongue, hard and salty-sweet and so undeniably fucking alive within you. 

“Wanted you—” Joel's eyes fell shut and he groaned, head thrown back and half-breathless, just for a second, clenching his fist in your hair, making you moan right along with him. 

Battling for his composure, he wrenched his focus back down to your face, watching intently as your mouth and your hands moved over him.  

“Wanted every bit of you to touch me; wanted every bit of you to be mine. You’re—oh fuck, goddamn—you’re mine. My sweet girl with her filthy, perfect fuckin’ mouth on my cock. God, baby, I knew you’d feel this good. Knew you had to."

“Mm-hmm,” you hummed around him, warning him to continue. When he didn't, you stopped, letting his pretty cock slip from your mouth so you could prompt him, “Been thinking about it a while?”

"A while," he agreed, panting. 

You took him between your lips and raised a brow, urging him to speak. 

“Remember the first time some—Christ almighty, darlin’, fuck—some clumsy fuckin’ loser went slobberin’ all over you at Frank's. Didn’t even deserve the time of day from that mouth.” Joel tightened his grip in your hair, hips beginning to move of their own accord as he spoke, and the subtle slip of control sent a tight little thrill through you. “God, that incredible fuckin’ mouth. You told him off, so sharp an’ smart an’ goddamn sexy. Wanted to fill that angry mouth so bad. Wanted to fuck the angry right out of you, make you look at me all soft and peaceful. Show me them pretty, soft eyes again, baby.”

You made a pleased sound for him and obeyed, eyes sliding back up the long line of his body until they met his. He pulled on the fistful of hair he held in his hand, muttering the sweetest, most unbelievably depraved curses, and then he thrust himself deeper down into you. 

A gag broke loose from your throat, the tip of his perfect cock surging down deeper, deeper. Your cheeks warmed at the sound, but Joel just brushed your hair back off your sweat-damp hairline, whispering a mouthful of filth and awe, exhilarated by the sight. You steadied yourself and held eye contact even as your vision swam with tears, swallowing around him and coaxing a groan of pleasure from Joel as you blessed him with one of your own.

“Takin’ my cock so well.” His eyes were almost reverential as he beheld you. “So beautiful with your lips around me and tears in your eyes, baby. So pretty down on your knees, taking me deep. Fuck, like that. So fucking good to me. Never want you to stop. Might never let you.”

You drew back and let him slip from your mouth, catching your breath as you laved over the curves and contours of him, gentle and thorough. He came utterly undone under your touch, losing his fight for control and tipping his head back, baring that gorgeous throat as you offered tribute from your lips and your tongue and took him back into your mouth.

Joel’s fingertips pressed hard against your scalp and he rolled his hips forward, driving himself deep into you again, eliciting another gag that blurred your vision and flooded your mouth with saliva. He drew a sharp, hissing breath and released a growl, his brows pulling together with effort. 

“That wet fuckin’ mouth, goddamn.” He was panting now, carding his fingers through your hair and praising you as you worshiped him from your knees. “That pussy is wet for me, too, ain't it, sugar?”

You moaned for him, because fuck, it was true. There was no denying it; you were soaked, your body pleading for Joel to use it however he wanted. 

“Want me to fuck you, baby, I know you do.” His thumb brushed a tear from your cheek, then he swiped it onto his tongue, groaning with pleasure. “God, I was fucking made to fill that mouth. My sweet, awful girl just needs me to fuck her so bad. That’s what you want, ain’t it, angel? All you gotta do is ask. Just ask me nice, and I’ll take care of you--be so goddamn good to you.” 

Challenge rose in your chest at the directive. 

I’ll show you who wants to fuck who.

You hummed a moan around that gorgeous, smug cock and took him deep, sliding your hands up his thighs as you picked up your pace.

The filth and adulation that had been flowing from Joel’s lips slowed to a trickle as he grew too busy panting to praise you. 

He was close, but you could get him just a little closer, and then--

You pulled back, letting the full, heavy weight of him slide from your mouth with a faint pop, swollen and hard and wet and wanting, wanting. 

You never had been one to just do as you were told.

A short, nearly pleading sound slipped from his parted lips, buoying you to standing, your eyes pinned to Joel’s. He seethed a raw, chest-deep noise as he fought to regain his composure and his edge.

“Bet you’ll ask first.” You raised a brow, antagonizing him as you undid a button on your shirt, then another, then two more, until it lay gaped open, a smooth, uninterrupted expanse of skin visible from your collarbone to the waistband of your jeans. “Bet I can make the big, tough man beg.”

“Do you, now?” His face split into a feral, filthy grin. “Gonna use them perfect, cock-swollen lips to tell me I’m the one who’ll beg?” He brushed a thumb over your mouth, so light and gentle that the tickle of it was almost painful. “I’ll take that bet, devil baby.”

You parted your lips to Joel's touch, stroking his thumb with the tip of your tongue. He slipped the digit into your mouth and you closed your lips around it, painting it with long, languid swipes of your tongue, the same as you'd been doing a moment ago when it had been Joel's cock in your mouth. 

The sound he made was almost pained, and he stared at your mouth for a long moment before withdrawing his hand. 

You conceded a step backward, putting a little more space between your body and Joel’s to make room for the air you couldn’t seem to get down fast enough. 

His eyes darkened and he tucked himself back into his jeans as he closed the gap again, a rough breath rolling off him like a purr. Joel dragged a callused fingertip from the notch in your throat down between your breasts and over your navel before hooking into your waistband and unfastening your pants. 

“And when I win that bet…” His voice was a warning as he slipped that broad, strong hand slowly down the front of your jeans. His fingers slid against you, so wet and willing and needy, and Joel groaned. “Fuck, I knew you’d be wet for me, but Christ almighty, angel. You just need me so bad."

The pads of his fingertips found your clit and began to draw lazy, slow circles around it. He rested his forehead against yours, cradling the back of your head to him, and he closed his eyes, sighing at the feeling of finally touching you. 

Breath froze in your chest as you fought down a gasp, wrestling for control of yourself. You tightened your fist in his shirt, but you wouldn’t give the smug prick so much as a heavy-lidded look or a single hum of pleasure, even as your body turned white-hot and molten under his touch. 

He leaned close, towering over you as he played every part of you like an instrument. With his free hand, he trailed his fingers gently through your hair, then gathered a handful at your nape and tugged it back, exposing the column of your throat. He licked a long line against your neck, the stubble on his chin leaving a spill of tingling skin in its wake that spread across your chest, then he breathed a promise in your ear as he continued to rub your clit.

“When I win—after you beg me so nice to fuck you that I just can’t say no—this sweet, wet, perfect pussy is gonna come for me, over an’ over an’ over. Thirteen times, for how goddamn lucky I am.”

His teeth grazed the hollow below your ear and you arched against him, gasping down a moan as your skin began to feel tighter and tighter. 

You swallowed hard as he continued to tease you, making it increasingly difficult to hold back from admitting just how fucking incredible it felt to have Joel touch you.

He backed you against the wall and braced himself with a forearm next to your head as his words coiled up against your skin. 

“No stalling, no bargaining, no sweet-talk or doe eyes, no rain checks.” His voice was low and close, a soft, sultry promise that turned to stone as he continued. “Thirteen times. All in one go, as long as it takes. However I want to give them to you, whenever I decide it's time.”

Jesus. Maybe it was more a threat than a promise. 

Two thick fingers slid inside you and you gasped at the stretch, the delicious fucking stretch of just his fingers as he let your body adjust around him.

Joel groaned and kissed you, tongue sliding into your mouth as he touched you and bade you to unravel beneath him.  

“So wet for me but still so fuckin’ tight, just like I knew you’d be. So perfect. So goddamn good for me, baby.”

Slow and deliberate in the way he touched you, Joel never let you build enough momentum to do anything but spin out under his hands. 

An encouraging groan, nearly a growl, rumbled from his beautiful, sweat-slick throat. “Fuck--Listen to how wet you are, angel,” he said, moving so well within you, filling the room with lewd sounds that only proved how badly your body wanted him. “Listen to how ready that pretty little pussy is for me. Listen to you telling me exactly what you need. Just say the words, baby. Let me hear that perfect fucking mouth tell me what you want, and I’ll fuck you just like you need. You've been fighting it for so long."

His hand slid from your hair to your throat and then down your chest, tracing the curve of your breast with the faintest scratch of his calloused hands, thumb dragging over your nipple as he worked his fingers inside you. 

The feeling was too good, too bright, and your legs began to shake with the effort of staying upright under so much tension. Your head grew too heavy to hold up on your own and you curled into Joel, face pressed against the base of his throat as your every shred of focus narrowed to the points where he touched you, moving his fingers so achingly slow but so fucking good. 

Some deep-buried, animal part of you sunk its teeth into Joel’s chest, seeking an outlet for the intense feeling. He sucked a breath between clenched teeth and pinched your nipple, hard, sending a thrill of mingled pain and pleasure over your skin that almost made you cry out, but he did not pull you away from him. 

“You leave one mark, sweetheart, just one, and you’ll never get rid of me,” he warned. “Careful what you brand as yours.”

Joel curled his fingers against a spot inside you he’d only barely grazed up until then. The vision behind your closed eyes flashed white as the feeling flared through you. Finally, you couldn't hold back anymore and a pleading sound slipped from your throat as you clung to him, nails clawing for purchase against the sheer breadth of his back, fighting to stay upright while your knees threatened to buckle. 

“There's my girl.” His voice was all praise and warmth, a bass line thrumming through you. “Singin’ so pretty for me while I touch her.”

The dam of restraint that had been holding back your voice crumbled, and a panting, desperate noise keened from you. 

“Singin’ so goddamn pretty,” he said again, and you could’ve floated right off the floor with the tender savagery of him fucking you, still so punishingly slow you felt the distant urge to scream. Joel sweetly kissed you, then continued, “Sounds so good, but you'll sound even prettier beggin' me to fuck you, hellcat--beg me to fuckin' ruin you."

You might’ve been in over your head. 

By the grace of God, the timer buzzed. 

He withdrew his hand, and the loss of the sensation, the sudden, aching emptiness was almost enough to make you fold right then and there. Almost enough to get you to beg. Eyes pinned to yours, Joel brought his fingers to his mouth and slowly, thoroughly sucked them clean, his brown eyes gone almost black with rapture and claiming. He groaned, a starving man given a taste at feast, then held back from partaking any further. 

“Fuck, I've waited so long to taste you, sugar. Even better than I thought you’d be. Think I’ll take three of my thirteen with you sitting on my face.” Joel kissed you, messy and hard, and when you opened your mouth to him, he licked the taste of you against your tongue. He nearly brought you to your knees all over again when he pulled back to say, “No. Four of my thirteen. So fuckin’ sweet, darlin'.”

You could just beg right now. Let him win and take your ‘punishment.’ What a consolation prize that would be, coming for Joel again and again. The words came to mind all too easily, a magic spell you could cast with almost no effort at all. It would be so good, you knew it w—

No. Focus. Head in the game. 

You squeezed your thighs together to coax the restless, needy tension to fade, then pushed him away with a hand flat in the center of his chest, hoping your legs would hold you as you crossed the kitchen again.

Though you poured the coffee more steadily than you expected, you still pushed Joel's cup over to him rather than risk picking it up. 

You gestured at cream and sugar on the counter to offer them to him, but you doubted he took his coffee with any adornment. 

"My sugar-tooth has a very specific dessert in mind right now, angel," he said, shaking his head. Joel breathed deeply over the rim of the cup and raised his brows, then took a slow sip, giving you a short, appreciative sound of pleasure. "Damn, baby, too bad you can't put that pairing on the menu--you think you're busy now..."

You scoffed a laugh and shook your head at him, warm-cheeked, then decided you did, in fact, want cream and sugar in your coffee today, if for no other reason than to busy your hands a little longer. 

"Ain't nothin' better than a hot cup of coffee after somethin' sweet, is there, angel?" Joel asked as he buried his face in your neck and dragged a hand over your chest to pull you back against him, presumably because he could scent your burst of nervous self-consciousness like blood in the water. "Might need to negotiate to add a pot of coffee to our friendly little wager, baby, what do you say?"

He kissed his way up your throat and jaw, dragging his stubbled skin against yours until he captured your lips with his own. You nipped his bottom lip and pulled back from the kiss, turning to gather a fistful of his shirt to pull him down to you. 

“And when I win?” you challenged. "We haven't set my terms yet."

He gave you an indulgent, patient smile and swept your hair back off of your face, his other arm around you, the warmth of his coffee cup pressing against your lower back. 

“You tell me, angel. If you get me to beg, what do you want as the feather in your pretty little cap?" Joel was taunting you, and he was being less than subtle about it. "Moon on a string? Beach house in Arizona? Go nuts, sweet baby; may as well dream big, ‘cause it ain’t never gonna happen.”

You scowled up at him. His presumptuousness was far and away his least attractive quality, and you wanted very much to knock him down a peg or several. 

“So I can bet you anything I want, and you’ll agree because you’re so confident that I’ll break first?”

He considered it—considered you—as he took a drink of his coffee, then he nodded. 

There was a limited number of things you could ask for that Joel was equipped to grant, and you mulled them over for a second.  

“If I said I’d be yours, but only if you begged me, begged to fuck me," you challenged, sliding your hands down over his sides to pace over his back, "would you do it then?”

His answer came far too quickly. 

“No sense beggin’ for what I already got, sugar.”

Your movements halted and you squeezed your hands against his sides, holding him away from you. “I am not ‘already’ yours.” 

“Okay, darlin’,” he said, placating, as he hooked a finger around a lock of hair, tugging it from behind your ear. 

You rolled your eyes. It was getting easier to resist begging Joel to fuck you. 

His hand seized the angle of your jaw and brought your gaze to his, the heat of his palm radiating against your throat as he gave you a deep, hummed uh-uh sound. 

“We talked about the eye-rolling, sugar.” 

You clenched your jaw against his tone, and the pressure of his other fingers on your neck increased just slightly, a battle of wills neither of you was willing to lose. 

“One more time," he warned, "and I will fuck you ‘til those eyes roll back in your head again.”

Your pulse flared to life, pounding all throughout you. 

“Would that count as begging?”

A smirk pulled up a corner of his mouth. “Want it so bad you’re already looking for loopholes, huh, angel?” 

You almost rolled your eyes again, just by muscle memory, but caught yourself in time and scoffed instead. “Hardly.”

He made a low, pitying sound that was almost sincere. “Poor girl.”

"Your dick's not magic, buddy,” you said, taking a long sip of your drink. “I can do the job just fine myself if you're not interested."

"I'd like to see you try."

That smarmy fucking confidence riled you. You put both mugs on the counter, then grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him the short distance into the living room.

"Then kneel." You pointed down at the ground in front of the couch. 

Joel raised his brows at you. "We gettin' bossy, baby?" 

He complied, though, slowly getting to his knees as you looked on. His gaze never left you, but turned expectant as he settled to sit on his heels, not sure what would come next. 

You put the toe of your shoe in the center of his chest but offered no direction. 

After a moment of him looking at you, you said, "If you wouldn't mind..."

Joel just looked up at you, amused. 

"If you're gonna be bossy, be bossy, sugar."

You frowned at him, but played along. "Take it off."

He slipped off your shoe, then cradled your foot in both hands and pressed a kiss to your arch, beard tickling your skin so fiercely you flexed your toes away from the sensation. Joel repeated the process with your other foot, then looked back up at you.

"And without any backtalk," you praised, running your fingers through his hair. "Jeans now."

Joel's hands slid up your legs, building an edgy, expectant feeling in your stomach that only intensified as he unbuttoned your pants and undid the zipper. He hooked his fingers into your waistband, tugging it down over your hips and then your thighs. A hum of appreciation rolled through his chest as he exposed your body, beating back any shred of self-consciousness left in you. 

Using his shoulder to steady yourself, you lifted one foot, then the other to step out of your jeans. 

Joel visibly struggled to bring his eyes back to your face as you stood before him in just an open shirt and your underwear.

"So well-behaved." You rolled your shoulders back and let the shirt slide down your arms and onto the floor. "It's okay to look, cowboy."

Let off the leash, his gaze swept over every bit of you. 

"Goddamn, angel," he groaned in something verging on disbelief. "I knew it'd be good, but Christ almighty."

The heat in his eyes turned all those heavenly words to filth, and he slid his hands over your hips.

You grabbed a fistful of his hair and tugged, making him suck in a deep, tense breath. "I said look, not touch."

The expression on his face got even filthier, but he took his hands off of you, giving your hips a hard squeeze before he did. 

"Enjoy this little power trip of yours while it lasts, hellcat," he warned. 

"You look like you're enjoying yourself just fine, cowboy," you retorted, lifting a foot and grazing it lightly over Joel’s lap. Fuck, he must’ve been hard enough to hurt, straining against the denim and hissing in a breath as you touched him. "Now where were we?"

"Think you was about to beg me to take off them pretty little panties for you," he offered. 

You bristled at the word 'beg.'

"Ask me nice and I'll let you do it…with your teeth," you countered. 

Joel agreed so quickly that you were forced to consider whether he'd chosen the word 'beg' on purpose, whether you'd played right into his hand.

"Fuckin' please, baby." He crept closer on his knees. "Pretty, beautiful please."

"No other touching," you cautioned him. 

As though Joel couldn't do plenty of touching with that wretched fucking mouth.

His lips brushed over your thigh and to your hip, goosebumps sprawling across your leg as his teeth grazed your flesh. Joel took his time finding the fabric of your panties with his mouth and then lowering his head to pull them down a few inches, his nose skimming over your skin while you tried to slow your breathing. 

And then he did the same thing at the other hip, this time tracing the edge of the fabric—and, by extension, the crease of your thigh—with his tongue. Joel nipped gently at your skin and you gasped, sinking a hand into his hair in warning and tugging back to bring his eyes to yours. The look on his face was absolutely obscene, an almost animal quality to him as he gathered the fabric between his teeth and pulled it down--again, just a few inches, just past the crest of your hip. 

And then the bold, lecherous fucker pressed a kiss to the tiny satin bow in the center of the waistband before taking hold of it and tilting his head back, grazing his rough, stubbled chin extremely deliberately over your pussy. Your jaw nearly dropped with a gasping breath, but you clenched it instead and shifted the extra the tension to your hands, yanking on his curls and drawing a low growling sound from his chest. Joel lost his hold on the elastic band and it slapped against your sensitive skin with a light snap that sent a flare of pleasure through you, drawing a soft little hum from your throat. 

"See, now, you made me lose my grip, sugar," he said, nuzzling against you. "Guess I'll have to try again."

This time, he licked a long line against the middle of the fabric that made you tremble with the effort of holding back a moan, his mouth trailing back up over you to capture the bow between his teeth another time. He made damn sure that fucking nose dragged over your skin as he finally pulled your panties free.

You shouldn't have been surprised that when given an inch, Joel would gleefully take a mile, but you still shook your head in disbelief when his eyes returned to yours. 

"You're pretty proud of yourself, huh?" you said. 

"Like the cat that got into the cream, angel." He took in the full glory of you, clenching his fists at his sides as restless energy spilled off of him. "You know you need me, baby, just let me take care of you. Make you feel so good."

"Beg for it, cowboy."

He made a low, seething noise and shook his head at you. 

"No dice, hellcat; jackpot's too good."

"Suit yourself," you warned, sitting down on the couch directly in Joel's line of sight and crossing one leg over the other. “Would you at least like to do the honors?” 

With all the reverence and restraint of someone opening an elaborately-wrapped gift, Joel slipped his hand between your knees, lifting gently to put them side by side, then parting them slowly. 

He took his time, and once you were laid bare before him, Joel let his eyes feast on you, irises collapsing into his pupils as he devoured the sight. 

"Fuck, sweetheart, every inch of you is just so goddamn pretty."

A silly little thrill of pleasure hummed in you at that, but not enough to show him any mercy. 

"And so soft," you crooned, sliding your hands over your breasts, your belly, your thighs. 

With the crook of a finger, you beckoned Joel closer into arm’s reach, then put your empty, waiting palm before his lips and raised an expectant brow. 

“Little help, handsome?”

He narrowed his eyes at you and let his gaze fall down your body. “I know you’re already plenty wet, darlin.’”

He was right, of course. Hell, even your thighs were slick with proof of the effect the smug motherfucker had on you. Still, you held out your hand and waited. 

“I want it to be you,” you said. 

Joel closed his eyes and clenched his hand into a fist as a soft, seething noise rumbled through his chest and he vowed, "You're gonna be the fuckin' death of me, hellcat."

A ripple of power crackled over your skin. 

He reached for you, using both hands to steady your palm. With a tongue-cluck of disapproval, you withdrew your wrist from his grasp. 

“Now, now. No touching.”

A muscle flexed in his jaw and he released a tight breath. He was a coiled spring, all tension and promise, that filthy mind going a million miles an hour as he considered how to respond to your challenge. 

You offered your hand again and those dark, amused eyes held yours as he honored your request and spat. 

“So obedient,” you praised him. 

He shook his head in affectionate disbelief, openly plotting his revenge until you erased his mind entirely. 

Joel groaned as his saliva met your skin, mingling with the slick wetness he’d already made of you.

You drew in an open-mouthed gasp, surprised by just how good it felt to touch yourself as he watched. Every feeling was heightened by the intensity of his audience, the ravenous look on his face as he took in your every movement, every little sound you made. 

Slow, gentle touches were all you allowed yourself at first, the lead-up as much for you as it was for Joel. Your body burned with aching need and desire, and you knew you’d have to take things slow to make this last. In the face of the restless, pent-up energy you'd been building since yesterday, though, even those hesitant, exploratory touches had you closing your eyes and throwing your head back. 

“Look at me,” came Joel's voice, heated and commanding. “You keep those eyes on me.”

“Tsk. Manners, handsome.” Your fingers grazed a sensitive spot and feeling flared through you, eliciting a tiny moan. “Ask me nice.”

His eyes flitted all over you, not able to keep his focus in any one place for long. 

“Please, baby," he granted, a little more breathless. 

“Please what?” you prompted, pushing him just a little further. “Gotta use your words, remember?”

Joel swallowed audibly. “Please look at me. Please keep those pretty eyes on me so I can watch how fucking good you're making yourself feel.”

You obliged as you circled your clit with the pads of your fingers while he looked on.

“Oh, it’s so good,” you agreed, vowing it into Joel’s eyes. 

“Let me taste you, angel, please." He groaned as he watched you. "Want you on my tongue so bad."

Fuck, that pleading, starved edge to his voice almost made you give in. Almost. 

“You know what you have to do.” You hummed a moan, twisting the knife. “Just end this and you can do whatever you want.”

He shifted on his knees, then shook his head. 

Joel stared at you, rapt, as your hand roamed your body, squeezing your breast, rolling a nipple between your fingers, sliding your palm over your thighs while your other hand stroked back and forth over your clit. 

“Put a finger inside," he rasped, then reconsidered his commanding tone and added, “please.”

“Such a quick study,” you crooned. “Such a good boy. Since you were so polite, I'll even let you help me."

Joel raised a brow, obeying as you bade him closer again. He certainly was not melting at your taunting praise, nor was he bristling at it--he just seemed to view it as amusing, something to be catalogued and responded to later. 

You brought your finger to Joel's mouth, tracing the border of his lip to coax him to open up for you. 

"You did say you wanted to taste me again..."

A soft seething noise came from him, and he obeyed, taking your finger into his mouth and lapping at it with his tongue. His eyes slid closed and he closed his lips around it, a low, pleased sound in his chest. 

You took your hand back, praising him with a, "Thank you, handsome," and then slipping the finger inside you. You released a short hum of pleasure, but Joel was too tuned-in to miss the difference in your sounds. 

“It was better when it was me, wasn’t it, baby?” he asked. “Tell the truth.”

You didn't bother to lie.

“It was better when it was you. Don’t you want to do it again?” You took his hand and put it on your knee, sliding it up your leg until his fingertips grazed the crease of your thigh. You continued to touch yourself with your other hand, just inches from Joel's. It would be so easy for him to take over for you, if he’d just fuckin’ break. “Don’t you want to make me squirm, make me scream for you?”

Joel's hand flexed and he palmed a handful of the soft flesh of your inner thigh, as if grounding himself through the desire to put his hands on the rest of you. 

"Oh, I'm gonna, angel," he swore. "You're gonna scream for me, alright, but you're gonna beg me to make you do it, first."

Your foot slid back over his lap and Joel's hips lifted up into the touch. 

"So confident," you teased. "Fine. If that's how it's gonna be, I guess I really will do it myself."

Letting your pace quicken, you touched yourself the way you usually did when you were alone, when you just wanted to come. It didn't take long before it began to build, before your every muscle grew more and more tense with your approaching release.

“Uh-uh, sugar,” Joel warned, rising up to stand on his knees. “You come for me or not at all.”

"If you want it, ask for it." You gave a little gasp that was all for show. "Otherwise..."

"Sweetheart, I swear to you, if you take what's mine, them thirteen are gonna be the least of your worries."

Your toes curled at the promise, the resolve in his words. Part of you ached to rise to his challenge, but a wiser part of you whispered a warning about writing checks your ass might not be able to cash, and you decided it was probably best to see what Joel was capable of before you pushed him any further.

“You talk too much,” you said instead, and then reached for him. You grabbed the waistband of his jeans, cold metal belt buckle biting into your skin, and hauled him against the couch, pressing your lips against his.

Joel groaned into your mouth, muscles gone loose with the relief of your touch.

Strong, thick arms wrapped around your hips, yanking you off the couch and into Joel's lap, pinning you to him as he sat back down on his heels. The hardness and need and pure fucking heat of him pressed against you, lighting every inch of your nerves on fire.

“So confident," Joel said, pushing your shoulders back onto the couch, "‘til there’s no-place left to run.”

He pressed a hand to the center of your chest and held you down, reclining you onto the seat of the couch while he held you straddled over his lap, weight off-balance and fully exposed to his touch.

Oh, you fucked up.

Joel slid his hands down the curve of your hips and palmed the back of your thighs, coaxing your legs around his waist. He held you by the hips as he flexed his own, hard length grinding against the aching warmth of you that threatened to burst into flame.

God, denim between you be damned, it was perfect, pulling a moan from you that couldn’t be held back, even through bitten lips.

“I know, baby. Tell me how good it feels.”

It was too good to lie, but you weren’t undone enough to tell the truth. He’d have to work harder, or else settle for the way you stared up at him, clinging to his arms and tilting your hips against his.

“Just think how good it’ll be when I’m fucking you.” His hand left your hip and skimmed between your legs, pulling a gasp from you as he began to stroke you, circling your clit with a lazy, light touch. “When you finally beg so pretty for me.” 

You gave him a needy little sound as he touched you, as much in earnest as it was for show, and pulled him harder against you with your thighs. The sensation intensified and you tightened your grip on his biceps hard enough to bruise.  

“Make me,” you dared him.

The words left you before you'd gotten to think them over. Joel's touch stilled and he clenched his jaw.

“Make you, huh?” Joel brought his hand to your chest, rolling your nipple between his finger and thumb as you swallowed a moan. “You want me to make you beg, angel?”

A devious look transformed his features. Inspiration had clearly struck. Anticipation washed over you like a wave, your skin feeling tight as his eyes roamed your body.

There was a small part of you that wanted to walk it back, wanted to say something to distract him, to get out from under that look that made you feel like you'd served yourself up on a platter.

She was the smarter part of you, probably. But she was not the louder part, and she was not the victor of the battle.

“You can give it your best shot, handsome.” 

