|| smut mdni 18+, drabble, buncha kissin and grindin baby!!! kissin' like sloppppyyy messy kissin', can kinda be any joel you want no timeline mentioned, dry humping, sweaty joel, needy reader, no description of reader except afab, lots of pet names, premature ejaculation, no pinv, dirty talk, I kinda pictured this in a cabin but then never wrote that in so whatever ||
a/n: nah nah you guys don't know what it's like!!!! tryna be good and look like a hardworking citizen at my job and have everyone gabbin in my inbox about sloppy kissin' joel mf miller !!!!!!!! ya heathens!!!! enjoy!!! (wrote this tonight, no edits done lmao sorry)
wc: 2.3k
"Christ, woman—"
You whine a little at that, your hands turning as petulant as your bottom lip where it pushes out into a pout.
"—finally get ya all to myself and—"
He's cut off by another kiss, this one no less needy than the last. It's all you are right now. Needy, wanting, absolutely, selfishly, brain-fizzingly wanton for him.
He's smiling against your lips; you can feel it against your own mouth. He's not actually mad that you keep cutting off his words. In fact, if you stopped right now, he'd probably take one of those big, thick, calloused hands to the back of your head and pull you straight down again.
Your hips are sore where they spread around his thighs—thick too, fuck. Everything about him is just so thick. Rugged. Built from tending the earth, hauling lumber, repairing things with his own hands. There is something almost biblical about him in moments like this, something carved out of dirt and sweat and hard work.
He knows how much you love him, but you'd never really said just how badly. His head was big enough already with the way you looked at him, touched him, followed him around like a puppy.
But it wasn't so unilateral like that, no.
Joel was just as bad. He made sure you knew it, too.
The second you pull your mouth away, gasping in a breath, your fingers still dug into his shoulders—those are thick too, wider than anything you'd ever gotten your hands around, round and gorgeous—his hand drives into your hair, just as expected. His fist closes at your nape and drags you back down before you've taken half the breath you wanted.
His tongue meets you first, pushing past your lips and deep into your mouth. You moan against him and open greedily, sucking at his tongue when he gives you enough of it, pulling it between your lips before he does the same to yours. It turns wet fast, all tongue and spit and mouths barely separating before crashing back together, both of you moaning lewdly and swallowing the sounds from each other.
You'd come in and immediately gotten him to the couch—the kissing going from sweet to messy to downright lazy. You're just feeding at each other's mouths, chasing tongues, sucking, panting against wet lips until whatever the hell he was trying to say has been completely lost.
Finally, it's him who pulls away first.
"As I was sayin'—" he chuckles, his lips glossy with the remnants of your kiss, "—now that I have ya all to myself for the weekend, I'd like to take my time, if that's alright, little lady."
His fist is still curled at the base of your hair, and it's probably the only thing keeping you from diving right back into him.
"Mmm…" you hum, smiling. "But what if we take our time later?"
"Later, huh?" he teases, smiling back. "I like later too."
You nod, one eyebrow crooking up. Easy.
"Why don't you…" His eyes travel down to where he'd already opened your cut off shirt, the sleeves nothing more than tatters over your shoulders, the buttons pulled loose until the shirt hangs open around you. When you glance down, you can see your bra beneath it too. Your favorite one. Saved specifically for this—for having him to yourself.
"God, look at cha—" He clicks his teeth and draws your face closer, his mouth catching your jaw. "Perfect girl, hm? You my perfect girl? Why don't you take this off for me?"
You hum again and let your eyes close, his beard scraping over skin already tender from his mouth while his fingers finish working the last buttons loose. Asked ya a question, you hear him whisper. Yes, yes, whatever you say, you mumble back, and he smiles against your skin. The shirt slips from your shoulders and lands somewhere near the sofa, and your hips move before you mean for them to, grinding down where you sit over him, the thin fabric of your pull-on shorts barely there against the thick denim beneath you.
His hand tightens in your hair, "Want some more— c'mere now."
Bringing your mouth down to his—finally, finally— it's as if you haven't spent the last half hour making out with him like two teenagers who'd been left unsupervised in a cabin.
You breathe him in when your lips press to his—that pine soap underneath the sweat of a long day, still caught along his throat and under the collar of his shirt.
"Wanna ride you," you murmur between kisses, your mouth wandering because you can't seem to keep it anywhere for long. His lips. His cheek. The rough thicket of his jaw. "Right here—"
"Let me shower first. You can join me if ya want—"
You shake your head immediately. "Like you a little dirty."
That pulls a laugh out of him, his head tipping back to rest on the back of the sofa while you continue to kiss down his neck. You paw at his shirt until he finally gets the message, lifting his arms so you can drag it over his head and toss it somewhere behind you before your mouth goes straight back to his skin.
He's warm beneath your lips, the salt of his sweat on your tongue.
He tastes like fucking ambrosia.
You lick into the hollow of his throat and feel his swallow beneath your tongue. A low moan slips out of him, vibrating against your mouth, and you smile there before doing it again.
"Fuck—yeah, fine, okay, fuck—" he grits out.
Somewhere in the fumbling mess of hands, your bra follows both of your shirts to the floor, and suddenly there is nothing between your chests. Hot skin pressed together, his arms wrapping fully around you while your nipples drag against the hair over his chest every time you move.
His hips drive up without warning, his hands closing harder around you as he pushes you down against his covered cock, arms wrapping around you fully, keeping you flush to him. The denim is rough beneath your shorts, his length thick and just as needy, that there is no pretending your impatience is some one sided problem.
"Needy little thing can't wait ten fuckin' minutes for this cock, huh?"
"Oh, yeah," you chuckle against his throat, kissing the spot again because you've already learned what it does to him. "It's me who's impatient—right."
His head lifts. "What was that, young lady?"
You giggle now, rutting your hips against him again, and his hands immediately catch your ass to help pull you over him, which feels particularly rich considering the accusation.
"Just sayingggg…"
"Sayin' a lotta things," he murmurs, and then he's kissing you again before you can come up with another smart answer. "C'mon now. Grind on my cock like that. Such a good girl you are—"
The next roll of your hips cuts through both of you at once.
Your clit catches just right against his lap, the soaked gusset of your shorts dragged tight between your legs, his denim thick beneath you. You moan straight into his mouth, and Joel answers with one of his own, low and rough where it breaks against your lips.
"That's it," he breathes. "Show me how you'll ride me, little bunny. Show me—"
A smile curls at the corners of your lips: "Corny old man—ah!"
The rest of it turns into a strangled moan when his hand drops from your waist. His fingers hook into the back of your shorts and pull, drawing the fabric tighter between your legs until the wet cotton presses hard against your pussy.
"Oh, fuck!"
"Mmhmm." His forehead knocks against yours when his hips buck up beneath you, a crooked, breathless smile splitting his face, amused and cocky son of a bitch. "Yeah, that's right, where’s that smart mouth I love?"
He pulls the fabric tighter again, and your body jerks, speechless in his hold. He doesn’t need you to answer him, he knows well enough.
"Think you could come just like this, baby? Bet you could.”
Your brain feels made of cotton clouds, all soft static and drifting white shapes—the kind you used to lie on your back and name until they stopped looking like anything at all. Your eyes roll back before you realize it, mouth falling open while another needy sound slips from your lips. There's spit gathering at the corner of your mouth, and Joel's thumb catches it without comment, dragging across your lower lip before he pushes it into your mouth.
"Yeah," he groans when you suck around it automatically. "Think you could. Almost fucked dumb already, ain't ya, angel? Barely even touched you."
You whine around his thumb.
"My perfect little thing." His eyes stay fixed on your face while you rock over him. "Bet you could make me come like this too. I'm so fuckin' close, watchin' my girl work herself up on me. My pretty little girl—grind on me some more, sweetheart. C'mon now. Know you can do that."
He's babbling now, and that's how you always know he's getting close.
The words start coming quicker than he can seem to organize them, his hips rocking harder beneath you while his mouth wanders wherever it can reach. Your jaw, throat, the skin below your ear—he leaves open mouthed kisses there, his tongue dragging broad and hot across your neck before his teeth nibble lightly at your skin.
You listen—of course you do.
Your hips work harder against him, the movement losing whatever rhythm it started with. You rock forward, then lift yourself slightly and drag back down, chasing the pressure again, mimicking the motion of riding him until Joel's hands clamp around your hips and help you through it.
"Fuck, yeah. Just like that."
You do it again.
"Been waitin' so long to have you like this, baby," he mutters into your neck. "All alone out here. Nobody to fuckin' bother us. Just me and my baby girl. Ain't that right?"
"Yes, Joel—yes, yes, I'm so—fuckkk—" Your thighs tighten around him. "I'm getting so close."
"What a needy girl you are." His mouth curls against your skin. "Tell me."
You whine, rocking faster.
"Tell me how needy you are for me.” He repeats
"You feel so good, Joel. Oh my God—need it, need you so bad—"
The rough denim catches at the perfect angle again, sharper this time, and you nearly fold forward over him.
"Please let me come!" you squeal as your nails dig at his shoulders
Joel's mouth is hanging open when you finally look down at him again. His pupils are blown wide, his cheeks warm beneath the scruff, and there's something almost dazed in the way he's watching you move on top of him. His eyes drop between your bodies for a second, following the desperate roll of your hips, then drag slowly back to your face.
His hand finds your hair again. "Come here."
He pulls you down into him. This kiss is the messiest of them all—teeth clacking before your mouths find each other properly, lips wet and swollen, tongues eager but distractedly lazy now by the pleasure tightening through both of you. Every few seconds one of you breaks away to moan and then immediately comes back, unwilling to give the other more than half a breath.
Your hips are starting to hurt from the way you've kept them spread around him, thighs trembling with the effort, but it only makes you grind harder. Heat climbs through your belly, your spine prickling while the muscles low in your stomach begin to pull tight.
Joel is talking straight into your mouth.
"Good girl—yeah, that's it." Another kiss. "Come on, baby." His hips drive up. "Please, let me have it."
You whimper his name: Joel, Joel, Joel—
"Gonna make an old man come in his fuckin' pants for you if you keep that up."
That nearly has you toppling over the edge, the build up of your swelling pleasure nearly painful in your belly. "Joel—!"
"I know, sweetheart."
"I love you." You kiss him again, so sloppy that the words barely make it out. "I love you, I love you, Joel—"
"Oh, baby." His voice cracks around a groan. "I know."
His hand grips the back of your neck even harder while the other holds hard into your hip, forcing you down against him when his hips come up.
"I love you even more, don't you know that?"
"Fuck—"
"Love you so much. N’ you feel so good rubbin' this sweet pussy up on me like that." He's completely gone now, words spilling out against your mouth while his breathing turns low and gravelly. "C'mon, make me proud. Come just from a little rubbin' on my dick, hm?"
You nod frantically against him.
His thumb brushes over your cheek. "You can do it."
The next grind sends the pressure white hot through you, and the sound that comes out of you barely resembles his name—strangled between a cry and a sob when the pleasure finally splits through. Your whole body locks around him, thighs clamping tight against his hips while you grind down hard, chasing every last bit of friction you can get.
His hands are everywhere now, one twisted into your hair, the other spread wide over your ass, pulling you against him through every helpless roll of your hips. Your neck is barely strong enough to hold your lolling head, letting your mouths push and slide without managing a proper kiss anymore, both of you breathing into the same inch of space. Your orgasm yanks from you, body locking and your spine arching into him, belly to belly.
"That's it, baby, that's my girl—oh, god, yes—" you hear him moan.
Your hooded eyes open, watching him now as you continue to ride out the pleasure as his face goes slack—awe beneath the pleasure already pulling his own features apart. There's no teasing left in him now. No smug little curl at the corner of his mouth.
"Baby—“ he nearly whines, hips bucking hard beneath you. "Baby, I'm gonna—"
You kiss him before he can finish, his eyes rolling back, the moan tearing from his throat into your mouth. His whole body goes rigid underneath you, fingers digging into your skin nearly painful while his hips jerk up, pushing you harder against the thick shape of his cock through his jeans. His eyes squeeze shut as his head falls back onto his neck, his mouth still parted, and for one long second he looks completely overcome by it.
There was something almost obscene about seeing him like this.
Joel Miller. A man so accustomed to being useful to others—to fixing, carrying, building—now barely seemed to know what to do with himself except hold you. His mouth stayed open against your cheek, your name a constant on broken breaths while the last of the pleasure worked through him.
You'd never seen him look so helplessly happy.
thank you for coming to this very random Tuesday night horny extravaganza………… I’ve been very into kissing lately and not as much smut so if you still read all this I appreciate you so dearly !!!!! sleep tight 🫶✨
che me preocupa en serio el nivel de perversidad de los gringos con kiki ramos. todos los argentinos diciendo "ay qué bueno, ojalá le vaya re bien, buenísimo porque necesitamos más jugadores en esa posición" y los otros en los comentarios "es obvio que lo odian, seguramente piensan tal cosa, le van a decir [insertar insulto]". es un pibe que vivió toda su vida acá, juega acá, logró llegar a la sub 17 acá. no entiendo por qué tienen esta obsesión con ver a gente ser mala contra un chico de 17 años!! parece que quieren que sea discriminado así tienen su "gotcha" moment.
.⋆♱ summary: It is no secret that many men don’t particularly enjoy their wives having a group of friends to go out with, unwind with, laugh with, and come home late from.
Joel Miller has never understood that.
He likes watching you get ready. Likes the music drifting from the bathroom, the dresses laid across the bed, the way you turn in front of the mirror and ask him what he thinks as if he is not already half in love with every version of you. He likes knowing you have a night that belongs to you.
Because when it is over, when you are warm with cocktails and laughter and ready to come home, you always call him.
And Joel always answers.
He shows up with your playlist already playing, cold juice waiting in the cupholder, and enough snacks to prove he knows you better than anyone.
He thinks he has planned for everything.
But he has not prepared for what you decide to do with the peach rings.
