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Sep 17, 2025

TEMPEST (The Last of Us - Joel Miller): Dust Bowl

TEMPEST Dust Bowl

series masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI unprotected sex, violence, swearing, explicit content, mature themes, drug use, mentions of death

Word Count: 7.4k

Read on AO3 and Wattpad

Note: I started writing this more than a year ago, intertwining it with a Sons of Anarchy fanfic I started writing in my head like 7 years ago LOL. But then I met a real man and stopped writing, so we are dusting this off after a year, so here goes nothing. And obviously inspired by Ethel Cain, so the timing just felt right to finish this up. Love ya! (Also, seeing Mother this weekend so had to get his out there.)

TEMPEST Dust Bowl

Joel likes his coffee black. No cream, no sugar. Just black. The darkest roast. Always been that way, and the man is allergic to change, his brother would say in a teasing drawl. Since it opened, Tommy’s dragged his brother in the darkness of the early mornings to a coffee shop on the east side of the city. Every morning, without fail. Joel will drag his ass out of bed before dawn and slide himself into the cab of his brother's truck, the two of them stopping at the coffee shop, and then head to work.

The sun just begins to peek over the edge of the earth, the light of the drive-thru window flickering above Tommy’s side-mirror. Joel rubs a rough hand down his tired face, half-asleep eyes reflecting back to him from his side-mirror. Just out of focus, in his tired reflection, an old Ford pick-up sits quietly in a parking stall. Joel’s eyes snap to it as a light flickers within the old cab, the end of a cigarette beginning to light up.

A hot to-go cup of coffee is passed into his hands, and Tommy’s pulling off and away from the drive-thru, the old Ford growing smaller in the side-mirror reflection.

—

She first showed up to Jackson on that black Dyna, the sun had just begun to rise on an early summer morning as she pulled into the first trailer park she found. Rode it all the way from California, having stopped for a few month stint in southern Chicago until the checks stopped coming. It was money siphoned off by two of the few remaining guys back west, sending what little money from their own pockets her way. It was money from their own hearts, never club money. Bobby had been meticulous with the books, his little reading glasses perched at the end of his nose, head of crazy gray curls bouncing as he would bellow out a laugh at something she’d say. After his death, the club funds went hay-wire, most of it lost to shitty deals that always went wrong. If any of that had been used for non-Club related expenditures, she’d be found out immediately.

That’s what sent her out east in the first place, a shitty deal gone wrong. Terribly, horribly, end-of-the-world, wrong. It would’ve been the death of her to stay in California, the wrath of her brother endlessly sniffing down her trail. It choked her at night, the fear of him being right outside the thin walls of her single-wide. She’d wished the trailers in Jackson were closer together like they were in Chicago, almost stacked on top of each other, but now she found her nearest neighbor several hundred feet to the west. The bark of the neighbor’s dog would rattle the walls of her trailer, and within her trailer would rattle the white cage of her skull.

She’d found the coffee shop the next morning, the previous day spent pulling wads of cash out of her duffel, straightening them into stacks, and confirming her place at the trailer park. What little left she had stuck under a ratty mattress in a single-wide. She’d worn the same pair of jeans, but switched into one of her three shirts (whichever smelled the cleanest), and asked if they were hiring.

—

It was a morning where Joel drove his brother’s truck, Tommy too hungover to drive, claiming it was nothing a pipin’ hot cup of coffee couldn’t fix. A morning with the sun higher in the sky, bouncing off the metal frame of the drive-thru window. The stretch of an arm out the window, sleeved coffee cup in hand, it was the ink on four fingers that caught his eye first. His eyes follow up the arm, lingering at an odd patch of freckles on the skin above the elbow, until he finally meets her eyes. Tired but bright, met with an equally tired but brighter smile.

“Two black coffees?” She says, holding out the drink that waits for Joel. The warmth of his rough hand meets her chilled fingers as he takes the coffees from her, careful as he takes them from her.

“You’re new,” Tommy chirps, leaning forward in his seat to get a better look around Joel.

“Just moved,” she smiles.

Joel nods his head, pulling his lips into a flat line as he anxiously stares over the steering wheel.

“Oh, really?” Tommy smiles back. “Where from?”

“Chicago,” she responds, half of a truth.

“Chicago?” Tommy quirks. “The hell you doin’ out here?”

She only chuckles, tells them to have a good day, and disappears behind the window.

“She’s quiet,” Tommy says as he takes a slurping sip of his coffee, face recoiling as he hisses at the temperature.