He pinched, hard, and hauled you upright with his other hand around your nape. Joel kissed you like he was going to eat you alive, tongue plunging into your mouth as he groaned his pleasure at the taste of you.

But as quickly as he'd fallen on you, he was done, pulling back from the kiss and putting one more quick one on your lips before pressing his forehead to yours and giving a low, commanding, "On your feet, hellcat."

You obeyed, and Joel followed suit, drawing himself up to stand before you.

“Take my shirt off,” he ordered.

God, how had he made such a mess of you fully clothed?

You undid the buttons and rolled down the cuffs, then slid your hands over his chest and up to his shoulders to push the shirt off of him. Joel reached behind his neck and pulled his t-shirt off over his head in one swift motion.

He looked down at his chest and thumbed at an area of faintly swollen, discolored skin just below his collarbone.

The spot you'd bitten was starting to bruise.

“Left a mark, sugar.” He tsk-ed at you. "What'd I say?"

You pressed a kiss to the marred flesh.

“Poor baby,” you said, then kissed the unblemished skin on other side of his chest before biting down as Joel hissed in a breath. “There--now you've got a matching set.”

You smoothed your hands over his chest, your attention catching on the still-healing black line over his pec.

“What was this gonna be?” you asked.

He just looked at you and brushed your hair back off of your face, not offering an answer.

"'Cause it looks kinda like the curve of a coupe glass." You traced it with a fingertip, then a nail as you added, "Which would be kinda fuckin' creepy."

Joel neither confirmed nor denied that the tattoo would've been the good-day drink that Frank always served you in a coupe glass; he just shrugged and offered, “What can I say, darlin', I’m a heart-on-my-sleeve kinda guy.”

You laughed, but it came out as more of a scoff. “In what world?”

“Hmm.” He cradled your face in his hands and brought his mouth to yours. “Desires on my sleeve, then.”

And that, at least, was true.

He kissed you, slow and hungry, like you were a meal to be savored, but you wanted more from him than kisses by then. Your hands trailed over fever-hot skin, falling low to the waist of his jeans and then slipping teasing fingers beneath as he groaned against your lips.

“Goddamn, baby, look at what you do to me.” He kissed your hairline, panting against your temple. “Feel what you do to me.”

He put his hands over yours and dragged them over his torso. Of all the places you expected him to guide your touch—admittedly a very short list—not one of them was overtop the thudding in his chest.

Fondness squeezed a fist around your throat as you kissed the hands covering yours then coaxed them apart to press your lips to the center of his chest.

His arms wound around your waist and he stepped into your space, backing you a few steps closer to the kitchen counter that divided the space from the living room. The warmth in your chest turned to a different kind of heat.

"Belt, now, angel," he said, eyes moving between yours, then falling to your mouth.

Apprehension flared in your gut. "I'm more than game for a nice, firm, appreciative ass-smack, but a belt isn't the kind of 'make me' I was going for."

"Not what I had in mind, darlin'," he soothed you, trailing a hand down over your back and stopping at your ass. "But now you mention it, how 'firm' is 'nice'?"

"Try me."

Expectant tension fluttered through you, but his first offering was more of a pat than anything. You just raised a brow at him.

"Words," he prodded.

"Harder."

Joel obliged, this time it was more of a swat--it made a faint sound, but there was no sharpness to it.

"I'm not made of glass, cowboy," you vowed, hauling his hips against yours with use of his belt loops. "Harder."

He narrowed his eyes slightly as he looked down at you, then issued a sharp slap to your ass that made you gasp and tighten your hold on him. The pain faded immediately, but the sting lingered, your skin growing pleasantly warm and buzzy.

"Right there," you said, letting out a little hum as you kissed him and unfastened his belt, slowly pulling it free. "But you gotta be nice, and I don't just mean after."

You gathered the leather into looping whorls in your hands and moved to cast it aside, but Joel slipped it from your grasp.

"I promise," he vowed. “Now turn around, sugar.”

You stared him down just long enough to make him think you wouldn’t obey, then you turned your back to him. While you were confident he wouldn't break his word, you were still on edge about his intentions, nerves flapping wildly in your stomach.

Joel's hand slid from the small of your back to the flat between your shoulders and he pressed lightly. "Elbows on the counter, angel."

You honored the words if not the spirit, propping your elbows on the counter and cradling your chin in your hands, doing your best to look bored while your heart thudded in your chest.

"Attagirl," he said anyway. He bent forward and pressed short, soft kisses to the hot, tingling handprint on your ass-cheek. Your body relaxed at the tenderness in his attention.

"I ain't ever gonna be mean to you, hellcat, 'less you ask me to." Joel tapped your ass with the end of his belt, then the backs of your thighs, just hard enough to make a sound. It didn’t hurt, not even close; it was just to let you know it could.

If you wanted it to. If you asked.

Joel knelt behind you, winding the leather around your thighs and tightening it just above your knees, the pressure of it against your skin making your heart race. The buckle jingled as he fastened the belt, then tugged on it once to test the tension, pulling you backward onto your heels. You choked back a helpless little moan and fidgeted to assess your range of motion.

It didn’t take long to assess; you had almost none to speak of. You could press your knees, your thighs a little tighter together, but you couldn’t really part them at all.

"My pretty, awful girl," Joel said reverently, hands sliding up the backs of your legs, thumbs slipping between your belted-together thighs to stroke the slick, sensitive flesh on either side of your clit.

Your muscles strained with effort as your body tried to open your legs to grant him better access, but there was nowhere to go.

Frustration melded with pleasure as he touched you in slow, even strokes and you whined for him before you could fight it down.

“I know, baby.” Joel sounded genuinely sympathetic, but continued to torment you with that same agonizing, not-enough touch.

He kissed the tops of your thighs, right where the swell of your ass began to rise, leaving you fighting against your body's instinct to arch your back. And then Joel took that tender flesh between his teeth and bit down, just for a second, just hard enough to blush, shooting pleasure through you strong enough to buckle your knees.

“God, Joel, fuck,” you cried, any hope of playing it cool gone up in the flames smoldering inside you.

Joel groaned against your skin and soothed the bite with a kiss, nuzzling against your thigh with the stubble of his cheek. “Say it again,” he bade, voice heavy with demand.

You did not.

He bit the other thigh, trying to coax a lightning bolt into striking twice. All you gave him was a small, hummed moan, clenching your thighs together, chasing friction, pressure--fuck, anything.

“So goddamn stubborn," he muttered.

Joel hauled you back by the hips, deepening the bend at your waist and exposing more of you to his touch, to his sight.

"Fuck, but you're so damn pretty, standing there waiting for me, that sweet pussy just dripping down those soft, beautiful thighs." He traced a finger against you, skin just barely skimming over yours, light enough to be almost unbearably intense and making you gasp. "So goddamn pretty when you're a fucking mess for me."

He licked a long, slow line against the slick wetness of your inner thigh, first the left, then the right, that perfect fucking nose of his grazing against the curve of your ass, so close to where you burned to be touched that it actually made you shiver.

"Your aim is shit, cowboy," you said, goading to avoid whining for him again.

“Mouthy,” he growled. “Do I need to fuck some manners into that pretty little mouth of yours, darlin’?”

Excitement coiled in you at the thought.

“If you think you’re man enough, guess you're welcome to try. Though at this point I’d rather you fucked some manners into me elsewhere.”

And finally--fucking finally--Joel put that filthy goddamn mouth to use for something other than riling you up.

Before that very moment, you really could not have entirely conceptualized the idea that someone could go down on you spitefully.

But then Joel seethed a growling noise and pressed his face against your pussy, yanking you against him and wrapping his arms around your legs to hold you close as he skipped past the warm-up and went straight to fucking devouring you. You cried out, very nearly a shriek, and then you could hardly get a breath of air, your mouth fallen open in what you'd never admit was absolute fucking ecstasy.

Okay, maybe the smug bastard had a reason to be cocky.

His tongue stroked over you, his angle of attack too direct, too intense, leaving you trying to arch away, trying to lessen the pressure, but he held you fast as you tried to gather the brainpower and composure necessary to speak. It took a few tries.

"I can't, it's--" You loosed a pleading sound, totally overwhelmed and dangerously close to actual agony. "Fuck, Joel, I can't, it's too much."

He made an encouraging noise and pulled you harder into him, shifting his head from side to side and burrowing his face against your pussy. You cried out again, all but a sob, but Joel just kept at you, and your cries turned into something needy and urgent.

Nothing Joel did was by halves, so maybe you should have expected that intensity, expected that between so much anticipation and so many false starts, there would be no holding him back.

"Fuck, I'm gonna come," you panted, high and desperate. And, honestly, you half-thought he'd stop, thought he'd hold any kind of release hostage in exchange for what he wanted you to say, thought he'd make you beg for it before he let you come. But he either didn't think of it or wanted to keep going so badly he didn't care, because all Joel did was groan hungrily against you, still laving at your clit with an intensity that verged on savage.

You were on the edge for what felt like forever, every muscle in your body held taut so long you were trembling. Not being able to move, adjust, control anything was a fucking torment; you simply had to endure, waiting for your body to catch up to the utter goddamn devastation that Joel was subjecting you to until suddenly, the ground fell out from beneath your feet and a ragged wail came from your chest. Your orgasm buckled your knees, but Joel was holding onto you so tightly you barely even shifted.

It was purely on the grounds of Joel saying he wanted you to scream for him that you kept yourself under control, clenching your teeth to bite back your voice. You pressed your thighs tight together to keep him from getting any goddamn ideas about pressing onward.

He relented, stroking your flanks and ass and thighs with wide, sweeping touches and dotting kisses over your skin as you held yourself up, boneless and panting against the countertop.

"Christ almighty, sugar, you are goddamn incredible." He was all awe and heavy promise as he got to his feet behind you and bent to whisper in your ear, "Ready to beg for me, now, baby?"

"Still gonna have to make me, handsome," you said, pushing off the counter to stand upright.

"Tell me that again?" he dared you, pressing down hard between your shoulders and keeping you in place.

"You heard me."

"Can't never do nothin' the easy way, can you, sugar?" Joel said, not sounding disappointed in the slightest. He shed the rest of his clothes and resumed sweeping his hands over you, callused palms sending your skin tingling everywhere they went, across your shoulders and down your spine, then all the way to your hips. A firm grasp shifted your position slightly, arranging you how he wanted you and crowding close behind, the hard length of him pressing against your ass as he touched you. "That's alright, baby. We'll get you beggin'."

Those teasing, too-light touches roved over you, stoking a fluttering, high-wire sensation in your stomach that made your breath uneven.

Joel pushed his cock into the tight, wet space at the meeting of your thighs, not sliding into you, but rather against you in a long, slow stroke, dragging over your too-sensitive clit and sending you gasping as he sighed a drawn-out groan with a full breath of air.

"Fuck, angel, how do you feel this good and I ain't even inside you yet?" The feeling of him moving against you sparked a delicious, horrible sense of inevitability to burn in your gut. "Gonna be so good when I fill you up, sugar--so good when you beg me to fuck you, when that sweet little pussy is wrapped around me so tight."

Bowing over you, pressing his chest to your back as if to touch as much of you as he could, Joel let his hands roam your body as he fucked against you.

The throbbing, demanding ache inside you grew louder, more insistent as his pace sped up, no longer just trying to tempt you, but rather unwilling to be denied.

His touch was greedy, claiming handfuls of your tits and loosing a rumbling sound at the feel of you against him.

At the start of a stroke, the head of Joel's cock nudged against your entrance and you moaned from low in your chest, but both of you froze in place.

You could just take him, the devil on your shoulder whispered, all it would take would be a shift of your hips. No one would have to beg. No one would have to lose.

But Joel seemed to read your mind before you could summon the nerve.

"Don't you fuckin' dare," he warned against your ear, his hand sliding over your throat as his fingers caught the curve of your jaw, baring your neck to him. Joel bit his warning against your neck, holding you still on that agonizing cliff's edge, right at the precipice of what you wanted so goddamn badly.

"Tell me what you want me to do, hellcat," he bade you, shifting his hips a little closer, almost pushing into you, making you gasp. "Say it so pretty for me."

And fuck it, you lost, fair and square.

But you were always going to lose, and you'd known it all along; you'd never even bothered to set the terms for what would happen if you won. Joel had been holding himself back from you a long time, and all you'd done since meeting him was slowly give in, little by little--and now, all at once.

"Fuck me, Joel. Please fuck me."

He didn't move except to let his hand slide down over your front, coming down between your legs. The anticipation was going to fucking kill you.

"Say it again, sweetheart." His voice was heavy with approval and demand, but you were done bristling against it, done resisting, at least for now.

"Please."

Joel gave a sudden, almost-gentle slap to your needy, aching cunt and you cried out, a mixture of surprise and pleasure.

"'Please', what, sweet girl?"

"Please fuck me."

He gave you another smack. The sound you made would've been something like a growl, but your mouth fell open instead. You almost tilted back your hips, almost just slid yourself onto Joel's cock and gladly suffered the consequences. He would've fucking destroyed you, and the thought alone was enough to send a shudder of excitement over you. There was always next time.

"So close, baby." His voice was softness and demand as he urged, "Try again."

"Fuck me. Please."

Another slap, and this time his touch lingered, his fingers stroking over you. You didn't even make him tell you to repeat yourself, but you finally found the magic combination of words, nearly whining them for him as you begged:

"Please, Joel. I need you to fuck me."

You should've known it was his name he wanted you to say again.

He slammed into you, wrenching you back by the hips and burying himself to the hilt, and well, he was right about making you scream for him. You all but collapsed against the countertop, arching your back and not sure whether to push closer or writhe away.

"Fuck, sugar, goddamn, you feel so good." Joel smoothed a hand between your shoulders and slowly down your back as you tried to relax around him. Just as you finally managed a full breath, he pulled all the way back and thrust into you again, offering praise as you made wordless sounds of pleasure and anguish. "Fit me so perfect, baby--not a bit to spare. Knew I was fuckin' made for you. Knew we'd be this good."

'Not a bit to spare' was right; some distant, half-thinking part of you knew you'd be sore as hell come sunrise, but the rest of you shoved down her warning and courted disaster.

"Don't stop," you pleaded, your body already halfway up the climb. "Please, Joel."

He answered you by setting a pace that damn near stole the breath from your lungs, pressing up against something impossible and unendurable inside you.

"If it ain't 'stop,' it's 'go,'" Joel reminded, hips slamming against you. "Say it, angel."

He'd have to ease off if he wanted you to speak, but Joel just kept his pace and after a moment, he landed a firm smack against your ass to prod you along, making you yelp out a moan.

"It's 'go,'" you panted, gulping down a breath and losing half of it to a sob before you could try again. "If it's not 'stop,' it's 'go.'"

"There's my fuckin' girl." It was so heartbreakingly affectionate while being utter filth that it made you a little dizzy. "Fuck, such a wicked, perfect thing. You feel that, darlin'? Feel how goddamn good you are for me?"

Mostly, what you felt was another scream building in your chest, but you whined an agreement anyway.

In reward, Joel put his hands on you again, fingers brushing sweetly over your pussy, adding stimulation you absolutely did not need and making you cry out.

"I know, baby," he murmured, low and close. "I want you to come for me, now. Want to feel that pretty pussy coming all over me."

Fuck, you were most of the way there already, and with Joel's insistent touch circling your clit, it didn't take long for you to find yourself staring over the cliff's edge. Meeting his thrusts by pushing back against him, you hummed a high, needy sound as you chased your release. 

"Oh, you're so fuckin' close, darlin'," Joel said, voice all worship and awe. "God, you feel so good when you're close. So fuckin' wet, wrapped around me so tight--might fuck you on the edge forever."

But your orgasm found you more quickly this time and sent you wailing, hands flat on the counter and back arching as your body went rigid.

Joel fucked you through it, slowing the pace of neither his hips nor his fingers. A strained, appreciative groan rumbled from his chest as your walls fluttered and spasmed around him. "There you go, baby. Fuck, squeezing me so hard--fuckin' soaking me, Christ almighty. So goddamn good for me."

You couldn't move, couldn't fucking breathe. It just went on and on, like you'd touched a live wire and couldn't break the circuit.

Finally, the tether snapped and you took an absolutely shattered breath, using your hard-won air to let out an overwhelmed sob just this side of a scream. "Joel, fuck, please."

"Shh, you can take it, angel, I know you fuckin' can." His voice was warm-honey praise and adulation, and while his pace didn't falter, Joel at least had the decency to return both hands to your hips. "Takin' me so goddamn well."

Joel tugged you back a half-step, making you bend further at the waist and letting him hit a spot inside you that had you making a desperate, pleading sound.

"Mmm, you're getting close again, ain't you, sweet girl?" He groaned in approval.

God, he was right--that horrible sense of an impending fall was beginning to build again. The sound you made in answer was equal parts desire and desolation.

"Fuck, feels even better than the last time, baby. Makes me want to come when you do, see how good it would be. You made it look so goddamn pretty."

You made an encouraging sound and Joel smoothed his hand over your back.

"You want me to come with you, darlin'?" he asked, bending forward to press a kiss between your shoulder blades, his hand coming around your front to palm your breast. "Fill up that sweet little pussy and make you mine?"

Words wouldn't form on your tongue so you just hummed your assent, which Joel found insufficient.

"Say it for me, sweetheart," he rolled your nipple between his fingers and squeezed to motivate you to speak, hurtling you closer to the edge and making you moan. "Tell me what you need."

"Please. Yes, fuck, please, Joel," you begged. He squeezed again, harder this time, apparently wanting you to be more specific, wanting his words served back to him and not giving a damn that he was the reason you couldn't speak, couldn't fucking think. "Fill me up and make me yours. Please. Want you to come with me."

"Okay, baby," Joel said, sounding indulgent as his hand slid down between your legs. You were already so goddamn close, and his touch sent you lurching forward. "But not yet, sugar. Not yet."

A frustrated whine escaped your throat as he set back to touching you.

"I know, angel. Just stay with me." He picked up his pace, circling your clit as he fucked deeper, harder into you and hissed a breath through his teeth. "Ten, nine, eight..."

Your whole body went tense with effort and you fought not to hold your breath to keep from falling off the edge as you cried out.

His other hand flattened out over the center of your chest, cradling you tight against him, his hand spasming against your skin as he fought for his own control.

"Seven, six... Just hold it, darlin'; I know you can."

Clenching every muscle you had control over, you battled back against your body and tried to relax into his touch.

"Fuck, you're so close, baby." He pressed himself against your back as he fucked you, breathing adoration against your neck and giving you a whimper of his own. "Christ, you feel so good. So fuckin' tight for me."

Every part of you was shaking uncontrollably, and Joel forgot to fucking count down, but it wasn't like you could call him on it.

"One more, hellcat. Gonna come so good for me." He pressed his face into the crook of your neck and bit softly, making you yelp. "Five, four..."

A helpless, pleading sound keened from your throat, and not only could you not thrust back against Joel, but he pinned his hips hard against yours, burying himself in you and grinding against a deep, sensitive part of you that might've made you scream if you'd had a single fucking wisp of breath to your name.

"Three, two, one. Alright, now, sweetheart, you ready for me?" He panted a breath between his last few words. "Fuck, you feel so goddamn ready, baby. Tell me you're ready."

You nodded furiously, humming a high, needy noise and arching your back.

Joel smacked your ass and made you moan.

"Fuck, I'm gonna come, Joel. Please." You started babbling, begging as he fucked into you. "Come with me, please. Fill me up, Joel, god. Need you so fucking bad."

He slammed into you, rumbling his approval against your skin and flexing his hips against yours even harder.

"Say it again, sugar."

"Fuck me, Joel, please," you whined. "Come for me. With me."

"Okay, hellcat." He was gasping for breath, trying to coax you off the edge before he fell himself. "Go on and let go, sweetheart. Let that sweet pussy come for me so pretty."

You tried, really, you did, but you'd held it back so hard that it took a second for the wave of your orgasm to finally wash over you, even once you'd tried to surrender.

When it did claim you, though, it nearly dragged you under.

It crackled over your skin like a lightning-storm, and once your body started to let go, Joel groaned loud and long, his hips crashing hard against yours. Fuck, he felt amazing losing that composure, surrendering to the feel of you. You fell that much further off the edge, the breath freezing in your chest as you both came, as he filled you up just like you'd begged him to. With a final, hard thrust, he stilled in you, but his touch persisted as you spasmed around him, your voice and your knees both giving out mid-wail.

"Fuck, baby, attagirl," he praised, holding you up with his arms around your middle, resting his forehead against your spine and panting into your skin as you shook and tried to catch your breath.

Warm hands roamed over your skin, tracing the trembling muscles in your arms, your core, your legs. You weren't sure how much more of Joel's attentions you'd be able to stand for. Literally. Your body was jelly and your vision was spotted, a dizzy, lightheaded feeling swimming through you as you gulped down breath after ragged breath.

"Come here to me, sweetheart," he bade, but he sounded far-away or underwater, the ringing in your cotton-fuzzed ears muffling his voice.

And you weren't going anywhere anyway, the newborn-deer feeling in your thighs and knees and calves keeping you clinging to the counter even as he bolstered you to standing upright.

Joel coaxed your arm around his neck, then scooped you up while you made an indignant squeak and tightened your hold around him.

"Hush now, angel," he said, quieting you with a kiss and slowly making his way down the short hall to your bedroom.

He laid you out gently on your bed and climbed in beside you, holding you close when you curled around his body.

"So fuckin' good for me, baby," Joel whispered, hot, fond hands stroking your hair, your neck, your shoulders. "Can't believe I went so long without you. Ain't ever gonna have to be without you again."

---------------------

You were flat on your back in the middle of the bed, sprawled-out and boneless, content as you could ever remember being.

Joel had slid out from underneath you just a moment ago, heavy footfalls thudding toward the kitchen. Ice clattered into a glass and the sink turned on as you tried to coax yourself into breathing semi-normally.

"Christ alive, sugar, your coffee's even good cold," he called as he came back down the hall. Joel peeked his head into the room and set a glass of icy water on your nightstand alongside your phone, then stepped in slowly, bending to kiss you and pressing a hand flat to your chest. "Drink that down 'fore I come back, baby."

A warm, fond feeling filled your chest and you reached for your phone, going into your contacts and finally changing Joel's name. Once you'd edited his contact, you went back to your home screen, only to notice that there was a notification on your messages.

You opened the app and found the unread message; it was from Joel earlier in the evening when you'd been sitting in the back of his truck:

--That pretty goddamn laugh of yours makes me wish I was funnier

You were beaming at your phone when he came back into the room a few seconds later.

"What's got you all giggly, sweetheart?" he asked, sinking back down into the bed next to you and wrapping you in his arms.

You burrowed into his neck, pressing your face to his throat.

"Just remembered what a fuckin' liar you are," you teased.

"Oh?" His voice was amused but half a threat.

"'Be spreadin' somethin' for you later, sugar-tits, but it ain't gonna be rose petals,'" you said in a cartoonishly thick version of Joel's drawl.

He rumbled a drawn-out hmm and squeezed you tight, then rolled you onto your back and loomed over you, straddling your tired legs as you laughed.

"Can't have you thinkin' I ain't a man of my word," he said, hooking his hands under your knees and parting them as he drew them up toward you, arranging your legs in a butterfly shape that sent your heart racing.

"I was only kidding, cowboy," you said, reaching to pull him down to kiss you.

"Too late, baby," Joel said, dotting your face with kisses before licking into your mouth and making you whine.

His touch roved over you and you hummed a contented sound, tipping your head back and closing your eyes.

"Oh, no, hellcat, you stay right here with me," he said, voice deep and solid as he took your chin in his hand and guided your gaze to his. “Want you to look at me while I’m fucking you this time.”

The part of you that had cautioned about writing checks your ass couldn't cash would be positively smug come morning.

----------------------

"Hey, don't put your filthy fuckin' hands on people, you prick," you called, storming across the bar and shoving hard at the guy's shoulder--some pawing, half-drunk shitheel who'd just grabbed a passing girl so indecently that she'd shrieked and dropped her drink. It had been an ass-grab the way a thirty-aught-six was a handgun, and the girl had fled the bar, red-faced and shaking. "You do that shit again, I'll break your goddamn arm for you."

You pushed a bar towel into the center of his chest and pointed at the puddle of liquor and glass on the floor.

"Clean that up." Like hell were you gonna see Frank down on the floor mopping up this fuckhead's mess. 

"Fuck you, bitch; clean it yourself," came his reply. "Bet you do just fine on your knees."

A low, masculine laugh sounded behind your shoulder, but it was not mirthful. It was pitying. 

"Something funny, asshole?" Ass-Grabber said to the person behind you. "What, you gonna defend the bitch's honor?" 

"Don't worry about me, slick," came Joel's voice, rinsing over you like bathwater. "Worry about her."

"I don't need to defend my honor from you," you said with a scowl. "Just clean up your goddamn mess."

"Or what? You gonna sic your daddy on me?" He nodded to Joel and you almost surged forward at him, hands clenched into fists, but a hand on the back of your neck steadied you. 

"Looks to me like she's got you handled, son," Joel said, releasing you. "But you lay one finger on my girl and you better hope to God she fuckin' kills you."

He patted your ass and walked off, all loose-shouldered ease, then took up a seat at the bar. 

"What're we doing, here, slugger?" you asked, checking your watch and then putting your hand on your hip. "What's it gonna be?"

His wind-up was beyond telegraphed, and you knew exactly how he was going to swing at you well before he did it. You side-stepped the blow and grabbed him by the wrist, using his momentum to haul him past you. Now behind him, you looped your arm around his neck and braced it with your other hand, yanking him backward and off-balance against your hip as you held him. 

10...9...8...

He flailed stupidly for a few seconds and then tried pulling at your elbow. When that failed, he swatted at you behind his head, but it was more annoying than harmful and you just held steady, biding your time.

4...3...2...

The weight against your hip began to slump, and you eased the dumb motherfucker down to the ground, letting his body slide to the floor along your leg as he lost consciousness. 

"Which one of y'all is gonna get him out of here and which one's gonna clean that shit up?" you asked his drinking buddies, exactly zero of whom had been inclined to come to his aid when he'd been running his mouth and didn't seem particularly interested now. So you had to prod, "Quickly, now--I hold on much longer and I risk a manslaughter charge."

Once the trash had been taken out, you returned to the bar and came up beside Joel, standing in the space between two stools and resting your weight against his hip. He put his face in your neck and breathed deeply.

"I am just..." Joel groaned softly, whispering worship in your ear, "Goddamn, baby, I am gonna fuck you so good later--I mean fuckin' senseless."

Heat spread over you and you curled your toes. "That's what does it for you, huh--me making a man clean up a mess? 'Cause I can make a mess for you to clean, handsome."

"Almost just did," he said, nodding toward where you'd just been fighting--if you could even call it that. "Fuck, I love it when you're mean."

"Here you go, Swayze," came Frank's voice, sounding like an absolute angel. You turned to hold out a hand and Joel grabbed it and put it behind your back.

"No. None of that goddamn tequila," he said to Frankie. "She ain't got nothin' but coffee in her, and I don't got bail money on me. One barfight’s enough for today."

You wrenched yourself free and shoved at Joel's shoulder.

Frankie held it up as if to say, 'well, what the fuck am I supposed to do with it now?'

"Dump it out, give it to one of these youngins, go make Danny's day in the back," Joel said, offering options as he took a bill from his pocket and put it on the bar. "I don't care what you do with it, long as it don't go in this one.” He pointed a finger at you, voice trailing off into a mutter as he added, "Black enough fuckin' mood already."