.⋆♱ a/n: Since I can’t get husband!Joel out of my head, I had no choice but to write a second part to Mirror, mirror on the wall... Hope you enjoy it!!!🦋
.⋆♱ warnings: Smut at the end, Domestic Fluff, Tipsy Reader, Drunk Flirting, Light Dom/sub Elements, Switch Dynamics, Sub Joel Miller, Use of “Good Boy”, Praise Kink, Dirty Talk, Teasing, Edging, Orgasm Denial, Oral Sex, Cunnilingus, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Food Play, Candy, Light Cum Play, Aftercare, Gas Station Snacks As Foreplay.
.⋆♱ wc: 11.615 k
.⋆♱ Request for Joel and Tommy Miller are always open <3
Saturday night started with Fleetwood Mac drifting out of the bathroom and Joel pretending he had not been listening to the same soft, hypnotic rhythm of Dreams for the past twenty minutes.
He was on the bed with his back against the headboard, one leg stretched out and the other bent lazily at the knee, a book open in one hand that he had not actually read beyond the same two paragraphs since you’d disappeared into the bathroom with your makeup bag, your curling iron, half your perfume collection, and the kind of determined expression that usually meant the bedroom was about to become a staging area for decisions he did not fully understand but always enjoyed witnessing. The door stood half open, and light spilled through the gap in a warm stripe across the floorboards, carrying with it the faint hiss of running water and your voice rising every now and then over the music when a lyric caught you in just the right place.
Joel didn’t smile much when he was alone. It had never come naturally to him, not even in peace. But the corner of his mouth had been sitting in that almost smile for a while now, stubborn and helpless, because there were some things marriage had taught him no amount of age or bad habit could defend against. The sound of you singing too loudly in the bathroom was one of them. Not perfectly. Not even close, sometimes. You had a dangerous faith in high notes after two glasses of wine and a worse one when you were sober, but there was something about that song that made you softer instead of louder, your voice warm and careless as it slipped through the half open door. You sang like you were living inside the song instead of performing it, like the words belonged to you for as long as they passed through your mouth, and Joel had discovered early on that there was a kind of happiness in hearing someone you loved be unselfconscious in the next room.
That was the word for it, maybe. Unselfconscious. Safe enough to be noisy. Safe enough to take up space. Safe enough to scatter clothes across his side of the bed and shout, “Don’t look yet,” as though he had not seen every inch of you in states far less organized than this.
He looked at the open book again and absorbed none of it.
From the bathroom, you called, “Joel?”
“Hm?”
“Are you listening?”
He lifted his eyes toward the door. “To what?”
“To Stevie Nicks.”
“Been hard not to, darlin’.”
Your laugh came out bright and immediate. “Rude.”
“Didn’t say it was bad.”
“You implied it.”
“I implied you got enthusiasm.”
“Enthusiasm is a compliment.”
“In some contexts.”
“Joel.”
He turned the page only to keep up appearances. “Sorry, ma’am.”
There was a pause, and then something small hit the bathroom door from the inside. A makeup brush, maybe. Or a hair clip. He didn’t know. You owned enough tiny objects to arm yourself for a siege.
He shook his head and looked back down, still smiling despite himself.
He liked this part more than he had ever thought he would. That was the honest truth of it. Years ago, before you, Joel might have thought this kind of waiting would annoy him; the music, the clothes, the questions that did not have one correct answer no matter how many times you insisted they did, the slow transformation of the bedroom into a disaster of fabric, jewelry, perfume, and half zipped handbags. He might have mistaken all of it for fuss. For delay. For complication.
Now he understood it as anticipation.
There was something almost ceremonious about the way you prepared for a night out with your girls. It was not simply putting on clothes and leaving the house. It was the choosing. The trying. The little rituals of becoming the version of yourself the night required. You did your makeup with a concentration that made him go quiet, then ruined your own seriousness by turning a mascara tube into a microphone the second Bad Romance came on. You held earrings against your neck and turned your head in the mirror as if consulting some invisible jury. You sprayed perfume into the air and walked through it with your eyes closed. You changed your mind three times, sometimes four, and every version of you that stepped out for his judgment looked so good to him that he was, admittedly, useless as a critic.
Joel had learned not to say that too early.
If he said “that one” right away, you accused him of not looking closely enough. If he hesitated, you accused him of hating it. If he said he liked all of them, you told him that was sweet but unhelpful. Marriage, as far as he could tell, was a long and humbling education in answering questions for which the truth was not always the point.
The bathroom door opened a little wider.
“Okay,” you said from behind it. “First option.”
Joel closed the book around one finger and looked up.
You stepped out barefoot, still in the soft robe you wore while getting ready, but holding a dress against the front of your body by its hanger. It was black, short enough that Joel’s eyes gave it careful attention before he remembered he was supposed to be evaluating rather than reacting. You stood at the foot of the bed with your lips pressed together, trying to read his face before he’d said a word.
He knew better than to speak too fast.
“Well?” you asked.
Joel looked at the dress, then at you. “That the one you wore to Pat’s birthday dinner?”
“No. That one had sleeves.”
“Right.”
You narrowed your eyes slightly. “Do you actually remember that?”
He gave you a look over the top of the book. “You wore it with those little gold earrings that look like knots.”
Your mouth parted just a little, pleased despite yourself. “Hoops, Joel. They’re hoops.”
“They got knots in ’em.”
“They’re twisted hoops.”
“That’s what I said.”
You laughed and looked down at the dress again, your thumb smoothing over the fabric. “So?”
He took a second, more because he wanted to watch the way you waited than because he needed one. “It’s pretty.”
“Pretty good or pretty pretty?”
“Pretty dangerous.”
Your face changed, and he felt the satisfaction of it low in his chest.
“Dangerous,” you repeated.
“Mmm-hmm.”
“That sounds like a… husband answer.”
“Ain’t I your husband?”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean you get to be lazy.”
Joel’s brow lifted. “You ask me what I think, I say you look dangerous, and somehow I’m lazy.”
“You didn’t specify why.”
He set the book aside at last because pretending had become insulting to both of you. “Alright. It’s got that neckline you like, the one that makes you stand different.”
You blinked.
He continued, because now you had asked for it. “The skirt hits high enough that you’ll keep tugging at it when you sit, but not because you don’t like it. Because you know it looks good and you’ll want to act like you don’t know.”
Your expression softened into surprise.
“And,” he added, eyes moving back up to yours, “if you wear it with those black heels that make you mean, you’ll spend all night pretendin’ you’re not enjoyin’ everybody lookin’ at you.”
You stared at him.
Joel waited.
Then you said, quieter, “The black heels make me… mean?”
“They do.”
“How?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “You walk differently in ’em.”
Your smile started small. “Different how?”
“Like you’re about to ruin somebody’s life.”
You laughed then, delighted and embarrassed all at once, and the sound went through him with a warmth so clean it almost hurt. You turned on your heel and disappeared back into the bathroom, calling over your shoulder, “That one goes in the maybe pile.”
Joel watched the empty doorway for a moment.
Then he reached for the book, opened it, and did not read.
The music changed then, the first low, gritty pull of Sex on Fire slipping through the bathroom door, and you made a pleased little sound from inside, the kind he could picture without seeing it: your head tipping back, your shoulders moving, your hand finding a brush or lipstick or bottle of something as though the song had made the decision for you. He heard drawers slide open, hangers scrape, the soft thump of clothing landing somewhere it probably shouldn’t. Every now and then your reflection crossed the thin vertical slice of the bathroom mirror visible from where he sat, and Joel caught fragments: your bare shoulder, the line of your neck, your hand lifting to your mouth, the flash of an earring.
Joel looked down at the book again and pretended not to hear the way you sang that one lower, less pretty and more amused, like you knew exactly what the song did to the air between the bedroom and the bathroom.
It was not that he needed to watch.
It was that he liked being allowed to.
There was a difference he did not think most men understood. Watching you get ready was not about possession, though there was some quiet, old fashioned part of him that took a dangerous kind of pride in knowing you would come back to him at the end of the night. It was about being the person who saw the before and after, the decisions no one else would know had taken place, the little anxieties that passed through you before you stepped out looking like nothing in the world could touch you. Your friends would see the final version. The bar would see the smile, the dress, the gloss, the confidence. Joel saw the bobby pins between your teeth and the mascara face and the way you frowned at one shoe because it had betrayed you once on a sidewalk crack two summers ago.
He loved the finished thing but he loved the making of it even more.
You appeared again with the second option, this time actually wearing it.
Joel’s spine straightened before he could help it.
It was not as obviously dangerous as the black dress. That was the trouble. This one did not announce itself. It was softer, the color warm against your skin, the fabric skimming rather than clinging, the straps delicate enough to make his hands feel suddenly aware of themselves. You came out smoothing your palms down the front of it, looking at him with uncertainty he immediately disliked.
“I don’t know,” you said.
Joel’s eyes lifted to your face. “Why not?”
You glanced down. “Maybe it’s too simple.”
“No.”
“No?”
“No,” he said again, firmer.
Your gaze flickered to his. “You like this one?”
“I do.”
“You said the other one was dangerous.”
“This one is too.”
You let out a little disbelieving laugh. “Joel, you cannot call every outfit dangerous.”
“I can if they are.”
“That’s not helpful, baby.”
He sat forward, forearms resting on his thighs, and looked at you properly. “That one’s quieter.”
You went still.
He chose his words with more care, because he could see now that this mattered differently. “Not plain. Not simple. Quiet. Like… it doesn’t need to try so hard.”
Your face shifted with that, some of the doubt giving way to something more tender.
“It looks like you, that's why.” he said.
The room changed.
Just a little. Just enough.
You looked down again, but this time not because you were unsure. Because you were trying to hide the effect of him.
You pressed your lips together, fighting a smile. “You’re supposed to be helping me choose, not making it harder.”
“Didn’t say I was good at the job.”
“You’re terrible at it.”
“I’m honest.”
“That might be worse.”
He huffed a laugh. “Probably.”
You walked to the full length mirror near the dresser and turned sideways, studying yourself. Joel watched you with a concentration that did not feel casual anymore. There were things he could have said and didn’t. That he liked the way the dress made your shoulders look delicate when he knew perfectly well you were not fragile. That the soft color made him think of summer evenings and your mouth after wine. That he liked how comfortable you seemed inside it, how much less you performed when you forgot he was watching and assessed yourself with those quiet, devoted eyes.
Instead he said, “Can you dance in it?”
You glanced back. “That’s your deciding factor?”
“If you’re goin’ out with the girls, yeah.”
That made you smile properly. “I can dance in it.”
“Can you sit in it without complainin’?”
“Yes.”
“Can you eat fries in it?”
You laughed. “What kind of question is that?”
“A practical one.”
“I can eat fries in anything.”
“Not true. Green dress from New Year’s.”
Your mouth dropped open. “That dress was tight.”
“I remember.”
You tried to glare at him, but your smile ruined it. “Maybe pile?”
“Maybe pile.”
You turned back toward the bathroom, then paused at the doorway. “You really like it?”
Joel’s expression settled, the humor easing into something steadier. “Yeah, darlin’. I really like it.”
You disappeared before he could say more, but he saw the way your shoulders lifted, lighter than before.
That was another thing he liked. Not the insecurity, never that, but the privilege of being trusted with it. You did not hand those little uncertainties to everyone. You did not ask just anyone, Is this too much? Is this enough? Do I look like myself? You asked him. Only him. And every time, something inside Joel answered before he did: I see you. I’ve got you. Come here, let me look.
He rubbed a hand over his jaw and glanced toward the window, where the last of the evening light was thinning into blue. You had been excited about tonight all week. Girls’ night, you kept calling it, though there was always a touch of ceremony in the way you said it, like it meant more than drinks and dinner and too many shared appetizers. It meant being someone besides wife for a few hours, not because being his wife trapped you, but because Joel knew love was healthiest when it left the door open. He liked that you had women who made you laugh loud enough to lose your breath. He liked that you came home with stories, with lipstick half gone, with your feet aching, with that loose, tipsy warmth that made you affectionate and bossy and far too honest.
He especially liked the part where you came home to him.
That thought was enough to make him look back down at his hands and smile secretly to himself.
The bathroom door opened again.
“Okay,” you announced. “Final option.”
Joel looked up.
And forgot, briefly, that he was supposed to be civilized.
You had chosen a dark denim dress he had not seen before, something different and fitted with a neckline that was not indecent but still made him sit very still. You had added jewelry this time. Not all of it, not yet, but enough: small earrings catching the light, a bracelet at your wrist, a necklace resting just above your collarbone. Your makeup was half done, your hair still not quite finished, and somehow that made it worse. Not polished yet. Not complete. Still in the middle of becoming. Still his to see before the world got the final version.
“Well?” you asked, more quietly this time.
Joel’s gaze traveled down and back up with deliberate restraint. “That’s the one.”
Your brows rose. “You’re sure?”
“Yep.”
“You didn’t even think about it.”
“Didn’t need to.”
You looked down at yourself. “Why?”
Because I want to cancel your night and keep you here, he thought, and immediately decided not to say that because he was, contrary to some evidence beneath his pants, a decent man.
Out loud, he said, “You’re comfortable in it.”
You softened. “That’s your reason?”
“One of ’em.”
“What’s the other?”
He leaned back against the headboard again, eyes on you. “You keep lookin’ at yourself like you already chose it and you’re waitin’ for me to agree.”
Your lips parted, then closed. You glanced toward the mirror, caught, and laughed under your breath. “That is extremely annoying.”
“Being right?”
“Yes.”
You walked closer, stopping between his knees at the edge of the bed. Joel tipped his head back to keep looking at you, and for a moment the music from the bathroom seemed to move farther away, softened by the doorway and the warm air and the fact of you standing so close that he could smell the coconut lotion on your skin. You reached down and took the book from beside him, glanced at the cover, then at his face.
“Space for idiots,” you read aloud. “What page are you on, baby?”
Joel did not blink. “Page I’m on.”
“You haven’t moved in half an hour.”
“Book’s dense.”
“You’re a bad liar.”
He looked up at you, and the truth sat in his face before he bothered with words. “You were more interestin’.”