“Probably tired,” Joel answers as he pulls away from the window.

“Shit,” Tommy chuckles softly. “She looked in worse shape than me.”

“That’s mighty brave of you,” Joel grunts, peering at his brother from the corner of his eye.

It was the third routine morning when she asked him, a new step to the routine, a question with an already knowing answer.

“You sure you don’t wanna try something different?” She has to ask, the tease of a smirk at the corner of her lips.

“Not today, darlin’,” he’ll always answer, always soft and warm, a gentle wave of his hand and the curl of a smile rests on the cup of coffee as he takes his first sips.

“You know the dark roast doesn’t have as much caffeine as the lighter roast, right?” She says today. He grunts in response, never admitting he didn’t have a clue.

Tomorrow she’ll offer him a flat white, and suddenly a black coffee just doesn’t do it for Joel anymore.

It continues like this, week in and week out. The brother’s in the morning, and just Joel in the afternoon. When Joel first asked for her name, the one she gave him left a sour taste in her mouth. Rolled out in a lie, still foreign to the muscles in her mouth. It was a name that was sweet and soft, a syllable longer than the one she was raised with. The name that she wanted to forget replaced by the one she had chosen, assigned it to herself when she moved to Wyoming.

Joel’s eyes are darker than the dirt of the Earth. Just as dark as another’s used to be, sticking to her like mud from the rain. Eyes that haunt her, that were sharp with wit and heavy with emotion. Eyes that held secrets and guilt, that kept shame close behind glass.

Joel’s eyes aren’t that kind of dark. They’re warm like the sun, a soft place to land. Eyes that make her soft, forget the cage she’s created for herself. Eyes that plead to let themselves in, make a home for themselves and clean away the mud.

When Joel comes to the coffee shop, she lets him ask her questions. Her answers are short-changed, tethering him to the edge of a cliff with a thread-wire ready to snap. She knows if she were to open up to him, to open her mouth to speak, her jaw would hang with the words stolen by the air, trapped in her throat. Unable to start, not sure where to begin. But if she did speak, if those words were pushed from her, she’s not sure if she’d be able to stop. They’d run from her like a train on a track in an unknown direction, and it could destroy her little world in her little trailer with her little truck.

He always gives her a good enough tip, some for the flat white but most for the conversation. He finds himself feeling she graces him with company.

—

It’s a recurring thing for Joel at this point. Getting dragged somewhere by his brother for some sort of drink. Coffee for the mornings, beer for the evenings. Tommy insists it’s for his own good, to get out of the house, reintegrate himself into society. The last few years Joel’s shut himself down, a recluse to the world and barely able to stand on his own two feet. He thinks Tommy just wants a drinking buddy, but doesn’t want to let his brother know that he’s right.

Pulling up the stools to their spot at the bar, the woman on the other side has her back to them as she wipes the back bar. The tank top she wears reveals the muscles of her back, the strap of it cutting down the middle of a tattoo. Some kind of bird, or flower, Joel can’t tell from here. When he catches her eye in the mirror behind the bar, his heart all but stops.

Hers does too, or it must, as her face pales slightly before she’s turning herself to face the two brothers, customer service smile replacing that pale complexion.

“Well, look who it is,” she says as she comes closer to them. “My two favorite customers. You two ain’t following me, are ya?”

Tommy’s the one to answer, always the quickest draw when it comes to talkin’ with the ladies. And Joel lets him, wrapping his fingers on the counter top rhythmically as he barely listens to the conversation.

“When do you even sleep?” He hears Tommy ask, but she shrugs it off with a laugh.

“What’re you, cops?” She teases, eyes widening briefly. “What can I get you two?” She says, flicking the hair from her face.

“Whatever you got on tap is fine,” Joel says with a nod.

She finds herself answering Tommy’s question by not sleeping that night. The brothers leave a little after midnight, Tommy slung over his older brother’s shoulder. The bar eventually comes to a close, and her routine begins. She meets someone, a regular at the bar, in the parking lot out at her truck. The simple and quick exchange of hands, the money exchanged for the small bag, and she’s off.

She’d made it to the edge of the town square before the speed kicked in. Her gas tank was low but the drug zipped through her veins. It’d been months since she smoked, the numbness of it too sedentary for her. Weed only reminded her of home, of smoking with her brother, and of smoking with her lover. She needed to stay awake, but would never touch coke after leaving home in California. Some line-cook at the bar dealt speed, or at least always had it on him, and she figured it was the next best thing.