You crossed your arms and scowled at Joel, annoyed at his helicopter bullshit and annoyed again that he was right, both that you'd ordered tequila and also that you hadn't eaten.

You swatted him lightly with the back of your hand. "He started it."

"I know, baby. And you sorted him out. But now you need supper, and if you're still feelin' feisty after, we'll get you your tequila." He crowded into your space, forcing you to sitting on the bar stool as he slid his hand up into your hair, then whispered, "And if you're still feelin' feisty after that, I'll let you take it out on me."

Joel kissed you and you smacked him away as Frank cleared his throat. You gave an apologetic look to the old fella and asked, "What did you mean, 'Swayze'?"  

"He was in 'Roadhouse,'" he said by way of answer, polishing a glass and looking like a complete cliche. "Used to call you 'Paw Patrol,' 'cause of how cute and innocent you looked, but I had to change it."

"Frank ain't seen one goddamn movie made since 1990," Joel explained, "but he has seen a bunch of dogshit cartoons, apparently."

You smiled and nudged Joel with an elbow, then turned your attention back to the barkeep. "I don't look cute and innocent anymore?"

"Not since I seen you bust that one fella's nose and knee with the same stomp, youngin." 

"Just a lucky strike," you said dismissively, cheeks heating from the fondness in Frankie's voice. 

"First time, maybe." He looked at Joel and tipped his head toward you. "She'd've been a hell of an enforcer."

"Over my dead body," Joel said without a drop of humor. 

——————————

You would've been fine grabbing dinner at Frank's, but Joel had insisted, and now you were cozied up in a booth at some joint with crisp white cloths on the tables. Gun to your head, you'd swear that it was Sade coming out of the speakers. 

Everywhere in this part of Austin was stuck in the last century, apparently. 

You were eyeing the salads, fancying something fresh and crunchy and cold after a day of the Texas heat. 

Joel slipped the menu from your hands and turned it over, tapping the section with chicken and steak. 

“Get you something with some substance, sugar. You need more’n rabbit food.”

You rolled your eyes and turned the menu back over as the waitress approached the table. 

Joel’s hand rested patiently, chastely on your leg as you took your turn, squeezing your knee when you ordered a salad. 

“Suit yourself,” he warned, then ordered himself a steak, medium-rare.

No sooner than the server turned her back to retreat, Joel pulled your knee over his, parting your legs, then slid his hand up your thigh.

Your pulse began to pound in your chest, then lower as understanding dawned and you realized what he was doing. 

“Told you you’d need more’n rabbit food, sugar, but you didn’t listen. You never fuckin' listen.” Joel leaned closer and rumbled in your ear, “Number one.”

[pocketfullofkouhuns]

Give in Again

part 7/8 [previous]

summary: Joel shows up at the cafe like he said he would, but Hazel throws a wrench in his plans to have "coffee and almond pastries with my girl." You have questions, but it remains to be seen whether you can keep your hands off each other long enough to get any answers.

pairing: joel miller x f!reader [no use of y/n, no outbreak au, protective, sleazy joel is also a shameless flirt, and a little murdery, and maybe a little stalkery]

a/n: Pretty sure bar-sleaze!Joel possessed me when I was trying to finish this story because it was NOT supposed to go this long. I ended up breaking the finale into two just so it's easier for y'all to read—twenty-five thousand words (don't look at me) is a pretty fat commitment on a Monday. Thanks for waiting with me; I had two work crises, traveled cross-country to officiate a wedding (call me "Rev"), and then couldn't see out of one eye for a hot minute lol. But then the election happened and I was writing to dissociate, so… here we finally are. Last part's getting its final once-over and it'll be up in a little bit!

word count: 10.5k [47.8k so far of 62k total...sorry/not sorry]

warnings: canon-typical violence; eventual smutty payoff to a slow burn; sexually explicit dialogue; joel just wants to put his hands on you and get you to yell at him a little; and he'll do whatever it takes to get it to happen; possibly including manslaughter; don't worry about it, darlin'

You were useless the rest of the afternoon, your heart speeding up every time you caught a glimpse of Joel's flowers in your peripheral vision or felt his card—and his filthy promise—crinkle against your thigh. After about the third time you'd taken it from your pocket to look at it again, you gave serious consideration to hucking it in the trash where it couldn't torment you or, god forbid, gratify Joel, but you hadn't quite managed to throw it away. 

Your shop never resumed its typical flow of customers, leaving you trapped alone in a room that was wall-to-wall memories of the simmering—and frankly infuriating—tension that had been stretching out between the two of you over the past couple weeks. Anywhere you cast your gaze, your body provided some reminder of how it felt when Joel was touching you there—his thumb grazing over your collarbones by the counter after your fight with Trevor, his hands gently stroking your thighs as he knelt for you by the table and tended your cut, him pushing you against a wall and kissing you breathless before putting you on the bar and grinding into you... It had your skin buzzing hot and your core tight and your panties damp in a way that made you angrier than you could reasonably explain. 

Worse, Joel's stupid old rock music still played overhead; you'd given a passing thought to changing the station a handful of times in the days since he'd set it and then just...hadn't ever followed through. So every time a song came over the speakers that had played the night he'd been scrubbing Trevor's blood off your floor, your thoughts flew to Joel; the goddamn radio station must've had a playlist about ten songs long, too, because you were left thinking of him a lot. 

No other reason. 

Aaron and Eric had wrapped up a little after lunchtime, and with how slowly the afternoon ended up unfolding, you called it quits just shy of an hour early, moving through your closing chores with a touch of time to spare before you expected Joel to show up. 

His long, broad frame moved past your window at about five 'til, headed to Hazel's, presumably for the almond pastry he’d promised in his note that morning. Joel’s dark eyes never even shifted toward you as he prowled toward the bakery, looking back over his shoulder like someone had called his name. You decided not to notice, because noticing might make you ask a question and you didn't want that. Too many moments later, Joel came back in the opposite direction and you got a mischievous urge to scurry toward the door to lock it, palming off the light switches on the wall before he could approach.

You flattened your shoulders back against the wall, waiting in the silent, dim room for Joel's reaction when he tried to enter and found the space locked up and deserted. 

Instead, after only a handful of seconds had passed, he breezily entered the cafe, flipping on the light switches while you frowned. 

"Where you at, sugar?" he called, fully unaware you were scowling at his back. Casting his gaze around the room, Joel's eyes finally landed on you, brightening as they did. "There she is. 'S the matter, angel?"

"...I locked the door."

He closed the gap between you and settled his hands on your hips, looking you over. 

"Why's 'at? Tryin' to keep me outta here?"

"No, I just..." You were almost pouting. "I thought you'd knock and I'd..."

Tease you a little. Make you ask to come in.

"You have a key," you charged, the obvious answer coming to you as you spoke. "You...kept a key after you changed the locks."

"No, baby, 'course not." He shed his jacket and tossed it onto a stool at the counter. "I just picked the lock."

As though that were any better. 

"Prove it."

Joel put his arms out to the sides of his body. 

"Fuckin'...search me, angel. Christ, I'll beg you to do it. Do it nice an' slow.” He took your hands in his, then brought them to his chest. “Pat me down good, sweetheart, an' pay extra attention to my pockets, they're lookin' suspicious, ‘specially this left one."

He dragged your hands lower and you yanked them back and swatted him, rolling your eyes even as you swallowed a smile. Subtle as a blow to the back of the head.  

"Prove it by showing me how you picked the lock," you said, taking a step back from him and pointing to the door. 

"My way sounds a whole lot better, sugar, and you know it."

You crossed your arms over your chest and stared him down until he put his hands up in surrender. 

"Fine, baby, damn. Here." Joel patted his pockets and then stepped back out the door. 

Once you'd locked it behind him, you watched through the glass as he retrieved his knife from his pocket—some kind of multitool—and withdrew two slender metal lockpicks from it. His eyes didn't shift from yours as he slid the picks into the lock and set to work. After hardly a breath and a whisper of metal-on-metal sound, he turned the lock and opened the door. 

And then the smug bastard winked at you. 

"Without looking?" you said with a scoff. God, why was that kind of hot? "You are such an asshole."

He preened at that a little and you rolled your eyes, shaking your head. 

"Sight ain't got a damn thing to do with picking a lock, sugar," Joel said. "It's all about feel."

He held up a hand and used his first two fingers to gesture a finessed upward tapping motion as he explained, "You gotta go slow at first, gotta pay close attention to when the pins feel nice and tight for you and when there's no tension. Listen to what she wants and she'll come right undone for you, easy as breathin'."

The movements of his fingers, his words—the entire display, really—called to mind something that was very much not lockpicking, and judging by the way Joel's eyes roved over you as he spoke, you were sure it was deliberate. You refused him the satisfaction of a reaction, giving him cool disinterest as your heart rate skittered up. 

"Did you learn to pick locks so you could say gross shit like that?" 

Joel grinned at you, a crooked, winsome thing that had too much teeth to be a smirk but still felt like one anyway. 

"Just a bonus," he said, coming close to you and sliding his hands over your hips. "Now do I get frisked?"

"Maybe later if you're a good boy." 

“Oh, you don’t want me to be a good boy, hellcat, admit it.”

His phone buzzed and he pulled it from his pocket and looked briefly at the screen, then shook his head and huffed a laugh. 

“My idiot brother, fuckin’ with me,” Joel said, reaching past you to put the phone on the counter and then putting his arms back around you. "Was with him last night when I got your first, uh, picture."

You scowled at him and took a step back. "You didn't."

"Show him? Hell no. I ain't into none of that sharing shit." He claimed the ground you’d yielded, crowding you against the counter and sending your pulse racing. His voice was all gravel when he bowed low to drag his cheek over your neck and ask, "'Less you want me to. You want me to let him to see you, angel?"

You made a show of humming a thought, trying to distract yourself from the heat of his skin flaring against yours as he kissed your neck. "Actually...is he the hotter brother? You never said. Got a picture?"

“Yeah, sure.” Joel grabbed his phone again and thumbed at the screen. "Actually—here, I'll just send Tommy this one from last night and your number; we’ll see if he wants to send you a picture back.”

"Okay, okay, bluff called. Jesus. Don't."

He turned his phone around so you could see the screen. Blank. He shook his head, like you were foolish to think he'd ever actually send a picture of your tits to his brother.

"I'm a jealous man, darlin'. Ain't no way." With nowhere else for you to go, he pressed against you, turning up the thudding in your chest. "My pictures. My shirt. My girl. Mine.” His hands found your hips and his stare dropped to your mouth. “Ain’t no goddamn way.”

“Not your girl,” you said, putting a hand on the flat of his chest and pushing him out to arm’s length. 

The fire behind the words was starting to sputter out; your objections were getting perfunctory. Which pissed you off.

You took back your hand and made a gimme motion with your fingers. "Now give me my pastry, you degenerate."

"Sold out." Joel showed you his empty hands as if in evidence. "Also, that little friend of yours is a fuckin' menace, you know that?"

You half-snorted a laugh, reaching for your cell phone. "I do. I do, actually; I really do. Usually I'm the victim of it."

"Oh, it was about you," Joel said, but even as your head snapped up and you raised a brow, he didn't elaborate. "Got a mouth on her. Colorful. Colorful language. An' that's me sayin' that."

Joel looked tickled, verging on charmed, and on second thought, you honestly weren't sure you wanted to know what she’d said. Instead, you typed out a message to your ass-pain of a bestie. 

—You personally read his note this morning (may I remind you, you SNIFFED the note, you perv!) and somehow you did not save a single almond croissant?

—Are you fucking kidding me? I told David if he sold them all before he left at 1 I'd give him a $20 bonus 💸💸

—Because you hate me, or...?

—Because I LOVE you, bitch!! —Make that beautiful man take your fine ass OUT!! —...Also I tried to bribe D to go buy a box of Magnums at CVS but he said something about workplace harassment and I wasn’t sure if he was joking so I let it drop 🫣 —If he'd done it, I woulda saved a croissant. I was gonna put the condoms in the bag lol —So really, if you think about it, it's actually David's fault for being a square-bear 

“Looks like we’re going out, big guns,” you said. 

“Itchin’ to show me off, darlin’?” 

He smirked at you, and you should’ve known it didn’t bode well for Joel keeping to his best behavior. 

—————————————

"I run hot, sugar, I'll be fine, just take it."

Joel was offering you his coat again. It was just cool enough to warrant one now that the sun had set, and you hadn't grabbed yours on the way out the door. In a weak moment, you’d stuck your hands in your pockets and clenched your shoulders for a second and that was all it had taken to get him started.

You waved him off for at least the fifth time and continued down the sidewalk. The pair of you were wandering around, killing time and idly considering where to eat. He’d pointed at a half-dozen places so far, but none had called to you. They were all nicer than you were prone to—and frankly nicer than you were dressed for in your work clothes—and you weren’t in the mood for uppity gastropub bullshit either. But you didn’t know what you did want, so you were looking at the options and waiting for inspiration to strike.

"I have some questions for you," you announced. You'd been carefully compiling them in your head all day. Especially after the weird behavior of the workmen earlier, you realized you didn't know all that much about Joel.

"Jacket first," he said, looking down at you from his place at your side. 

You gave him a scowl. "Are you haggling with me right now?"

"Just settin' my terms, sweetheart."

"Some kind of fuckin' fetish with you, dude, you're fixated," you muttered, stopping on the sidewalk and putting out a hand to him. "Fine, god, give me the damn coat."

Joel slipped off his jacket and twirled a finger in the air, gesturing for you to turn around for him. You rolled your eyes and obliged, putting your arms behind you so he could help you into the coat. He smoothed his hands over your shoulders and then down your arms. 

The warmth against your skin was such a relief that you almost moaned. Okay, maybe you had been colder than you'd realized.

"And watch it with that 'dude' business, hellcat," he said, bowing to rumble it in your ear as he gave a warning squeeze to your hip. You curled your toes in your shoes but gave him no satisfaction. 

You turned to face him, bundling the coat around yourself pointedly. "Happy, Joel?"

"Thank you, baby."

He put his hand on the small of your back and guided you off the main path and toward an area with a few shade trees and a couple benches, string lights dancing in swooping lines overhead. Dusk had settled over Austin and the air was growing thick with dew and cricket song as you meandered toward a back corner of the space. 

"Go on, then," Joel bade you, giving you the green light to ask your questions. 

"No lying." You pointed at him in what would've been a threat, had it not been for the too-long arms of the coat giving a childlike air to the gesture that undermined your intimidation factor.

"Never," he vowed.

"'Cause I'll be able to tell."

"I'm sure you would," he said, looking you over as he took his seat in the middle of a bench, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back, legs sprawled out in ease. "I'm a piss-poor liar, sugar—always have been. That's why I never do it. 'Cept to cops. Ain't lyin' if it's to the law."

You blinked at him a moment. 

"Think I saw that embroidered on a pillow once," you said dryly. 

"Words of wisdom," he replied.

Probably best to just…gloss over that. 

"How do you know Frankie?" you asked instead. 

You’d figured it was a simple, straightforward question that would ease Joel into answering you, but his brows raised and he looked over your shoulder a second. 

"Shew, starting off strong." Joel blew out a breath and patted the seat next to him. "Alright, then, let's have it."

Your brows pulled together. "Have what?"

"Well, I don't mind a game of kiss-and-tell," he said, offering you his cheek and tapping it with a finger, "but you gotta hold up your end, sugar."

"Shouldn't you have to answer first?"

"Game ain't called 'tell-and-kiss', sweetheart." He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You rolled your eyes but bent down to press a kiss to his cheek, lips prickling from his stubble as you thumbed away the lipstick mark you left behind.

Joel grabbed the front of your jacket and pulled you back down to him, planting a kiss on your lips. 

You scowled at him, smacking at his shoulder.

"Talked about the eye-rolling, baby, didn't we? Had to teach a lesson. Here’s hopin’ it sticks this time. Hate to have to escalate.”

All you gave him was a dismissive hand-wave. "Frankie?" you prompted.

He hummed a thought. "Frank was a friend of my old man's—Army buddy from back in the day that he hired as a..." Joel scratched at his beard, either deliberately doing a Godfather impression or maybe just showing a natural talent for it. "...Jack-of-all-trades."

The South and its euphemisms. You had a pretty good idea of what he meant, and you knew enough to know you probably didn’t want to know any more. 

"This is going to permanently fuck up my view of the sweet old man who always puts a twist of lemon in my drink even though he tells everyone else they 'don't do that here,' I can just tell," you lamented. 

"Naw," he wrinkled his nose at you and shook his head but you were unconvinced. "But Frank's ol' lady, Doris, got tired of the, uh, unpredictability of the gig. He bowed out, started tending bar for one of Pop's...contacts. Dorie passed a handful of years ago but he reckoned if she wanted him out of the life 'fore she went, he best oughta stay out. But he’s been like a second father to me.”

A fond little squeeze pinched in your chest and you were three-quarters tempted to say 'fuck it' to your supper out and go have a burger at the bar so could hug Kelsey Franklin around his thick, kindly, apparently scary old neck.

“And am I to understand this is a…family business?” you asked, already dreading the answer. 

Joel bade you closer with the crook of a finger and then lifted his chin to you, awaiting his payment. You pecked your lips to his and he raised his brows at you in return. 

“Don’t short-change me, now, angel,” he cautioned you. “Else I might short you back.”

You smiled and snorted softly in disbelief, aborting an eye-roll at the last second, then bent down to kiss him again, sliding your hand over his neck and lingering with your lips on his as Joel’s fingertips skimmed over your throat, sending a hum across your skin. 

“Attagirl.” He leaned forward on the bench, hands clasped between sprawled-wide knees. “Mostly no, but in the name of honesty, let’s just say that sometimes somebody needs a favor and they might be creative about what they offer in exchange. I’m a businessman, darlin’, I gotta be open to a good deal when it walks up and introduces itself.”

Clear as mud, but you didn’t call him on it, not quite sure you wanted a more direct response. Instead, you moved on to the subject that had vexed you just a few hours ago.

“Why were your glass guys so skittish and fuckin’...weird around me? Aaron and Eric—they acted like they were afraid of getting in trouble for talking to me.”

At that, Joel laughed, which was…unexpected. He was still laughing when he waved you forward to collect his due, but he was all seriousness by the time his mouth met yours, tasting your lower lip and humming a hungry, satisfied sound as his teeth softly bit your flesh. A creeping little tingle spread over your skin in answer to him hooking his fingers into your belt loops and hauling you close, trying and failing to yank you into his lap. Your hands crashed into his chest, holding you upright against all his resistance.

And, like, maybe some of your own. A little. 

“Lord almighty, I—” He laughed again, a horrifically charming thing that had you literally biting your tongue to hold back a smile. “I told ‘em I— Christ, I said if they made a move on my girl I’d fuck their wives. Both of ‘em. All or nothin’. One fuck-up, two fucked wives.”

You frowned. 

“Is there a reason they took that as such a serious and immediate threat?”

He ought to have charged you a kiss for that one, but he didn’t, still a little pink-cheeked with roguery and laughter as he shrugged and said, “Reckon I don’t got much of a reputation as a joker, is all.”

It seemed true enough—Joel definitely seemed more the fuck-your-wives type than the just-joshing type—but you crossed your arms and stared him down a moment anyway, just to be sure.

“God’s honest, baby,” he promised, holding his hands up. “I been chasin’ after you too long to fuck it up at first and goal.”

You grimaced. “Fucking…gross, dude, come on."

Joel gave a slow, warning shake of his head. “None of that, now, hellcat.”

Conveniently, though, that brought you to your longest-standing question. You steeled yourself and blurted it out before you lost your nerve.

"Where did you get my number; why did you ever even text me in the first place? You weren’t even really—ugh—chasing after me.”

Joel winced, but it was all for show; there was a smirk underneath that pinched brow. 

"Ooh, that's a two-part question, sugar," he said, voice playing at apology as he reached for you, his hands finding yours and tugging you closer. The look in his eye had gone a little darker, a little more intense. "Them’re gonna cost extra."

He slid his hands into your jacket, wandering over your hips and your ass and the backs of your thighs, spurring your heart to a sudden gallop. Joel pulled you into him, coaxing you to kneeling on the bench, your knees on either side of his thighs. 

You weren’t sure if you were grateful or sorry that you were wearing jeans and not a dress. Grateful, you were pretty sure, judging by the look on Joel’s face, even if straddling his lap in jeans was wildly uncomfortable. But then his fingers slid up your chest, around your neck and up into your hair, bringing your face to his and you found yourself reconsidering. The dress might’ve had its perks. 

It was a gluttonous thing, the way he kissed you, tasting and taking and devouring. His grasp tightened in your hair and you made a faint, desperate little sound that had Joel grabbing fistfuls of your shirt and shifting his hips up against yours. 

Footsteps and conversation crossed past the entrance to the tiny park you were in, followed by soft, bubbling laughter, and you pulled back, breaking the kiss as shamefaced embarrassment heated your chest and face. But Joel took you by the curve of your jaw, his hand against your throat, and held your gaze pointedly. 

“Eyes on me, darlin’.” His voice was a low whisper, brushing over your skin as Joel took another kiss from you. 

God, he was all skimming, gentle touches in one breath, then fists and teeth in the next; it was almost disorienting, mirroring your own wrestling for control, a tug of war whose balance tipped moment to moment. His hands slid down under your ass and pulled you against him, rocking you against the bulge in his jeans. The feel of him, the thrill of him touching you, the tension that had been coiling around the two of you all started to turn into something immediate and dire. 

There wasn’t enough air. You were panting as you freed yourself from his grasp and got your feet back on the ground, standing up on embarrassingly weak knees and nearly staggering as you took a few steps away from Joel, trying to get out of reach of whatever weird fucking hold the swaggering cock had on you. 

“Just—“ You gulped down a breath and held up a hand as if to ward Joel off. “You’re just trying to distract me.”

“Tryin’ to do a hell of a lot more’n distract you, sugar,” he said, smirking as he rubbed lazily at the lipstick you’d left on his mouth. “You tellin’ me you weren’t enjoying yourself?”

You sidestepped the question. “I’m not fucking you in a public park, you pervert.”

“How ‘bout a private one?” Joel offered. “I can make a call.”

He sprawled on the bench, legs spread wide, both arms draped over the backrest, looking like an absolute invitation. 

“Up. C’mon, we’re leaving.” You held out a hand to him, waggling your fingers. “Those hands are not to be trusted in the dark.”

“Ain’t to be trusted in the light, neither, angel,” he said, but he took your hand and stood up. Once on his feet, you released his hand, but he didn’t let you go. Instead, he tugged you toward him and used his other thumb to smooth your mussed lipstick.

“Hmm,” he pondered, holding your chin to gently turn your head side to side as he regarded you. “Little too done-up, now.”

He kissed you one more time and checked his work. “Perfect.”

You gave a small scoff and shook your head, then used his grip on your hand to pull him out of the park and back out onto the street, where he might be slightly more inclined to behave himself.

Just as you opened your mouth to prompt him to give you the answers he owed, he started to speak.

“Brought that buddy of yours into Frank’s one night and y’all were sitting up at the bar. You were next to me, but turned toward her, laughin’ and carryin’ on with a good-day drink in your hand—”

“How do you know about my good-day, bad-day drink thing?”

“That’s a separate charge,” he said, matter-of-fact. You made your payment, a quick, chaste, sidewalk-appropriate thing, and Joel grumped a little, but he answered.

“Whiskey sidecar with a smile, chilled tequila with that pretty little wrinkle between your brows—” He brushed his thumb over your forehead and your whole scalp tingled. “Wasn’t hard to put together. Learned pretty quick I didn’t need to worry about you goin’ home with nobody on tequila nights, but I did need to keep a lookout for fist-fightin’.”

Joel pointed toward a restaurant with a question in his eyes and you nodded, relief and hunger flaring up in you all at once. It was one of Austin’s many meat-and-threes—hardly what Hazel would’ve had in mind when she forced Joel into ‘taking you out,’ but it sounded completely perfect to you just then. Your glimpse through the window showed an interior that was a combination of crowded-with-patrons and devoid-of-decor that basically guaranteed the food would be good. He pulled open the door and put a hand perilously close to your ass as he guided you inside. You smacked him away but walked through.

Immediately, you knew in your soul that it was the right restaurant. The scent of spices and smoked meat tingled at the back of your nose as you made your way to the counter, eyeing the offerings. You had a hell of a time deciding what to get; everything looked obnoxiously good and skipping over any of the options was all but unthinkable. 

Heat wavered against your ear as Joel leaned close and said, “If we both get somethin’ different, we can have a little bit of everything.” 

You rolled your eyes back in played-up ecstasy and fanned yourself with a hand. “Easy, cowboy, a girl can only get so aroused.”

“Limits are for folks who lack imagination, sugar,” he said as a hand slid over the back of your neck and squeezed lightly. 

You took your food to go. 

—————————————

“Damn, baby, you in that big a hurry to get me home?"

Back out on the sidewalk, you’d been moving with your usual sense of purpose now that you weren’t scouting around for a restaurant.

Trouble was, your ‘usual sense of purpose’ was most people’s, uh, speedwalking. You’d forgotten that Joel wouldn’t be used to it. 

“Keep up or get left behind,” you warned. 

“‘Left behind,’ huh?” Joel jingled his keys in your direction. “You gonna hot-wire my truck?”

You sighed and slowed your gait to a plod, flat-footed and slumping dramatically.

A threatening offer of ‘need me to pick you up and carry you, sweet angel?’ was all it took to get you to resume a more normal walking speed. 

“Fine, but now you’ve got enough breath to finish giving me the answer I already paid for.”

“I better hurry up, then—be rude to talk with my mouth full.”

You leveled a look at him and he grinned, holding the bag of food aloft. 

“There’s that wicked, filthy mind of yours again.” He leaned down close to your shoulder and added, “‘Sides, table manners ain’t got no place in the bedroom, now, do they, hellcat?”

Heat crept up your neck, but you refused to let him see you staggered. 

“Well, I never took you for the type to be overly burdened by table manners anyway, cowboy.”

“Nothing wrong with lickin’ the plate clean if it’s a good meal.” 

You snorted, lengthening your stride a little as you approached the truck, then reached for the handle and tugged on it fruitlessly; the door was locked. Casting a glance over your shoulder, you found Joel wearing amusement on his face, waiting patiently for…something.

Again, you tried the door handle, this time with a pointed look in his direction. Unlock the door, dummy.

“Tryin’ to put me out of a job, darlin’?”

Joel perched the food on the edge of the truck bed to empty his hands, and only after he’d hooked a finger into your back pocket and hauled you away from the door did he unlock it, finally pulling it open for you. You easily got yourself up into the truck by use of the running board and a grip on the door, but still got a ‘helpful’ push from Joel—his touch low enough on your ass to make you squeak with surprise when he grabbed a handful with an extremely indecent squeeze, thumb grazing the center seam of your jeans. 

Hot-faced and rabbit-hearted, you jabbed the ‘lock’ button for the doors the moment yours closed, not sure what you were intending beyond general misbehavior after Joel had been a rule-breaking little shit first. 

Your brain searched but scrambled, and when he tugged on the handle of his own door and found it locked, then pushed the ‘unlock’ button on the key fob, your knee-jerk reaction was to lock Joel’s door again before he could open it up.

“Sugar, are we gonna need to do something about you showing that pretty little ass of yours in public?” he warned, muffled through the truck window as you looked out through the windshield. 

There was a beat or two of silence and then the door gave a decisive click as it unlocked, as though Joel’s cautionary remark had been enough to settle the matter. 