Your expression changed in a way he felt more than saw. Softer at first, then pleased, then something else underneath it, something playful sharpening around the edges.
“You like watching me get ready.”
He could have denied it. He had enough pride left to try, maybe. But you were smiling at him like you already knew, and Joel had reached an age where lying badly in front of a beautiful woman was more trouble than it was worth.
“Yeah,” he said.
Your smile widened. “Why?”
He slipped his hands to your hips, not pulling, just settling there because you were close enough and he wanted to. “You ask a lot of questions.”
“You don’t answer enough of them.”
“That ain’t true.”
“It is.”
He studied you for a moment, thumb moving once against the fabric at your side. “I like seein’ you happy.”
The playfulness in your face dimmed into something tender.
Joel kept his voice low, almost plain, because that was the only way he knew how to say things that mattered. “Like watchin’ you choose things for yourself. Like watchin’ you get excited. Like knowin’ you’re goin’ out and gonna have a good time, and then you’re comin’ back here after.”
Your hand came to rest lightly against his shoulder. “To you.”
His eyes held yours. “To me.”
For a second, neither of you moved.
Then your phone buzzed somewhere in the bathroom, and the moment broke gently instead of shattering. You looked toward the sound, then back at him with reluctant duty.
“That’s probably them.”
“Then you better finish gettin’ ready.”
You sighed dramatically. “You’re kicking me out?”
Joel’s hands tightened slightly at your hips before he released you. “If I was kickin’ you out, you’d know it.”
You leaned down and kissed him, quick at first, then not quick at all when his hand came up to the back of your neck and kept you there a moment longer. You tasted faintly of cherry lip gloss and smelled like perfume he knew would linger on his shirt after you left. When you pulled away, his eyes stayed on your mouth.
“You’re going to mess up my gloss,” you whispered.
He huffed a laugh. “Consider me warned.”
You straightened, but before you could leave, he caught your wrist and turned it gently, his thumb brushing beneath the bracelet you had half fastened. “You want this one?”
You looked down. “Yes, please.”
He stood, taking the two ends carefully between his fingers. For a man who spent his days handling lumber, concrete, and power tools, Joel could be surprisingly patient with delicate things when they belonged to you. He bent his head, brows drawn in concentration, and fastened the clasp with more care than the tiny piece of jewelry probably deserved. You watched him do it in silence, your wrist resting in his hand, and he felt your gaze on the top of his head like warmth.
“There,” he murmured.
You turned your wrist, making the bracelet catch the light. “Thank you.”
He didn’t let go right away. His thumb slid once over your pulse. “Text me when you need me.”
“I will.”
“Not when you think you might need me. When you need me.”
Your smile was immediate, but you didn’t tease him for it. You knew the difference by now between control and care, between Joel trying to hold you back and Joel needing to know there was a line of safety between your night and his hands.
“I promise,” you said.
He nodded once. “And drink water.”
“There he is.”
“What?”
“My old man.”
Joel’s eyes narrowed. “Careful.”
You rose on your toes and kissed his cheek. “My handsome old man.”
“That ain’t better.”
“It’s a little better.”
“It is not.”
You laughed as you slipped out of his hold and back toward the bathroom, leaving him standing by the bed with your perfume on his shirt and your bracelet’s warmth still ghosting across his fingers. He watched through the open door as you leaned close to the mirror again, reapplying gloss with precise little movements, then stepping back to check the whole effect.
The song changed once more, and the first dramatic beat of Bad Romance filled the bathroom. You gasped softly in recognition before turning it up, already reaching for your mascara tube like it had been waiting all night to become a microphone.
“Oh, I love this one.”
“I know,” Joel called.
You poked your head out, eyes bright. “Yeah?”
He sat back on the bed, reaching for the abandoned book out of habit rather than interest. “You play it every time you’re gettin’ ready.”
Your smile went strangely soft. “You really do pay attention.”
Joel looked at you over the book, the answer too obvious to dress up. “Told you I did.”
For once, you didn’t make a joke.
You just stood there for a second in the warm bathroom light, half finished and already beautiful, looking at him like you had found something precious in the middle of an ordinary evening. Then you disappeared again, singing along under your breath at first, until the French part came and you gave up on pretending to be subtle altogether. Joel heard the sudden lift in your voice, the ridiculous confidence of it, the way you leaned into every syllable as if the bathroom mirror were a stage and the mascara tube in your hand had been made for exactly this.
Joel lowered the book a fraction, watched the flash of your hand in the mirror, and decided there were worse things in life than being married to a woman who performed Lady Gaga to an audience of one.
And then he let his head fall back against the headboard as the house filled with music, perfume, and the living proof of you.
By the time Joel made it to the bar, he still had the ghost of your perfume on his shirt.
He noticed it when he stepped out of the truck and the evening air shifted around him, cool enough now that the heat of the house seemed to fall away in pieces. It was faint, almost gone beneath sawdust, soap, and the clean cotton of the shirt he had changed into before leaving, but it was there all the same. Something soft. Something yours. It followed him across the small parking lot like a hand at the back of his neck, and by the time he pushed open the bar door, Joel had already made the private mistake of wondering if you were singing already in the car with your friends, laughing too loud and checking your gloss in the passenger mirror.
The bar was warm, dim, and familiar, full of the kind of Saturday night noise that didn’t ask much of a man. A game played on the television above the counter with the volume low. Country music hummed somewhere under the voices. The place smelled of beer, fried food and old wood. Joel liked bars like this. Nothing polished. Nothing trying to impress anybody. Just a room where working men could sit down, drink something cold, and pretend their knees did not hurt when they stood back up.
Tommy was already at a table near the back with a couple of the crew and one electrician they used often enough that he had become less subcontractor and more permanent nuisance.
Tommy lifted his chin when he saw Joel. “There he is.”
Joel pulled out the chair beside him. “Y’all start without me?”
“Hell, I was born startin’ without you,” Tommy said, sliding a beer toward him. “You’re the one who likes showin’ up after everybody’s settled.”
Joel sat and reached for the bottle. “Had things to do.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
That was all Tommy said at first, which was how Joel knew his brother had decided to behave for at least three minutes. Maybe four, if God was feeling generous.
Eugene nodded at Joel over the basket of wings. “Miller.”
“Eugene.”
“You missed Tommy explainin’ why he could fix the Cowboys if Jerry Jones would just take his calls.”
Joel took a drink. “Ain’t sure the Cowboys deserve that.”
Tommy pointed at him. “See, that right there is why I don’t talk football with you. No vision.”
“I got vision. I can see you’d make it worse.”
The table laughed, Tommy included, though he gave Joel a look like he was storing the insult for later. It was easy at first. Easier than Joel had expected. The beer was cold, the chair was comfortable enough, and the men around the table were talking the way men talked when nobody’s wife was close enough to tell them they were all repeating the same argument they had every other week. Work bled into football, football into truck problems, truck problems into Eugene insisting he knew a mechanic who could “hear a bad alternator from across a damn county,” which nobody believed and everyone encouraged.
Joel listened. Mostly.
He answered when spoken to, laughed once when Tommy told a story about a homeowner who had tried to explain load bearing walls after watching three videos online, and corrected Caleb when he started blaming the wrong supplier for the late windows on the Henderson job. For a while, he was present enough to pass. Present enough that no one had reason to look too closely.
Then his phone buzzed in his pocket.
It was nothing, just a notification from the weather app, but his hand was halfway there before he stopped himself.
But Tommy saw.
Joel knew he saw because Tommy did not say anything.
And that was worse.
His brother only took a slow drink from his beer, eyes forward, mouth doing that almost smile that had gotten him into trouble since they were boys. Joel ignored it. He was good at ignoring Tommy when he had to be. Had decades of practice. He folded his arms, leaned back, and focused on Eugene arguing with the electrician about whether the bar’s fries had changed.
“They’re thinner,” Eugene said, offended down to his soul.
“They ain’t thinner,” the electrician said. “You’re drunker.”
“I’ve had two beers.”
“Exactly.”
Eugene pointed at the basket. “A man knows when a fry’s been disrespected.”
Tommy shook his head. “Lord help whoever marries you.”
“Too late,” Eugene said. “My wife married me for my standards.”
Joel glanced at the television, then, without meaning to, toward the phone he had set face down near his elbow.
Still nothing.
He had told himself he would not sit at home waiting, and he hadn’t. Technically. He was at the bar. He had a beer in front of him and Tommy beside him and enough noise around him to count as social participation. But there was a part of him that had never left the bedroom, never left the sight of you standing between his knees in that dark denim dress, asking whether he liked watching you get ready as if the answer had not been sitting all over his face.
He wondered if the bracelet had stayed clasped.
He could picture you too clearly: your head bent toward one of your friends across a table, your drink held between both hands, the necklace catching low light at your throat. He could hear, in his mind, the way you laughed when something truly caught you off guard, not the pretty laugh you gave strangers but the full one, the one that made you lean into the nearest person and lose the thread of your own sentence.
Joel took another drink.
Tommy leaned sideways. “You hear a word I just said?”
Joel looked at him. “What?”
Tommy smiled slowly. Not too wide. Just enough to let Joel know the trial had begun.
“I said,” Tommy repeated, “that Ricky’s cousin backed his boat into his own garage door last summer.”
Joel stared at him.
The table went quiet for half a beat.
Then Caleb snorted into his beer.
Joel frowned. “What?”
Tommy’s smile widened. “Nothin’. Just checkin’.”
Joel set his bottle down. “You’re full of shit.”
“I am,” Tommy said easily. “But you still didn’t know.”
Eugene leaned forward, delighted. “Uh-oh.”
“No uh-oh,” Joel said.
“Oh, there is definitely an uh-oh,” Eugene said. “Man’s body is here, soul’s elsewhere.”
Joel gave him a flat look. “My soul’s mindin’ its business.”
Tommy rested an elbow on the table and turned more fully toward him. “Where’d you go, big brother?”
“Nowhere.”
“Mm. That why you’ve looked at your phone four times since sittin’ down?”
“I have not.”
“You have,” Caleb said, earning himself Joel’s stare and immediately lowering his eyes to his drink. “I mean… maybe three.”
Eugene shook his head gravely. “No, four. I respect accuracy.”
Joel sighed through his nose. “Y’all got nothin’ better to do?”
“We did,” Tommy said. “Then you started actin’ suspicious.”
“I’m not actin’ suspicious.”
“Joel,” Tommy said, voice dry as dust, “you just missed an entire made up story about a boat.”
“I was thinkin’.”
“About?”
Joel did not answer fast enough.
That was his second mistake.
Tommy’s expression changed in the exact way Joel hated: softer first, because he knew, then amused, because he was Tommy and mercy had never been his strongest quality.
“Ah,” Tommy said. “There she is.”
Joel picked up his beer. “Don’t start.”
“I didn’t say her name yet.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Tommy leaned back in his chair, now fully enjoying himself. “She’s out with the girls tonight.”
Eugene’s eyebrows rose. “Oh. That explains it.”
“Explains what?” Joel asked.
“The watchfulness,” Eugene said, like he was diagnosing a condition. “The haunted look. The sad little phone glances.”
Joel pointed at him with the neck of his beer. “Ain’t nothin’ sad about me.”
Tommy laughed. “Brother, you look like a dog tryin’ to pretend he ain’t heard the treat bag.”
The whole table broke.
Joel stared at his brother for a long second. “You been waitin’ all night to say that?”
“Came to me just now.”
“Should’ve let it pass.”
“Couldn’t. Gift from God.”
“You and God need better hobbies.”
Tommy’s grin turned sharp. “So how long before she texts?”
Joel looked back to the television. “Don’t know.”
“But you got a guess.”
“No.”
“Liar.”
“I don’t.”
“You absolutely do.” Tommy tipped his beer toward the phone. “You’ve been watchin’ that thing like it owes you money.”
Joel jaw shifted. “She’s havin’ fun.”
“Didn’t say she wasn’t.”
“She don’t need me hoverin’.”
“Nope.”
Joel glanced at him, suspicious now. Tommy’s voice had changed just slightly. Less bite. More brother.
Tommy shrugged one shoulder. “Ain’t hoverin’ if you’re waitin’ to be called.”
Joel looked down at the beer bottle in his hand, thumb worrying at the damp label. That was the trouble with Tommy. He could be an ass for twenty straight minutes and then say something too close to true with no warning at all.
“She looked happy when she left,” Joel said, before he could stop himself.
The table went quieter, not silent, but softened at the edges.
Tommy nodded. “Yeah?”
“Mm.”
“Good.”
Joel kept his eyes on the bottle. “She gets excited about this stuff. The gettin’ ready. The music. Showin’ me half her closet like I know a damn thing.”
“You know more than you pretend,” Tommy said.
Joel glanced over.
Eugene leaned in. “Oh.”
Joel turned his head slowly. “Tommy.”
“What? I’m celebratin’ your growth.”
“You’re about to celebrate eatin’ through a straw.”
Caleb laughed too hard and tried to hide it behind his bottle.
Tommy only smiled, entirely unafraid. “See? That right there. That’s my brother’s love right there.”
Joel took a drink because it was either that or smile, and he wasn’t giving Tommy the satisfaction.
Eugene, unfortunately, had found blood in the water. “So she tried on outfits before?”
Joel looked at the ceiling.
Tommy answered for him. “Oh, absolutely.”
“You weren’t there,” Joel said.
“Didn’t have to be. You got that face.”
“What face?”
“The face of a man who’s been asked whether two dresses are different and knows his life depends on the answer.”
The table laughed again, and this time Joel let himself huff the smallest breath of amusement because, damn it, it wasn’t entirely wrong.
“They were different,” he muttered.
Tommy snapped his fingers. “Hear that? Expert witness.”
Eugene leaned forward, solemn. “How different?”
Joel looked at him. “One had sleeves.”
The laughter came louder this time.
“Hell,” Eugene said, wiping at his eye. “That’s marriage right there.”
Joel shook his head, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him. “Y’all are idiots.”