The fluorescent lights of the 24/7 pharmacy flickered brightly, her eyes blinking as she narrowed in on her surroundings. She continued this way, every night or so, meandering around high to keep from sleeping.

She grabbed a tall can from the case she’d grabbed from work, feeling her come down beginning in the early morning as the cold water of the shower bristled her skin.

—

Her friendship with Dina seemed to have been forced upon her with grace. The strong-headed, fearless nature of the girl complimented the like-minded nature of herself, only contradicting Dina's willingness to be an open-book. They both had sturdy hands, both stained with a day's work of coffee, only one to be stained with ink from a past that clung to her like thick oil.

Dina had been the only one to get her to crack, though just slightly, through her perseverance and unending cold-calls. Dina was the one who knew Bill, the scowl-faced owner of the bar, earning points of favor and winning him over to hire a new bartender.

But tonight was her night off, and Dina had still managed to talk her into drinks. So she was on her perch at the high-top, watching the dark amber swirl in her glass, while Dina and her other coworkers mingled.

“Oh my god,” Dina says, hunching over in a hushed voice. “The Miller brothers just walked in.”

“God, they’re so fucking good looking,” another coworker says as they sip their drink.

“Go say hi,” she says casually, drinking her beer.

“You first,” her coworker responds, a teasing glint to their eye.

She only shrugs, setting her beer down on the high top table and leaves her coworkers. Her eyes scan the bar as it begins to fill up, cowboys who had sent her drinks earlier in the night made their home at a pool table tucked neatly in a corner, until her gaze finds the Miller brothers tucked tight on barstools at the bar. She waves through the crowd with ease, shoulders wide as she makes her way to them. Each of her hands find each of their backs, and each of their heads turn to face hers.

“My two favorite customers,” she says to them, a bright smile on her face. Tommy’s gaze briefly cuts across her chest before meeting her eyes, but she’s smiling at Joel.

“Howdy,” Joel says, tipping the brim of his cowboy hat he’s sporting.

“Lookin’ good, cowboy,” she teases, and a soft blush rises to Joel’s cheeks. “Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,” Tommy replies, his smile turning into a soft smirk as he watches her move from between them and to the side of Joel that’s empty.

“What’re we drinking tonight?” She asks, crossing her arms on the bar in front of her. The brothers only drink cheap beer, usually the cheapest on tap. She tosses her head towards the bar tender, signalling for him to bring her a drink, the beer she had left behind surely been attended to by Dina.

The bar becomes crowded, Tommy gets talking with a beautiful lady who’s saddled up next to him at the bar, and the band of cowboys has become rowdy again. The music’s gotten louder, a small group growing by the number begins line dancing on the dance floor to some country song. Joel gets that stuffy feeling, too many people that are too close, but when he looks at her she looks right in her element. A cowboy bumps into the back of her, and she scoots her barstool closer to Joel’s.

“Wanna move to a table?” Joel asks, nodding towards a row of half-empty tables in a more empty part of a bar. “Less crowded over there.”

“That’s great,” she replies, eagerly taking her beer and paving the way to a table. It’s dimly lit in this part of the bar, more so than the rest of the area. The noise of the bar thinning just enough to breathe. Joel leans an elbow on the table, shoulders easing a fraction.

“Better over here,” Joel states, his eyes landing on her after scanning the distant parties.

She nods in agreement, humming into what’s left of her beer. For a moment, neither of them speaks, just the hum of the music in the background. She watches the light cut across his face, softened now that they’re out of the crowd.

“You don’t like crowds much, do you?” She finally asks him.

“Ain’t really my thing anymore,” he answers with a shrug.

“It didn’t look like you hated it as much as you claim.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

“Maybe I had somethin’ else keeping me distracted,” he says casually, nursing his beer as he looks her over.

She can only peer at him through her lashes, a playful and curious smirk inching its way across her face.

“Let me buy you a drink,” he says, eyes softening as he maintains his gaze on her. He rests his hand casually in the middle of the table, and her grin widens at him.

“Sure,” she says softly, eyes flicking across his face. “What’re you getting?”

“Brandy,” Joel responds. Her brow flicks slightly, surprised in the change of drink.

“Make it a double.”

He knocks his hand on the table as he nods, knees creaking as he pushes up from the table. She watches him as he walks to the bar, the easiness to the night making her hackles raise. She tries to push it down, to breathe in the ease that it is to be with Joel, and to be in the moment. But those mud brown eyes float across her vision, the liquor in her stomach bubbling as her breaths quicken.