You pressed the button again and the door locked just as he pulled the handle. 

Cool as it had been in the open air and the shadows, it was hot as shit in the truck after it had baked in the sun before dark had fallen. Heat had gathered in the cab and solidified, turning the air into something stifling and soup-thick. Maybe not the best setting for mischief, but oh, well. 

“Angel…”

It took everything you had to keep your face straight as you looked at Joel through his truck window, with just the slightest ‘well?’ eyebrow raise.  

“What was the rule, cowboy?” you asked, fanning yourself with a folded piece of paper you took from the center console. 

He leveled a look at you that made your face a little hotter and then shifted the keys in his hand. A moment later, the engine fired up, the air conditioner heaving to life to blast your face with a wonderfully cool wind.

Not a sufficient bribe. When he unlocked the doors, you locked them again. 

“A nice start,” you praised, “but I’m gonna need to hear you use your words, handsome. It’ll be good practice for you.”

Joel’s demeanor shifted, his eyes softening as they slid down your body and then back up to your face. His shoulders loosened and his smirk thawed into something you’d nearly have to call affectionate. 

“No ass-grabbing, baby, I’m sorry,” he finally admitted, and you unlocked the door. “Even though I know it gets you all kinds of excited when I put my hands on you.”

He said it as he pulled the handle, and even though you tried to lock it back in punishment of his remark, you were too slow, and Joel was getting into the cab before the little spike in your heart rate could even out. 

“Knew talkin’ about putting my hands on you would get you to let me in,” he said, and you popped him in the shoulder for the crime of overconfidence. 

“It was your reprimand about me ‘showing my ass’ that did it, actually.” You couldn’t help but knock him down a peg after he’d climbed so high bribing you to kiss him. “Reminded me of my papaw—I couldn’t just leave an old man locked out in the cold with no coat. You might catch your death out there.”

Joel made a pained groan as he rolled down the windows, exchanging the stifling air in the cab for a fresh breath of evening. “Christ Almighty, hellcat, just beat me and leave me for dead next time. ‘Reminded me of Papaw,’ good god.”

A burst of laughter exploded out of you like a popped balloon. “Well! Maybe just say I’m being a vicious little bitch next time like a normal person, instead of that weird shit nobody’s heard since the Alamo.”

“You want me to tell you what a bad, naughty thing you are, sugar?” he asked, low and almost amused as his hand squeezed your leg. “Tell you I’m gonna bend you over my knee and teach you to behave?”

Rather than give him the satisfaction of seeing you make a disgusted face, you put your hand over his, then slid your touch up his arm and to his neck, weaving your fingers into his hair before speaking in a lurid, whining whisper. “You gonna dock my allowance, too, daddy? Take my teddy bear and put him up in the top of your closet so I’m sad and lonely and need you? Mmmh? Daddy?”

Joel finally grimaced and flinched away from your touch. 

“Mercy, darlin’, damn,” he pleaded as the thrill of victory sang through you. “Shit’s sake, I gotta get some food in you, that teddy bear thing was depraved, even for me.”

Minutes later, you were still dissolving into laughter anytime Joel looked at you, face disbelieving in a way you’d never seen it, pulling fondly at the corners of his eyes. 

—————————————

Once you got off the congested side streets and back onto mostly open road, Joel began talking again, blurting a sentence like he’d finally gotten it right in his head and didn’t want to risk losing it by waiting for the right moment to speak. 

“It was the night you brought your friend into Frank’s and that little firefighter fella was layin’ it on thick, ‘til you finally gave him your phone number—you remember?”

You turned your head toward him, eyes roaming his face as you thought it over, but ultimately came up empty. 

“I…don’t, actually?” A thought occurred to you. “Oh, wait, no—the EMT? The, uh”—you flapped a roundabout gesture between your head and your chest—“hurricane guy? The one whose friend made him come talk to me and then yelled ‘tell her about your Purple Heart!’ across the bar like a lunatic?”

“That’s the one,” Joel said. 

He was a vet from up north—a Marine, maybe?—and a Paramedic, in Texas as a volunteer after Hurricane Beryl. He’d hardly been laying it on thick; you’d thought he was hitting on Haze until he’d asked for your number and not hers. 

“The ‘little fella’ was like…an inch shorter than you,” you said.  “Maybe.”

“‘Little fella’ ain’t got nothing to do with height.” Joel adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. “I coulda took him.”

You bit your lips together to hold in a laugh, then set to baiting Joel, the scent of blood in the water too tempting to resist.

“I don’t know… That t-shirt was pretty tight in the chest and back, there was some muscle there. He had a toss-a-girl-around build. Maybe I should call him.”

He’d long since gone back home, you were sure of it, but you were just looking to get a rise out of Joel.

“Sugar, don’t make me hunt that boy down and whoop his ass on principle,” he warned, leveling a glare at you. Joel took a slow breath and went on. “Anyhow. That was when I got your number. I didn’t save it right away; tried not to, tried not to hear it at all, honest, it just…got stuck in my head like a song, I reckon. Man’s only got so much willpower—eventually, mine ran out.”

You opened your texts with Joel and scrolled all the way to the oldest message. 

“‘Ambulance only takes five minutes to come, sugar, that’s all I’m sayin’,” you read in your most matter-of-fact voice. “‘You deserve better.’ This was your opening line?”

“I stand by it,” Joel said simply. 

Somehow, this sent your face hot and your heart rate soaring. Still, you kept your voice mild as you so foolishly asked, “How long’s it take a contractor-slash-vague ‘businessman’?” 

“Long as he wants it to, angel.” His hand slid higher on your leg, fingers curving around the inside of your thigh. The cold wind spilling in the window whispered against your neck, spreading goosebumps in its wake. 

Ignoring the needy tension building low in your stomach, you slapped the back of Joel’s hand and pushed his wrist back down to a less-gropey altitude. Even with his hand way down at your knee, his fingertips playing idly at the inner seam of your jeans had you putting in extra effort to wrench your focus to the conversation at hand. 

“I paid extra for a two-parter,” you prompted. “‘How’ is covered, so now we’re just left with ‘why.’”

Joel was not subtle or shy in his answer, and he gave it like he’d already considered it before.

“Which ‘why’ are you lookin’ for here, sweetness? Why did a beautiful, sharp-tongued woman in a coffee shop catch my eye, like those ain’t a man’s three favorite things? Why did I find myself wantin’ you to holler at me, smile at me, scream for me? Or why did I hold back from tryin’ to talk to you, tryin’ to touch you after I saw the soft under all that sharpness and knew any bit of me would only rough up them pretty, smooth edges?”

The confession was offered so casually that the words took a minute to register before they stirred a swarm of butterflies in your gut. His thumb brushed back and forth over your knee, and you let yourself kind of marvel at how normal and natural it was starting to feel, without wrapping yourself in prickly, arm’s-length protectiveness. 

You just rested your elbow on the center console, wrapping your hand around his biceps, offering him a touch in return. 

Less-familiar roads blew past the open truck windows, the humid, cool air blowing through the cab and mixing with the spicy, rich scents of takeout. 

“This isn’t the way to my house,” you realized all at once.

And obviously, you expected some drawled-out, syrupy comeback along the lines of ‘it’s a shortcut, sugar-tits—southern charm, innuendo, innuendo,’ because it was Joel. 

“Sure ain’t, darlin’,” he said instead, catching you off-guard for the second time in quick succession. 

“And you didn’t think it would be necessary to tell me where we’re going, or—I don’t know—ask if it’s okay first?”

It wasn’t fear that was making you bristly and petulant—Hazel had your location and had been sending you little check-ins all evening—it was mostly just the principle of the matter, and the thorny, awful part of you that got its dander up at being treated with familiarity. 

“Figured you’d rather head someplace that won’t have the neighbors filin’ a noise complaint.”

You swallowed the urge to snort and roll your eyes. You wished you had a noise-averse neighbor; Haze was more the type to huddle up to the wall with a glass to her ear like an ‘I Love Lucy’ cliché and text you live commentary. 

“Noise complaint?” You knew damn good and well that the next thing out of his mouth would be something sleazy, and yet—to your shame—you were encouraging him anyhow, practically setting the disgusting remark up yourself.

“From all the hollerin’ and moaning—”

You punched Joel’s shoulder, a cross-body thing that you really threw your weight into, fully aware that it wasn’t gonna hurt him anyway from that angle. 

“Over how good your supper is, baby, damn,” he finished, a noise of surprise quickly turning into a chuckle as he glanced sidelong at you with that mischief fully alight behind his eyes. “I just know you’ve been thinkin’ about it over and over since last night. Daydreamin’ about how bad you need yourself some hot, fresh, Texas-raised meat to fill up that pretty mouth―”

You hit his shoulder a second time, biting back a laugh. “Sicko.”

“Still just talkin’ about supper.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know exactly what you’re talkin’ about, cowboy. Mind your manners; the next punch is lower.”

“‘Punch’? Here I thought you was tryin’ to tickle me, sugar. That was s’posed to hurt? Was that fancy fighting instructor of yours runnin’ a preschool or somethin’?”

“Sorry I wasn’t going for a submission hold on someone behind the wheel of the car I’m in,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “Might come as a surprise, but I’m not looking to die in some redneck’s truck because he wrapped the damn thing around a tree.”

“Never, angel,” Joel vowed. “I got precious cargo.”

“The takeout?” you asked. 

“The takeout.” He gave a solemn nod, then slid his hand between your seatbelt and your body, grabbing hold and tugging it tight against you. “Still—safety first. We can come back to that ‘submission hold’ thing later.”

Joel pulled the truck onto a side street, gravel crunching loudly under the tires. ‘Side street’ quickly devolved into ‘off-road,’ though, and you’d thought Joel was just being a sleaze by dragging his hand over your tits to tighten your seatbelt—and he was—but it came in handy in keeping you from bouncing around the cab.

A cry of ‘what the fuck, dude?’ was finally jostled loose from your brain and came flying out of your mouth. 

“Baby…” He turned his head to give you a ‘watch it’ look, averting his eyes from the barely-there gap in the scrub brush that passed for a path, a dizzying, bright onslaught in the glare of the headlights. 

“Joel, fuck, god, fine! Eyes on the road!” Adrenaline had your heart trying to leap out of your chest, making you short of breath and more than a little testy. “If you wanted to dump my body somewhere, that’s whatever, but you could’ve at least had the decency to kill me bef—oh.”

The view through the windshield changed abruptly from scraggly underbrush to the twilit face of Travis Lake, crowned by twinkling city lights in the distance. 

“You got control issues, sweetheart,” he teased. “We’ll work on that.” 

But you were too distracted by your surroundings to respond. When Joel looped around the clearing, reversing up to the cliff’s edge overlooking the view, you craned your neck, turning in your seat to keep it in your sights.

As the truck settled into park, you reached for the door handle, but the lock clicked into place and Joel gave you a quick little sound of disapproval. 

You crossed your arms over your chest and glared.

“I’m the one with control issues, huh?” you said as Joel got out of the truck.

“Ain’t about controllin’ you, sugar,” he replied through the open window as he rounded the hood. “It’s respect.”

Something told you respect wasn’t something Joel offered very freely, and it would’ve almost been sweet, if he hadn’t immediately followed it by opening your door and breathing, “remember that for later, hellcat, ‘cause you might be inclined to forget” against your neck like a threat as he reached across your body to undo your seatbelt. 

The yellow overhead lights must’ve highlighted how dark your cheeks flushed, because Joel gave you a smirk, then turned you sideways in your seat by hooking his hand around your knee and tugging you toward him. 

You only meant to press a faint kiss to his mouth, only barely tasted him as your lips met his. But Joel fell on you half-starved, hand at the back of your head doing as much to hold you upright against his onslaught as it did to pull you hard against him. He made a low, hungry sound as he kissed you, spreading a warm, electric feeling over your chest until he rather abruptly leaned back, offering you a hand. 

“Come get your supper, darlin’, you’re gonna need the energy.”

—————————————

“There aren’t any forks in here,” you said, emptying out the bag and turning it over as if it were a statement that needed proving. “Napkins either.”

Joel got down from where he was sitting on the tailgate. “Ought to be some napkins in the glovebox.”

“Don’t suppose you’ve got a fork in there?” you asked hopefully. “Chopsticks, even?”

“Chopsticks,” he muttered, disbelieving. “There’s brush-sticks everywhere if you’re wantin’ to stab your food with any ol’ twig, angel.”

“I guess I’ll pass on scooping up beans with a random stick.”

“‘Sides…” The truck door closed and gravel shifted under his feet as he returned to you. He unbuttoned his shirt cuffs and rolled his sleeves up over his forearms as he declared, “Anything’s finger food if you’re man enough, angel.”

He reached into the bed and grabbed a round, bright-orange cooler with a white lid, ice noisily sloshing within as he picked it up and placed it on the edge of the truck. Droplets of cold water pattered onto your leg as Joel rinsed his hands one at a time under a stream of water from the spout at the bottom. 

“Just had that ready to go, did you?” you asked, only slightly mocking. “Hell of an emotional support water bottle you got there.”

“Knew you ain’t never had a blue-collar man before,” was all he offered as a response, shaking his head. And so you rinsed your hands, jerking them back at the first splash of icy water against your skin. Took more willpower than you would’ve expected to hold steady under the bitterly frigid stream as you rinsed them off. 

“Christ, that’s cold.” You shook your hands, both to dry them and to get a bit of blood back into your fingers. 

“Got a couple ideas for how you can warm them pretty hands back up…” Joel offered. 

Your face heated, if not your hands, and you flicked the last of the water at Joel’s face. “Kind of undermines the point of washing them in the first place, don’t you think?”

“I just meant putting your sweet little fingers around this, dirty girl.” He held a takeout container toward you, voice nearly a rumble as he added, “‘Sides, sugar, it’s all gonna end up in your mouth anyhow.”

“Jesus Christ.” You shoved at his shoulder and took the food, grateful to find it had been packed well enough to still be hot. Joel opened his plate right as you did, and everything looked and smelled so incredible that you let out a soft, involuntary sound of excited anticipation. 

“Attagirl. You let it out, baby,” he encouraged. You bumped him half-assedly with your knee against his but only had eyes for your supper. 

Eating greens and black-eyed peas and corn pudding with your fingers was something you were gonna need to work your way up to, so you grabbed a slice of brisket first, the meat tender enough to fall apart as you picked it up and brought it to your lips.

“Fuck me, that’s good.” Warm, smoky spices spread across your tongue, and the sound you made verged on indecent. 

“Let me get a meal in me first, darlin’,” Joel said, earning himself an elbow as you covered your mouth with your hand, just to chew more discreetly—definitely not to disguise a laugh.

A faded, distant mix of country and alt-rock drifted out the back window—not a word of it from this century—fading in with the sounds of night-birds and insect song as you looked out over the sparkling lights of the lake, the stars overhead shining like jewels in the moonless twilight. 

Pinching together another bite, you turned to offer it to Joel. You just meant for him to take it from you, but he grabbed hold of your wrist instead and raised your hand to his mouth. Because of course he did. 

“Oh, we’re doing this now?” you said, putting on a slight grimace that you knew did little to dim your smile, and in answer, Joel laid it on thick, licking obscenely between your thumb and forefinger as he took the bite, letting out a gratuitous, filthy moan before kissing the remnants from your fingertip. 

A head-shake seemed like what he would expect, so you smudged your food-smeared thumb over Joel’s lips and chin as punishment instead. His response was to put his food and yours aside then pull you in with handfuls of his jacket, kissing you breathless like half the point was to smear meat grease on your face in the process. 

When biting his lip didn’t work to repel him, you nuzzled into Joel’s throat, kissing and biting lightly before sputtering a raspberry against his skin, making him flail backward away from you, rubbing his neck against his shoulder as you tried not to laugh. 

“Dirty poker, sugar,” he admonished. 

“Well, then, you oughta wash it, cowboy,” you retorted. “Now eat your dinner.”

And you did, swapping plates back and forth to share a taste of everything, marveling at how perfect it all was. Every morsel was better than the last, more than once drawing a pleased sound from you that never failed to provoke Joel to ask whether you were glad you’d gone someplace so private and remote. 

Before long, you’d finished your meal, even gratifying Joel by scraping together one last taste of the sweet potato casserole with the tip of a finger. You’d relaxed into the truck bed, leaning against him as you stared up into the hole-punched, black-velvet sky, serenaded by voices from the stereo that were still familiar from far-gone days. 

“Oh, I had one more.” You remembered the last of your questions all the sudden, leaving you patting Joel’s thigh urgently. 

“Go on, then—let’s have it,” he said, turning you to face him with a solid grip on your legs, then tugging you close. 

"Why did you never come back to the cafe? If you..." You shook your head and made a grossed-out, distressed sound, looking down at your hands instead of Joel’s face; you hated the question and you hadn’t even asked it yet. “If you liked me, why not just come back in and talk to me?"

Joel hummed in thought, palms roving over the outsides of your thighs as if grounding himself, sending your heart rate soaring, your stomach flipping with anticipation and tension. 

He took a deep breath, and finally, he seemed to have an answer. 

"Alright, then," he said, giving a small nod. 

The kiss he took as payment wasn't an excuse to paw at you or to try and get you flustered. 

It was slow and tender, hands cradling your face as he breathed your air and tasted your lips, his thumbs sweeping gently over your cheeks.

It was some mixture of declaration and pleading. It was the kiss you’d give in an airport, at the departures gate when your dearest hope is for an eventual reunion. It was a kiss that brought to mind a midnight rainstorm and limbs entwined in sleep, a home-cooked meal or a graveside goodbye. 

It was sincere. 

Affectionate. Intimate. 

Most of the sex you'd had in your life had been less intimate than that kiss.

It drew a short whimper from your throat, made you cling a little tighter to the arms that held to you, and when Joel’s teeth dragged gently over your lower lip and he hummed into your mouth, the heat that flared through you was almost enough to knock you flat. Even as he tried to ease away, you kept him close, savoring the feel of him another moment before you let it end, let your faces part, let distance come between you again. 

Joel kissed the corner of your mouth, then kissed your cheek as he pulled back.

“I did,” he said with a shrug, gaze not flinching from yours. “Place was crowded as all hell—you really ought to get more help in there, darlin’—an’ I posted up in a corner to wait for things to thin out, but that whole time, all I saw was you… Laughin’ and smilin’ and carrying on, askin’ folks about their day, their kids, their work. You used your teeth on the shitheels, sure, but with everybody else, you were…”

He cleared his throat and shook his head, rubbing his hands over your legs with what you might think was nerves if you didn’t know better.

“Thought, after I saw you dealin’ with that pig-nosed fuckin’ Glenn,” Joel said with a sneer, squeezing your hips slightly, “you might be one of my kind. You had them claws, that venom I wanted in my veins so bad, but once I got a chance to see you, it fell apart. That ain’t you, it’s just pretend.”

Your heart was pounding all the way down to your fingertips and the prickling, wretched parts of you wanted to bare the teeth Joel seemed so fond of.

Failing that, they wanted to run. 

Either way, they were struck silent in the face of his words.

“Knew touching you would be poison, some kind of black mark on you or somethin’. Couldn’t bring myself to drag you down to my level, but I could keep an eye on you, pass by in the mornin’s and check that you were alright.” Joel’s hands skimmed idly up and down your sides like he wasn’t throwing your entire view of him out on its ass. You fought to keep your brows from pinching together as he continued, “‘Bout fell off my barstool the night you walked into Frank’s, but I behaved myself. Then you kept comin’ back. Like we was playin’ house after a while, ‘cept a…haunted one, I reckon. Without you seein’ me.” 

“What changed your mind?” 

You paid for your answer without prompting, offering Joel a kiss that lingered, your fingers pacing over the back of his neck and up into his hair. 

“Didn’t.” He was almost rueful, giving you a single, slow shake of his head. “You touched me first. Damage was done. So was I.”

That first night at Frank’s—well, the first night you’d seen him at Frank’s—was a bit of a blur, but your memory presented you with a clear picture of your hand on Joel’s arm, asking him twice to stay as gooseflesh bloomed over his skin. 

“Well at least one of us has the backbone God gave a fucking churchmouse.” you said, swatting for his chest. “You big coward.”

“Easy, now, baby; them’s fightin’ words.” There was just a shadow of admonishment in his voice as he caught your hand and brought it to his face, leaning into the touch. “There’s three things you don’t call a man: a coward, a liar, or a fool.”

You tapped his face lightly with your palm. “Then maybe quit trying to go for all three, you—”

A buzz sounded out against the truck bed, loud enough to almost send you jumping out of your skin. 

“You’re lucky,” you said, jabbing a finger at Joel’s chest as you dug your phone out of your back pocket. 

—You’ve been on a cliff in bumblefuck nowhere for over an hour

The message was from Hazel—naturally—and was quickly followed by several more.

—Are you dead or are you LIVING? —Blink twice if you’re being railed by a skanky-hot redneck —Assuming your hands still work —And aren’t tied to something  —Freak Nasty highkey seems the type tbh

A snorted laugh almost distracted you from the little drop your stomach did at her words. Each new line made you breathe a laugh all over again, your face and chest damn near on fire; you were grateful to be sitting more or less in the dark. 

“Jesus Christ, Haze,” you muttered under your breath as you waited for her to stop typing before you replied. 

—I’m alive and unrestrained, you beautiful weirdo.

A message from Joel appeared at the top of your screen—’what’s so funny, angel?’—despite him sitting right next to you. You turned your phone around to show him Hazel’s fully unhinged texts right as the phone vibrated again.

He looked down at the screen just as a fresh pushdown notification announced that you had another new text from ‘Bar Douche—DO NOT ANSWER’.

“Still, sugar? Damn.” Joel pulled loose a lock of your hair, letting his eyes flit over your face. “What’s a man gotta do to earn his name back?”

He leaned in as if to kiss you and you held him back, not planning to be so easily pacified. Undeterred, he simply went back to casually rubbing his palms over your thighs, pausing to knead at them from time to time in a way that sent a stirring tension through you. 

“I haven’t decided yet,” you said with a glare, ignoring the way his gaze lingered on your mouth and how it kicked your pulse a little higher. He had been weeks with that Bar Douche bullshit; a week or two of hardly-civilized behavior didn’t seem enough recompense, and Joel seemed to value his name enough that withholding it felt like a fitting punishment.

Your phone buzzed another time and you both looked down in unison.

—WHY ARE YOU NOT BLINKING TWICE??

“Seems like as good a place as any to start,” Joel offered, nodding at the phone. He pushed the jacket off of one of your shoulders and bit lightly at its crest. You sucked in a short breath as tingling tension spread over your skin. “I’ll get you to say my name, an’ then maybe you’ll give it back to me.”

The bristling, staticky feeling of his beard against your throat almost made you shiver, but then he spoke softly in your ear—’I know I can get you to say it so pretty for me, sweetheart’—and kissed your neck as his touch skimmed over your waist, pulling you closer to him, and all that muscle tension needed a better outlet than a shiver. 

Your grip tightened on his upper arms as you hummed against his lips and Joel all but hauled you into his lap in answer, his arms a vise around you. A greedy touch trailed low around your hips, fingers slipping underneath your jacket, underneath your shirt, his skin flaring hot against yours despite the cool evening air. 

He was gathering as much of you as he could, swallowing down kisses and breaths and soft sighs, covering as much of your skin as his own would allow, gorging himself on the feel of you as you flexed your grasp in his hair, egging him on. 

Joel held you close as he lowered himself back into the truck, and no sooner had his shoulders hit the bed than blue light flashed around you, then red, and a whooping siren blared two quick times into the dark. 

“Jesus fuck,” you muttered, burying your face into Joel’s neck and breathing the words against his skin as you laid your chest against his. You shifted your weight off of his body, shoving at him to encourage him to sit up while you hid from the blaring light and the humiliation.

And sit up he did, crossing his arms and not bothering to flatten his hair or wipe the lipstick from his mouth. 

“This here’s private property,” came a new voice that you assumed belonged to a cop.

“Yessir,” was all Joel offered in response. Watching his face, you saw him starkly illuminated by a wildly bright flashlight, casting him into broad daylight from which he did not flinch in the slightest. 

“Gonna have to ask you to leave, now,” the cop said. 

“No, sir,” Joel replied coolly, combing his fingers through his hair. “‘Fraid you ain’t quite got your wits about you just yet.”

Christ alive, was he about to give a cop some ‘don’t you know who I am?’ Godfather nonsense? You were gonna end up in jail somehow, both of you, and you didn’t know who was gonna bail Joel out, but Hazel was going to be an absolute— 

“This land’s privately owned, son,” the officer said. “You can’t be here.”

“Mm-hmm,” he hummed in agreement. “Yessir, it sure is. Who by?”

“I don’t have a—”

Joel interrupted him. “Ain’t it the owner that’s gotta call and make a trespassing complaint, bring you out here?”

“The neighbors saw lights out here,” the man said, starting to sound annoyed, “thought someone might be poaching.”

“You ain’t dressed like a game warden, officer,” Joel observed, and you gave serious consideration to pinching him so he’d quit antagonizing the fucking cop.  “But I ain’t poachin’ on my own land.”

That took the wind out of the officer’s sails and sent you gawking up at Joel. ‘Blue-collar man,’ your ass. This was a million-dollar piece of land if it was worth a nickel. 

“This is yours?” the man asked.

“Yessir.”

“Why are you out here in the dark?”

At this, Joel finally thumbed at the lipstick smeared on his mouth, then looked at his thumb and rubbed it against his first finger. Your whole body buzzed with mortification, but Joel was utterly unfazed.

“Enjoyin’ the view,” he said meaningfully. “Or tryin’ to. Anything else I can do for you, hoss?”

A minute or two later, sufficient information had been exchanged and the squad car was headed back along the narrow dirt path toward the road. 

“Thank goodness we came out to the boonies, where folks don’t make noise complaints,” you teased as Joel helped you down off the tailgate and guided you around the side of the truck with a hand on your lower back.

“Yeah, yeah. C’mon, sugar,” he said, swatting your ass for your remark, then opening your door and helping you in, notably not repeating his earlier grab-assing behavior. “Let’s get you home ‘fore it finally occurs to him to look that up.” 

“Christ’s sake,” you muttered, covering your eyes with a hand. “Because you don’t actually own it, or ‘cause he’ll see that you own it?”

The tailgate slammed closed. “Whichever one you like better, angel.”

Next Chapter ->

[pocketfullofkouhuns]

jackson

part 18/? masterlist

chapter summary: you wake up in Joel's arms but the cozy moment is interrupted. joel helps you with your garden chores and you thank him with use of your water heater. he thanks you back. (if you prefer a closed-door option, see ao3)

pairing: joel miller x f!reader [no use of y/n]

word count: 9k (85k total)

warning: brief discussion of death, grief/loss. sexual content (oral sex-f receiving, edging if you squint). see masterlist for overall story notes and warnings. @macaroni676 @orcasoul <3

Warm, damp breath huffed against your temple and daylight blared into your eyes through a gap in the curtains and there was a board pressing through the cushions and into your hip and still, you couldn’t recall the last time you felt half as comfortable and content as you felt that morning on Joel’s lumpy old couch.

A few hours’ sleep—accidental though it’d been—had purged the worst of the sleep-deprived restlessness and ache from your limbs and left you tangled up in Joel’s. He still held you tight against him as he'd done all night, both arms around you as though you might slip from the grasp of a careless keeper and float away. As you lay dozing against his chest, grounded by the steady, slow beating of his heart, the outside world—with all its tragedies and complexities and obligations—faded into something distant and theoretical. All you need concern yourself with for now was here on this—

BANG!