Tommy’s grin softened. “Maybe. But you like watchin’ her get ready, don’t you?”
Joel didn’t answer right away.
That was a question he could have dodged with something gruff. He could have told Tommy to mind his business, could have insulted Eugene’s wings, could have stood up and gone to the bar for another beer he didn’t need. But the night had been built around that exact truth, and maybe it was still sitting too close to the surface because your perfume was on his shirt and your bracelet’s clasp had warmed beneath his fingers before he left.
“Yeah,” Joel said finally. “I do.”
No one laughed.
Tommy watched him, expression quieter now.
Joel cleared his throat and kept his eyes somewhere past the table. “She gets all worked up about it. Not nervous exactly. Just… alive, I guess. Music playin’, clothes everywhere, talkin’ to herself in the mirror like she’s negotiatin’ with a hostile witness.”
Eugene smiled into his beer.
“She asks me things she already knows the answer to,” Joel went on. “Then gets mad when I don’t answer right. Changes her mind six times. Sings too loud. Throws somethin’ at the door if I get smart.”
Tommy’s mouth moved with fond amusement. “Sounds awful.”
Joel glanced at him. “It ain’t.”
“I know.”
Joel looked back down at the table. “I like that she’s got that. Her friends. Her night. Somethin’ that’s hers.”
“And you like that she comes back,” Tommy said.
Joel’s thumb stilled on the bottle.
There it was again. Tommy cutting through all the noise because he had known Joel too long not to.
“Yeah,” Joel said, voice lower. “I like that part too.”
The silence that followed was brief but real. Even Eugene managed not to ruin it immediately, which Joel supposed counted as growth.
Then Tommy, because he was still Tommy, lifted his bottle and said, “To Joel, then. Patron saint of marriage.”
Joel pointed at him. “Do not toast me.”
Too late. The table raised their bottles.
Eugene added, “May his phone buzz soon and his dignity survive.”
“It won’t,” Caleb said.
“My dignity’s fine,” Joel muttered.
Tommy clinked his bottle gently against Joel’s. “Sure it is.”
The conversation moved on after that, but the teasing stayed alive now, circling back whenever Joel lost focus. They talked about the Henderson job, about a supplier who kept sending warped lumber and pretending not to understand the problem, about whether Tommy’s truck was making a new noise or the same old noise with more confidence. Joel answered, argued, listened.
Mostly.
Then his phone buzzed.
Every head at the table turned at once.
Joel froze with his beer halfway to his mouth.
Tommy grinned. “Well?”
“Could be anybody.”
Eugene pointed at the phone. “A man says that when it ain’t anybody.”
Joel picked it up with as much dignity as he could manage while five grown men watched him like he was about to open a verdict.
Spam.
A damn package delivery scam.
Eugene groaned. “Cruel.”
Caleb slapped the table. “That shouldn’t count.”
“Count for what?” Joel asked.
Everyone got too quiet.
Joel looked from one face to the next. “Y’all bettin’?”
Tommy took a drink.
Joel stared at him. “Thomas.”
“Don’t Thomas me in public.”
“Are y’all bettin’ on when my wife texts me?”
Eugene lifted one hand. “Not officially.”
“That mean yes?”
“That means there’s no written record.”
Joel leaned back in his chair and stared at the lot of them. “Grown men.”
Tommy nodded. “Barely.”
“You’re all pathetic.”
“And yet,” Tommy said, “you’re the one who checked a spam text with hope in his eyes.”
Joel turned the phone face down on the table. “I hate every one of you.”
“No, you don’t,” Tommy said. “You’re in love and inconvenienced. Different thing.”
For the next twenty minutes, he did better. Or tried to. He kept his eyes off the phone, though leaving it face down on the table made it somehow louder in his awareness. Tommy told a story about Maria talking him into buying overpriced candles because apparently “she loves a house that smells like a pie nobody had to bake,” and Joel laughed in spite of himself.
Then Joel’s phone lit up again.
This time, the screen showed your name.
Joel picked it up before anyone said a word.
you awake handsome? 💕
His face changed before he could stop it. He felt it happen, which made it worse.
Tommy did not miss it.
“That’s her.”
Joel turned slightly away. “Mind your business.”
“Look at him,” Eugene said, voice full of wonder. “Man just got ten years younger.”
Joel typed with one thumb.
Always.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
He waited, the bar fading around the edges.
your wife misses you
Something in his chest softened so sharply he had to look down to hide it.
Good thing your husband’s close.
Your response came almost immediately.
good because i might need him soon
Then another one:
not yet tho don’t rush me i’m having fun!!!
Joel laughed under his breath.
Tommy’s face softened before he covered it with a grin. “She good?”
Joel nodded. “She’s good.”
“Need you?”
“Soon.”
Eugene raised his beer. “Countdown resumes.”
Joel sent one more message.
Have fun. Text me when you’re ready. Drink some water.
Your reply came fast.
yes daddy
Then:
sorry
yes handsome
Joel shook his head, smiling down at the screen.
“Disgustin’,” Eugene said. “Absolutely no shame.”
Joel set the phone down, but this time he left it face up. “Eugene.”
“What?”
“Eat your fuckin’ wings.”
“I am busy witnessin’ romance.”
“You’re witnessin’ me losin’ patience.”
Tommy laughed. “Nah. If you were losin’ patience, he’d know.”
Eugene looked at Tommy. “Would I?”
Tommy nodded. “You’d be bleedin’.”
“Fair.”
The next stretch passed easier. Hearing from you settled something in Joel he had not wanted to admit needed settling. You were happy. You missed him. You would call when you were ready. It gave his attention a place to rest, and for a little while he managed to stay with the men around the table, even if Tommy occasionally glanced at the phone and smirked like a man enjoying a long, slow sunrise.
When the message finally came, Joel saw it the moment the screen lit.
you can come get me now handsome
A second later:
pls 💕
He was already standing.
The table erupted before his chair finished scraping back.
Tommy pointed at him. “There he goes.”
Joel grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair. “Shut up, Tommy.”
“You didn’t even finish your beer.”
“Bill me.”
Eugene slapped the table. “He actually said the thing.”
Caleb laughed. “Man didn’t even pretend to think about it.”
Joel slid his phone into his pocket and pulled out his keys. “Y’all done?”
Tommy leaned back, grinning, but there was affection beneath it now, clean and unmistakable. “Go get your girl.”
Joel looked at him.
For once, he didn’t have a smart answer ready.
Because that was exactly what he was doing.
Not rescuing. Not retrieving. Not obeying, though he knew plenty of men would call it that and think themselves clever. He was going to get his wife because she had asked for him. Because the night had brought you to that loose, shining place where you wanted his hand on your back and his truck waiting at the curb. Because he had promised that wherever you went, he would be there when you wanted to come home.
So he nodded once.
“Tell Maria I said hi,” Joel said.
Tommy lifted his beer. “Tell your wife she owes me ten bucks.”
Joel paused. “For what?”
“For bein’ exactly as predictable as I said you were.”
Joel’s eyes narrowed. “You bet on me leavin’ before eleven thirty?”
“I bet on you leavin’ the second she said please.”
Eugene raised a finger. “Which he did.”
Joel shook his head and started toward the door. “Y’all can go to hell.”
“Drive safe, lover boy,” Eugene called.
Joel didn’t turn around.
He lifted one hand, middle finger raised with calm precision, and the laughter followed him all the way out into the night.
Outside, the air had cooled further, and the street shone faintly beneath the parking lot lights. Joel climbed into the truck, shut the door, and let the quiet close around him. For a second, he sat there with both hands on the wheel, smiling despite himself like a fool in the dark.
Then he started the engine.
He did not drive straight to you.
Not yet.
Because he knew you. Because he knew the shape of the next hour before it happened. Because girls’ night always left you thirsty in a very specific way, craving something cold and sweet that was never soda.
Joel turned toward the gas station two blocks over, already making a mental list.
Fruit juice. Cold.
Something salty.
Something sweet that was not chocolate.
Water too, even if you rolled your eyes at him.
He pulled into the empty pump lane, parked, and went inside with his keys in one hand and purpose in every step. The fluorescent lights were too bright after the bar, the aisles too narrow, the cashier too bored to care about the man who walked in looking like he was preparing for a very small, very specific emergency.
Joel headed straight for the refrigerated section.
You liked orange juice sometimes, apple if you were tired, but after a night out you always wanted something sharper. He chose a cold mango juice, then grabbed a bottle of water because he knew better than to trust your relationship with hydration. In the snack aisle, he paused longer. Barbecue chips were safe. Vinegar chips were riskier but had a better chance if you were in the mood for something strong, which after drinks and dancing you usually were so he grabbed both.
Then he stood in front of the candy.
Chocolate was out. He remembered that too clearly. The way you had curled into yourself in the passenger seat last time, one hand on your stomach, looking wounded by your own choices. You had insisted you were fine. Then accused the chocolate of betrayal. Then fallen asleep against the window with your hand still tucked in his.
Joel scanned the shelves.
Gummies. Sour belts. Licorice. Hard candy. Things bright enough to look poisonous.
Then he saw them.
Peach rings.
He reached for the bag without thinking too hard about it. They looked like something you’d laugh at, which was reason enough.
At the counter, the cashier looked at the collection of items and then at Joel.
Joel met his eyes.
The cashier wisely said nothing.
Joel paid, gathered the bag, and headed back to the truck. Once inside, he set the juice in the cup holder, tucked the snacks on the passenger seat, and took out his phone to text you.
On my way.
Your reply came a few seconds later.
YAY
Then:
put my songs on please
Joel shook his head.
Already did, he typed, even though he had not yet.
Then he opened your playlist, the one you used when you were getting ready, when you were cleaning, when you were happy enough to sing without shame. The first song spilled through the speakers as he pulled back onto the street, and for a second he heard you in the bathroom again, voice too loud, bracelet catching the light, turning in front of the mirror while asking him which version of yourself the night wanted.
He had never understood men who complained about waiting.
Not when this was what waited at the end.
The first thing Joel saw was your smile.
Not the dress, not the heels, not the little purse hanging from your shoulder or the way your friends clustered around you beneath the yellow glow of the bar sign. The smile reached him before the rest of you did, bright and loose and impossibly open, the kind of smile you wore only when the night had been good to you. It hit him through the windshield with such force that he eased his foot off the brake a little too slowly and had to remind himself he was still in the middle of the street with another car waiting behind him.
He pulled up to the curb, hazard lights blinking softly, and there you were.
You turned at the sound of his truck like your whole body knew it before your eyes confirmed it. One of your friends said something, probably teasing you, because you laughed and swatted at her arm without looking away from him. Joel saw the moment you decided not to play it cool. You never played it cool very well after a girls’ night, and he had long ago stopped pretending he didn’t love that. You came toward the truck with a little too much enthusiasm and not quite enough caution, heels clicking unevenly on the pavement, one hand raised in greeting as though he were much farther away than ten feet.
Joel put the truck in park and got out before you reached the passenger door.
“Hi,” you said, breathless and delighted, like you hadn’t been the one to summon him.
Joel shut the door behind him and let himself look at you properly.
You were still in the dark denim dress he had chosen without needing to think about it, but the night had softened you around the edges. Your gloss was worn down at the center from drinks and laughter. Your hair had loosened a little at your temples. The bracelet he’d fastened earlier still circled your wrist, catching light when you lifted your hand toward him. Your eyes were bright, not dangerously drunk, not gone from yourself, just warm with the kind of tipsiness that made you affectionate and honest and entirely without patience for distance.
“Hi, darlin’,” he said.
You stepped into him without hesitation.
Joel caught you with one arm around your waist, steadying you before you could pretend you didn’t need it. Your hands landed on his chest, fingers curling into his jacket, and you tipped your face up with such immediate expectation that he bent and kissed you because there was no other reasonable thing to do. It was meant to be quick. A greeting. A soft thing. But you made a small pleased sound against his mouth, and Joel had to pull back before the curb, your friends, and the driver behind him all became problems he was expected to care about.
“You came,” you murmured.
His thumb brushed once against your side. “You asked.”
“That’s sooo romantic.”
“That’s transportation.”
“It can be both.”
He huffed a laugh despite himself. “You have a good night?”
“The best.” You turned halfway toward your friends, still holding onto his jacket like you intended to keep him anchored there. “Tell him I had the best night.”
Pat lifted her hand with the solemnity of a witness in court. “She had the best night.”
Nat added, “She also stole half my fries.”
“I shared my dip,” you protested.
“You licked the spoon.”
“It was my spoon.”
Joel looked down at you. “Was it?”
You blinked up at him, considering. “Not really.”
That made your friends laugh, and Joel felt his mouth move before he could stop it. He liked seeing you like this with them: silly, adored, unguarded. There was something generous in the way women gave each other permission to be loud. The whole group seemed warm from it, eyes bright, coats half buttoned, conversations still overlapping even as they said goodbye.
“You got her?” Pat asked Joel, smiling.
Joel tightened his arm around your waist. “I got her.”
“You always say that like I’m luggage,” you complained.
He looked down at you, deadpan. “Luggage usually walks straighter.”
Your mouth fell open at his words then you turned to your friends with great dignity. “My husband is bullying me.”
“Your husband got here in under ten minutes,” Nat said. “I’d let him.”
Joel pointed toward the truck. “C’mon, baby. Before your friends start makin’ too much sense.”
You accepted a final round of hugs, promises to text when everyone got home, and one whispered comment that made your eyes widen and your cheeks warm. Joel pretended not to hear it, partly because he hadn’t caught the words, mostly because he understood from your face that it was not intended for him and would likely have made him grip the steering wheel too hard.
He opened the passenger door for you.
You stopped and looked at the seat.
Then at him.
Then back at the seat.
The gas station bag sat there, carefully placed beside the cold juice in the cup holder.
Your face changed completely.
“You got me snacks.”
Joel reached past you, picked up the bag, and held it until you climbed in. “Move your feet in.”
“You got me snacks,” you repeated, softer this time, like this was not a practical arrangement but a marriage vow renewed beneath fluorescent streetlight.
