not that anyone asked but here's a fluffy drabble because my social battery has been so low from a weekend of social shit that today I literally couldn't wait to leave and wished joel miller could come save me. gooooodnight. sometimes I write these little drabbles and never post cause idk they're not smutty or even interesting. but I just love picturing joel in my regular life. so yeah. here you go I guess!
warnings: brief mention of hard relationship with extended family
It was exactly as your Aunt Kathy launched into her third, inexplicably detailed anecdote about her goldendoodle’s latest grooming fiasco that you felt the last flicker of your social battery sputter out and die. You’d seen it coming, the warning signs blinking dimly in the corners of your mind like a low fuel light you always swore you’d heed earlier next time: the long, barely-stifled sighs, the aching behind your eyes, the zoning out during conversations. You had tried, by God, you really did, to stretch it a little longer, to hold out for dessert or maybe just until Sarah got tired enough to want to leave too. But it always crept up the same way, that sensation of being entirely alone in a room full of fifteen people who had known you your whole life and still couldn’t seem to really see you. The same people who spoke over you with affection or obligation but never understanding.
You were already shrinking into the lawn chair, your elbows heavy on the plastic arms, your gaze unfocused and blank as your cousin’s husband droned on about his golf swing, when you felt the warm weight of a hand settle on your shoulder—the only hand in the world that made your shoulders loosen instead of stiffen. Joel had moved in beside you without a word, like a second sense had guided him from across the yard straight to you. The denim of his jeans brushed your bare arm and you tilted your head to rest the side of his leg, seeking him like shade on a sun-drenched afternoon. His hand drifted from your shoulder to the bottom of your neck, fingers parting the hair there, scratching slow and absent-minded.
And then he pulled a little harder at the nape: You okay? It meant. How bad is it? Do you want out? Do you need me to be the bad guy and make an excuse? Because I will.
You tilted your face up to look at him. His cheeks were flushed red from running around the yard with Sarah and your nephew, his forehead damp with sweat, the neck of his t-shirt clinging faintly to his collarbone. There was a sheen on him that reminded you of something feral and sweet all at once. He was so sun-warmed and masculine, worn in and beer-laced breath with barbecue smoke woven into the threads of his shirt. Vaguely, your tired brain entertained the thought of what the salt on his skin would taste like if you had even a single ounce of energy to lean forward and lick it clean. But alas, you were running on fumes at this point, so instead, you just tilted your head up and looked at him.
Get me out of here, you begged with your tired eyes.
His fingers kept grazing the base of your skull, and then, lazily, his long middle finger curled around to pinch your earlobe. You smiled, lips twitching upward in something involuntary and grateful. He caught it and sent one of those conspiratorial little winks down at you over the rim of his beer can.
He turned only to scan the yard, “Hey, hon?” he called, eyes settling on Sarah as she trotted toward the garden with your nephew in tow. She glanced up at her dad, cheeks pink from the sun, braid coming loose, the whole day written across her in sweat and sugar.
“You ready to go?”
Her face fell a little, a flicker of disappointment at the corners of her mouth. Before she could say anything, your mom swept in from the patio, asking if Sarah might stay a little longer for dessert, maybe keep the kiddo occupied. Sarah looked hopefully back at her dad, and Joel, bless him, sighed, already caving.
“Alright, but you help clean up if you stay,” he said with a soft point of his finger. “Deal?”
“Deal,” Sarah grinned.
“Why, you headin’ out already?” your mom asked, voice raised just enough for the rest of the family to turn and notice you both rising to leave.
Joel answered before you had to, holding your hand and pulling you out of the adirondack chair with a groan, “Think it’s about that time. Early wake-up.”
You nodded in agreement, offering your mom a tired, apologetic smile, and let yourself be folded into the leaving ritual. There were Tupperware containers shoved into your hands, leftovers you didn’t ask for but would be glad to eat tomorrow night in front of the TV. There were quick hugs, soft goodbyes, a kiss to the crown of your nephew’s curly head, and Sarah giving you a side-hug before Joel leaned down and kissed her cheek.
“I’ll come get ya in a bit.”
“Grandma said I could stay over,” she chirped back.
Joel raised a brow, eyes narrowed. “We’ll talk,” he said with a hint of amusement.
And then you were walking down the driveway a few minutes later, the summer heat still clinging to your skin and the sun low and honey thick behind the trees. Joel didn’t say much, but he stayed close, hand resting lightly against your back until you reached his truck. He opened the door for you and you climbed in slowly, arms full of food and mind heavy with fatigue. Instead of shutting the door on you, he leaned in against the door frame.
“Alright?” he murmured, eyes scanning your face.
You looked up at him, all warm light and soft affection, the fading sky painting him in peach and pale blue. His silhouette was golden, haloed in evening light, and for one moment, he looked so stupidly beautiful it made your chest flutter. You reached up, ran your hand along his bearded jaw, thumb brushing the scratchy edge of his cheek.
“Better now,” you said with a small smile.
He grinned back and leaned down into the cab to press his mouth to yours. It was long and gentle, almost lazy in its heat. You sighed against him, drinking in the taste of beer and smell of charcoal, the quiet hum of safety he always seemed to carry with him. When he pulled back, there was a glint in his eye, something playful beneath the concern.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you faked bein’ on your last legs just to get me outta there.”
You smirked, still touching his face. “On the contrary, Miller. I was genuinely suffering. You just happen to be the only thing I can’t ever resist.”
His chest shook with quiet laughter, and he kissed you once more, quicker but no less affectionate, before finally closing the door and rounding to the driver’s side. He hauled himself in with a groan, the seat creaking beneath him.
“Let’s get you home. What’s on the docket tonight? Love Island?”
You hummed, head tilted against the window, already letting the starting hum of the engine soothe you. “I’m thinkin’ Titanic. In the mood to watch some rich people sink.”
He groaned lightly but nodded, already resigning himself. “Titanic sounds… great, baby.”
You shot him a sly look. “Wow. Must really love me to cave that easily.”
His eyes flicked toward you at the stop sign, the amber of the sunset caught in them.
guys if i'm writing a robin arellano lives and is gay asf for finney fucking blake do we think i should also have gwen and ernesto get together or no?
cause so far i have them meet when robin and finn get kidnapped (they get grabbed together) and they decide to like. sherlock & watson or wtv. idk im trying to figure out if i want to shove two ships into this