The feeling is knocked away from her as someone bumps into her shoulder, and when she looks up it's those same cowboys, again.

“Well hey there, didn’t mean to run you over,” the tallest one grins. “You sittin’ all by yourself?”

“Hardly,” she smiles back, shaking her empty mug in his direction. “My company just went to get drinks.”

Another hand, wider than the first, leans his arm on the table as slurs, “Lucky fella then. Don’t see many pretty girls hiding in the corner like this.”

She tips her chin, amused, not quite inviting but not shutting it down either.

“Maybe I like the quiet. Maybe I like watching everyone else make fools of themselves.”

They laugh, nudging each other. One of them raises his hands in surrender, chuckling, while the other shakes his head.

“She’s sharp,” the wider one states. “Bet your fella’s gotta work hard to keep up with you.”

Before she can answer, Joel’s figure looms back into view, glasses in hand. The ranch hands straighten, share a quick look, and mutter their goodbyes as they drift back into the crowd.

Joel sets the drinks down, sliding hers toward her with steady fingers.

“Didn’t know I left you to fend off half the bar,” he teases with a smile, watching as the two boys stagger away.

“I heard cowboys are bad news,” she says to Joel once the band leaves, eager to sip the drink Joel sets in front of her.

Joel chuckles, and responds with, “Well, they ain’t good news.”

“What makes you say that?” She asks, and the tilt of her head and pull of her eyebrows sends a tingle through Joel’s chest. He looks down at his drink, watching the swirl of amber as he spins the glass.

“Used to be one,” he responds on a sigh. “Before my back got too bad.”

Her eyes scan over his frame, quizzically. Her glass raises to her lips, before she finally speaks again.

“Well, they say cowboys ride harder and stay on longer.”

Joel all but sputters into his drink, a chuckle escaping him as he meets her playful gaze.

“Oh, do they now?” He laughs.

“Might just have to put it to the test.”

His laugh can’t help but turn into a slight giggle, blush creeping up his collarbone as he tries desperately to keep his focus locked on his drink. Too afraid of what he’ll find if his eyes find hers.

Inside the jukebox, a mechanical arm removes the last played disc. It was something slow, something that didn’t catch her attention or have her listening in on the lyrics. A new disc slips from its place, and the arm places it flat in its new temporary space. This is the one that catches her attention.

“Oh,” she draws out slowly, swaying slightly in her seat. “I love this song.”

“You listen to the Eagles?” He asks, surprise written in his eyebrows, and she nudges her drink against his with a faux irritated look.

“Sometimes,” she responds. “Haven’t in a while though.”

Joel’s glass reaches his lips again, taking a slow sip as he watches her. Her arms are crossed on the table, collarbones jutted out, her gaze on the dance floor with a soft smile pulling up to her cheeks. He can hear her humming along to the song, a slight hum over the drum of the bar. He’s already pushed himself to his feet and stretched out his hand for the taking when he looks down at her.

“Let’s dance,” he says, not giving her room to consider opposing the offer. He pulls her to her feet, keeping a firm hand on hers, and pulls her to the dance floor.

“I don’t know how to dance like this,” she yells over the music, her bright eyes watching the stepping bodies around them. A synchronicity swims its way across the crowd, everyone moving in time to the rhythm of the music. Almost mechanical, the way everyone mirrors the person next to them.

“It’s easy,” Joel responds, dipping his head for her to hear him better. “It’s just a two-step. Like this.”

And he shows her, holding her hand and then pulling her close to laugh when she trips on her feet. She can feel the warmth as it rumbles through his body, and it rumbles right into her own. She likes that when she looks up at him, she can see his teeth in the laugh that he gives. That she can see how bright his eyes get when he watches her. It’s intoxicating, stronger than the liquor she’s been feeding herself all night, and she’s hooked. He shows her again, repeating the steps of his boots, and this time when she messes up she does it with intent. She looks up expectantly, sees the white of his teeth as he laughs again that’s immediately covered by his large hand.

“Oh my god,” he says as he shakes his head, feigning disbelief. “What’re you doing.”

She laughs with him, a new laugh that’s lost itself deep inside her chest, a laugh that on its way up and out dusts off the cobwebs and releases them into the air. He smiles at her, at the bright of her smile, the glint in her eye. He takes off his cowboy hat and places it loosely on her head.