You startled against Joel, almost raising your head to look toward the sound just as a voice began to speak.

“My day for breakfast, I know!” Ellie called through the house, entering with her trademark lack of delicacy. “Just thought you’d like to sleep in, you beast, you animal, you embodiment of all that is man! Let it never be said that I—”

You shrank down into the cushions of the couch and jabbed Joel in the ribs urgently as Ellie continued carrying on in the kitchen.

“Joel. JOEL!” you whispered.

“Mmmnh,” he said, cradling your face into his chest as if to silence you by suffocation. As though you were the loud one.

For fuck’s sake, you thought. If there was anyone in Jackson you’d expect to be a light sleeper, it would’ve been Joel Miller.

When your continued jabbing failed to bear fruit, you pinched Joel's hip, reviving him at last.

“Up!” he hollered, flexing his stomach as if to sit up, but then flopping back down against the armrest of the couch. “I’m up! I’m…”

At last, Joel seemed to gather his wits about him and recognize the pickle you were in.

“Ellie,” he muttered. “I’ll…be right in.”

"Ugh, you're still on the couch?" Ellie lamented. "Don't do gross stuff on the couch! I use that! I sit there! My friends sit there!"

You looked at him in a panic, frantically gesturing toward your own face in a wordless, 'What do I do?!' frenzy. Slapstick visions of rolling into cover behind furniture to sneak across the house to escape unseen danced in your mind’s eye.

“Bring the little miss in with you, too, sicko,” Ellie said. “I’ll have enough eggs and French toast for all three of us.”

Oh, god.

You buried your flushed-hot face in Joel’s shoulder, wishing you could disappear entirely but thankful that the back of the couch had at least shielded you from Ellie’s view.

You started to spare a thought to wonder how Ellie even knew you were still here, but between your boots by the door and your coat on the rack, you reckoned it didn’t take a rocket scientist.

Joel kissed your temple and chuckled in your ear. “Time to face the music.”

Not ten seconds later, Joel was on his feet, white t-shirt tucked into jeans. He shrugged on his flannel and sauntered into the kitchen toward Ellie, who was still clanking dishes around without a care in the world.

All the while, hidden from the kitchen by the living room wall, you straightened your clothes and smoothed your hair and swiped at your under-eyes and wished you would just…vanish. There was a suspicious lack of chatter coming out of the kitchen, which you assumed was due to Ellie teasing Joel silently so you wouldn’t hear. 

Even after taking a deep breath and steeling yourself for the awkwardness that would follow, you were still inadequately prepared for the sight of Ellie trying gleefully to get Joel to high-five her across the kitchen island as he waved her off, looking beyond uncomfortable, but mercifully holding his tongue. The only thing more unbearable than facing Ellie's assumptions would be standing there while Joel denied them.

Ellie’s eyes shifted to yours and she dropped her arm and her smile in embarrassment.

The hell with it.

“You can’t just leave her hanging, Joel,” you said, raising your arm to Ellie. “It’s rude.”

“Fuck yeah,” Ellie said, grinning as she slapped your hand, then fading to her trademark mischievous smirk as she grimaced at her hand and muttered, "God, I hope you washed."

And that was that. Ellie returned to her work, opining about the virtues of fried eggs versus scrambled as she spread out her ingredients over the counter and kitchen island. You caught Joel’s eye and shrugged. It’s only awkward if you let it be awkward.

He smiled and turned his attention back to the kettle he'd been filling. Once it was on the heat, he grabbed a mason jar packed with chunks of chaga, but paused with his hand on the lid and tapped his fingers on it thoughtfully.

“Coffee morning?” Ellie asked, glancing down the counter to where he stood.

“Coffee mornin’,” Joel nodded. He replaced the chaga, then turned to rifle around in a cabinet for a different container.

“Gross,” she said. “Just trading one flavor of dirt water for another.”

You warmed at the way they read each other, at the way a hesitant hand was all it took for Ellie to know Joel was having a ‘coffee morning.’

Their intuition of each other’s movements and needs was almost enough to knock you flat. Joel stepped around Ellie as she worked, never finding himself underfoot; she handed Joel the coffee press right before he reached for it; he uncovered the small compost bin for her to deposit eggshells into just as Ellie cracked the first egg.

For a moment so short that no one else noticed, your chest ached and your eyes flooded with the tears of a thousand emotions at once. You relished it, overwhelming as it was, and you beamed as you watched this father and daughter perform the miracle of real fucking love, real family right before your eyes. You had lived on your own almost every single day of the last two decades, and you’d forgotten what it was like to so effortlessly, so naturally share a space with another person. To share a life.

A vision of a middle-aged Alexei—looking as he might have now, if he were still here—appeared before you, threads of silver woven through the temples of his black silk hair, lines crinkling the corners of his warm green eyes as he smiled. He reached out to Zozie, all grown up now, still with those wild curls and that impish grin. What a sight they could have been.

The clattering of real life in the kitchen brought you out of your daydream and back into the moment. You took a tentative step closer to the action to offer your aid. Ellie nodded toward a loaf of bread and a serrated knife on the counter, and you set to work, never even noticing you had fit right into their silent ballet.

Joel clanked a measure of coffee beans into a grinder and set to work milling them down to grounds. Within a few turns of the handle, the sweet, earthy smell of the coffee reached you and you sniffed the air, breathing deeply.

Seeing your pleasure at the scent, Joel offered you the cup of grounds to smell when he had finished, watching with a pleased little glint in his eye as you cradled it close to your face and inhaled.

Ellie was able to hold her peace until you made a soft groan of enjoyment, at which point she could bite it back no longer.

“I’m gonna go get my sex-noise-blocking headphones from the garage,” she declared, but made no move to leave. “I’m a child. You bean-juice perverts are scarring me for life, here. Some kind of sick fetish with you people."

“Let me make it up to you,” you said, passing the coffee back to Joel so he could finish his work. “You’re making French toast, right? I’ll make a sauce that’ll knock the traumatized right out of you.”

The three of you worked companionably side by side in the golden morning light, and you never even had to ‘shrink’ anyone into talking.

It is a simple, wonderful truth of human nature: cooking together is just so intimate an act, such a safe and comforting thing, that it coaxes down walls and makes bridges of them.

You carved a thick slice from a log of shockingly yellow butter and cut it into small cubes, then whisked them one and two at a time into a saucepan of warm, fragrant maple syrup, stirring and stirring until every streak was gone and blended in before adding more butter. It was a labor of love and time-consuming, but none of you had anyplace else to be.

“I used to make this every New Year’s,” you said after a few minutes' quiet as you watched for the syrup to swirl but never boil. “A sweet start to bring in a sweet year.”

“Did it work?” Ellie asked, turning her head to look up at you.

You nodded, then made a hedging noise.

“Every year but one,” you said, trying to smile away the bittersweetness and memory welling in your eyes. “Not a bad success rate overall.”

There was pain at the edges of this cooking ritual, to be sure—memory that still stabbed and tore and ached—but the center was nevertheless held dear.

“Is this…” Ellie began, but pressed her lips together as she fiddled with the bread in the pan, humming a dismissive little sound to herself.

“Go on,” you said, nudging your shoulder against Ellie’s gently. “It’s okay.”

In your peripheral vision, you could see the girl look you over for a second before she spoke. “Have you made it again since…everything happened?”

You shook your head and glanced briefly at her, then over Ellie’s shoulder to meet Joel’s gaze. You summoned a little bravery before you spoke.

“Waiting ‘til the time felt right, I guess,” you said with the hint of a smile.

Your courage gave out before you could say the rest.

Waiting for sweetness to seem possible.

“Oh, shit,” Ellie muttered. “Me and Dina found a patch of wild onion yesterday, I forgot ‘em in my room. I’ll be right back. Don’t let the toast burn!”

“I got it, I got it,” Joel said as she fled to the back yard.

“No, I got it. You keep focused on that coffee,” you said, waving him away. “I haven’t had any since y’all came by with Maria.”

“I knew that was a goddamn setup.” He pressed down the filter on the coffee maker and shook his head.

“I didn’t say that!” you said, cheeks warming. “Just that it was the last time I had any.”

“If you had your own coffee, you’d’ve had more than one cup in six or eight months,” he said. “Maria gave you that coffee to bribe me with, and she called me paranoid when I said as much to her. Cream or honey?”

“…You can’t prove that,” you said by way of confession. “Little of both, please.”

You’d always taken your coffee black, when it was an everyday part of your life, your routine. It had been a tool, usually—something too easily taken for granted.

Not anymore. Now you treated every single cup like it might be the last one you ever drank, and you made an absolute indulgence of it.

Joel slipped the mug into your hands, a warm comfort just on the edge of burning.

“This whole thing is based on a lie,” he teased. A silly little butterfly flapped in your stomach as he traced his thumb along a mark on your cheek, a fading line from where you’d spent hours with his rumpled shirt between his chest and your face. “Call it off. Leave and don’t come back.”

He kissed your forehead, then lifted your chin with a finger and pressed his lips to yours.

Ellie barged back into the room bearing a mason jar with an inch of water and a bundle of sharp-smelling onion greens sloshing within.

“Ugh. Come on guys, break it up, God,” she groaned, shooing Joel away from you and resuming her place at your side by the burners. “Not in front of the food. You freaks already...defiled the couch.”

---------------------

"Ellie, what in the blue hell is that on your arm?"

Your head snapped up from where you’d been focusing on enjoying the last few sips of your perfectly sweet, perfectly creamy coffee and thumbing at the owl design on the mug.

The sleeves of the girl's signature hoodie were pushed up over her forearms as she rinsed the breakfast dishes in the sink. Peeking from beneath the left cuff was the trailing edge of a swirling, faint, purple-black design.

Joel grabbed hold of her arm and yanked her sleeve up further to inspect it.

"It's just, like, stained, dude, Jesus," she said. "It's already almost gone."

"We've talked about the tattoo, Ellie..." he warned.

"Which is why I didn't get a tattoo," Ellie replied, a placating tone in her voice that you were sure you’d never heard before.

Joel seemed unimpressed by her adherence to the letter of the law, but ultimately relented, letting her go to return to her task.

The silence in the room had been comfortable just a minute ago, but now it was stiff and awkward. You racked your brain for something to say to ease the tension, but Joel surprised you by making a peace offering to Ellie first.

"How much of your hobbits did you catch last night before you passed out?" he asked.

"You're one to talk!" Ellie fired back. "You were snoring like five minutes in!"

"Them're just orc noises," Joel said, waving a hand as you laughed.

"Yeah, the whole neighborhood heard your orc noises, pal," Ellie said. "And to answer your question... Gandalf apparently wasn't dead?"

"What!" you cried, slapping both palms on the kitchen island and leaning forward in extremely scandalized surprise. “But the balrog!”

Ellie stared at her, bug-eyed. "Oh, shit! I thought you--"

Your laughter gave the ruse away and Ellie flicked a handful of water at you, then dried her hands on her jeans and tugged down her sleeves.

"Please—I'm a psychiatrist and a bookworm, Ell, you think I've ever not been a total nerd?" You drained the last of your coffee. "I skipped school to go see each one of the Lord of the Rings movies on their opening days."

"Ugh, god, that's so cool," Ellie said as Joel sputtered on his own drink.

"What do you mean, you 'skipped school'?"

"They always came out on, like, the last school day before winter break, mister fun police!" you said, a shade defensive. "My parents were fine with it, it wasn't a big deal."

"That ain't the problem I'm havin' here, wildcat," he leveled a look at you.

"Gross, Joel's a cradle-robber," Ellie piped up, starting for the front door. "And on that note, I have to go be literally anywhere else but here."

"Where you off to, short-stack?" Joel asked.

"Said I'd meet Dina for a breakfast sandwich before she starts her shift at the diner."

"You just ate." Joel didn't sound judgmental, just...surprised. Maybe a little impressed.

You didn't think the meal was quite what Ellie was after, but you weren’t sure pointing that out to Joel would be helpful.

"You wanna take the syrup-stuff?" you asked, pointing her back toward the kitchen. "It won't reheat and it’d be dynamite to dip a breakfast sandwich into."

"Shit yeah," Ellie said, opening a cupboard to grab a Mason jar.

"Probably want to put it in something that'll keep it hot," you suggested, picking up your mug to drink from it before realizing it was empty. You frowned at the cup and set it back down. "Otherwise, it'll get greasy and gross."

Ellie adjusted her aim, reaching instead for a small insulated travel mug.

"You comin' back before school?" Joel asked.

Ellie shook her head. "Will you be home when I get back? Three-ish?"

"Ought to be," he said, giving you his half-full mug and taking your empty one. "Off duty 'til Friday."

"I thought you got five days off after firewatch," she argued.

Joel just shrugged, which you didn't think Ellie would take for much of an answer.

"Just the full-timers," you said. "Part-timers like Eugene and Astrid and fill-ins like us only get two."

"What the fuck kind of shit is that?" Ellie argued.

You would've laughed, but Joel's sigh stopped you. 

"Two in one sentence, Ell? Sun ain't even up over the mountains yet."

"I was swearing on your behalf, man," she said, putting her hands up in surrender. "We trying the movie again tonight? Now that everybody's rested enough to stay awake?"

Joel nodded, then, when you didn't reply, he elbowed you and inclined his head once as if to say, 'well?'

"Put me down as a 'maybe.' Y'all might have to go on without me," you said, considering. "The garden's gotta be totally out of control after almost a week gone; I might be zonked after spending the whole day in the sun."

It was a partial truth.

Ellie held both hands up to her mouth like a megaphone. "LAAAAME!"

Joel joined in from his place at your side. "I'm takin' my coffee back," he muttered, grasping for the cup as you held it out of his reach, laughing.

"Sick," Ellie said, twisting the lid onto her travel mug and heading for the door. "See you dorks later. Have fun...tending your lady garden or whatever."

The door closed behind her and you turned to Joel.

"Girl's got a way with words," you said, offering him his mug back. "I'll give her that."

"What she's got is a mouth like a damn construction site," he said, shaking his head and holding up a hand to you. Keep it.

"What are you gonna do on your day off?" you asked. "I get the feeling you probably don't take many."

You brought the mug to your lips to take a small sip of the cooling liquid; there wasn't much left in the cup and it ought to be savored.

As you lowered it, though, Joel put the tips of his fingers under the base of the mug, tipping it up to coax you to drink, lifting his chin as if in encouragement.

A surprised little sound of objection was all you could produce as you drank the last couple ounces of coffee down.

"Don't be shy, now, wildcat," Joel bade you, voice at once soft and firm. "I'll keep you in coffee, I promise."

He caught a drop of liquid with his thumb as it spilled from the corner of your lips, then he licked it from his skin.

"For right now," he said, taking the empty cup from your hands and sliding it across the kitchen island behind you, "I've about had my fill of bein' jealous of an old mug."

"What do you mean, 'jeal--'"

Your question was both silenced and answered by Joel's lips against yours. You laughed and pulled him closer, looping your arms around his neck and coming onto your tiptoes. Joel wrapped his arms over your back, holding you close against him, fists tightening in your shirt.

It was a lingering, cozy kiss without a shred of urgency, the scent of coffee and syrup heavy in the air between you and the sunlight streaming through the windows, setting off the silver in Joel's hair, the warm brown honey of his eyes.

It was not a kiss of taking or of claiming. It was a kiss of having, of keeping.

---------------------

"Well, seeing to a week's worth of mess in the garden sure ain't light duty, Doc—'specially not in the summer—so if it needs doing today, it damn sure ain’t gonna be by you.”

And that was Joel’s motivation for insisting on accompanying you home in the warm light of morning, he told himself; he just wanted to help, to keep your bullheaded independence from causing you any more harm. 

It wasn’t that the idea of spending the day without you put a foreign, hollow pull in his chest. It wasn’t that he figured maybe if you weren’t sun-spent, you’d come over later and maybe rest against him while you all watched Ellie’s movie, that maybe you might end up asleep in his arms again, nuzzling into his chest anytime your sleep turned shallow. It wasn’t that last night had been the first full night’s sleep in Joel’s memory where he hadn’t woken startled and sweating and grief-struck from some godawful nightmare. 

Sometimes a man just wants to help. That was all. 

You’d fought him on it—of course you had—but Joel had won out in the end. 

“You gotta let me give you a chance to miss me,” you had argued. “We’ve been together for almost a week straight.”

“There’ll be plenty of time to miss you later,” Joel said, plying you with a kiss. “I’m back to patrol duty the day after tomorrow, let me save up my missing you for then. For now, let me help you do your chores or I’ll go tell Joan.”

You laughed, but shook your head. 

"Five days in a room together isn't a foundation for a relationship, Joel. We can't—" you began, but he stole the end of your sentence with his mouth on yours. You whimpered a soft defeat that sang through his blood, then changed your mind and placed a hand on his chest to put a little space between you. "No, c'mon, now. Listen to me. We can't just...microwave this like a TV dinner. We have to go back to life. See if this can hold up to, just, regular life.”

“Okay, you’re right. I— Okay,” Joel said, punctuating the pauses in his speech with quick little kisses to your face that made you giggle in a way that made him want to keep it up forever. “So I—regular Joel—would like to stick around to offer you—regular you—a hand with your choring. Just like I'd do for anybody in town on any regular old day off."

Finally, you relented. 

“‘Regular garden chores,’” you agreed, pointing a finger at his chest. “And then you're going home, Joel Miller, so you don't get sick of me."

“I should be so damn lucky, wildcat,” he said, burying his face in your neck and breathing deep, then leaving a trail of kisses on your throat. “The things I’d do to keep you around enough to get sick of… Whew. They’d get me shot in the town square.”

---------------------

"You can park that sweet little ass of yours right here in the shade,” Joel said, dragging a heavy wooden chair into the shadow of the massive, proud bur oak that stood sentinel in the corner of your garden. 

“Joel, be serious,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest. “You can’t possibly expect me to just sit here while you do my chores.”

He tried not to let his eyes snap to the wretched bruise on your cheek. You were frankly lucky that Joel wasn’t trying to send you inside to rest. Not that you woulda gone, and it was too nice a morning to waste it fussing if you wouldn’t even get the fun of making up after. 

“Your job can be keepin’ me company while I toil.” Joel patted the seat and teased, “You can even boss me around the way you like.”

“Watching you working my garden and bossing you around?” you said, brows up at your hairline. “And I’m not even allowed to jump you when you’re done?”

A warm tension spread over Joel’s skin as you stepped closer, fingers dancing over the button-line of his work shirt and coaxing his heart rate higher. 

“I’m sure we can come up with a light-duty way for you to thank me, wildcat.”

“Oh, it wasn’t gonna be in gratitude, cowboy.” Your voice was a low promise that wrapped around him, and Joel could see the exact moment that inspiration struck you. Your gaze broke from his, eyes shifting around as your plan came together, a mischievous look coming over you. “I’ve got just the thing.”

Joel didn’t know whether to be a little turned on or a little afraid, and he was left looking for a middle ground as you turned toward the house, calling over a shoulder to say, “You can start on that front bed if you’re itching to get your hands dirty, handsome.”

---------------------

When you stepped back into the garden just a few minutes later, you had two tall glasses of iced tea in hand. The dress you’d changed into flowed over your curves, the gentle breeze blowing it against your body, making the fabric softly hug you from your collarbones to your shins. Buttons ran from neckline to hem, shining and jewel-bright in the midmorning sunshine. 

Joel had never wanted to be anything quite as bad as he wanted to be that blush-pink cotton wrapped around you.  

You offered Joel a glass of tea but he waved you off, vowing to come back to you when he exerted himself enough to grow thirsty. You sat in the chair he’d readied for you, one leg crossed over the other as you talked with him and watched him work. 

The morning was quiet and bright and unusually hot as Joel set to his task, pulling weeds and staking tomatoes and pruning peppers while you supervised. As you pointed him toward fiddly little this-and-thats, Joel sunk his hands into the earth, looking up to find his eye catching on a sliver of your pretty little calf, a whisper of your clavicle, a sweat-soaked lock come loose from your put-up hair. 

Hours later, he was trying to keep his attention on pinching back tomato suckers and pruning grown-wild squash, but as Joel scanned over spinach and kale, his gaze was pulled again to the woman who watched his progress—was it his imagination, or was there a fair sight more of your thigh visible than before as he regarded you? All those buttons had been done up when you first came outside, he could’ve sworn to it.

“Look at you, all red-faced and short of breath in my bed,” you praised, obviously teasing him. There were buttons undone at the top, too, come to think of it, the skin over your chest shining with a misting of sweat in the early-afternoon sunlight. 

Must be his imagination. Joel returned to his task, chatting with you as he chipped away at his work, talking about the other pairs on patrol and how the brewing summer heat would present a new challenge after you’d all grown so used to the cold. 

When Joel looked up again, your legs were parted just a whisper’s width, the gap between your knees allowing him the tiniest peek of your upper thighs and what lay between them. He dutifully cast his gaze down to the earth in his hands, taking up handfuls of soil and shifting them into place at the base of your blueberries, face warm and heart speeding from more than just the sun.

There was color high on your cheeks when you called out to him a moment later.

“C’mere to me, handsome,” you said, bidding him to come over with the crook of a finger. “You’re looking a little overheated, that’s enough for today. Come rest in the shade.”

As Joel drew near, you held out a glass to him, his fourth or fifth that day, then stood when he began to drink the cool, sweet tea. He paused between gulps to catch his breath, then finished off the drink.

“Here, take my seat a minute.” You pressed a hand to his chest, coaxing him to sit. 

The sigh of relief that came out of him wasn’t fully voluntary, but Christ, it felt good to sit down after spending hours kneeling and working in the sun. 

Joel’s relaxation and ease were short-lived, however. 

You took the cup from his hands but fumbled it, the condensation seeming to make it slip from your grasp and tumble to the grass at his feet. You hinged all the way forward to pick it up, bending at the waist with a hand bracing against Joel’s thigh. The touch was enough to send a jolt through him all on its own, but paired with a clear view straight down the neck of your dress, Joel was left tightening his hand into a claw against the arm of the chair. Your hand slid higher for a split second as you rose and he held his breath to keep from making a noise he was damn sure wouldn’t be dignified. 

And then you sat on the arm of the chair, smoothed your dress down over your legs, and combed the sweat-damp hair back off his forehead with your fingertips, trawling your touch all the way to his nape.

“You’re still looking a little flushed, cowboy,” you said, appraising him. “Here…”

You twisted toward him to reach for the table at his elbow on the other side of the chair, stretching your body over his to reach for your water glass. 

Your breasts were in Joel’s face, and there wasn’t a chance in hell you didn’t realize it. 

“Sweetheart, I’m tryin’ real hard to be a gentleman for you, but I’m about ten seconds from putting these muddy hands all over you and stainin’ the absolute hell out of that pretty pink dress.” 

You draped your legs over Joel’s lap and looked down at him, a flush creeping over your chest. 

“Sounds like you ought to go clean up, then, handsome, if that’s what’s stopping you.”

“You tryin’ to send me home now that you’re done with me?” he teased.

“Oh, I’m not done with you yet. The shower’s upstairs.” You leaned close and whispered in his ear, making his neck prickle. “And my water heater still works.”

And that was probably the third-sexiest thing you could’ve said to Joel right then. 

---------------------

The sounds Joel made as he stepped under the full-hot spray of the shower were positively indecent, and your skin flared tight and warm as his voice echoed against the tile.

You were sitting cross-legged on your bed just outside the bathroom door, back against the center of your headboard as you read the book from your nightstand and tried not to listen to the noises coming from the next room. In your lap lay a worn-soft tour t-shirt from a band that you had never heard of; it was the most comfortable shirt you owned, though, and you’d pulled it from your dresser to loan to Joel. You couldn't do anything about his dirty jeans, but you could spare him from pulling a stinky, sweat-damp shirt back over his clean skin.

Joel's voice sounded out so unexpectedly that it made you jump, losing your place in your book—not that you’d actually been reading it, anyway.

"What is this in here, in the little pump jar?" he asked.

You smiled, the odd intimacy of the question putting a fond little tug in your chest.

"My face wash," you called back. It was your own recipe, carefully refined over a good many years. 

"...Well, shit. I just put some in my hand. Sorry."

You smiled, a little mischief lathering up in your gut.

"May as well give it a try, then—go on ahead and soap up my saddle for me, cowboy."

If you didn't know any better, it almost sounded like Joel slipped a little. You bit your lips together to keep from laughing.

"Face only, though," you warned him. "It's minty, so it's got a little tingle to it. Probably don't let the suds go down your body when you rinse, unless you like the idea of minty-freshness, uh...everywhere."

Joel let loose a little whoop of surprise.

"About two seconds too late with that particular wisdom, Doc," he admitted, the strain in his voice sending you cackling at full volume without a hope of muffling it beyond Joel's hearing. "Are you laughing at me? I'm on third base with Jack goddamn Frost and you're laughing at me. Christ almighty, how can hot water feel cold?!"

You were breathless, bent in half with laughter and trying desperately not to guffaw—or god forbid, snort with it as tears streamed down your face. Each time the laughter faded, you’d get started giggling all over again, unable to collect yourself in the face of his outrage. Third base with Jack Frost.

You’d been laughing too loudly for too long to notice he'd turned off the water, so you didn’t realize Joel was done with his shower until the bathroom door opened, releasing a fluttering cloud as he stepped into your bedroom, the skin of his chest and arms steaming in the still-cool inside air. 

Joel had a towel slung low around his hips, and even with your chest still light with laughter, you let your eyes wander over him as he came to you, sitting on the edge of your bed, facing you. Your pulse hadn't even had a chance to settle from your giggling before he'd sent it racing again with heat and skin and proximity. 

His eyes were fond, sweeping over your face and then bringing a hand to your cheek to wipe away a tear of laughter. You trailed a hand over the warmth of Joel’s arm, then rested it on the towel-covered knee by your hip. 

"Sight of you laughin' is enough to make a man wish he was funnier," he said. "Gonna have to borrow Ellie's joke book."

To you, Joel was hilarious. His humor was a dry and prickly thing that crackled like firewood, most of his jokes coming in the form of playing at being disgruntled.

Telling him that might make him change it, though, and you couldn't bear the thought. 

"You have other talents, handsome," you said instead, skimming your fingers up his chest and over the back of his neck to scratch lightly against his bare skin. 

Joel took the book from your lap and slid it onto your nightstand, then picked up the shirt you’d grabbed for him. He made to set it aside, but something about it caught his attention and he shook it out, holding it up between you so he could look at it. 

"Shew, that's a hell of a throwback," he declared. 

"You know them?" you asked. "I've never heard of Seven Mary Three."

"Yeah you have," he said, lowering his hands into his lap, letting you see his face again. 

You let out a disbelieving little laugh and splayed your hands in a 'what the fuck?' gesture. "What do you mean, 'yeah I have'? I just said—"

He started singing, the melody slightly familiar but generic enough that it could've just been coincidence. You squinted and shook your head, giggling as Joel held up a finger—'wait for it’—and kept going for a few seconds. The chorus was, as he had promised, familiar. 

You rolled your eyes and smiled, tugging the shirt from his grasp and tossing it over your shoulder, draping it over the headboard. 

“Yeah, alright, fine.” You put your arms around Joel’s neck and pulled him close to you. “Shut up already.”

Your lips met his and Joel returned the kiss for a moment before pulling back to clarify, “This don’t take away my victory, wildcat.”

You snaked your fingers up into those almost-shaggy curls, tightening your grip and pulling a sharp breath from his chest. “Do you want to be right, cowboy, or do you want to be kissed?”