“Seatbelt.”
“I know.”
“Do it.”
“I am doing it.”
“You’re lookin’ at the chips.”
“Because you got me chips.”
“I also got you water.”
You wrinkled your nose. “That was less romantic.”
“That was necessary.”
You finally clicked the seatbelt into place, then looked up at him with such open affection that his chest did something inconvenient. “Thank you, handsome.”
Joel paused with one hand on the door.
There were versions of that word he could handle. Teasing. Casual. But this one came warm and tipsy and sincere, wrapped around the sound of his name without using it, and for a second he had to look away toward the street just to keep his face in order.
“Yeah,” he said, voice a little rougher. “You’re welcome.”
He shut the door, walked around to the driver’s side, and climbed in.
You were already digging through the bag.
Joel put the truck in drive. “At least wait till we’re movin’.”
“I’m assessing.”
“You’re rummagin’.”
“I’m a woman with needs.”
“I’m aware.”
Your head snapped toward him. “Joel Miller.”
He did not look at you, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him. He pulled away from the curb while your friends waved from the sidewalk. You waved back so enthusiastically that your bracelet slid down your wrist, and then you immediately returned to the bag with the focused determination of a treasure hunter.
“Oh my God,” you said.
Joel glanced over briefly. “What?”
“You got barbecue chips.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“And vinegar.”
“Wasn’t sure which version of you I was pickin’ up.”
You clutched the bag to your chest. “You know me so well.”
“I try.”
“No, you do.” Your voice turned soft enough that he looked at you again. “You really do.”
The light ahead turned red, and Joel stopped. The truck idled quietly beneath you both, music playing low through the speakers; your playlist, the one you had asked for, the one he had put on before he left the gas station. You noticed it then, properly, your eyes going wide as the opening notes of a familiar song rose in the cab.
“You put my music on.”
“Asked me to.”
You stared at him for a second, and he could feel the look even without meeting it.
Then you leaned across the center console as far as your seatbelt allowed and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “I love you.”
His hand tightened briefly around the wheel.
“Love you too,” he said.
The light turned green.
You settled back only because the belt gave you no other choice, unscrewed the cap on the juice, and took a long drink. Joel watched from the corner of his eye as your shoulders relaxed in immediate satisfaction.
“That’s the good one,” you said.
“Mango.”
“Mmm.”
“You always want somethin’ cold after.”
“I know.”
“You say that like you’re the one who bought it.”
“I manifested it.”
Joel let out a low laugh. “That what we’re callin’ it?”
“Yes.” You took another drink, then pointed the bottle at him. “I thought about it, and then my husband appeared with juice. That's Magic”
“That’s not manifestation. That’s me stoppin’ at a gas station.”
“My husband is my manifestation.”
Joel gave you a quick, dry look. “You been drinkin’.”
“Yes,” you said happily. “That’s why I’m so insightful.”
He shook his head, but there was no hiding the smile now.
The city moved past in streaks of late night light, shop windows dimmed, traffic thin, sidewalks carrying the last loose clusters of people spilling from restaurants and bars. Inside the truck, the world felt smaller. Warmer. Your playlist filled the spaces between you, one song sliding into the next while you alternated between sipping juice, opening the barbecue chips, and telling Joel a story about your friend’s coworker that began with “you remember the one with the weird boyfriend?” and offered him absolutely no names he could use to place anyone.
“Which weird boyfriend?” he asked.
“The weird boyfriend.”
“That narrows it down.”
“You know. The one who brought his own fork to the wedding.”
Joel frowned. “What wedding?”
“You remember.”
“I do not.”
“You do. I told you.”
“Darlin’, you tell me a lotta things.”
You gasped and pressed a hand to your chest. “You don’t listen to me.”
“I listen plenty. I just need characters introduced before chapter five.”
You laughed, nearly dropping a chip, and Joel reached out without looking to steady the bag before it could spill into your lap.
“There,” you said, pointing at him. “That. That’s why I married you.”
“Because I saved the chips?”
“Because you support women.”
“That too.”
You leaned back against the seat, pleased. “Anyway, the weird boyfriend was there tonight.”
“At girls’ night?”
“No, at the place.”
“Existing?”
“Suspiciously.”
Joel nodded with all the gravity the story apparently required. “Can’t have that.”
“And he saw her, and he acted like he didn’t see her, which is so much worse than seeing her.”
“Sure.”
“Don’t say sure like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re lost.”
“I am lost.”
You laughed again, brighter this time, and the sound filled the cab so completely that Joel missed half the next turn in his own head and had to refocus before he drove past it. He liked your stories even when he couldn’t follow them. Maybe especially then. The point was not always content. Sometimes the point was the way you came alive telling him, hands moving, eyes bright, outrage and delight trading places across your face. Sometimes love was listening to a plot with no structure because the person telling it was the only part that mattered.
Then the song changed and you froze.
Joel saw it happen in real time: the first dark, pulsing notes, your instant recognition, the gasp you gave like the universe had personally handed you a gift.
“Oh my God, Joel.”
He braced himself. “What.”
“This one.”
“I know.”
“No, no, this is my favorite.”
“You got about forty favorites.”
“Not like this one.” You reached for the volume before he could stop you. “This one is sacred.”
Then Enjoy the Silence filled the truck, low and hypnotic, turning the cab into something smaller and darker and warmer than before. You started singing almost immediately, not loudly at first, but with that pleased, dreamy confidence you got when a song caught you exactly right. One hand wrapped around the juice bottle like a microphone, your shoulders moving with the beat, your face lit by passing streetlights and pure, ridiculous joy.
When the line you loved came around, you pointed at him with the bottle and sang only the first few words before letting the rest dissolve into a dramatic hum, because even tipsy, even glowing, you knew Joel would pretend not to like it if you gave him too much of the performance at once.
“Sing,” you ordered.
Joel’s eyes stayed on the road. “Absolutely not.”
“Joel.”
“Song’s called Enjoy the Silence, baby. I’m just respectin’ the title.”
You burst out laughing. “That is such a dad answer.”
“That is a correct answer.”
“You know the words.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Then sing.”
“Ain’t happenin’.”
“For me?”
His jaw tightened just slightly.
“That ain’t fair.”
You kept singing anyway, leaning into the rhythm as if the truck were a stage built for an audience of one. Joel lasted longer than you expected. Almost impressively long. Then, right when you glanced at him with that wide, shameless smile he had no defense against, a few low words slipped out under his breath, more spoken than sung.
You stopped instantly.
He regretted everything.
“You sang.”
“I did not.”
“You sang part of the chorus with me.”
“I breathed near the melody.”
“That’s singing.”
“That’s just me, survivin’ you.”
You twisted toward him, delighted. “You like this song.”
“I like quiet.”
“The song is literally about that.”
“Then let’s honor it.”
“No. Now you have to sing more.”
He looked at you once, quick and helplessly fond. “You gonna finish the song or not?”
Your smile turned enormous, and then you did finish it, but this time softer, looking at him more than the road, like the fact that he had given you even that reluctant little piece of the song had meant something far bigger than it should have.
It probably did.
By the time the song ended, you were flushed from laughter and effort, your hair falling a little more out of place, your gloss almost gone. You took another drink of juice, then reached across the console and rested your hand on his thigh.
Joel glanced down.
Then at the road.
Then back down, briefly.
Your hand was warm and careless, fingers spreading over denim with no real agenda at first. Just contact. Just I’m here, you’re here, I missed you, isn’t that enough? But you had a way, especially like this, of turning tenderness into trouble without changing much at all. Your thumb moved once. Slowly.
Joel inhaled through his nose. “Baby.”
“What?”
“That hand got a plan?”
You looked out the windshield with exaggerated innocence. “No.”
“No?”
“I’m just… appreciating you.”
“Appreciate higher up.”
Your gaze dropped to your hand. “This is your thigh.”
“I know where it is.”
“So it’s fine.”
“It’s gettin’ less fine.”
You laughed softly and leaned closer, the seatbelt catching you again. “You’re very handsome when you’re trying to be responsible.”
“I am responsible.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Your fingers squeezed gently. “Veeery.”
Joel’s jaw ticked once, though the rest of his face stayed calm. “You’re gonna sit back and eat your chips.”
You made a small sound, thoughtful and dangerous. “Yes, sir.”
He glanced at you then, and the look on your face was enough to make him regret the entire conversation.
“No,” he said.
You blinked. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Your smile came slowly. “Joel.”
“Not in the truck.”
“I’m not doing anything yet.”
“No, but you’re thinkin’ about doin’ somethin’.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I absolutely know that.”
You leaned closer, as close as the belt allowed, and lowered your voice near his shoulder. “What if I just missed you?”
Joel’s fingers flexed on the steering wheel. “Then you can miss me from your seat.”
“That’s mean.”
“That’s drivin’.”
You giggled, soft and delighted, then pressed a kiss to his shoulder again. Then another, higher, near the seam of his jacket. Joel kept his eyes on the road with the grim concentration of a man navigating far more than traffic.
“Darlin’.”
“What?”
“You are gonna make me pull over.”
“You say that like it’s bad.”
“It is if we wanna get home.”
You hummed near his ear, and the sound slid straight down his spine. “Do we?”
Joel exhaled slowly. “Yes.”
“You sure?”
“Very.”
“You don’t sound very sure.”
“I am tryin’ to keep us alive.”
That made you laugh properly, and the warmth of it broke some of the tension before it could sharpen too far. You sat back at last, mercifully, and shoved a chip into your mouth with the offended dignity of a woman denied mischief.
“Fine.”
Joel glanced at you. “Don’t pout.”
“I’m not pouting.”
“You’re crunchin’ aggressively.”
“These chips deserve passion.”
“They’re normal chips, baby.”
“They’re barbecue chips you bought me because you’re in love with me.”
He couldn’t argue with that, so he didn’t.
For a few minutes, the ride softened again. You ate chips, drank juice, and narrated fragments of the night in a rhythm that made more emotional sense than literal sense. He learned that someone named Beth had cried in the bathroom but “in a healing way,” that your friend Pat had declared war on a man named Oscar, that the cocktails were “too expensive but aesthetically correct,” and that at some point all of you had danced to a song of Bad Bunny that Joel definitely would have hated and you definitely expected him to hear later.
“You’ll like it,” you insisted.
“I won’t.”
“You don’t know.”
“I know myself.”
“You like my music.”
“I like you.”
“That’s basically the same thing.”
Joel smiled despite himself. “Dangerous logic, darlin’.”
“Well, I’m very smart tonight.”
“You’re very somethin’.”
You looked at him, delighted. “Say pretty.”
He didn’t hesitate. “Pretty.”
Your face softened at once, the teasing dropping away so quickly it almost hurt to watch. “You think so?”
Joel’s chest tightened.
He hated that there were still moments when you asked it like a real question. Not as play. Not fishing. Just some small old doubt slipping through the alcohol warmed looseness of you. He reached across without thinking, took your hand from the chip bag, and brought it to his mouth. His kiss landed against your knuckles, slow and certain.
“I know so,” he said.
You went quiet.
The truck moved through the dark with the music low now, the sweetness of juice and salt of chips in the air, your hand still caught in his. Joel kept driving one handed longer than he needed to.
After a while, you said, “I like when you pick me up.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhm.”
“Why’s that?”
You looked out the windshield, thinking about it with an earnestness that told him the answer mattered to you even if the words came slowly. “Because everyone else is still loud, and then I get in here and it’s quiet. But not boringly quiet.” Your fingers shifted around his. “You quiet.”
Joel swallowed.
You continued, softer, “Feels like getting tucked into bed.”
He stared at the road because looking at you just then would have been too much.
“Baby,” he said, and the word came out rough.
“What?”
“Nothin’.”
“No, what?”
He shook his head once. “Just love you.”
You smiled down at your joined hands, almost shy now. “I know. I love you too”
He squeezed your fingers.
Then you ruined the tenderness, because of course you did, by lifting his hand and kissing the back of it before saying, with solemn tipsy sincerity, “And you have very hot hands.”
Joel barked a laugh.
“What?”
“Hot hands?”
“Yes.”
“That’s what you’re goin’ with?”
“They’re big and competent.”
“Competent.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I’m afraid I do.”
You turned his hand palm up and examined it like evidence. “They can build houses.”
“Sometimes.”
“They can fix things.”
“On occasion.”
“They can open jars.”
“High praise.”
“And they can finger—”
“Finish that sentence carefully.”
You grinned, wicked and sweet at once, and Joel felt his pulse kick even before you said anything.
But you didn’t finish.
You only kissed his palm and placed his hand back on the wheel with exaggerated politeness.
“There,” you said. “Safe.”
He shook his head, but the smile stayed.
Home came into view a few minutes later, porch light glowing where he had left it on, the driveway empty. Joel pulled in, put the truck in park, and shut off the engine. For a moment neither of you moved. The sudden quiet after the music felt intimate, almost too close. You looked at the house, then at him, then down at the snack bag in your lap as though remembering you had been entrusted with treasure.
“We’re home,” you said.
“We are.”
You turned toward him with bright, affectionate seriousness. “Thank you for coming to get me.”
Joel’s expression softened. “Always.”
“No, I mean it.”
“I know you do.”
You leaned across the console, slower now, and kissed him. This one was different from the curb. More warmth. More wanting tucked beneath the gratitude. Joel let you set the pace for a few seconds, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth where the last of your gloss had faded. You sighed into him, sweet and tired and still electric with the night.
Then your hand found the front of his jacket and tugged.
Joel broke the kiss with effort. “House first.”
You made a disappointed sound. “Joel.”
“House. Water. Shoes off.”
“You have so many rules.”
“Somebody’s gotta.”
“I’m not that drunk.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“Then why are you using the voice?”
“What voice?”
“The grumpy husband voice.”
Joel tilted his head. “That the voice that got you home in one piece, baby.”
You considered this. “Maybe.”
“Then listen to it.”
You stared at him for a beat, then smiled in a way that made him instantly suspicious.
“Okay,” you said sweetly.
Joel narrowed his eyes. “That was too easy.”