“Here,” he says with a smile. “Maybe the hat’ll help.”

The pair dance the night away, talking and laughing and drinking. He wants to take a picture of her, for prosperity's sake, but she won’t let him use his phone. She has a small polaroid in her tote bag, and hands it to him. She says she’ll “do something casual,” so she sips from her beer glass, tossing a sideways peace sign. When the polaroid prints, Joel goes to shake it but she curses at him, snatching the photograph from his hands, warning him he’ll mess up the emulsion.

She doesn’t mind the warmth that spreads through her whenever Joel’s arm brushes hers, or when he puts his hand on the small of her back while he leans in closer to hear her better. She doesn’t mind the easiness of it all, like she’d known him her whole life, and she could feel the sameness of it all within him. It could’ve been the gentleness of the night, or the alcohol that trickled through her. But she wasn’t scared of it, and that’s what she tried to not let scare her.

The two of them had found Tommy, when he gripped their shoulders from behind them to steady himself. The rancid smell of liquor poured off of him, red eyes glazed over as he hiccuped his way through introducing the blonde woman that he’d chatted up.

“Jesus, boy,” Joel exclaimed as his brother clung to him. “You damn near drank the whole establishment out of business.”

“I didn’t take you as a lightweight, Tommy,” she teases from her place next to Joel. “I’m certain I drank more than you tonight and I’m barely feelin’ it.”

Tommy lets out a whistle, swaying on his feet and into his brother.

“If your girl can out drink me,” Tommy slurs, now slapping his brother’s shoulder. “You better take her home.”

“Alright, alright,” Joel chides, patting his brother's chest. “Go sober up.”

“Your girl?” She asks to Joel, brows raised with a teasing smirk on her lips.

“He’s drunk,” Joel mutters, rubbing at the back of his neck. She bumps her folded arms into him, chuckling at the red that blooms down his neck.

She caps off the night by admitting to Joel she has to work in the morning, and he calls her crazy. Crazy for staying out this late, crazy for waking up so early, and crazy for giving him the time of day. Her words began to slur just slightly, a small truth seeping out when she told him she doesn’t like to sleep much, anyways.

Joel’s rallied his brother, and she’s slipped on her denim as they begin to peel themselves away from the bar. A harsh wind blows in, the doors to their only exit widening open as a barrel of leather stomp their way into the bar.

She can’t see their faces, but Joel can see hers. She’s gone pale, frozen in her steps, eyes scanning the group of leather clad men. Joel follows her gaze, clocking the group of bikers that haphazardly block the entry.

“You know them?” he asks.

“No,” she exhales, eyes slowly closing in relief. The men’s faces were unfamiliar, the patches they wore only revealing their Harley enthusiasm.

“Let’s get outta here,” Joel says lowly into her ear, hand resting gently on the low of her back.

“Take me home, cowboy.”

—

Joel is stunned to see the tiny single-wide she calls home, but she clambers her way out of the truck, giggling at how far she has to jump down from the seat. He walks around the truck and meets her in the back, the red glow of the brake lights surrounding them. She holds onto his arm to steady herself.

She moves away from him, swaying as she goes, their fingertips just touching as she pulls him to follow, giving him big doe eyes. Following her to the front door, he sees the bike under the cloth cover half-hidden.

“You ride?” He asks.

“Not anymore,” she mumbles, fumbling with her keys.

Joel helps her into the single-wide, navigating the small space to lay her down in bed. The smell of tonight’s liquor rolls off of her, and a pang of guilt sits in his chest, but it’s wiped away when he hears the small giggle that she let’s out as she collapses onto her bed.

Content with her placement, Joel stands tall next to her small bed as he looks around the environment. His eyes stop at her nightstand, stomach turning as he clocks the white residue lines left on the wooden table.

“Is that coke?” The question is more of a bark, monotone in nature but heavy with shock.

“Hell no,” she all but whines, a hiccup escaping her. “I wouldn’t-” another hiccup- “I would never do coke. That’s what got me in this shithole in the first place.”

He turns to her, studying the way her brows pinch together, her arms thrown up against her pillow, and her soft hair cascading its way down her breasts. Pulling a blanket over her, he tucks the edges around her frame before brushing a small strand of hair from her face. He bends closer to kiss her forehead, a soft goodnight leaving his lips.

His boots crunch softly to the front door, gravel crushing under the tires of his truck, and he’s gone.

She sits in the silence he left, the faint trace of his cologne and leather still clinging to her hair where he’d bent to kiss her forehead. Too tender for what he made her feel.