Joel hummed as if mulling it over.

“Don’t see why I gotta choose, if I’m honest.” He kissed you again and shifted, rising to kneel. “But if I’m givin’ up being right, I’m getting more’n kissed.”

Warm, rough hands slid under your knees, yanking you toward the middle of the bed and knocking your back flat against the mattress, your knees on either side of Joel's. Your yelp turned into a giddy little laugh.

"Easy, now, wildcat," he soothed you, slipping his hands over your hips and up your rib cage. Joel braced his hands on either side of your head and bowed down to kiss you. He sighed against your mouth in relief, like putting his lips to yours had loosened something in him.

Your hands traced over the muscles of his back and they relaxed under your touch, too, Joel settling his hips between your thighs. 

"See, I told you," you breathed, wrapping your legs around him and hauling Joel into you, arching your back against him. "Other talents."

This seemed to come over him like the hint of a shadow. His lips left yours and Joel left a snowfall of fleeting, feather-light kisses dusted over your face, then ghosted his fingertips over the sprawling bruise on your skin. A sketch-light touch traced over your cheekbone, all the way up to your temple before threading gently into your hair as his eyes searched your face. 

“You sure you’re feelin’ up to a little light duty, darlin’?” he asked with devastating sincerity. “We’ll have other days.”

“We’ll use those, too,” you said, hoping it was true, and you pressed a sweet kiss to the corner of his mouth, then rested your forehead against his. 

You didn’t put much stock in other days anymore, at least not your own, and besides, you’d spent all your self-denial early that morning trying to get Joel to let you go home unaccompanied. The smarter, killjoy part of your brain had fretted that giving in to your desire to keep him in arm’s reach would eventually spell heartbreak, and that party-pooping pain in the ass might be right eventually, but for now…

“Now show me what you planned on getting, handsome, other than ‘kissed,’” you encouraged him, squeezing your thighs around him and rolling your hips against his. 

And that was enough convincing for Joel. His next kiss was an urgent thing, his tongue meeting yours, hand sliding over your throat, teeth grazing your lip as his body sank down over yours. 

His mouth parted from yours, kisses slipping down your jaw and to your neck, until Joel was nipping against your collarbone, making you whine. 

"Light fuckin' duty," he groaned, thoughtful and almost mournful as he panted into your throat, but his voice was more a vow as he went on. "Don't you worry; I can show you light duty, sweetheart. Make it so goddamn easy for you."

Your heart spurred to a gallop, anticipation creeping over your skin as Joel's fingers found the top-most button of your dress and undid it, pressing a kiss to the skin he’d revealed before moving onto the next, then the next.

“I’ve been sweating in the sun all day, cowboy,” you said, finally sparing enough thought to feel self-conscious as you breathed in the fresh, clean scent of Joel’s skin and ran your fingers through his just-washed hair. 

“Good,” he said, licking the flat of your chest and then nuzzling into your neck to taste you again, humming pleasure into your ear that sent goosebumps spilling over your shoulder. “Then you ain’t gonna mind when I make a mess out of you.”

You gave a desperate, pleading little whimper and brought your mouth to Joel’s, tasting just an edge of salt on his lips. 

His hand traced up your leg, slipping between your thighs, and Joel made a low sound of approval as his fingers slid against slick skin that was wet with your arousal. You gasped and tightened your hold on the muscles of his arm, back arching as you finally got to feel Joel touching you after too long spent dancing around each other. 

“Oh, but you’re already a mess, though, ain’t you?” His voice was low and sultry, playing at reproach as he slid the flats of his fingers against you, making you moan for him. “Been teasin’ me all goddamn day, taunting me with every pretty little part of you—did that get you excited, wildcat? That make you wet for me?”

It had. You’d been buzzing with it for hours, the slick heat between your legs growing almost as distracting as the aching need.

Your fingernails skated over his shower-warm skin, teasing the line where his towel wrapped around his hip. "I was starting to think you hadn't noticed." 

You had been toying with him, undoing a button here or there when his back was turned or 'accidentally' dropping something so you could pick it up in the least ladylike manner possible. You thought you’d caught him looking a handful of times, thought you’d seen a flush creep up that beautiful neck of his, but he'd been so well-behaved that you hadn't been sure. 

All that good behavior was spent, now—took him long enough—and Joel was stroking languid circles around your clit, so slow and gentle it made you burn.

"Had me feelin' like a pent-up schoolboy," he confessed, nipping at the spot on your neck that made you gasp, "all worked up at the sight of a little thigh, wonderin' if it was your panties I could see between your knees or if it was just my dirty old mind."

"And all along..." you said, teasing, leading. 

"And all along…" Joel echoed and withdrew his touch, sending you whining. He drew himself up to kneeling, perched between your legs, and unfastened the bottom buttons of your dress, kissing the swath of thigh he'd unwrapped, then bunching your dress high over your hips. 

You weren’t sure you’d ever heard reverence be filthy on someone's tongue before, but that's exactly how it sounded when Joel continued, “…you weren't even wearing any."

He gently coaxed your legs apart, then brushed greedy, seeking hands up the insides of your thighs, whispering soft words of adoration.

“I can’t hear you, cowboy,” you said, catching your breath as expectation crept over your skin.

“What a man says for grace is between him and the Lord, wildcat,” Joel said.

And you would've laughed at that, too, but he brought his mouth down against you, moaning as he tasted you, and mirth flew from your mind. 

"God, Joel, fuck," you breathed, bending your knees and flexing your hips up to meet him. 

His hands skimmed softly over the pulled-tight muscles of your legs and hips as he paused his work. 

"Shh, light duty, now, sugar," he reminded you, a soothing touch trailing over your thighs. "Relax for me so I can keep going. Tastes so fucking good, baby, please."

Easy for him to say. You tried to relax, letting your limbs go loose and heavy, aching to feel his mouth on you again.

"There you go." His voice was hushed, rumbling praise that flowed against your skin. You gasped as Joel lightly brushed his thumbs over the creases of your thighs. "I got you, sweetheart, just let me take care of you."

His tongue slid against you again—circling, seeking with an absolute lack of hurry that made you have to battle your every single muscle to avoid writhing against Joel. Kiss-swollen lips enveloped your clit and the war was lost all at once, your hips lifting up to him in answer as you moaned.

The loss of feeling made you moan again as Joel raised his head.

"Honey, you're killin' me," he chastened, planting a kiss on your thigh. "Just when I get a good taste, you're making me stop."

Killing him?

"Doing this to yourself, cowboy." You were panting, giving a pleading edge to your voice as you argued, "I really don't think muscle tension counts as exertion."

"My mouth, my woman, my rules, wildcat," Joel said, nestling his scratchy-soft cheek against your skin. "What'd you say Joan called it—an abundance of caution. Gotta be gentle with you now so I can be rough with you later.”

You would call it something else, but Joel would stop if you used the words you wanted, and frankly you were too distracted by the silly, preening thrill that buzzed through you at 'my woman' to remember to say them anyway. 

You smiled at him—at the drunk, adoring look on his face and the redness of his lips—and put your hands in his damp, messy hair. Flexing your stomach to sit up just a shade, you nudged one of your pillows behind your shoulders as Joel looked on, a question pinching his brow. 

"If I can't touch you," you reasoned, "I at least need to watch you, see how good you look making me come."

In answer, Joel held his eyes to yours and licked a long, hungry stroke against you, nuzzling his face into your flesh like he needed to touch, feel, taste even more of you. 

"Fuck, that feels so good," you breathed, and Joel closed his eyes and groaned against you, his hips shifting against your mattress, body stretched long and tan and beautiful against your white sheets. "God, just look at you."

His arm stretched up your body, slow and seeking, until his hand was sliding over your breast, callused palm sending a singing rasp over your skin and making you have to consciously relax your muscles to stop yourself arching your back for him, your control just barely winning out. You kept control, too, as he took a nipple between his fingers, rolling and pinching and making you moan, a whisper of inevitably starting to coil low in your core.

But as Joel praised you—'That's my girl; just let your body feel good, angel’—and slid a finger inside you, your control fell away, your hips bucking against him, and he stopped his movements. 

And so it went. Anything greater than a flicker of muscle tension—anything you didn't notice and release immediately—was enough to make Joel go still, pausing his utterly fucking agonizing touch. 

When it happened for about the fifteenth time, halting your already-torturous climb, you loosed a quick sob of frustration. 

"I know, sweetheart, I know," he soothed, dotting fond little kisses over your thighs. 

"Oh, fuck you," you said without anger, easing loose your flexed-tight legs.

"Poor wildcat," Joel said mournfully, resuming his work and slipping a second finger inside you. "Needs to come so bad she's gettin' mean."

You moaned, transferring all that tension to your voice as he fucked you, and Joel's hands took over for his tongue, turning his mouth from the work of worship to a song of praise. 

"Christ Almighty, sweetheart, you are a fuckin’ sight," he said, almost worshipful in a way that made you ache, "so damn pretty coming undone for me. Gonna put that pretty look in your eyes all the time." 

'Undone' was barely the half of it. Your body was straining against your every scrap of control, desperate to flex your muscles, and there was a scream brewing in your chest like a storm. You were putting more effort into relaxing than you’d ever thought would be possible, releasing pleading little moans with every panting breath as an orgasm built under your skin.

"Don't chase it, sugar, let it come to you," Joel bade you, fucking you harder with his fingers, faster. "Just be patient, it'll come to you. There you go, there’s my girl."

You were doing so well, you were being so relaxed, and then Joel lowered the angle of his wrist, touching something absolutely fucking dire inside you that sent a flare of pleasure over your body like arcing electricity. Your legs went tight and ramrod straight as you clenched your fists in the sheets and cried out.

And Joel fucking stopped, hushing you and rubbing calming strokes of his palms against your legs as you whined. 

At least, it was probably supposed to be calming.

You were not calmed. 

"If you stop one more time," you vowed, "I'm going to kill you."

There was absolute devilry in his eyes. Joel's mouth twitched and his chest jumped, but he just barely managed not to laugh at you.

"I don't make the rules, sweetheart," he said, sounding perfectly reasonable and calm. "These're doctor's orders."

"Joanie didn't say anything about you edging me half unconscious."

The corner of that wretched, filthy mouth jerked up again. 

"Only half, huh?" Joel kissed a line up your thigh that made you gasp and then he promised against your skin, "We'll work our way up."

Heat filled you to the very brim and you curled your toes, but you pressed on with your threat anyway. 

"I am a woman with murder in my heart, Joel Miller. I'm trying hard to be reformed, but you are testing my resolve."

"Goddamn, baby," he said in awe, bringing his mouth down to you again. "I knew I liked you."

That shouldn't have pleased you as much as it did, but you didn't have the chance to think on it for long.

His fingers resumed their work, alongside his tongue, and Joel set a mind-erasing pace that was either a reward for your long-suppressed bloodthirsty nature or a punishment for your attitude and you found yourself running back up to the cliff's edge in fairly short order.

Again, Joel's hands took over for his mouth, and he began to whisper filth and praise as you panted and whimpered and begged. 

"Attagirl, wildcat," he said, putting reverent kisses on your skin while he touched you. "Fuck, you are incredible. Feel so goddamn good on my fingers, angel, so fuckin' sweet on my tongue. Gonna take my cock so well, I just know you are."

Every part of you started to twist and writhe into something imminent and eventual. 

"Don't stop," you pleaded. "Please. Please don't stop, Joel, please."

"I ain't gonna stop, honey; might never stop." He bowed low to lick your skin, as if missing your taste so long was something unbearable. "Just stay relaxed, show me how good you can be. Come for me, now, sweetheart. Let yourself feel good, just take what you need."

You climbed and climbed, a wicked, clawing ecstasy starting to sing in your veins as you fought to hold yourself at ease. Then all at once, you were in freefall, back arching and body finally, finally rigid as you screamed for him. 

"That's my sweet girl," he said, groaning at the sight, the feel and sound of you and fucking you as you shook. "There's my wildcat. You can take it, baby, coming so pretty for me, squeezing me so tight. Fuck, that perfect little pussy is still so tight."

As oversensitivity came over you, you started grabbing for Joel's arm, trying to pry his touch from your skin as your ears rang. You curled up around yourself, pushing your way down the bed until your head was by Joel's hip, the rest of you out of his reach. 

"I think you got another one in you, honey, don't you?" he said, mischief in his voice as his fingers combed through your hair. 

"Try it and I'll break your hand," you said, and Joel finally laughed. 

"Broke hand won't slow me down none," he said, leaning down to kiss your sweat-damp hairline. 

You were utterly boneless, your muscles heavy with the effort you’d expended in keeping them relaxed. Even raising your head to put it in Joel's lap made your neck and shoulders tremble. 

"Much as I'd like to pay you back, handsome, my body doesn't seem to be working at the moment."

"Honey, if I felt any better than I do right now, I'd have to start goin' back to church, and I just ain't gonna have the time."

"Oh?" you asked. "You got big plans for your Sundays?"

"I got big plans for every day of the goddamn week, wildcat," he vowed. "And twice on Sundays."

---------------------

It was well after three in the afternoon when you and Joel came strolling up the sidewalk in front of his house. He hung back and let you take the lead, liking the sight of you walking into his home more than he’d be able to say. You looked so comfortable with it already, and a part of Joel already wished you’d stay. 

"Oh, I almost forgot," you said, pausing at the top of his porch steps and turning around to put a hand on his chest, bringing him to a stop two stairs below you. "I've been meaning to tell you, and it just kept slipping my mind."

You swept your hands over his chest and shoulders, smoothing the wrinkles of his t-shirt—your t-shirt—and then ran your fingers through the shorter hair on the side of his head, your every touch somehow more intense with you towering over him. 

"Light duty is three days," you said, like Joel didn't know—wasn't counting the miserable, crawling minutes—and you slid your hands up either side of his neck, tracing your thumbs over the stubble on his cheeks. He raised his chin and you bowed low to brush a kiss against his lips. 

"Seventy-two hours..." you said, and confused tension spread across his brow at your intensity. You were leading up to something, but Christ if Joel knew what it was. 

"...from the injury." You mimed checking a watch, then cast your eyes toward the afternoon sun and hummed a short, thoughtful, 'how-about-that' sound. 

Joel’s entire body snapped to attention. It had been three days ago that you had gotten hurt, right around sundown. He was too thunderstruck to turn his head to look at the sky, but by the length of the shadows falling around them…

The kiss you gave him was half a taunt, softly tasting his bottom lip with your tongue before giving it a gentle nip. 

Then you turned away from him and opened his front door, giving a breezy, singsong greeting to Ellie and leaving Joel on tenterhooks out on the porch.

Next Chapter ->

[pocketfullofkouhuns]

WIP Wednesday — Give in Again

For @ashleyfilm! Almost posted a taste of the next Jackson but I know that Bar Douche Joel is who you want ♥️ This is just filth—sorry (if you’re a closed-door fan) / not sorry (if you want the door wide the fuck open)

“And when I win that bet…” His voice was a warning as he slipped that broad, strong hand slowly down the front of your jeans. His fingers slid against you, so wet and willing and needy, and Joel groaned. “Fuck, I knew you’d be wet for me, but Christ almighty, angel. You just need me so bad."

The pads of his fingertips found your clit and began to draw lazy, slow circles around it. He closed his eyes and sighed at the feeling of finally touching you.

Breath froze in your chest as you fought down a pant, wrestling for control of yourself. You wouldn’t give the smug prick so much as a heavy-lidded look or a single hum of pleasure, even as your body turned white-hot and molten under his touch.

He leaned close, towering over you as he played every part of you like an instrument. With his free hand, he gathered a handful of the hair at your nape and tugged it back, exposing the column of your throat. He licked a long line against your neck, the stubble on his chin leaving a trail of tingling skin in his wake that spread across your chest, then he breathed a promise in your ear as he continued to rub your clit.

“When I win—after you beg me so nice to fuck you that I just can’t say no—this sweet, wet, perfect pussy is gonna come for me, over an’ over an’ over. Thirteen times, for how goddamn lucky I am.”

His teeth grazed the hollow below your ear and you arched against him, fighting down a moan as your skin began to feel tighter and tighter.

You swallowed hard as he continued to tease you, making it increasingly difficult for you to hold back from admitting just how fucking incredible it felt to have Joel touch you.

“No stalling, no bargaining, no sweet-talk or doe eyes, no rain checks.” His voice was low and close, a soft, sultry promise that turned to stone as he continued. “Thirteen times. All in one go, as long as it takes. However I want to give them to you, whenever I decide it's time.”

[pocketfullofkouhuns]

Give in Again

part 6/8 [previous]

summary: Your determination to resist Joel kind of...crumbled at the end of your last meeting, but your best friend interrupted things before they could get out of control. When Joel texts you in the middle of the night, though, Hazel's not there to save you from yourself (not that she would want to).

pairing: joel miller x f!reader [no use of y/n, no outbreak au, protective, sleazy joel is also a shameless flirt, and a little murdery, and maybe a little stalkery]

word count: 5k [37.3k so far of 47k total]

warnings: canon-typical violence; eventual smutty payoff to a slow burn; sexually explicit dialogue; joel just wants to put his hands on you and get you to yell at him a little; and he'll do whatever it takes to get it to happen; possibly including manslaughter; don't worry about it, darlin'

"You told me there wasn't any 'something'!" Hazel whisper-yelled in the seconds after Joel's departure, swatting at you. "Why did you let me flirt with him if there was some 'something'?!"

"There wasn't! There isn't!"

You were a fucking liar, and if your face got any hotter, you were going to pass out.

"Babe, please." She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "You're telling me that dude just left out of here with his lips all red, his hair totally mussed, and a full-on er—"

"Don't. No. Do not. I will leave."

"He was distractingly hard," she said anyway.

You made a gagging sound and headed for the back door, which only encouraged Haze. She cackled wildly as she followed you through the door, continuing to pile on.

"Which. Listen, babe, congrats, I absolutely knew it would be big and I love that for you. But that was definitely some 'something' and you should've told me! And now I've roped poor Jay into the mix; he's gonna be so sad."

A pained groan came out of you.

"What is that sound?" Hazel asked, staring you down with raised brows.

"Jay is...definitely not going to be sad. Or in any way surprised."

Locking the back door, you cast a longing glance toward the stairs up to your apartment, giving serious consideration to just sleeping in your own place. If someone broke in and killed you, it would probably at least be quick, compared with the slow torture of catching Hazel up on the extremely long night you'd had.

As if sensing your plan, Haze grabbed you by the arm and dragged you toward her stairwell.

"C'mon, little miss makeout sesh," she bade. "I was promised a goss-and-sip. You can tell me now. Better late than never."

------------------------------

You'd begged her to just go to bed. Reminded her that she had a bakery, for fuck's sake, and had to be awake in like four hours.

But Hazel had never been one to be denied a full and complete, no-detail-spared recounting of All The Drama.

So there you were, an hour and two drinks later, finally wrapping up the sordid fucking tale.

"Now can we please..." you said, buzzed and yearning for sleep—planning to plead for sleep—when she butted in.

"Wait, wait, just let me... Let your Hazel do her recap. Shush." She drained the last of her wine, burped lightly against the back of her hand, and shifted around on the couch. "We'll count the ‘somethings,’ shall we?"

Fuck me. This was going to be brutal. 

"Saved you from that shitweasel, Trevor." Hazel held up a finger, then a second as she continued, "Stayed with you all night then put you in a cab."

"I asked him to stay, that one doesn't count. It was a pity-stay."

"Zip it, mommy's talking." She ticked off three more fingers, filling her hand. "Dropped Trevor again—still furious with you for lying about that, bee-tee-dubs—kissed your boo-boo, and cleaned the shop."

"It was technically two boo-boos, no kisses." You were unsure if that changed the tally.

Hazel rolled her eyes, counting on her other hand now. 

"Got you dinner, ran a bath—"

"Oh, get fucked, he loses that one for coming back later!"

"Babe, I need you to be so fucking for real with me right now; coming back for your bathwater counts as at least two 'somethings,' especially since he put his hands all over you to get it." She flipped up the last of her fingers and then put her hands on either side of your face for emphasis as she went on. "Crashed your date, danced with you, got on his knees to kiss another boo-boo, and had his tongue in your mouth."

Hazel stared at you with a 'did I miss anything?' look, and she had, actually, but this seemed bad enough already so you held your silence.

"That is two hands full of 'something,' with some left over. Which--"

"Do not," you warned.

“—is sounding like the title of the inevitable sex tape, sweetie. Sorry not sorry."

"I'm joining a convent." You unlocked your phone and opened the browser. "Nun...jobs...near...me."

Hazel finally released you to bed twenty minutes and another drink later, nudging you from 'buzzed' into 'tipsy' and leaving you just uninhibited enough to do something deeply stupid when your phone vibrated a little while after you laid down on her too-soft green velvet couch.

It was a text, from Bar Douche. Joel.

—Glass is handled, sugar. Couple fellas will be by at 7, Aaron and Eric

You made a noise of surprise, muffling it with your blanket at the last second so as not to wake Hazel, who slept like a hypervigilant chihuahua on stimulants and was always fully prepared to make it your problem.

The replacement of that window was going to set you back a couple grand and at least a few days' worth of lost business while you waited for an insurance adjuster and then a glass company to fit you onto their schedules. A 'come in, we're open!' sign would only do so much when the place was boarded up like a zombie flick backdrop. 

Joel had sorta saved your ass again. And while normally that would rile you a little, with that last glass of wine swimming through your system, you briefly forgot to be overly independent.

—You're my absolute hero, thank you. You didn't have to do that.

His response was quick.

—Didn't mean to wake you, angel

—I was still awake.

—I knew it  :(  Sorry, darlin, I failed you

Your reply was a reflection of your facial expression, especially at a man like Joel typing out a frowny-face emoji.

—?

—Can't sleep without me

You rolled your eyes, but caught yourself smiling. 

—Oh, fuck you.

—Fuck me yourself, sweetheart, I dare you

That one shut you up for a minute, but you managed to find a way to turn the tables.

—There but for the grace of Hazel...

Jesus, it was probably mostly true. Even just walking in the memory of his hips pinning you against the wall, his arms lifting you onto the countertop, his hands and mouth all over you was enough to make you a little short of breath. If Hazel hadn’t walked in when she had…

—Cmon now sugar, you & me both know all I gotta do is get you back in arms reach and grace is gonna be the last thing on that wicked little mind

You scowled at the screen, ignoring the annoying little flip in your stomach. 

—Lucky for me, I’m safely snuggled up all alone.

Until your dying breath, you’d blame Hazel and her miserable goddamn rosé for what came next. 

You unbuttoned your shirt—Joel’s shirt—one stop past ‘tasteful’ and carefully arranged the neckline, the scent of his skin rising from the fabric to coax you onward. 

The room was dark and so was your phone screen, and you weren’t sure what the resulting image would look like until the screen flared white and you caught a glimpse of yourself in the flash. 

Okay, maybe it was two stops past ‘tasteful.’

Reviewing the picture, finger hovering over the ‘send’ button, you noticed that your diligent attention in arranging your neckline had left you careless with your hem. The shirt rode high on your thighs, the two sides parting to frame a tiny peek of your panties. Not the ones you’d’ve worn if you were trying to show them off, but…

Fuck it. You’d sent better pictures to worse men. 

A little electric thrill rolled through you as you hit ‘send.’ 

Joel’s text bubble appeared and disappeared more than a handful of times, and you caught yourself grinning like a fool at the hint of a crack in his composure. 

—Christ almighty

—It took you seven tries to come up with “Christ almighty”?

—First six woulda got me in trouble

Your face grew warm and tension spread out over your body, making you curl your toes against the armrest of the couch. 

—Well, come on, then, let’s hear ‘em. I officially grant you full immunity. 

—Feels like a trick

In spite of yourself, you laughed. You’d’ve thought Joel would jump at the chance to say whatever filthy, unhinged shit that had popped into his disgusting little brain. The idea that he was hesitant to ‘get in trouble’ with you sent a quick pulse of power and pleasure through your chest.

—Not a trick. Cross my heart. I’ll even rate ‘em for you, so you know which ones are worth using on the next girl.

—Ain’t gonna need a next girl, sugar

—Mmm, 6/10. Very pretty on the surface, but ultimately hollow and lacks detail. 

—Not sure I’m gonna like this game 

—Tick-tock, cowboy, I gotta open in like five hours.

—Send me the picture again

You did him one better, taking a fresh picture in more or less the same pose, save for a little less careful attention to what was and wasn’t covered. 

—Prettier than a mint julep in July

—3/10 for vagueness buuut leaves the opportunity for a witty comeback so… 6.4/10.

—Well don’t leave me hangin

Your fucking heart was going to jump out of your chest. This game might’ve been a mistake. 

No, you had this. You summoned some of the ease and confidence that had found you just a little while ago, when Joel had been on his knees for you, the warmth of his body radiating against your thighs. Mimicking your own body language from before, you channeled that other version of yourself and gave her the reins. 

—Give me the line again.

—Prettier than a mint julep in July

—Not to mention sweeter and twice as wet. 

—8/10. Paints a hell of a picture but without proof… What’d you say about mine earlier?  —“Ultimately hollow and lacks detail”

Well, you certainly weren’t gonna offer any greater detail, but…

—Definitely not a hollow statement, handsome. I suppose you’ll just have to trust me. 

—Bout to drive over there and find out for myself

A whole scene played out in fast-forward in your mind, one that would almost be worth giving up this game of cat-and-mouse for.

—Tsk. Ah but alas, *someone* sent me to sleep at my friend’s place, so you have no idea where “over there” actually is. 

—Sweetheart please. Let’s not fool ourselves

That was…ominous. Though he had apparently been going into Hazel’s bakery with irritating regularity, and Haze was a chronically open book. And even if she hadn’t foolishly told a stranger where she lived, you supposed it didn’t take a rocket scientist to connect the dots between your apartment being above your business and Hazel’s following suit.

—Need my picture back if you want the next one

You took the photo again, some of that confident body language from earlier that night sticking around just enough to have your legs parted a bit wider than before, your neck stretched a little longer, mouth fallen open just slightly.

Must’ve worked, because Joel’s text bubble disappeared twice before his message came through.

—Just when I thought I knew exactly how I was gonna fuck you

Jesus Christ. Your jaw dropped and you almost laughed out loud, until your imagination took over, sending a tingling tension over your skin that had you clenching your thighs together, grounding you.

—8/10. Sexy, if a little presumptuous. Leaves a tiny bit TOO much to the imagination.

—Reckoned I wasn’t allowed to say your tits are mighty fuckable. Feminism an all that

A little squeak of indignation escaped your throat, even as your skin flared hot and tight, your hips flexing with edgy anticipation.

—Christ ALIVE, dude —I said “a tiny bit”! 

—And now I’m back to dude again. Knew this was a goddamn trick 

This time, you did laugh out loud—a wheezing, hideous thing into the corner of your pillow that brought tears to your eyes and made you glad you were technically alone.

Still, when it was time to send Joel his photo, you tugged down your hem and fastened a button, squaring back your shoulders to give him a little less to look at.

His response was as fast as it was unimpressed.

—Full immunity, my ass

You smiled at your phone screen, picturing Joel pouting on the other end of the line. Much as he seemed to love the chase and loved to play the game, he struck you as the type to hate to lose.

—Quit bellyaching, cowboy, it’s basically the same as the first pic. —C’mon now, let’s hear it. Rude to keep a lady waiting. 

—Them buttons are blocking my view of all that soft skin, sugar

Tame—for Joel, at least—but you supposed you shouldn’t be surprised, after he’d just got chastised for being a horndog. 