“I’m being good.”
“Now I’m worried.”
You opened the passenger door before he could come around, which made him swear under his breath and get out faster. By the time he reached you, you had one foot on the pavement and one still in the truck, clutching the snack bag like a prize.
“I can walk,” you announced.
Joel looked down at your heels, then at the driveway. “Can you?”
“Yes.”
You stood.
Then your ankle wobbled once.
Joel caught you immediately with a hand at your waist.
You looked up at him. “The ground moved.”
“Sure it did.”
“It did.”
“Mean old driveway.”
“Exactly.”
He took the bag from your hand despite your protest, tucked it under one arm, and bent slightly. “C’mere.”
Your eyes lit. “Are you carrying me?”
“Looks like it.”
“I told you I can walk.”
“You also accused concrete of movin’.”
“It was!”
Joel shook his head, but he was smiling when he lifted you, one arm under your thighs and the other secure around your back. You went easily, immediately looping your arms around his neck, your face tucking into the warm place beneath his jaw as he kicked the truck door shut with his boot.
“You like carrying me,” you murmured.
“Don’t start.”
“You do.”
“You’re light.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the one you’re gettin’.”
You kissed his neck.
Joel stopped walking for half a second.
Then he kept going toward the porch with a slower breath and a firmer grip.
“Darlin’,” he warned.
You smiled against his skin. “What?”
“We are very close to makin’ it inside without incident.”
“That sounds boooring.”
“That sounds successful.”
You hummed, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I missed you.”
His face changed in the dark where you couldn’t see it.
“I missed you too,” he said.
And then, because you were you and the night had clearly not finished testing him, you lifted your head and whispered against his ear, “Good. Because I’m not done with you yet.”
Joel closed his eyes for one brief second on the porch step.
“Jesus,” he muttered.
You laughed softly, victorious and warm in his arms, while he carried you inside with the snacks, the juice, and the certain knowledge that the hard part of his night had only just begun.
Apparently, Tumblr won’t let me post everything in one single post? So here’s the second part!
⋆♱ Beautiful dividers from @saradika-graphics and @thecutestgrotto
.⋆♱ summary: It is no secret that many men don’t particularly enjoy their wives having a group of friends to go out with, unwind with, laugh with, and come home late from.
Joel Miller has never understood that.
He likes watching you get ready. Likes the music drifting from the bathroom, the dresses laid across the bed, the way you turn in front of the mirror and ask him what he thinks as if he is not already half in love with every version of you. He likes knowing you have a night that belongs to you.
Because when it is over, when you are warm with cocktails and laughter and ready to come home, you always call him.
And Joel always answers.
He shows up with your playlist already playing, cold juice waiting in the cupholder, and enough snacks to prove he knows you better than anyone.
He thinks he has planned for everything.
But he has not prepared for what you decide to do with the peach rings.
.⋆♱ a/n: Since I can’t get husband!Joel out of my head, I had no choice but to write a second part to Mirror, mirror on the wall... Hope you enjoy it!!!🦋
.⋆♱ warnings: Smut at the end, Domestic Fluff, Tipsy Reader, Drunk Flirting, Light Dom/sub Elements, Switch Dynamics, Sub Joel Miller, Use of “Good Boy”, Praise Kink, Dirty Talk, Teasing, Edging, Orgasm Denial, Oral Sex, Cunnilingus, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Food Play, Candy, Light Cum Play, Aftercare, Gas Station Snacks As Foreplay.
.⋆♱ wc: 8.962 k
.⋆♱ Request for Joel and Tommy Miller are always open <3
Joel managed to get the front door open without dropping you or the snack bag, which he considered a decent accomplishment, given that you had apparently decided the safest way to be carried was to make yourself as distracting as possible.
You had one arm looped around his neck, your cheek tucked warm against the side of his throat, the other hand half heartedly trying to reach the juice bottle he had trapped against his ribs. Your shoes dangled from your feet, the little heels knocking softly together every time he took a step, and every few seconds your mouth brushed his skin in a way you were absolutely going to pretend was accidental if he called you on it.
Joel kicked the door shut behind him. “You gonna let me get you upstairs in one piece?”
“I’m helping.”
“You are actively not.”
You lifted your head, eyes bright in the dim entryway. “I’m just appreciating you—again.”
“That what we’re callin’ it?”
“Mhm.” Your fingers pressed into his shoulder with drunken solemnity. “Veeery strong. Veeery handsome. Excellent husband carrying service.”
Despite himself, Joel huffed a laugh. “Glad to know I’m meetin’ standards.”
“You exceed them.”
“That so?”
“You picked me up, bought me snacks, played my songs, let me sing, and didn’t complain once.”
“I complained internally.”
“You don’t get points for that.”
“I should. Took discipline.”
You gasped softly, scandalized. “Were you judging my singing?”
Joel started toward the stairs. “I was admirin’ your confidence.”
“That means bad.”
“That means loud.”
“I gave you a private concert.”
“Baby, half the street got that concert.”
Your laughter broke open against him, and Joel felt it through his chest, through the arm he had wrapped beneath your thighs, through the hand steadying your back. He loved you like this in a way that still caught him off guard sometimes: bright from a good night, loose with affection, made softer by laughter and alcohol and the certainty that he would always show up when you called. There was something almost dangerous about how happy you were in his arms, not because he feared it, but because happiness had a way of making him careless. Making him forget that he had spent most of his life bracing against things disappearing.
Halfway up the stairs, your lips pressed to the side of his neck.
Joel stopped on one step.
You went very still against him.
“Darlin’.”
“What?”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “That your mouth teasin’ again?”
You smiled into his skin. “Maybe.”
He closed his eyes for one long second and kept climbing. The house was dark except for the stair light and the warm glow spilling out from the bedroom at the end of the hall. Everything smelled faintly of your perfume from earlier, softer now, clinging to the rooms the way it clung to his shirt, mixed with cold night air, salt from the chips, and the sweetness of juice from the bottle in the bag. Joel adjusted his grip and told himself that stopping on the stairs with you whispering nonsense against his throat was a bad idea.
A spectacularly bad idea.
“You’re awful pleased with yourself tonight,” he muttered.
“You like me this way.”
“Unfortunately.”
“You love me.”
“Also unfortunately.”
You lifted your head, offended but smiling. “That was mean.”
“That was honest.”
“No.” You tapped his chest with one finger. “You love loving me.”
Joel reached the landing and looked down at you.
The teasing eased between one breath and the next. The hallway light caught the side of your face, the faint smudge beneath one eye, the last worn trace of gloss at the corner of your mouth. You looked tired and bright at the same time, held together by the afterglow of the night and by a trust so complete it made his ribs feel too tight.
His voice changed before he could stop it. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I do.”
Your smile softened.
Then, because neither of you knew how to let tenderness stand unprotected for too long, you kissed his cheek and murmured, “Good answer.”
Joel shook his head and carried you into the bedroom.
The room still held the remains of the version of you that had left earlier. One dress lay folded badly over the chair. Another had slipped halfway from its hanger. A makeup brush waited near the vanity beside the gloss you had reapplied before leaving, and the perfume bottle stood uncapped as if you had abandoned it mid thought. It was messy in the way only a loved room could be messy, full of choices and softness and evidence that you had been there becoming yourself.
Joel set the snack bag on the bed first, then lowered you carefully to your feet.
The second your toes touched the floor, your fingers caught the front of his shirt.
“No,” he said.
You froze, eyes wide. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You were fixin’ to.”
“Maybe I just missed my husband.”
“You had me in the truck.”
“That was supervised.”
“By what?”
“Traffic laws.”
Joel laughed despite himself and let you tug him down just enough for one kiss. It was warm, sweet, almost innocent at first, until you tried to follow when he pulled back and your hand tightened in his shirt.
He caught your wrist gently. “Bathroom first.”
Your face fell like he had ruined Christmas. “Joel.”
“Makeup off.”
“But I’m home now.”
“I noticed.”
“And you’re here.”
“Also noticed.”
“So why are we discussing skincare when all I need is you?”
“Because you’ll wake up mad at yourself if I let you fall asleep like this.”
“I’m not going to fall asleep.”
Joel gave you a look.
You considered. “Not on purpose.”
“Bathroom.”
You sighed with your whole body. “You’re being extra bossy.”
“Somebody’s gotta keep you alive after midnight.”
“I am thriving.”
He crouched before you before you could build a stronger defense, one hand circling your ankle as he lifted your foot. Your laughter faded while he worked at the tiny strap of your heel, his fingers careful despite their size, brows drawn in concentration. Joel could handle lumber, wire, concrete, stubborn doors, stripped screws, and men twice as loud as they were useful. But with anything delicate that belonged to you, he slowed down like patience itself was part of the touch.
For all the heat that had been simmering since the truck, this was what made you quiet.
He noticed.
Joel slipped the first shoe off and set it by the dresser. “What?”
You shook your head. “Nothing.”
He glanced up from where he was kneeling at your feet. “Baby.”
Your mouth softened. “I just like when you do that.”
“Take your shoes off?”
“Take care of me like it’s normal.”
His expression shifted. Something gentled around his eyes.
“It is normal.”
“For you.”
“For us,” he corrected.
The words landed softly enough to make your eyes shine, and Joel felt the answering ache of it somewhere under his breastbone. He didn’t know if it was the alcohol making you tender, or the night settling in, or the fact that being cared for without having to earn it could still surprise you sometimes. Whatever it was, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the inside of your knee before undoing the second strap.
“Don’t start cryin’ over footwear,” he murmured.
You laughed immediately, swiping carefully beneath one eye. “Shut up.”
“Makeup.”
“Oh my God.” You snatched your hand away from your face. “See? Supervision.”
“Been sayin’ that.”
He stood, gathered your heels, and took them to the closet while you wandered toward the bathroom with less wobble now, though enough that he stayed close without making a point of it. On the way, you found the juice and took another long drink, eyes half closing with satisfaction.
Joel leaned against the bathroom doorframe, arms folded. “Water after that.”
“This is technically fruit.”
“Water.”
“Fruit has water.”
“Not enough.”
You lowered the bottle and gave him a look through the mirror. “You know you get very bossy after midnight?”
“Yes.”
“Hot.”
His jaw shifted. “Wash your face.”
You grinned because you knew exactly where the word had landed, but you turned to the sink anyway.
Watching you get ready had felt intimate. Watching you undo it was something else entirely. Earlier, there had been music, choices, performance, anticipation. Now there was the quieter version: you tying your hair back badly, missing a few strands by your cheek; Joel stepping in without a word to smooth them behind your ear; your eyes finding his in the mirror and staying there a beat too long while water ran in the sink.
“You know,” you said, reaching for cleanser, “I could have done this alone.”
“Never said you couldn’t.”
“You followed me.”
“You asked me to.”
“Did I?.” You rubbed the cleanser between your palms, then paused, looking at him through the mirror with a little smile. “I guess that I like that you come when I ask.”
Joel’s eyes lifted to yours.
The sentence could have been innocent but with you, specially tonight, it absolutely was not.
“What?” Your smile hid behind your hands as you started washing your face. “I’m cleaning.”
“You’re startin’ somethin’.”
“I can multitask.”
He exhaled through his nose, half laugh, half warning, and reached into the cabinet for a clean towel. By the time you rinsed, the night had started coming off in soft streaks: mascara, blush, the last traces of gloss. The water carried it down the sink in faint colors, leaving your face bare and flushed, your eyes still bright but softer now, no longer dressed for the room outside but for him.
Joel handed you the towel.
You patted your face dry and lowered it.
He looked at you for a second too long.
“What?” you asked.
His voice went quiet. “Just like seein’ you.”
Your expression softened, and he reached past you for the moisturizer because he knew the small jar now, knew you would forget it if he let you rush. You watched him unscrew the lid and hold it out without comment.
Your eyes widened. “You remembered.”
“Course I did.”
“That’s cute.”
“It’s just moisturizer, baby.”
“You are cute.”
“I am not.”
“You are when you’re pretending you aren’t.”
Joel gave you a look in the mirror. “Put it on.”
You did, still smiling.
Once your face was clean and your skin taken care of to his satisfaction, he handed you the bottle of water from the nightstand. You drank under protest, then drank more when he kept staring, and finally handed it back with a muttered, “Tyrant.”
“Livin’ with me is hard.”
“Sooo hard,” you agreed, leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth.
He let you have that one.
Back in the bedroom, Joel sat you on the edge of the bed and brought the snack bag into your lap as if presenting tribute to some small, demanding queen. Your whole face lit up again.
“My chips.”
“Your chips.”
“My juice.”
“Also yours.”
“My water, apparently.”
“Definitely yours.”
You opened the barbecue chips first and offered him one. Joel shook his head.
“You bought them,” you frowned.
“For you.”
“Take one.”
“Darlin’.”
“Take. One.”
He took the chip because marriage was mostly knowing which battles weren’t worth the energy, and you looked deeply satisfied when he ate it.
“Good boy.”
Joel’s eyes flicked to yours. “Watch that mouth.”
You smiled like that was exactly the reaction you had hoped for.
He sat beside you and started taking the rest of the night off you piece by piece. First the bracelet, his thumb steadying your wrist while he worked the clasp. Then the necklace, your hair lifting as he moved behind you, the chain slipping cool into his palm. Then the earrings, which required more patience because you kept turning your head to talk just as he was trying not to stab you.
“Hold still.”
“I’m trying.”
“You’re talkin’.”
“I can talk still.”
“No, you can’t.”
You put another chip in your mouth and tried not to laugh while he removed the second earring.
“There,” he said, setting both carefully on the vanity tray. “Still got both ears.”
“You’re very skilled.”
“I know.”
“That was arrogant.”
“That was earned.”
You leaned back on your hands, bare feet swinging slightly above the floor, face clean, jewelry gone, dress still on, chips in your lap. The contrast of you almost made him smile: all that beauty softened into comfort, all that heat folded beneath domestic ridiculousness. Joel had always liked thresholds. Doorways. Porches. The last hour before sleep. Moments where one thing became another. Here you were, halfway between the woman who had walked into a bar glowing and the woman who would crawl into bed beside him later, steal his warmth, and deny it in the morning.