She tries to sink back into her bed, warmth spreading through her chest, through her stomach, through every place that craved something more than a chaste goodnight. The alcohol burned hot in her veins, but it wasn’t the whiskey that made her skin prickle.

It was him. The way he steadied her as they walked to the door, the rough rasp of his voice when he told her to sleep, the brush of his hand as he tucked the blanket over her. Gentle when she didn’t want gentle.

She let out a shaky breath, pressing her palms over her face. It was ridiculous—the way a single kiss on the forehead could unravel her. But it did. It lit something restless, something she couldn’t quite tame.

Her body ached with it. Her mind kept replaying the look in his eyes before he turned to leave. And though she knew she should just lie down and sleep it off, her hands were already betraying her, moving as if they could summon him back, as if they could chase the touch he left behind.

Her phone was drawer of her nightstand, screen dark. She reached for it, thumb hovering longer than she’d admit before she clumsily punched in his number.

It rang. Once. Twice. Then his voice, low and steady, filled her ear: Leave a message.

Her breath caught. For a moment she almost hung up. But then the tone sounded, and the words spilled out before she could stop them.

“Joel… hey. I—I know you just left. But… I can’t—” She broke off, biting her lip hard. Silence stretched. She forced herself to keep going, softer now. “Maybe you should come over…”

Her thumb hovered again, then she pressed end call and let the phone drop to her chest.

The quiet pressed in, her heart hammering against her ribs as if the message itself was a heat syncing missile. She curled onto her side, threw the phone back in the drawer, and let the uncertainty settle heavy in her stomach.

A storm brewed heavily in her, knocking itself against her ribs and pinching the nerves in her skull. Perspiration began to build at her temples, a thunderous drum of her heartbeat deafening in her ears.

But his knock is gentle against the screen door, causing a harsh rattle to overtake the trailer. When the door creaks open, she’s standing on the other side of the screen, wide eyes locked on him. His gaze follows the length of her, the same shirt she was in at the bar, and pink underwear above bare legs.

“I got your message,” Joel says as he holds up his phone, voice almost breathless with the steady rise and fall of his chest. His hand reaches out to pull open the screen door, the barrier between them removed.

“Yeah?” She asks quietly, her chin dipping to peer at him.

“Yeah,” he responds, voice gruff, as he pushes himself over the threshold and presses himself to her. One hand reaches around the door to push it closed behind him, the other wrapping itself in place behind her neck to pull her closer.

He knew dropping her off and leaving her here was something he’d regret. Tucking her in, kissing her forehead— it was a kiss he’d wanted to give her, but he just had the feeling that he didn’t kiss her right. And here she is, pushing the flannel from his shoulders, letting him try again. And again, and again, and again.

When he can finally see the blue lace of her bra, he runs his finger over the cup of it, before gently snapping the strap on her shoulder.

“This ‘snice,” he says, kissing the place on her skin where the strap landed.

She chuckles lowly before saying, “Thanks, it’s Walmart.”

Joel follows with a low hum, scruff tickling along the soft skin of her throat.

Something about him being on his knees and looking up at her as he pulls down her underwear, how she keeps a hand on his shoulder. He’s looking up at her, and she is an altar, finally showing herself to him at long last. And he thinks, only for a second, that this is the only chance to truly see her. Walls down, drawbridges up. Nothing to put up resistance. And he wants to savor it for as long as he can.

When she closes her eyes, those long since seen dark eyes slither their way out from the edges of her memory. Eyes she’s tried to push away, eyes that had her calling Joel in the first place. Dark eyes that used to peer up at her from between her legs, just how Joel is now. But Joel’s movements are different from the man before him. Half expecting her fingers to run across the smooth sides of a shaved head, the outline of the tribal pattern still memorized on the tips of her fingers, relief floods through her as she reaches for his hair, soft strands between her fingers that ground her to the moment and his mouth to her heat.

Before he let’s her get there, he’s pulling himself off of her and up to her swollen lips, crashing against her in a frenzy. She’s ripping his clothes from him, her eyes glazed yet focused as she quickly maneuvers. He’s naked now, before her, his length throbbing as it brushes against the warm skin of her thigh.

Flipped to her hands and knees, he presses her into the shitty metal frame beneath the thin mattress, rough hands sufferingly grazing the swell of her ass, a perfect heart to hold in his hands.