—7.7/10. Apologies, handsome. What exactly were you hoping to see?

—Every pretty goddamn inch of you, angel 

You rolled your eyes, but you undid each of the buttons on the flannel before you took your next picture, carefully separating the shirt’s sides from each other until a two- or three-inch-wide gap lay between them, starting at your clavicle and trailing well past your panty line.

The ache between your legs was apparently making you stupid, but you didn’t have long to fret over it before Joel’s reply appeared. 

—Cruel of you to tempt a hungry man w the perfect meal when he ain’t ate all day

A burst of heat spread through your restless muscles and a grin tugged at your cheeks as you covered your mouth, as if there were anyone to hide from. 

—Very nice. 9.2/10. Hope you like dessert for dinner. 

—Don’t you worry about me, darlin, got me a hell of a sweet tooth —Specially in the middle of the night 

Your legs stretched long, pressing against the arm of the couch as your back arched, body indulging in a short little daydream of being Joel’s midnight snack. 

For your last photo, you swept one side of the flannel back over your hip and hooked a thumb into the waistband of your panties, tugging it down over your upper thigh. 

—Last one, slugger. No pressure. 

His response took a moment to arrive, but you didn’t see the telltale text bubble before it came. 

A photo appeared on the screen. 

Joel’s warm, tan skin was a stark contrast to his crisp, white sheets. Long, muscular arms gave him the reach to nearly get his whole body in the image, from the hand tucked back behind his head all the way down past his broad chest to the sweatpants he slept in, the v of his hips and the sprinkling of dark hair over his lower stomach coaxing your eyes down to the not-remotely discreet bulge that wasn’t so much covered by his sweats as it was highlighted by them. 

It wasn’t a dick pic but it was awful close and wow, you wanted to hate it, but…

—9.5/10. Compliments to the chef. 

You had a good idea of what Joel’s response would be before it arrived, but it still tickled you to see. 

—Damn, sugar, what’s a man gotta do to get a 10?

—Not being critical, just acknowledging room for improvement. 

—What would make it better?

—Send it again. 

Part of you wanted to make sure he wasn’t just sending you a picture he’d sent to someone else before, even if the gentle, curved line of ink over his pec made that unlikely—that tattoo, whatever it would’ve been, had only been a week ago. But mostly, you just wanted to see what he’d do with a second chance. 

This time, his hand lay flat against the center of his chest, as if bidding you to rest there, but not much else had changed. He still looked into the camera with ease in those dark eyes, one knee flexed and sprawled out to the side. 

No need to go messing with perfection, you guessed. Or, at least, near-perfection. 

Noticing the faint farmer’s tan hugging Joel’s biceps felt oddly intimate, even in an admittedly very intimate photo, and it pulled a quick little tug in your chest that you’d almost be forced to call affection.

You had the sudden urge to slap some sense into yourself, and that was enough to bring you back to the task at hand.

—See all that empty space on either side of your hips and chest?

—Saving that for your pretty little legs, angel

Pleasure pulsed through you, something a lot like inevitability coiling low in your stomach. 

—10/10. You took the words right out of my mouth. 

—Need something to take their place?

—…10/10. You’re getting good at this. 

————————————-

A too-scant handful of hours later, you were pulled from sleep by the not-that-gentle thump of bass sounding through the apartment. 

"Babe, if Charli and Billie can't wake you up, you know I gotta break out the ice next," Hazel said, singsong voice calling out like a sunshine threat. "I already tried two other songs."

You groaned and rolled over, covering your head with a pillow to blot out the combined racket of Hazel's music and her rummaging around the kitchen. Every bit of you was still bone-deep exhausted, concrete muscles fed by mud-thick blood. 

Hazel had been up for an hour or more already, if the smell of baking bread and pastry coming up from the ovens in the shop below was any indication. 

"C'mon, kid, you gotta get that juicy little ass out of bed—final warning." The freezer door opened and the scrabbling sound of a handful of ice being gathered made its way through the pillow. "We open in twenty minutes and mama needs caffeine."

A hail of pebble-sized chunks of wet ice rained down on you, landing on your exposed skin or pooling between your body and the couch cushions, making you loose a flailing yelp as you scrambled to your feet.

"I'm up! I'm up! Fuck! God.” You panted in a few breaths, then shook a couple pieces of ice out of the breast pockets of the flannel, much to the delight of Hazel’s cat, Masala—‘Sully’—who set to batting them around the floor. 

Once you were out of your sleep-shirt and into your clothes, Hazel pushed her travel mug at your chest and nudged you toward the door. 

Trudging down the weak-lit stairs, flat-footed and heavy, you fell into a sleepy daze. When you reached the shop's back door, you shuffled your keys in your empty hand, bouncing them around until you held the right one in your grip. 

It didn't fit. 

You inspected the key—the same well-worn brass you held twice a day that left your fingertips smelling unbearably like spare change—then tried again to slide it into place. It still didn't fit. 

You yanked on the stupid door in frustration. 

It opened, the unexpected, too-loud jangling of the bell announcing your entry and making you jump.  

And despite an open door being exactly what you wanted a second ago, you dropped the handle like it had burned you and then froze in place as the door slowly closed. 

You’d locked up the night before, you knew you had. Someone had been in there. They might still be in there.

Your instinct was to call Joel, and man, that pissed you off.

Every bit of your fear replaced by fire, you tore open the door again and stomped inside, clutching Hazel's travel mug by the handle in case you needed to brain somebody with it. 

The cafe was dark, almost pitch-black—for a moment there, you'd forgotten that the plate-glass window was boarded over. 

You squinted into the dim space and made your way to the rear light switches, slapping at the wall to illuminate the room, your heart in your throat with fear of what you'd find. 

But the place was empty as you'd left it...with one notable exception. 

In the middle of the countertop lay a small pile of items—a handful of shiny brass keys huddled around a brown leather keychain stamped ‘JM,’ a still-warm breakfast sandwich from a place up the street, and a note scrawled in neat capital letters:

ALWAYS RE-KEY BUILDER-GRADE LOCKS OR ANY ASSHOLE COULD GET IN. BE BY @ 4 FOR ALMOND PASTRY W MY GIRL. DIDN’T GET MUCH REST LAST NITE—MAKE ME COFFEE + I’LL MAKE IT WORTH YOUR WHILE.

You didn't really need to wonder who'd broken into your shop to change your locks, feed you, and make extremely presumptuous demands of your time. Especially not when his goddamn initials were stamped on your new keyring. 

Torn between a stupid, stomach-butterfly grin and an eye-roll, you reached for your phone and tapped out a message to Joel:

—You were a busy boy this morning. A felony AND a breakfast sandwich before 7am? Must've got up early.

—After our little chat? Didn’t sleep a wink

—“Up,” indeed, huh?

—Making it tough to work

—Don’t you mean “HARD to work”?

—All fun and games til it’s time to pay the piper

The only response that came to mind was a weak play on words (something something ‘lay the pipe-er’), but thankfully a well-timed knock came at the shop's entrance to spare you from your writer’s block. 

You glanced at the clock on the wall—five 'til 7. If nothing else, Joel’s workmen were certainly punctual.

--------------------------------------------

It took less than a minute to greet Aaron and Eric, but you walked away with absolutely no clue which was which after they introduced themselves as a pair. They were stiff and awkward and weirdly deferential in a way blue-collar men seldom were, even in Texas. It was like the warmer you were toward them, the more skittish they became. 

Your final straw was when Hazel came over to trade you a frangipane tart for her coffee and the men gladly chatted with her by the glassless window about the weather and their work and the music coming from their stereo. When you walked out to make the exchange with Haze, though, the men clammed up completely and mid-sentence, turning their suddenly serious faces back to their work.

This officially exceeded your limit and you demanded Joel tell you what the fuck was going on. 

—Wtf did you tell these two about me?

—What's the matter?

—They're acting like they're scared I'll bite. 

—Just told em my girl needed some glass replaced, sent the measurements and address

—Oh, so it's YOU they're afraid of being bitten by.

—Probly 

—They refused coffee AND pastries.

—I'll let em know your friend's pastries are ok to take 

—Joel, I swear to god, if these men do not accept my hospitality, I'm taking it out on you. 

—Promise?

—Yes, I can absolutely promise you that if they don't get coffee and pastries from me now, you're not getting them with me later. —Okay, I didn't expect them to *immediately* come in here. —Who the fuck ARE you? I was afraid for a second they were gonna bow and curtsy. 

—Just a workin man, sugar

—Why do I feel like I need to give them the 'do you feel safe at home' talk?

—Want me to have em come back in an smile for you?

—Gross. No. Leave those poor dudes alone.  —Also, I'm not your girl, Don Corleone.

—Sure you are, angel

————————————-

“Shut the fuck uuup,” Hazel said, disbelieving and far too loud, earning at least her twelfth stern shushing in about five minutes. She shifted in the armchair, lifting herself up with her arms so she could cross her legs underneath her. “This is my entire life now. This is my Real Housewives, my Love Island, my Bachelor in fucking Paradise. Cancel my Hulu, this is all I care about. Who the Christ is this guy?!”

She’d come over just before noon to share a quick lunch before her assistant, David went home for the day, but it had devolved into an impromptu gossip sesh when, in telling her that Joel had arranged for the glass repair, you’d also let slip that you’d had a…saucy conversation with him in the wee hours of the morning. Hazel had demanded an immediate and thorough recap and was now scrolling through the conversation herself, pausing to gasp, swear, or call you—fondly and so loudly—a Jezebel.

The cafe had been empty almost all day, the sight of workmen either ruining the ambience or else giving the impression that the place was closed, and you hadn’t been grateful for it for a single second until your best friend had come over. 

“Haze, I cannot stress enough how much I need you to be so much fucking quieter,” you pleaded, squeezing your hands around her forearms. “Those two are his, like…friends, maybe? Employees? I don’t know. What I do know is I don’t want them telling him you were commentating about our conversation and loudly and in great detail discussing his dick.”

“Men don’t listen, babe, you know that.”

“They do when it’s gossip and a hot chick whispering about cock! Especially their friend and-or boss’s! You are fucking killing me.”

“I haven’t even gotten to the cock parts yet, darling,” she said, at a volume that made you cringe, “I’m still stuck on your fuckable tits.”

One of the men—you never had been able to discern who was who—barked a laugh that he poorly disguised as a coughing fit, and you and Hazel locked eyes, both bursting into laughter of your own. For a few moments, you were giggling freshman again, giddy and a little boy-crazy. 

Right at a lull in your laughter, the bell over the front door jingled and you turned to find a tiny, pink-faced old lady in green overalls hefting a vase full of flowers through the door. 

A thrill of excitement and a twist of embarrassment flared up and fought for dominance as you realized what the flowers were.

Crimson roses. 

If your face had been hot before, it was an inferno now. You scrambled to your feet to greet the woman, her sweet, grandmotherly voice praising the unconventional arrangement as she made her way to the counter you’d pointed her to.

“Crimson roses are quite a statement on their own, of course, but with the bat orchids and the trailing greenery…” She blew out a breath. “Someone must’ve made an impression! The young man on the phone certainly seemed…enchanted.”

You kept your eyes cast downward while you fought to open the register so you could grab some cash, sweat starting to prickle at your hairline as your face refused to cool down. Just as the drawer slid closed, Hazel reached toward the arrangement and you slapped her hand away, snatching the card and pocketing it, then thanking the florist for her lovely work and offering her a tip.

She patted you on the shoulder and winked, then she turned to go, muttering something under her breath about youth being wasted on the young.

The card in your pocket was burning a hole into your leg, but you simply could not open the card with Hazel and her loud fucking mouth there, you just knew you couldn’t.

“Thanks for dropping by, Haze…” You raised your brows meaningfully at her.

She slumped and pouted, stamping a foot and humming a discontented sound.

“You are just…the poopiest of pants,” she said.

You rolled your eyes. “You know I’ll send you a picture after the initial shame wears off.” 

She sighed loudly and moved toward the door.

“See you later tonight?”

“If you can climb the stairs to my place!” she called as the door drifted closed behind her.

You waited the agonizing seconds it took her to move past the window and then a few more seconds for her to get into her shop before you dug the card out of your pocket and opened it.

In lovely, looping cursive that you could immediately identify as Old Lady Handwriting, the florist had been instructed to write:

“I’ll be spreading something for you later, sugar, but it ain’t gonna be rose petals. -JM”

You slowly sank to the floor behind the bar, hidden from Aaron and Eric’s line of sight, willing your hands not to shake as you took a photo of the note and sent it to Hazel. 

Ten seconds later, a gleeful scream rang through the wall shared by the cafe and the bakery. 

You peeked around the edge of the counter just in time to see Hazel run into view on the other side of the new window. When her gaze found you, she gave a little hop and clapped giddily, then mimed fainting. You ducked back behind the counter before she could reappear and see your grin and sent another text.

—I am going to punish you. 

—Lookin forward to it, angel

Next Chapter ->

[pocketfullofkouhuns]

Fanfic Fragrance Recs

I adore fragrances and I love speculating about what my favorite characters might wear/smell like, so here's some thoughts on the characters I've written for!

Jackson Joel: Lonestar Memories 03 - Tauer Reader: Rotano - Maison d'Etto + El - Arquiste Notes: Both are grounded, end-of-the-world, horse-inspired scents (Lonestar Memories and Rotano), but Reader's is paired with clean, almost sterile-smelling herbaceous scent (El) that brings to mind the feeling of calling for aid from the next town over and having your doc arrive on horseback. Lonestar Memories is a rider on a narrow trail, leather boots brushing against sagebrush and wild carrot, then returning home to softness and coffee. An alternative for the pair would be Untamable - Imaginary Authors with the gentlest spritz of Portrait of a Lady - Frederic Maille

Give in Again Joel: Corpalium - Marlou and/or Musc Ravageur - Frederic Maille Reader: Cherry Punk - Room 1015 (Extrait when she's feeling feisty) Notes: Corpalium and Musc Ravageur bring to mind a sleazy, dirty kind of sweat-soaked-tshirt situation, but Musc Ravageur is the undershirt to something that started out the night pressed and poplin. Cherry Punk is cherries and leather--sexy and bold, but absolutely refuses to apologize for what it is.

Texas Tornado Joel: Sterling - Fulton + Roark Reader: Velvet Moon - Poesie Notes: Sterling is an ode to soft masculinity, with warm tobacco and leather made gentler with the addition of vanilla and bergamot. Joel doesn't wear cologne often, but just a ghost of Sterling will permeate everything it touches. At work, Reader is Philosykos by Diptyque, clean and bright and classy, without dominating a room. For Joel, though, she's all Velvet Moon--a spicy scent that’s at once sexy and comforting, lingering close to the skin and inviting you to stay a while.

[pocketfullofkouhuns]

Give in Again

part 5/8 [previous]

summary: When the sanctity of your home turf is tarnished, Joel does his best to make you feel safe. You're a little vulnerable in the face of your den being invaded, and Joel's extremely confident he can set things back to rights.

pairing: joel miller x f!reader [no use of y/n, no outbreak au, protective, sleazy joel is also a shameless flirt, and a little murdery, and maybe a little stalkery]

word count: 8k [32.5k so far of 47k total]

warnings: canon-typical violence; eventual smutty payoff to a slow burn; joel just wants to put his hands on you and get you to yell at him a little; and he'll do whatever it takes to get it to happen; possibly including manslaughter; don't worry about it, darlin'

Your senses had gone all far-off and hazy—face tingling, ears ringing, vision tunneled, the whole works. You were on your feet, for now, but that could honestly probably change at any moment. 

If pressed, you wouldn’t be able to say why the sight had shaken you so badly. Why your hands trembled and your stomach churned, why you let Joel wrap an arm around you from half a step ahead, shielding you with his body as you approached the storefront.

Maybe it was the malevolence of it—the menacing threat of the unseen predator prowling in the grass just outside your den and maybe prowling inside it. Whatever it was, you just couldn’t collect your stupid bearings. You’d dealt with worse, but not in Austin, this city you’d just recently come to start to love. Maybe it was the betrayal of it all that hit you so hard.

You were coaxing down a breath on the sidewalk in front of the cafe as it glittered in the streetlights, strewn with broken glass, the gaping maw of the shattered front window looking sharp-toothed and sinister with the shards that still clung to the frame.

There was this surreal sensation of moving in slow-motion that had been following you since Frank’s, like you were stuck in mental quicksand.

While you were out fucking around and dancing like an idiot, someone had smashed the plate-glass window at your shop and gotten up to fuck-knows-what inside.

Joel’s hold on you had turned grounding when you’d gone threat-still at the sound of Haze’s strained voice on the line, urging you home now, and he didn’t so much as flinch when you’d told him what you needed to do. No jokes, no ‘takin’ me home, sugar’ innuendo, no hesitation; he’d done nothing but ask if you were alright and casually vow to strip the hide from whoever was responsible. When you’d gotten to the cafe, he was out of the car before you realized it had stopped, grabbing your door extremely slowly in a thin excuse to delay you while he assessed the situation.

Though none of that registered in the moment. 

When you pulled up, Hazel was cross-armed and fretting, standing in the entryway, huddled up next to Ari. Haze ran for you, stopping short and rearing back as she came toe-to-toe with an unmoving Joel. After blinking up at him fruitlessly, she leaned sideways to peer around him at you, panic and a question mark on her face.

“Babe, oh my god, I was up to my elbows in buttercream flowers when I heard glass break next door, are you okay?” She held out your spare shop-keys, saving you from having to run upstairs to get your own.

All you could do was nod, clutching the keyring in a fist—obviously, you were okay, but also, of course you weren’t. Ari strolled up with a nod for you and a matching one for Joel and it almost occurred to you to finally wonder if they knew each other.

When no one else spoke, Hazel took it upon herself to take another turn. 

“Should we call the cops, or…?”

When you didn’t answer, Joel did. “You can call, but they ain’t gonna do nothin’. Y’all got security cameras?” He looked at Ari.

“Only inside the shop.”

You and Hazel shook your heads.

“I’ve, uh, been meaning to, but—” you stammered. It was stupid not to; they cost next to nothing these days. But the idea of someone hacking in and watching you made you nauseated, and plus, like…who would bust up a coffee shop? 

Fucking Austin. You should’ve known better, shouldn’t have let your guard—

Joel squeezed just above your elbow, pausing your downward spiral just at its edge. His touch slipped down to your fingers and he coaxed the keys from your grasp.

“It’s alright, sugar, I’ll handle it.” He turned to Ari. “You got eyes on things out here a second?”

Ari—a soul of few words all these months you’d known them—flicked their attention to Hazel for a blink, then nodded and turned their gaze up the street. “No problem.”

Joel turned to go inside and you were seized by worry, reaching out and grabbing for him before you could think about it, just barely catching his shirt in your grasp. If someone was still in there, they were either monumentally stupid, or they had more than just vandalism in mind. Neither was something to go wandering headlong into. 

“Joel, don’t; there might be something bad in there.”

“There will be in a second, darlin’,” he said, and then had the audacity, the absolute lack of shame to wink at you.

You rolled your eyes, the annoyance making you feel a little more like yourself. “Don’t be cute. We don’t know who’s in there, let the cops handle it."

“‘Cute’?” He raised his eyebrows at you.

“Glib,” you clarified with a scowl, but you released him and held your hands up in surrender. “Fine. Go nuts. There’s a Maglite under the register, you…caveman.”

“That’s my girl.” And then the grinning, cocky motherfucker put a finger beneath your chin and held your gaze for a second, eyes falling to your lips. “Somethin’ bad out here, too, ain’t there?”

He sounded almost fond as he said it, tempting warmth into your face and chest. You swatted his hand away, pushing at his shoulder so he could get this idiocy over with.

Joel slipped one hand to the small of his back and unlocked the cafe. He moved swiftly and silently into the space, gathering up the Maglite in his fist and bearing it aloft like a dark, bloody promise.

“Who’s Mr. Tall, Dark, and Protective?” Hazel whispered, squeezing closer, linking her arm with yours. The smell of vanilla and sugar and flour wrapped around you, soft and warm as cashmere. “He looks familiar.”

“Just a guy from Frankie’s.”

You’d tell her about Joel’s role in the Jay Fiasco later, when he was safely out of yelling range. You weren’t protecting him, you reasoned, you were just sparing yourself further assache after a day that had been wall-to-wall with it already.

“Ugh, I can’t believe you still go there. It’s so rednecky and old.”

Hazel had gone with you a few times, but found it not to her liking. ‘Too twangy,’ she’d said. She preferred something sleeker, louder—the type of place you had to lean in close to be heard and never got the same drink or the same bartender twice.

“It has personality, I like it.” It was one of the few places in Austin that felt like yours, not like something Hazel—who had been well-established here by the time she’d convinced you to move—was loaning out to you. “And Frankie’s a good guy, he’s nice to me.”

“Is this one a good guy?” She tipped her head toward Joel. “‘Cause… Jesus. What’s going on there?”

“Unclear.” The flashlight beam moved smoothly, the only thing visible in the room beyond. You stared at it, a marker of Joel’s progress and safety inside.

“To which part?” Hazel asked, putting her chin on your shoulder with half a gasp, never one to keep her focus on the task at hand. “Are y’all…?”

“Absolutely not.” You shushed her.

“‘Cause it looked like there’s some something.“

“He’s a massive flirt and a…cad.” You waved your hand dismissively. “Whatever ‘something’ you think you’re seeing is nothing personal, trust me.”

“‘Cad’?” She breathed a quiet laugh. “Is he a character in a Jane Austen n—“

“Y’all can come on in,” he called, flipping on the lights. “Coast is clear.”

At once eager to be in your beloved coffee shop and loath to see the damage in full light, you made your way inside. First glance wasn’t too awful, just some shattered glass and upturned furniture. Ari and Hazel tag-teamed setting a table to rights, talking softly to each other as you looked around. 

“Now this,” Joel said, holding your Maglite out like a baseball bat and miming a few practice swings, “is a fuckin’ flashlight.”

You gave a little bow and took it from his hand when he offered it to you. The thing held 6 D-cell batteries, weighed several pounds, and was almost as long as your whole arm. 

It was a weapon, varnished in plausible deniability.

“Never know when the power might go out,” you said, playing at wide-eyed innocence and propping it on your shoulder. “Gosh, Texas is just so windy.”

"Uh-huh,” he said, smiling at the way you wielded the thing. “Can never be too careful. You got any plywood stored away someplace, Girl Scout? For covering that window for hurricanes or somethin’?”

You were forming a gesture somewhere between a shrug and a head-shake when Ari chimed in. “Should be; Sal boarded up during those storms a couple years ago.”

They nodded toward the rear door, presumably meaning the dusty old storage space you’d only been in a time or two, finding it too dank and be-spidered for your tastes. Sal, the previous owner, had left behind a few this-and-thats held over from the days when the space had been a deli, rather than a coffee shop.

“C’mon, sugar,” Joel bade you, stretching out a hand and waggling his fingers. “Best not to stay in here alone.”

“...Cough,” Hazel said, gesturing a frosting-stained hand at herself. “‘Alone’?”

“You, uh, gotta come too, miss.” Joel swept a hand ahead of himself in a wordless 'after you.' “I’m sure you’re tougher than you look, but I’d rather have eyes on y’all, just in case our friend comes back."

-------------------

There had, indeed, been plywood in the storage room, and—all apologies to the generations of spiders disturbed by their retrieval—Joel and Ari were making short work of hanging them up, the holes left by previous installation allegedly making the process simpler. Nevertheless, the intermittent, unpredictable sound of a hammer drill in the midnight hour set your teeth on edge and had you trying not to startle at shadows. 

In want of a little privacy you could fall apart in, you’d urged Hazel to go finish her damn wedding cake before the crumb dried out, and somehow you’d gotten her to heed. On your own, you had busied your hands, wandering around the space with a small trash can, picking up the shards that were too large to sweep up without gouging the already-battered floor, and you sulked. 

Between the random power tool noises, the muffled speech outside, and your shitty mood, the crashing of broken and breaking glass in the garbage can swiftly became unbearable, so you took to carefully placing the slabs inside. The sound of glass sliding against floor-gritty glass was still terrible but it was significantly more tolerable. 

Truly, fuck Texas. 

Fuck Texas, fuck whoever did this, fuck the scared little creature in your gut that was still shaking from the fallout, fuck your insurance deductible and the glass company who'd be fleecing you in the morning, and fuck—

Your phone buzzed with a text message. A short video of a frosting-smeared Hazel, showing you an almost Haze-sized cake and saying she was putting on the finishing touches and had less than an hour to go.

You tucked the trash can under an elbow to free your other hand, then snapped a picture of your middle finger held aloft before the boarded-up window and told her she wasn’t missing much next door. Her replies flew back quickly. 

—Cannot believe you’re inside moping, staring at broken glass when there are some WELL-fitted Wranglers on the other side of that plywood.

—Doing LABOR. For YOU. 

—What a waste. Why are you even in TX? I’m about to be out there in a lawn chair. 

You snorted a laugh, putting the little garbage can on top of a table so you could use both hands to reply. 

—Those Wranglers are full of a lot of weird baggage. 

—Girl, I did NOT say I wanted him to SPEAK. Bffr. 

—I have yet to get him to stop. 

When a few seconds went by with no little bubble popping up to indicate she was responding, you locked your screen and put your phone back in your pocket. 

Wait. 

There’d been a little notification circle over your text message app. 

You unlocked your phone again to check the unread messages. Ugh. Bar Douche. No, you reminded yourself, the texts were from Joel. They were from hours ago, before Hazel had called, when you were still at Frankie’s. 

—Never been jealous of a man getting face-slapped before

—You look so damn pretty out there, but you look better w me

—Don’t mind the view from here, tho

You still hated Joel a little for the weeks of Bar Douche bullshit. He’d robbed you of peace of mind and made you feel watched when you should’ve just been having a good time; in the process, he’d tainted the one place in Austin except the cafe that felt like yours, felt like home. 

—Your face isn’t off my slapping list just yet. 

You reached for your back pocket again to tuck your phone away, bumping the trash can with your elbow in the process. It teetered on the edge of the table and, just as you reached to grab it, tipped onto the floor with a massive splintering crash, landing perfectly upside-down. 

Overwhelmed and overstimulated, your composure finally broke, and you picked up, then hurled the now-empty garbage can at the carpet of shattered glass on the ground at your feet with a full breath of impassioned blasphemy. 

The sounds outside halted. Joel burst through the door a second later with a pistol in his hand and Ari on his heels, both scanning the room for you and for what had produced what you now realized could’ve been taken for sounds of a struggle. 

“Everything alright in here, angel?”

“Yes! Christ! I’m fine!” You demonstrated how fine you were by kicking the empty plastic piece of shit halfway across the room, and then you seriously considered chucking something else or stomping a foot into the glass. But spent rage was giving way to embarrassment and the realization that you’d just thrown a temper tantrum in front of witnesses. “…Sorry.”

Joel said, “Sugar, what in the hell happened?” just as Ari asked, “Where’s Hazel?”

Ari’s was easier to answer. 

You waved at the back door and said, “I sent her back next door to finish her—”

“You’re in here alone?” Joel asked, the tinkling bell over the door almost silent as Ari exited to go find Hazel. Joel’s focus dropped to your arm. “Baby, you’re bleeding.”

You looked down at yourself, spotting a trickling river of blood along the back of your left hand. 

“It’s fine, it’s a scratch, it doesn’t even hurt. It looks worse than it is.”