He liked every version.
You reached into the snack bag again. “What else did you get?”
Joel glanced back. “Vinegar chips.”
“I saw those.”
“Well, you like options, don't you?.”
“And surprises.”
His mouth twitched. “That too.”
The your hand found the gummies.
You pulled out the bag of peach rings and went completely still.
For one second, there was only silence.
Then your face changed with such delighted disbelief that Joel felt both proud of himself and immediately concerned.
“You bought me peach rings.”
“You said chocolate made you sick last time. So I got somethin’ else.”
You looked down at the bag again, and this time your smile turned smaller, sweeter, as if the ridiculous bag of gummies had become something weightier in your hands. Maybe it had. Maybe marriage was not always in the grand declarations, but in remembering what hurt someone’s stomach last time and choosing differently under fluorescent gas station lights.
You opened the bag and took one out, holding it between two fingers. “They’re cute.”
Joel sat back beside you. “Gummies are cute now?”
“This one is.”
“It’s shaped like a tire.”
“It is not shaped like a tire.”
“Tiny sugar tire.”
“It’s a peach ring.”
“That’s what they’re callin’ it.”
You laughed, then slipped the soft gummy onto the tip of your finger like jewelry and held your hand out with great ceremony. “Look. You brought me another ring.”
Joel looked at your hand.
Then at your face.
The joke was obvious. Silly. Even sweet.
And then he saw your eyes.
There it was.
The shift.
A brightening at the edge of your smile, a pause that lasted half a second too long, an idea arriving and making itself comfortable before he had a chance to object. Joel knew that look. He had seen it in the truck when your hand moved on his thigh. He saw it now, with a peach ring balanced on your finger and the snack bag rustling in your lap.
“Wathever you're going to ask, the answer is no.”
Your smile widened.
Joel pointed one finger at the gummy. “That is a snack.”
“But it can be two things.”
“It is not gonna be two things.”
“You don’t know what I was thinking.”
“I know exactly what you were thinkin’.”
“Oh,” You tilted your head, all innocence and danger. “Do you?”
He stared at you for a second, then looked away toward the ceiling like a man asking for strength from a God who had clearly abandoned him hours ago. “Jesus.”
You laughed softly and crawled closer on the bed, the snack bag sliding to the side. Joel stayed where he was, but every line of him sharpened with attention.
“You bought me juice,” you said.
“I did.”
“And chips.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“And gummies.”
“Regrettin’ that part.”
“You took my shoes off.”
“Somebody had to.”
“You helped me wash my face.”
“You were gonna skip moisturizer.”
“You took off my jewelry.”
Joel’s eyes came back to yours. “Where you goin’ with this?”
You lifted your peach ringed finger between you both, studying it with exaggerated thoughtfulness. “I’m just saying you’ve been very good to me tonight.”
His jaw tightened faintly.
There it was again. That little thread pulled taut.
“Baby,” he said, warning wrapped around the word, though not nearly enough of it.
“What?” you asked softly.
“You ate two chips and half a bottle of juice. Don’t start makin’ plans on an empty stomach.”
Your expression warmed at the care in that, even as the mischief stayed. “Then feed me with something else.”
Joel went still.
You seemed to realize what you had said at the same moment he did.
The room quieted.
And the air between you grew thick enough to feel.
Joel’s eyes dropped to the peach ring on your finger.
Then lifted back to your face.
You smiled slowly.
“Sweetheart,” he murmured.
“You keep saying that like it’s going to help.”
“It usually does.”
“Maybe.” You shifted closer, your knees brushing his thigh. “Or maybe you like the part where I don’t listen.”
Joel let out a quiet breath through his nose. “You are pushin’ your luck.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
You held the peach ring near his mouth, not touching him with it, not yet. Just letting the offer hover there, soft, sweet, absurd, and suddenly far less innocent than anything bought under fluorescent lights had a right to be.
Joel looked at it.
Then at you.
“You think this is funny.”
“I think you’re handsome.”
“That is not an answer.”
“I think you’re very handsome when you’re trying to decide whether to be responsible or let me have my way.”
His mouth curved despite himself, but his eyes had darkened. “You always think you’re gettin’ your way.”
“I usually do.”
“Because I let you.”
You leaned closer, voice dropping. “Then let me.”
Joel held your gaze, and for a moment he did not look like the man who had carried you upstairs and made you wash your face and drink water. He looked like that man’s restraint pulled thin, like every careful thing in him had heard your tone and gone quiet to listen.
Then his hand came up, wrapping gently around your wrist.
Your breath caught.
He did not pull the gummy closer. Did not push it away either. He only held you there, your hand suspended between his mouth and yours, the peach ring bright and ridiculous around your finger.
“You sure?” he asked softly.
Your smile steadied into something clearer. Less tipsy now. More deliberate. “Yes, Joel.”
He studied you for a long second, looking for anything he would not like. Uncertainty. Fogginess. The kind of looseness that meant you were playing because the night had made decisions easier than they should be. But what he found was familiar. Your mischief, yes. Your warmth. Your want. But also your trust. Your awareness. Your eyes fixed on his because you knew exactly what it did to him when you asked sweetly and meant trouble.
Joel swallowed once.
Your thumb moved against his fingers. “You took such good care of me tonight.”
His grip tightened slightly.
You lifted your other hand and set it on his chest, over the steady beat of his heart. “Let me be sweet to you now.”
Joel’s eyes closed for half a second.
When he opened them, the decision was already there.
He released your wrist, leaned back against the headboard, and looked at you with a kind of quiet danger that made your whole body go still.
“Alright,” he said.
Your pulse jumped.
Joel’s voice dropped lower.
“Show me.”
You smiled like you had been waiting for exactly that.
Not permission, not that. Joel knew better than to think you needed permission to be trouble in your own bedroom. It was something else; an opening, a door left unlocked, a shift in him so subtle anyone else might have missed it and so obvious to you that your whole face changed around it.
The bedside lamp softened the lines of him: broad shoulders, tired eyes, mouth threatening a smile even as his gaze darkened with every inch you crawled closer. The bag of peach rings sat open beside your thigh, bright and ridiculous against the sheets, and Joel kept glancing at it like it had personally betrayed him.
You slipped another soft gummy over your index finger and held it up.
“With the peach ring?” you asked, before he could say anything.
“With whatever thought just went through your head.”
The humor sharpened, warmed, slid into something heavier. You could feel it in the way his grip settled more firmly at your side, in the way his breathing slowed like he was trying to control it, in the way his gaze kept returning to the peach ring on your finger as if the idea had already occurred to him and he hated that you’d been the one to put it there first.
You lifted your hand between you both, studying the gummy with exaggerated innocence. “You know…”
Joel exhaled once. “I ain’t gonna like this.”
“You might.”
“I know that tone.”
“This is a perfectly reasonable observation.”
“Baby, nothin’ about you has been reasonable since you got in my truck.”
“That’s not true.”
“You tried to seduce me while I was drivin’.”
You laughed softly and inched closer. “And you liked it.”
His jaw shifted.
You saw it.
Joel saw you see it.
His voice dropped. “That ain’t the point.”
“It feels like the point.”
You held up the peach ring again, letting it rest at the tip of your finger. “I was only going to say that something bigger than a finger could fit through this.”
Joel stared at you.
For one long second, he didn’t even blink.
Then his gaze moved very slowly from your face to the gummy, then back again, his expression flattening into such deep, exhausted skepticism that you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing.
“Baby.”
“What?”
“That is a damn gummy.”
“Yes.”
“A very soft little gummy.”
“Exactly.”
“That I bought for you to eat.”
“And I’m very grateful.”
“You are not actin’ grateful. You are actin’ like a menace.”
You leaned in, lowering your voice. “I’m just saying. It’s soft. If you squeeze it a little…”
Joel’s eyebrows rose.
You smiled sweetly.
“…it might work.”
Something passed across his face then; amusement first, sharp and disbelieving, then heat so sudden it made your stomach dip.
He sat up a fraction. “My cock is not gonna fit through a peach ring.”
You blinked at him with perfect innocence. “That remains to be seen.”
Joel dragged a hand down his face. “Christ almighty.”
“What?”
“You hear yourself?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And I sound creative.”
“You sound dangerous.”
“You like me dangerous.”
His eyes lifted to yours. “I like you.”
“That’s basically the same thing.”
“No,” he said, voice rougher now, “it ain’t.”
The answer landed with more weight than you expected. For a second, the teasing softened around the edges, not disappearing, only making room for the thing beneath it; the trust, the fact that Joel could look at you sitting there with a gummy on your finger and heat in your eyes and still be measuring you with care. How much you’d had to drink. Whether you were sure. Whether the game was still a game because you wanted it, not because the night had carried you farther than you meant to go.
You knew him well enough to know exactly what he was doing.
So you took his hand from your waist, guided it up, and placed his palm over the center of your chest, where your heart was beating fast beneath the denim fabric of your dress.
“I know what I’m asking for, Joel” you said.
Joel’s face changed.
His fingers spread slightly, not possessive, not yet, but heavy enough that your breath caught under them.
“You’re not just feelin’ bold because of the cocktails?”
You smiled, softer now. “I’m feeling bold because you brought me home, took care of me, and now you’re looking at me like you want me to ruin your life.”
Joel went very still.
Then he laughed once, low and almost breathless. “That what I look like?”
You nodded. “A little.”
His thumb brushed once, barely there, near your collarbone. “And what do you look like?”
You leaned closer, your mouth hovering near his. “Like I’m about to.”
That did it.
Something in his expression gave, something patient and controlled slipping into something darker, hungrier, more willing to be led if only because he knew he could still end the game whenever he needed to.
You brought the peach ring to his mouth.
He caught your wrist before it touched him.
The motion was quick enough to make your breath catch, but his grip was gentle, thumb resting over your pulse.
“You think you’re runnin’ this?” he murmured.
You held his gaze. “I know I am.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
His mouth curved, slow and dangerous. “Then why’re you shakin’?”
Your pulse jumped beneath his fingers.
“I’m not shaking.”
Joel’s thumb moved over your wrist. “Liar.”
You swallowed.
He looked down at the gummy again, and his voice went lower. “You got a filthy mouth tonight for somebody who needed help gettin’ her shoes off.”
Heat rushed to your face.
You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t be smug.”
“I ain’t smug.”
“You are.”
“I’m observant.”
“You’re avoiding the point.”
“The point bein’ you think you can get that around me?”
You smiled slowly. “I think you want to find out.”
Joel’s jaw tightened.
His silence was answer enough.
You slipped your wrist from his hold this time, not because he couldn’t have stopped you, but because he let you. That was the dangerous part. The part that made your stomach twist. Joel Miller, broad and and stubborn as stone, sitting back against the headboard with his hands slowly lowering to the sheets, letting you take the space between you like he trusted you with every inch of it.
You touched the peach ring to his lower lip.
“Open.”
His stare held yours.
For one breath, two, he did nothing.
Then his lips parted.
The obedience of it hit you harder than you expected.
Joel took the gummy from your fingers without looking away, his mouth closing around it slowly, deliberately, like he knew exactly what the sight would do to you and had decided to punish you with your own idea. His teeth caught against the sugar. His tongue swept briefly over his lower lip afterward.
Your smile faltered but his came back.
“Problem?”
You hated how steady he sounded.
“No.”
“Looked like one.”
“You’re being difficult.”
“I’m sittin’ here doin’ what I’m told.”
“Barely.”
His eyes moved over you, from your bare face to your mouth to the neckline of your dress and back up again. “Then tell me better.”
The words settled low in the room.
You went still.
Joel saw the reaction and softened his voice by half an inch, not enough to lessen the heat, only enough to remind you he was still there underneath it. “C’mon, baby. You said you were in charge.”
You lifted your chin, refusing to let him take the ground back that easily. “I am.”
“Then act like it.”
Your breath caught.
He smiled faintly, but his hands stayed on the sheets, open and waiting.
You reached for another peach ring from the bag, slower this time, and Joel watched every movement with an attention so absolute it felt like touch. You held it up between you both, then lowered it just enough for his eyes to follow.
“You’re going to sit there,” you said softly.
Joel’s gaze returned to your face.
“And you’re going to be good.”
His expression sharpened.
“Good,” he repeated.
You nodded. “For me.”
The room went silent.
There were certain words that did things to Joel. Not because he lacked control, but because he had too much of it, always had. Because surrender, even playful surrender, was something he only gave where he felt safe enough to set it down. And there you were, warm from your night out, bare faced because he had washed the evening off you, fed and watered because he had made sure of it, looking at him like you knew exactly what he was and loved him enough to ask for something ridiculous anyway.
“Bossy little thing,” he murmured.
“You married me.”
“Startin’ to remember that.”
You moved closer until your knees settled on either side of his thigh, not sitting on him, not yet, just close enough for the pressure of him to become impossible to ignore. Joel’s breath changed again, and this time he did not hide it quickly enough.
You smiled.
“You brought me gummies,” you whispered. “So you don’t get to complain when I play with them.”
Joel’s hands flexed against the sheets.
“I can complain all I want.”
“Not tonight.”
“No?”
You shook your head. “Tonight, I say what happens.”
His eyes held yours for one long, heated second.
Then he leaned back a little farther, deliberately giving you room, his mouth curving like he was already thinking of all the ways this could go wrong and all the reasons he wanted to let it.
“Alright,” he said, voice rough. “You wanna play?”
You swallowed, excitement slipping through your confidence for just a second.
Joel saw it.
His smile deepened.
“Then play,” he murmured. “But don’t start somethin’ you ain’t ready to finish.”
You leaned in until your mouth brushed his ear.
“Oh, Miller,” you whispered. “I’m not the one who should be worried about finishing.”
Joel went completely still.
And that was the moment his restraint finally started to look like surrender.
You smiled like you had been waiting for exactly that.
Then you leaned in and kissed him.