He runs his hand over the tattoo on her shoulder blade, and she presses her chest further down into the mattress, pushing her ass against him.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispers, hand ghosting down the curve of her side, gripping the plush of her waist, before trailing his fingers over the tattoo just at the bottom of her waist.

An intricate cross rests in the middle, arms of equally intricate design outstretched as wings on either side. And right above the cross in a curly script, the words, “Lucky You.” And he laughs.

“Don’t laugh,” she chuckles with him. “It was my first one. I was young and stupid.”

His thumbs find their place in the dimples of her back before she’s taking every inch of him, sinking down onto the base of his cock as she lets out a heavenly moan.

Young and stupid. And maybe, he thinks, made for each other.

—

She lays on her stomach, breathing deeply as she rests her eyes. Joel’s propped up on one elbow, the fingers of the other hand running across the tattoo on the back of her shoulder. The mixture of a crow and a heart, and something else that’s too difficult to see in the light of the early morning.

“Tell me about this one,” he says.

And she does. About how it means she’s an Old Lady, that her Old Man’s part of ‘the club.’

“Tell me about Chicago,” he says. Her smile changes into something sad, something you’d give to someone out of pity. She rolls onto her side, then to her back, to stare at the water stained ceiling.

“The sun‘ll be coming up soon,” she says, reaching for a pack of Camel’s that sit on her nightstand. “I’ll walk you out. Need a smoke, anyway.”

Something stings in his chest, a pinch in the space between his ribcage and lung, at the casualness of her tone. Something in him hoped that she’d be able to let him stay, to wait for the sun to come up and watch as it goldens her skin. But he only chews on the skin of his cheek as he watches her throw her shirt back on, and he gets up to dress.

—

“She ain’t in today?” Tommy asks, no sign of her popping around a corner to say good morning.

“Said she was having problems with her truck,” the barista replies. “Couldn’t get a ride into work.”

And before Joel even knows it, he’s dropped Tommy off and driving down that gravel path through the trailer park, one hand white knuckling the steering wheel while the other runs through his beard.

“What the hell am I doin’?” He mutters to himself, halfway to turning the truck around and pretending he never had a care to fix her truck. His heart pounds faster in his chest as he travels further down the path, getting closer and closer to her single wide until it’s finally in view.

Turning into her driveway, that red as rust ‘88 Ford sits at an angle, hood propped up as if it knew Joel was on his way. She’s sat straddling the front bumper, one leg propped on the engine and the other resting on the front fender. Joel pulls his toolbox from the bed of his truck, gravel crunching under his boots as he approaches her. A thin sheen of sweat shines on her skin from the afternoon sun, hair tied back away from her face, her jeans pulled into a v at the back of her waist, a sliver of inked skin on display for him.

The clothes from the other night are still pinned to the clothesline in front of the truck, swaying in the warm breeze. She turns finally as Joel’s bootsteps draw closer, her brows curled in confusion before relaxing into a soft smile.

“Howdy, cowboy,” she calls to him. “What brings you here?”

“Heard you got problems with your truck,” he says, approaching her to lean next to her position on the truck. “But it looks like you got things handled.”

“Bad alternator,” she explains, one eye closing as she squints at him in the sun.

“How’s it comin’ along?”

“Just finished,” she says with a smile.

“Who taught you how to do that?” He asks, a smile on his face that almost says he’s proud.

Her movements falter, freezing for only a moment, before she clears the dryness from her throat.

“My family owned an auto body shop out in California,” she begins, picking her words carefully. “Started watching my brother when I was younger and picked up on it pretty quick, I guess. Mostly worked on bikes, but cars are simple.”

“You got a brother?” Joel asks, offering her a hand as she crawls back over the front of the truck to land both feet on the ground.

She gives a look, one he reads as hesitant, and he can only nod.

“Speaking of bikes, why didn’t you just ride that one to work?” Joel points to the cloth covered Dyna that sits unused, untouched, under the shade of the trailer.

“Doesn’t run,” she lies, eyes becoming sharp at his questions.

He only nods, eyeing her as she wipes her hands on her jeans. She brushes past him with stiff shoulders, making her way towards the trailer.

“I got beers inside,” she says to him, back still facing him before she peers over her shoulder. “Want one?”

“Sure,” he says softly, following her lead inside the single-wide. “Hadn’t heard from you in a couple days. You good?”

“I’m good,” she says, popping the top off two beers and handing one to Joel. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” he responds, sipping the room temp beer. “I’m good.”