Your point was undermined by blood dripping from the tips of your ring and middle fingers and onto the glass-strewn floor.

“Sit on down, killer,” he said, grabbing a bar towel off the top of a stack behind the counter. “Lemme take a look.”

“Oh, quit it, mother hen, I’m not bleeding out, I’m just bleeding.” Blood pattered steadily against the hardwood; you reached for the towel and Joel pulled it away. 

“Darlin’, you gotta sit down or I’m gonna sit you down.” He pulled down an upturned chair from atop a table.

Your face heated. “Try it, fucko.”

Joel gave you one of those smarmy, indulgent little grins and stepped closer. 

“God, I love it when you get all ornery and stubborn. You get this pretty little wrinkle—” 

He reached out a hand toward your face and you batted it away. 

“Knock it off,” you said, not wanting to hear where you got a pretty little wrinkle, thank you very much, and not wanting him caressing your face to show you. 

Joel dropped the bravado, gaze turning soft and sincere as he gestured to the seat again. “Sugar, please.”

You sat. You scowled, but you sat. 

“Cheater,” you said. 

“Never.” He swiped a boot across the floor to clear the glass, then knelt between your feet.

“Get up off the floor; there’s glass and blood down there, you—”

Joel bade you to hush and wrapped the cloth around your blood-slick hand. Then he took your other hand and closed it around the makeshift bandage, squeezing to encourage you to apply pressure, so you did. 

“Gotta elevate it to stop the bleeding, now, sweetheart.”

You held your clasped hands straight over your head. The muscles in your shoulders started to burn within moments, setting you to clenching your jaw. Joel wrapped his hands around your arms and brought them down to prop against his shoulders, your arms wound around his neck almost like they’d been when you were dancing. 

“This’ll do just fine, darlin’.” He hooked his hands behind your knees and hauled you closer to where he knelt between them, your stomach clenching tight as Joel encouraged you to sit on the edge of the chair so your elbows were on his shoulders, holding your arms straight without any effort at all. “Just gotta get it above your heart.”

Joel wasn’t just between your knees anymore, he was between your fucking thighs, and every single cell in your body knew it. You were all but nose-to-nose, close enough that you were sure the pounding of your too-loud, tattletale heart could be heard in the quiet of the space. 

He was slowly dragging his hands up and down your flanks and with every pass, his thumb traced the outer curve of your breast. 

It was not helping to slow your heart rate. 

You were fairly certain it wasn’t meant to.

“I’m skeptical of your nursing credentials,” you managed to say. 

Joel’s voice was close and low as he spoke. “Sugar, I am someone’s daddy—“

“Ick.” You recoiled from him, injury be damned. “No ‘daddy,’ not with that tone, dude, c’mon. Just let me fuckin’ bleed to death.”

Joel’s hands halted, pressing against your sides, fingers lacing into the softer flesh between your ribs as he pulled you back toward him. “Not with that tone, who?” He turned an ear and a raised brow toward you.

You sighed. This again. “Not with that tone, Joel.”

“Thank you, darlin’.” His hands resumed their path up and down your sides. “And since I am someone’s father, don’t you reckon I know my way around a boo-boo?”

You paused to genuinely consider it. 

“Hard to imagine you with a pocket full of Hello Kitty band-aids, kissing skinned knees on a playground,” you admitted. 

“Sarah was more the Sesame Street type.” Coaxing your wounded hand down from his shoulder and taking it in his, he lifted a corner of the towel and peeked at the slash. He sucked in a breath and pressed the fabric back against your skin, enveloping your hand in both of his. Joel breathed one of his many pet names like a prayer. “Oh, angel.”

“What?” Your pulse thudded in your chest. “What is it?”

“Damn, that was hard to look at,” Joel said, resting his head against your knee to steel himself, putting a tight little pull in your stomach. “I’ve done a lot in my life, sugar, I’ve seen blood; I’ve drawn plenty—hell, I’ve bled plenty, but that…”

You jerked your arm back, trying to extract it from his grasp so you could see, heart pounding for a multitude of reasons, but Joel held fast. 

“Your beautiful, perfect ring finger,” he said mournfully. Joel folded back the towel, showing you the shallow, readily-bleeding scrape along the back of your hand that included less than an inch of your ring finger. 

All the panic fled from you at once. 

He turned his head without raising it from your knee, essentially nuzzling against your thigh. You wished your hand would hurt, so you’d have something to command more of your attention. 

“What if it scars, darlin’?” he lamented, then made a show of taking a steadying breath and sitting upright, squaring his shoulders in resolve. “I’ll just have to get you a bigger diamond to distract folks.”

You were going to kill him. Rip his head off, kick him ass-first into a ravine, feed him poisoned black-eyed peas, something. 

“Oh my god, you’re gonna drive me to drink.” You bopped him on the top of the head with your good hand, chest lightening. “Actually… You’ve driven me. I’m there. Whiskey, bottom shelf, way left.” Pointing with a foot, you indicated the whiskey’s hiding place, then planted the foot square in the middle of his chest, pushing him away. It wasn’t even the whiskey that you wanted, just a bit of breathing room without Joel between your legs, so maybe your brain could function. “Go.”

“Yes, angel.” He gathered to his feet, visibly smug with mischief. “But I’m coming back for that hand, keep holding pressure. You got bandages someplace? Peroxide?”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to use peroxide anymore,” you said, peeking at the still-bleeding laceration. “There’s a bottle of rubbing alcohol in the stockroom in back; I use it for removing stickers. Top right, next to the box labeled ‘descaler’. First-aid kit’s on the wall.”

There was soft clanking as he rifled on the shelf for your secret whiskey, then he rose from behind the counter and wandered back toward the stockroom. 

“If you want the sting, sugar, just say so.”

“I want to not get…gangrene of the hand,” you said, squeezing the bandage around your hand again then scooting closer to a table so you could rest your elbows on the surface. “If I was just going for pain, trust me, this would already be bad enough.”

“You said it didn’t hurt.” He stuck his head out of the back room to look at you, tone verging on accusatory.

“It doesn’t.”

Annoyingly, he took your meaning and nodded. 

“Ah; the pain of being tended to. Best get used to it, darlin’.” Joel reappeared in the body of the shop a moment later, bearing two bottles and a fistful of bits and bobs from the first-aid kit. “For your hand—” He set down the rubbing alcohol with a plasticky thud, then came the more solid sound of the glass whiskey bottle against the tabletop by your elbow. “—and for your heart.”

You stopped him with a hand against his chest before he could kneel again. “Would you just use a chair, you lunatic?”

“Why on earth would I do that, sugar?” He lowered himself to the floor and began arranging medical supplies in careful rows, high on the widest part of your thigh, his so-not-accidental touches lingering against the sensitive skin. “This is right where I belong.”

The swarm of nerves in your gut put you on edge, making you testy enough to slap at Joel’s hand. 

“You irrepressible flirt, oh my god, be serious for ten seconds, there’s still glass down there.”

“Baby, I am serious as a cat in a room full of Rottweilers.” He paused his work tearing open gauzes—and whatever the hell else he was doing in your lap—and looked at you. “And since you’re already hollerin’ at me, I might as well go ahead and say I don’t think you ought to sleep here tonight.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, let me guess—”

Joel’s hands squeezed the outsides of your legs, just above your knees, hushing you. 

“You ought to sleep at your friend’s, angel; at least ‘til I’ve made sure this ain’t gonna happen again.”

“Oh.” The relief in your chest made perfect sense, but why did you feel a little…offended? Disappointed? You’d expected more of his gratuitous flirting, and were horrified to find that some part of you had wanted it. “Oh, I— Yeah, I can do that. Haze lives over… yeah. Won’t be a problem.”

You grabbed for the whiskey and took a slug, giving your already-warm cheeks a less humiliating reason to be flushed, and your mouth something less humiliating to do than stammer. 

“Good.” Joel uncapped the alcohol and poured out a dribble onto a square of gauze, its sharp astringent smell making your mouth go dry. “Gotta keep you safe ‘til I can keep my eyes on you in the overnights.”

You coughed a little bit on whiskey vapor. Therrre was the gratuitous flirting. Jesus. Maybe playing along would distract you from the wobbling in your stomach that you attributed to the dreadful combination of whiskey burn and the stink of rubbing alcohol. 

“Oh, come on, now, handsome.”  You gave him a taste of his own medicine, employing one of the moves he’d used on you and tucking a single finger under his chin, raising his head to look at you. “Can’t you think of anything better to keep on me in the overnights?”

His gaze came easily to yours, eyes wolf-wide and hungry. You could just see the flickering projector of his imagination as he considered. “Sugar, believe me when I tell you I got me a whole fuckin’ book of better things to do.”

You almost asked if it was a big …book, but knew you wouldn’t’ve been able to say it with a straight face. Even you had your limits. 

“Do most of your stories start out like this?” You gestured to where he knelt before you staring, half worshiper, half hunter. “Or do you prefer the stories where it’s you up here in the chair?”

Joel’s throat bobbed so beautifully as he considered a reply, hand clenching against your thigh, seeking purchase, grounding himself through shifting posture, shifting power. 

Your heart pounded through you, exhilarated at the charged air between you, at the idea of finally being the lightning, rather than the struck. 

“No, I think you look too comfortable down there; I think that’s right where you want to be.” You shifted in the chair, opening your legs a little further, inviting him closer. 

He blushed, and god, the flirting might’ve started out as a joke, but that pretty pink flush did something dire to you. Joel Miller was on his knees before you, blushing from his collar up his strong neck and to the very tips of his ears, but he did not drop his eyes from yours. 

“Where’d all that swagger go, cowboy?” You combed a shaggy curl back off his forehead with your fingertips, then tugged lightly at a fistful of his hair to tilt his head back further. An unfamiliar bravery was making a home of you at the sight of him between your legs. There was predatory intent behind his heavy-lidded eyes, and teasing was starting to give way to anticipation. “Cat got your tongue?” 

The muscles in his jaw worked as Joel’s gaze rambled over you, that grip on your thigh binding him to you.

“Oh, I ain’t wasting it on any more talkin’,” he said, yanking you forward to the edge of your seat and wrapping your legs around his waist. 

You made a surprised sound and linked your ankles around the backs of his thighs, pulling him closer as his hands—

A loud vibration hummed between you.

His goddamn phone was ringing, sloshing a bucket of ice-water onto the flames building under your skin. 

He just looked at you, stock-still and intent as his phone buzzed on, until you smiled and looked away, unwinding yourself from around him and sitting up in the chair as you shook your head softly at yourself. The spell was broken; whatever had taken possession of you yielded its hold as you took a full breath for the first time in a handful of moments, finding yourself a little short-winded and dazed. Close call. 

Joel’s voice was not gentle when he answered the call at last; he barked a short, single, ‘What?’, followed shortly by a warning-growl version of a man’s name—his brother’s, you figured. 

“Yes, I’ll accept the goddamn charges,” he ground out, followed by a repeat of, “What?”

As he received the rundown through the phone, you uncovered your hand and tried to tease the alcohol-soaked gauze from Joel’s grasp so you could clean your cut, wanting something to busy yourself with that wasn’t the man between your legs or the phantom ache of his now-released grip on your thigh. He kept hold of the gauze, though, tucking his phone between his shoulder and ear to free both hands to work, then he cradled your hand in his and tended it as you looked on. 

“Fine, I’ll be there in a bit. I— A fuckin’ bit, Tommy, Christ. If I had an exact time, I’d tell it to you.”

His tone was hard, his words gruff, but his touch was careful and light. The sting of the alcohol was easier to bear with something to distract you, even if it was one side of family drama that wasn’t yours. 

It was achingly familiar, though.

“Hey, be nice, Joel,” you coaxed quietly, squeezing his forearm with your good hand. “He’s had a bad night, too.”

Joel looked up at you, tight shoulders relaxing as he unclenched his teeth. He loosed a slow breath and tried again. “It’s— I’ll be there soon, little brother, sit tight. I’m finishing something up in Rosedale and I’ll be on my way.” 

A few more vague lines passed, making little sense without the context of the other side, and then the conversation ended. 

After their goodbyes, Joel said, “Darlin’, could you…?” and leaned forward a little, prompting you to take his phone and hang it up. You tucked it under a leg while he finished cleaning the blood from your hand, biting back a hiss when he dabbed at a particularly sensitive swath of skin. 

“You can go,” you offered, knowing he must be eager to take care of things with his brother. “I’m fine, and Haze will be—”

“Baby, don’t ask me to leave a job half-done, it’s unseemly.” He dropped a handful of bloodied gauze in the trash can beside him. 

“Well, I’m not going to tell you to ‘hurry up and finish,’ you pervert.” 

He chuckled, and you loved the sound, and you hated that you loved it, so you just couldn’t leave well enough alone. 

“Is he okay, your brother? You said this has happened before, maybe a lot?”

“I’m…workin’ on it. Tommy’s a tough nut to crack.” Joel paused his work to look up at you and sigh. “He’s been through a lot in his day.”

“Well, you could be a little nice, then, couldn’t you? From me?”

“You keep fretting about my little brother, angel, and I’m gonna start gettin’ jealous.”

There was a kernel of truth under his tall talk that had you easing off the sincerity and cranking up the…Joelishness. Jealousy could be fun, but probably not when it’s your brother. 

“Why, is he prettier? Better at taking directions, maybe? ‘Cause it turns out, I kinda like ‘em to think they’re tough but deep down, they’re quite suggestible.” You stroked a hand along the side of his head, nails scraping lighty against his skin. 

He looked more like his usual cheeky self when he raised his eyes to you again. 

“You’re gonna give me whiplash, sugar, bouncing back an’ forth between being a saint and the fuckin’ devil and then back again,” he said, almost worshipful in a way that had you fighting down a tight-stomached grin. A few swipes of gauze later, he added, “Tommy heard you stickin’ up for him, you know. On the phone. Could practically hear his greasy goddamn smirk. If you’re not careful, you’ll have a whole generation of Millers followin’ you around like puppy-dogs.”

Your face warmed. You hadn’t meant his brother to hear, weren’t sure they’d want a stranger meddling in their family business. You’d been on both ends of similar fuck-up lectures in the past, though, and in your experience, a little grace went a long way toward helping someone get their shit together. 

But you didn’t say any of that, not wanting to overstep twice in such quick succession. 

“We could see about making it two generations,” you said instead, low and sultry. 

Joel’s eyes flew to you like a kid who’s just been told that fine, he can open one gift on Christmas Eve. His hand slid up your leg to your hip and he raised himself up on his knees. “Yes, we goddamn could.”

“Yes, we goddamn could,” you echoed. You held his gaze and dragged your hand up his chest to grasp the side of his neck, then flicked your eyes to his lips, leaned a little closer, and whispered, “Your daddy still around, slugger?”

The noise Joel made was one of actual pain and it sang through your blood sweeter than the whiskey. He winced and gave a disbelieving little shake of his head as he squinted out into the middle distance, amused and, for the moment, defeated. 

“‘Cause fathers—I gotta tell you, Joel—fathers love me.”

“The fuckin’ devil,” he muttered. “You are the fuckin’ devil, sugar, and I’m in Hell.”

“Aww.” You bit back a cackle and patted his cheek firmly. “Poor baby.”

—----------------------------

After you texted Hazel to update her on the plan for you to sleep over at her place—foolishly phrasing it as a question rather than a statement and earning yourself a ‘oh, shut up; pls do not ask stupid questions of the bitch who has repeatedly begged you to let her knock down the wall between our apts’ reply—Joel insisted on walking you upstairs so you could pack an overnight bag.

You made him swear to stay in the kitchen and keep his hands in his pockets.

It didn’t take long for you to fling clean underwear, sleep clothes, and an outfit for work tomorrow in a bag alongside your toothbrush, a phone charger, and various other sundries. You came back out to Joel, finding him scanning his gaze around your kitchen. 

“Oh, shit!” you declared, realizing something all at once. “Hang on, I’ve got your shirt.”

You about-faced back down the hall, toward the dirty-clothes hamper in the corner between your bedroom and bathroom. 

“Keep it,” Joel called. “Looks better on you anyway, sugar.”

“You sure?” You padded back down the hallway, offering him the bundle of fabric.

Joel waved it away, then seemed to change his mind and took it from you. He brought the flannel to his face, breathing deeply and groaning as the scent hit him. 

“Fuck, that’s…” The sound that rumbled out of him was wolf-like, something you felt more than heard. “Christ, that’s good.”

You leaned forward to smell the wadded-up shirt in his grasp, but couldn’t really identify anything that would have caught his attention.

“All I can smell is your cologne.”

“I almost never wear cologne, sugar,” Joel replied. 

You rolled your eyes. 

“Fine. All I can smell is your stank, then,” you said, shoving the fabric back against his chest. “Take your stupid shirt.”

Joel carefully folded the flannel, then tugged you close to him by the strap of the tote bag slung over your shoulder. He stared at your mouth and throat as he tucked the bundle into the belly of the bag.

“Something to settle your spirits while you sleep,” he coaxed. “Been a long day, hellcat—I’ll take it back after you sleep in it one more time.”

His hand slid from the strap of the tote and down the inside of your arm, raising goosebumps along your skin as he trailed his touch away.

—----------------------------------------------------

“Wait, I do know you,” Hazel said, grabbing Joel by the arm and turning him back to face her—a gesture you were sure few people could get away with. 

She’d finished prepping her cake and stowed the monstrous thing in the fridge, popping through the back door just a few minutes after you and Joel had returned from your apartment upstairs. Haze had been trying to figure out why Joel looked familiar to her and had refused to take uncertainty for an answer over these last few minutes. 

Her eyes flitted over his face and you could practically see her mental search engine sorting through files to find him, then her whole face lit up when she finally did. She pointed a finger at him and gave a bouncy, girlish little hop that men went stupid for. 

“Blueberry scone during the week, but always too early for me to talk to you—I’m still in the back getting things ready, so you talk to David. And then…”

Haze squinted at him—both hands squeezing around his forearms now—and made an adorable, distressed, thoughtful sound.

You snapped a command at your inner jealous guard dog for bristling at the sight of Hazel’s hands on Joel. He wasn’t yours to be green-eyed over, and neither was she. Though you’d really rather not have to watch the mating dance. 

“A pecan roll—no! Two pecan rolls and…a bear claw? No. Don’t tell me. Glazed croissant! On Saturdays. But not in an age. Where’ve you been? You got another sweets supplier? Ugh, is it Flour Child?” Her voice switched from scandalized to scandal-sharer as she leaned in close to Joel and all but whispered, “Cassidy uses mixes, you know. It’s why she doesn’t sell real pastry.”

Okay, better angels or no, you were getting a little green-eyed. If invisible people could be green-eyed. 

Haze had always absorbed every bit of light in a room, while somehow also being its source, and though you adored that about her and were mostly used to her shadow, it was burrowing into your flesh this time around. 

Joel just shook his head, his gaze flicking to you as he pulled his arms from Hazel’s grasp.

“Nest is empty. No little bird to feed breadcrumbs to.”

His rueful tone pinched in your chest. You wondered if his daughter had any idea how badly her father missed her. Probably not, you’d wager; he struck you as the type to save his sadness for himself and for Frankie’s.

"Maybe I could be a songbird for you," Hazel said lowly, almost soft enough for you to not be able to hear, "over pecan rolls, sometime."

A grimace pulled at your face, but you smoothed it out. 

Yeah, sure, sexily offer to fill the void left by his daughter, Haze, that's not gross at all. 

You wished you could actually, fully disappear, but you'd settle for the next-best thing. Turning your back on the weird hollow feeling in your chest, you made for the stockroom. Maybe you could check expiration dates or something while the two of them worked up to…licking each other's eyeballs or whatever. 

"Where you goin', angel?" Joel called, already stepping away from Hazel and moving toward you. 

You waved him off. "Just scrounging around for a little side work while y'all—"

"Well, let me help 'fore I go," he insisted. “What do you need?”

Hazel offered to throw her hand in the mix, too, until she announced that she’d received an alert on her phone that her cake refrigerator was too warm—’probably ‘cause I just put a hundred-pound cake in there, but with my rotten luck…’—and she scurried off to check it while Joel was still there to wait with you.

Without her, the room was darker—colder—and some second-fiddle, secret part of you wanted to keep Joel from noticing.

“So…” You rummaged on the counter, scanning dates on syrups and flavorings. “Next door almost every day, huh? But you never came in here?” 

If you’d shot for light and breezy, you’d missed. You didn’t sound too offended, but you definitely sounded a little offended, a little hurt, as though he’d chosen between you and Hazel, rather than just choosing between a cafe and a bakery.

“I did, actually, matter fact. And while I was standin’ right here” —he pointed a finger at his feet, then up at the menu boards—“tryin’ to figure out which one of these was just coffee, the stuffy, pint-sized motherfucker I walked in behind started hollerin’ at the pretty girl behind the counter ‘cause his car’mel foo-foo drink wasn’t what he thought it was s’posed to be.” 

You hated how quickly your heart went to wondering if ‘the pretty girl behind the counter’ meant you. As if anyone else had stood behind the counter since you’d opened.

“Sarah was still at home then, and I knew if I stayed I was gonna get arrested. You had him handled, but he was a foul sumbitch.”

Your chest fluttered at the confirmation—and at the warmth you thought you heard in his voice at ‘you had him handled’—but you shut it down, searching your memory for the event he was describing but coming up empty.

“I wish I could say I remember him,” you said, “but unfortunately, uppity dicks are…not rare when you work in customer-service.”

“He ain’t worth remembering. But walking back to my truck, it was the damndest thing.” He pulled a knife from his pocket and popped open the blade with a click that filled the whole room somehow. “My knife slipped right out of my pocket and caught two tires on his BMW. No idea how it happened.”

You smiled and breathed a laugh, muttering a name under your breath as you turned your back to Joel.

“What’s that, sugar?” he asked, missing what you’d said.

“Macchiato Glenn,” you repeated, approaching a pinboard of photos hanging behind the counter labeled ‘Wall of Shame’ and then rooting around for the right one. “I do remember him.”

Joel’s steps thudded slowly toward you.

“Someday, this Polaroid stunt is gonna get me shot by some pissy hick, but…” You pulled a thumbtack from a polo-wearing cockwaffle’s chest and waggled the photo. “Bad behavior should have social consequences.”

Joel nodded. “People ain’t afraid of getting their ass beat anymore,” he said sagely, sending you laughing again.

You held out the picture, a Sharpie-scrawled label of ‘Macchiato Glenn’ on the front. A pink-faced, fair-haired lab rat of a man, surprised by a flashbulb popping in his face mid-tantrum, gawped in the photo.

“Yep; that’s him,” he said. “Reckon I’d be ornery, too, if I was short, blond, and pug-ugly.”

“If you were blond?”

“Grown man shouldn’t ought to be blond,” he said with a grimace. 

You snorted. What a wonderfully stupid thing to say. “Look at the back.”

On the reverse, you’d written ‘Mad bc macchiato wasn’t like Sbux (asked how he wanted it & he refused to say) Threatened to sue(?!) Karma immediate—tires slashed in lot. Faith in TX restored.’

“A douchebag finally paying an instant price for being horrible? That was, like, the best day I’d had since moving to Austin,” you confessed, the thickness in your throat surprising you. “I like it here now, most days, but it was, uh, really hard for a while there at first. So…thanks.”

You swatted his upper arm amiably and drew yourself up to your tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek, trying to swallow down the tripping thud in your chest as your brain caught up to what your mouth was doing. 

Joel froze, transforming into a cotton-clad statue once your face drew close to his.

Fuck. Horrified and humiliated, you pulled away.

"Sorry; didn't mean to make it weird. I know you and Hazel were hitting it off a second ago, I was just—" You put your hands up in surrender and stepped back, eyes cast down to hide your burning face as you kicked yourself for being so fucking awkward that a friendly cheek-kiss from you could throw off an absolutely shameless flirt like Joel after he’d had his hands all over you. 

“Me and—?” Joel had apparently thawed; there was a laugh in his voice and that awful smirk was back. “Sugar, I know you ain’t jealous?”

“Ugh. I absolutely am not,” you said, scowling so hard your vision blurred. “You’re a grown man and you’re free to make out with whoever you want; you’ll just have to forgive me for not wanting to be standing in the splash zone when it happens.”

The shelf of syrups got your full attention again but you could feel Joel approach.

“You wanting me to kiss your friend, darlin’?” He said against your ear. Jesus, he was right behind you, so close the heat of him was like a weight against your back. “You like feeling all riled up and possessive?”

His hands slid over your hips, squeezing on the last word. You slapped his hands off you. 

“Kiss whoever you want to, dude, I really don’t care. This is not me ‘riled up.’ I am…riled down. It’s fine.”

Joel was undeterred, moving to your side where you’d be forced to at least see him in your peripheral vision. “Baby, I thought we’d handled the ‘dude’ thing,”

You faced him at last, staring him down despite having to look up at him to do so. “Fine—Kiss who you want to, Miller.”

There was no irritation or tension in his voice as he spoke to you, thrashing as you were like a wild-born kitten that’d never been held. 

“I’ve been tryin’, sugar,” he said, “but she keeps hollerin’ at me.”

Joel’s hands found your rib cage, then slid down past your waist to your hips, coaxing you closer to him. 

His eyes roved over your face, scanning for your temper, for refusal as he pulled you against his body. The gentle, skimming touch of one hand skated up your flank, to your shoulder, then your throat, then your jaw. Joel angled your mouth toward his. 

“Tell me to stop,” he warned, bowing over you and bringing his lips almost— almost —to yours. His thumb traced the curve of your bottom lip and you parted them to take in more air, even if half of it was Joel’s. 

The steady, sprinting beat of his heart drummed against your skin, creating a frantic, out-of-sync fluttering sensation when melded with your own pulse, raging against the skin of your fingertips.

You wanted him to kiss you, you realized— ached for him to kiss you—but you didn’t want to want it. 

“Please,” you whispered. There was no voice behind the word, just breath, and for a moment, as Joel groaned a strained, animal noise, you weren’t sure he had heard you.

Until he released you. 

No.

"Wrong 'please,' dummy," you said, catching him by a fistful of the front of his shirt, and hauling him down to you.

Joel might have been gentle with that first kiss if he hadn't spent all his self-control pulling back. 

Instead, he kissed you like he intended to devour you. He seized you by your waist and put you against the wall with a firm thud that half knocked the breath from your lungs. You made a noise somewhere between pleading and encouragement as his weight pressed against you, holding you in place by the hips and freeing his hands to touch every goddamn part of you he could reach.

Panting for breath, your mouth was open before Joel even put his lips to yours, and his tongue slipped against yours eagerly as he skipped past tasting you and moved right on to claiming you. He palmed your thigh, hauling it up over his hip as he picked you up and spun you around, putting your ass down onto the countertop. 

“Fuck, Joel, I—” you whined into his mouth.

“Sugar, if it ain’t ‘stop,’ it’s ‘go,’” he said, voice low enough to rumble.

You pinched his lower lip between your teeth and he groaned, tightening his fist in your hair and tugging your head back, exposing your throat as he—

The bell over the shop’s back door jingled and you shoved Joel away from you hard enough his shoulders slammed against the wall.

“Hey, babe, I— Oh,” Hazel called, then trailed off as she caught sight of you.

“Hey, Haze,” you said, squeezing the words in between panting breaths and sliding down off of the counter.

”Want me to come back in…” She pretended to check her watch—Hazel didn’t wear a watch—then finished, “...thirty minutes? Ten?” She lowered her chin. “An hour?”

Yeah, Hazel could supply all the oxygen in a room, but she could suck it out just as easy.

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