The two sit in a strange kind of silence. A silence not too tense, a silence not too loose. She’s leaned herself against the fridge, quickly sipping the beer that disappears faster than Joels. He’s leaned himself against her counter, only a few feet from her, gripping his beer in a nervous vice.

“Listen,” Joel starts. “About the other night-”

“It was good,” she interjects, eyes meeting his as he falls silent. “Real good.”

“Yeah?” He asks, voice soft and breathless as his eyes soften in her gaze.

“Yeah,” she says with a smile. A blush takes over his chest, creeping his way up his throat and to the tips of his ears. He tries to rub it away at the back of his neck, but it only moves to his cheeks.

“It was, wasn’t it,” he confirms, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Good.”

“Good,” she echoes, reaching the neck of her bottle out to him. His touches hers, a quiet pact of understanding.

—

The summer sweat had begun to mold itself into a crisp autumn breeze, cool winds coming down from the mountains that had that friendly leisure overtaken by brisk hellos and hustling feet.

But not for Joel, at least, that’s what Tommy would think. Over the months he’s watched his guard dog brother, once vicious with venom leaking from his fangs, molt from the hostile chains that kept an iron fist around his heart. He’d been able to break free what little he could, shoulders more relaxed and eyes more warm. That gaping wound in his soul had begun to tether itself back up little by little.

And Tommy being the asshole brother that he is, could only dream that it was himself that did the good for his brother. But he knew it was her. Hell, the whole town knew it was her. The cowboys kept their chit chat to a maximum of two minutes when they came to the bar, tipping their hats to Joel as they left. The staff at the coffee shop couldn’t resist the chatter, mostly amongst themselves, about her and Joel.

And it drove her fucking insane.

The chill of the season had her hackles raised, the talk of her coworkers sending her into mute isolation as she threw herself into her work. But she kept with her grace, always sweet and always kind.

All this seriousness with her and Joel had her grinding her teeth to dust, wanting to say any lie to keep him away from her. But when she’d see those dark eyes in the early mornings under the light of the drive-thru, his back to her at a table at a bar (a back she could recognize anywhere, the breadth of it alone leaving her speechless), his warmth would melt that chill in her chest.

Her fingers run lazily over his chest, overwhelmed by the bareness of it. No ink lines to trace, no lines of empty skulls to stare back at her. No permanent ink print of her lipstick to run her lips over.

And it was a relief. A clean slate, bare and naked, here for the taking. An empty altar she could pray at for hours, mesmerized by the strength and breadth of it. Strong and toned, thick collar bones luring her in. Hypnotized by the movements of her fingers, her eyelids draw heavy, but she fights to blink away the tiredness. Her leg twitches restlessly, the deep breaths of Joel beneath her rocking her further into her tiredness. The clock blinds 5:03 AM, and her eyes close.

5:34 AM. The clock on her nightstand blinks an unsettling red, the sun beginning to peek through the clouds to illuminate her room a warm orange. His one hand plays aimlessly in her hair, the other stroking over the ink on her knuckles, now blacked out by rectangles, the barely-there outlining of S O N S on their respective knuckles hidden under the black layer. Her leg is slung over his hip, head resting against his bare chest, and she stirs gently. When he looks at her, the warmth of her skin glows in the sunshine, but he swears she may as well be the sun itself. He’d believe her if she said she was.

She groans softly, curling her toes as she stretches out her leg. Joel brushes the hair that falls into her face, pushing it gently over her shoulder.

“Fell asleep on me,” he says gently, chest rumbling beneath her ear.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, rolling from him to rub the sleep from her eyes.

“Want me to get goin’?” He asks, not moving his arm from under her. When she finally pulls her fists from her eyes, she turns her gaze to him. Dark eyes warm in the summer sun, a lighter speckle of gold twinkling at her. The frown in his brow appears slowly, corners of his eyes crinkling as he takes her in.

“Stay,” she says for the first time, corners of her mouth lifting softly. She runs a hand through his beard, tugging gently to pull him closer. He melts into her, letting himself become malleable under the warmth of her touch. Her lips are warm when they touch his, warmer than the brandy they shared last night.

He only pulls away from her to look at her face, take in the bright smile she’s given him with soft and shining eyes.

“What?” she prods on a chuckle.

“Nothin’,” Joel starts. “You only smile like this when you’re drinking.”

“Maybe I’m still drunk,” she says teasingly.

“Maybe,” Joel smiles, unwilling to take his gaze off of her, before leaning back into her kiss.