It started soft, almost sweet, your lips brushing his like you were still thanking him for the peach rings and the ride home. But the second Joel’s mouth opened under yours you deepened it, tasting the faint sugar still clinging to his tongue from the gummy he’d taken earlier. Your hands slid up his chest, over the fabric of his shirt, until your fingers closed gently around his wrists.
You guided them upward.
Joel let you.
You pressed his palms flat against the top edge of the headboard, right where the wood curved. His long fingers curled over it instinctively.
“Keep them there,” you whispered against his mouth.
Joel’s brow lifted, but his voice came out low and already a little rough. “That an order?”
“Mhm.” You kissed the corner of his mouth, then his bottom lip, teasing. “Hands stay right there until I say otherwise.”
He huffed a quiet laugh that you felt more than heard. “Trouble and bossy.”
“You like it.”
“I like all of you,” he corrected, but he didn’t move his hands. His knuckles stayed white against the dark wood, arms stretched just enough to make the muscles in his shoulders shift under his shirt.
You reached into the open bag of peach rings, pulled out a fresh one, and held it up between you two like a prize.
“I want you to suck on this,” you said softly, voice sweet as the sugar itself, “until there’s not a single grain of sugar left on it.”
Joel looked at the bright orange ring, then at you. One eyebrow rose slow and skeptical.
“What the hell’s wrong with a little sugar, darlin’?”
You smiled at that.
“Because I don’t want it scratching that pretty cock of yours when I slide it down every inch.”
The words landed heavy between you.
Joel’s jaw flexed. His eyes darkened instantly, pupils blowing wide. For a second he just stared at you, like he was trying to decide whether to laugh, curse, or drag you into his lap and end this game right now.
Instead he let out a low, rough breath.
“Jesus Christ, darlin’…”
You brought the peach ring closer to his mouth, brushing the soft sugar against his lower lip.
“Open up your mouth for me, baby.”
Joel held your gaze the entire time he parted his lips. The second the gummy touched his tongue he closed his mouth around it and your finger, sucking slowly. His tongue moved over the soft ring, licking every bit of sugar, warm and wet against your skin. He didn’t look away from you once.
You let out a shaky little breath.
“That’s it… just like that,” you murmured, voice dropping. “Get it nice and clean for me, Joel.”
He hummed around your finger, the vibration going straight between your legs. His tongue curled, licked between your fingers, sucked the gummy until it started to lose its sharp sugar edge and turn glossy with his spit. The wet sounds filled the quiet bedroom.
When the peach ring was slick and mostly sugar free, you finally pulled it from his mouth with a soft pop. A thin string of saliva connected his lip to your finger for a second before it broke.
You looked at the gummy, then at him, and smiled.
“Very good,” you praised, voice warm and a little breathless.
Joel let out a short, surprised laugh, the sound rough and genuine. His eyes were dark but sparkling with that mix of amusement and pure want that always made your stomach flip.
“Yeah? That earn me a gold star?”
You leaned in and kissed him again, deep and filthy, tasting the peach on his tongue. While you kissed him your free hand moved to the buttons of his shirt, slowly working them open one by one.
“You earned a lot more than that,” you whispered against his mouth.
You kissed along his jaw, slow open mouthed kisses that made his head tilt back against the headboard. Your lips moved down to his neck, tongue tracing the tendon there, sucking lightly just below his ear until he let out a low growl.
“Baby…”
You smiled against his skin. “Shh. Hands stay up there.”
You kept unbuttoning his shirt until it fell open completely, revealing the broad, solid plane of his chest and the soft dark hair scattered across it. You dragged your tongue down the center of his sternum, tasting salt and skin and the faint trace of soap from his shower earlier. Lower, following the trail of hair that disappeared beneath his belt; his happy trail.
You pressed a wet kiss right below his belly button and looked up at him through your lashes.
“Love this,” you murmured, dragging your tongue along the line of hair. “Love how it leads exactly where I want to go.”
Joel’s breath hitched. His arms flexed against the headboard but he kept them exactly where you’d put them.
“Fuckin’ menace,” he muttered, voice gravel rough.
You grinned and nipped lightly at his lower stomach before your hands moved to his belt. You undid the buckle with practiced ease, popped the button of his jeans, and dragged the zipper down slow enough to make him feel every tooth.
When you freed his cock it was already hard and heavy, flushed dark at the tip and curving up toward his stomach. You wrapped your hand around the base and gave one slow, firm stroke.
Joel groaned low in his throat.
You leaned down and pressed a soft, almost reverent kiss to the head, then dragged your tongue over the slit, tasting the bead of precum already there. You coated him thoroughly, licking long, wet stripes up and down his length until he glistened with your saliva.
Then you picked up the slick peach ring.
You looked up at him again, eyes shining with mischief and heat.
“Ready?”
Joel’s voice was wrecked. “You’re really gonna do this.”
“Mmm-hmm.” You slid the soft, warm gummy slowly down over the head of his cock, careful, watching his face the entire time. It stretched a little, snug but smooth now that the sugar was mostly gone. You eased it down a couple of inches, then back up, letting the soft ring drag along his sensitive skin.
Joel’s hips twitched. A deep, guttural sound left his chest.
“Jesus… fuck, baby.”
“Feel good?” you asked sweetly, still sliding the gummy up and down his shaft in slow, torturous strokes.
“Too damn good,” he rasped. “You’re gonna kill me.”
You laughed softly and finally set the gummy aside. Then you lowered your mouth over him.
You took him deep in one smooth glide, lips stretching around his thickness, tongue pressed flat against the underside. Joel’s head fell back against the headboard with a thud, a broken groan tearing out of him.
You worked him slowly at first with long, wet pulls, hollowing your cheeks, taking him as far as you could until your nose brushed the dark hair at his base. Then you pulled back up, swirling your tongue around the head, sucking lightly on the sensitive spot just beneath it before sliding down again.
“Goddamn, sweetheart… that mouth,” Joel panted. His hands were still gripping the headboard so hard the wood creaked. “You’re takin’ me so fuckin’ well.”
You hummed around him, the vibration making his cock twitch hard against your tongue. You picked up the pace gradually, bobbing your head faster, one hand stroking what your mouth couldn’t reach, the other gently cupping his balls, rolling them softly.
The wet, filthy sounds of your mouth working him filled the room. Every time you took him especially deep you let out a little moan that made Joel curse under his breath.
You felt him start to tense, his thighs going tight, his cock swelling even harder against your tongue.
You pulled off with a wet pop and looked up at him, lips shiny and swollen.
“You close, handsome?”
Joel’s chest was heaving. His voice was raw. “Yeah… fuck, yes, I’m right there—”
You sat up abruptly, wiped the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand like it was nothing, and scooted up the bed to sit beside him. You leaned back against the headboard with a satisfied little sigh, legs stretched out, looking perfectly casual.
Joel’s head snapped toward you, eyes wide with disbelief and pure frustration.
You smiled sweetly at him.
“Well?” you said, voice light and innocent. “If you want to come, you’re already late eating my pussy, baby.”
Joel stared at you for a long second, chest still rising and falling hard, cock glistening and throbbing against his stomach, hands still obediently on the headboard.
Then he let out a low, dangerous laugh that sent heat rushing straight between your legs.
Joel’s gaze dragged down your body like he was already planning exactly how he was going to ruin you.
“Look at you… sittin’ there all sweet and wicked after what you just did to me. You got me achin’ so bad I can barely think straight.” he said, voice rough and thick with hunger.
You bit your lip, heat flooding your cheeks, but you didn’t close your legs. Instead you held his stare and slowly dragged the hem of your denim dress higher up your thighs, bunching the fabric at your hips until you were fully exposed to him. Then you spread your legs wider, showing him exactly what he did to you.
The cool air hit the soaked lace of your panties and you shivered. The dark wet spot was obvious. Embarrassingly, but beautifully obvious.
Joel’s breath caught hard in his chest. His eyes locked between your thighs like he couldn’t look away even if the world was ending.
“Jesus Christ, baby…” he breathed, almost reverent. “That all for me? You’re fuckin’ drippin’.”
You nodded, voice soft and a little shy but full of honest want.
“All for you, Joel. I’ve been like this since the truck. You were so good to me tonight… carrying me, buying me snacks, letting me tease you, keeping your hands right where I told you… You make me this wet just by being you. Just by loving me the way you do.”
He made a low, broken sound deep in his throat, almost pained. His cock gave a heavy twitch, the stretched peach ring around the base making the ache sharper and tighter. For a long second his hands flexed like he wanted to reach for you, but he kept them exactly where you’d placed them earlier; gripping the top of the headboard.
“My sweet, filthy little wife…” he muttered, but his eyes were soft and dark and so full of love it made your chest feel tight.
He finally moved, crawling between your spread thighs with deliberate slowness. His big hands wrapped gently around your ankles first, thumbs stroking the delicate bone there. He lifted one foot and pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your ankle, then another higher up your calf. Every kiss was warm and wet, lingering, like he had all the time in the world and planned to use every second of it.
He took his time.
Kissing. Sucking. Nipping lightly at the soft skin of your inner thighs until faint pink marks bloomed under his mouth. You felt each one like a brand.
“Joel…” you whispered, already breathless.
He hummed against your thigh, the vibration traveling straight to your core. When he reached the edge of your soaked panties he didn’t pull them aside. He simply leaned in and dragged the flat of his tongue in one long, slow stripe right up the center of your pussy through the lace.
Your hips jerked.
He did it again, slower, pressing harder, letting the rough texture of the wet fabric drag over your swollen clit. The sensation was maddening.
“Fuck, Joel… please…”
He looked up at you from between your legs, beard already shiny with your arousal, eyes gleaming with wicked satisfaction.
“Please what, sweetheart?” he asked, voice low and rough. “Thought you were the one runnin’ the show tonight. Ain’t that what you told me?”
You let out a frustrated little whine, but you were smiling too, cheeks flushed.
He chuckled darkly and went back to torturing you, sucking gently on your clit through the lace, tongue flicking in tight little circles. Every slow, deliberate lick made the fabric cling even more obscenely to you. The wet sounds of his mouth against the soaked lace filled the bedroom.
You squirmed, fingers twisting in the sheets.
“Joel… baby, please take them off. I need your mouth on me properly… I can’t—”
He pulled back just enough to grin up at you, lips glistening.
“Well now… ain’t that interestin’. My bossy little wife is beggin’ already.”
You laughed breathlessly and reached down, threading your fingers into his thick hair. You gave it a gentle but firm tug.
“I’m the one still in charge,” you whispered sweetly, voice dripping with playful threat. “And you’re not coming until I say so. Don’t forget that, handsome.”
The reminder hit him hard. Joel’s cock throbbed painfully inside the gummy ring. He groaned low against your thigh, the sound raw.
“You’re trouble,” he muttered, but there was nothing but pure desperate affection in it. “Nothin’ but trouble.”
He hooked two thick fingers into the waistband of your panties and slowly dragged them down your legs, letting the soaked lace kiss every inch of skin on the way off. He tossed them aside and settled back between your thighs like a man coming home.
This time there was nothing between his mouth and you.
Joel licked a long, slow stripe up your bare pussy and groaned deep, like the taste of you was everything he’d ever wanted. Then the teasing stopped completely.
He devoured you.
His mouth was hot, hungry and relentless. He sucked your clit between his lips, tongue flicking fast and firm, then slowed down to lick broad and lazy, savoring every drop. Two thick fingers slid inside you without warning, curling perfectly against that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes.
“Fuck— Joel— yes, right there, baby…”
He moaned into your pussy, the vibration shooting through you. Every low, filthy grunt and wet sound he made told you exactly how much he loved eating you like this.
“You taste so fuckin’ good, darlin’,” he rasped against you, voice muffled and wrecked. “So sweet. So wet. Could stay right here between your legs all night.”
You kept praising him between broken moans, words spilling out of you like you couldn’t hold them back.
“You’re so good… God, your mouth— I love how you eat my pussy… No one has ever made me feel like this… Fuck, Joel, you’re perfect— so perfect for me…”
Every compliment made him groan louder, his hips unconsciously grinding against the mattress, chasing any kind of relief for his aching cock. The peach ring was still tight around him, making every throb feel sharper, more intense.
You threw one leg over his broad shoulder, then the other, heels digging into his back as you rocked against his face without any shame, riding his tongue.
“That’s it— right there— don’t stop, baby—”
Joel’s hips kept moving, desperate little thrusts against the bed. You noticed immediately.
“You’re cheating,” you panted, half-laughing, half-moaning. “Grinding on the bed like that…”
He pulled back just enough to look up at you, beard shiny and dripping with your slick, eyes glassy and dark.
“Cheating?” His voice was completely wrecked. “Darlin’, you got me drippin’ like a goddamn teenager. I’m doin’ everything I can to behave and you’re still sittin’ there lookin’ like that, tastin’ like that… You’re killin’ me here.”
The raw honesty in his voice made you melt.
You reached down and cupped his wet cheek tenderly, thumb brushing through his soaked beard. Then you brought those same slick fingers to his mouth. Joel opened without hesitation, sucking them clean with a deep, grateful groan.
“I know you’re being so good for me,” you whispered, voice soft and full of love. “But you know what would make me even wetter? Watching you eat my pussy while you stroke that pretty cock for me. I want to see you touch yourself while you make me come.”
Joel didn’t hesitate for even a second.
He rose up on his knees, helped you stand on shaky legs, and kissed you deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. While he kissed you he peeled the rest of your dress off, then your bra. You helped him shove his open shirt off his shoulders and pushed his jeans and boxers the rest of the way down until both of you were completely naked.
Then Joel dropped to his knees again; right there in front of you.
One big hand settled possessively on your lower back, holding you steady. The other wrapped around his aching cock, the peach ring still snug at the base, and he started stroking himself slow and tight, eyes never leaving yours.
He looked up at you the entire time as he leaned in and licked back into your pussy with pure devotion.
No more games. Just Joel on his knees, worshipping you with his mouth while he fucked his own fist for you. The eye contact was unbroken, intense. Every moan he let out vibrated against your clit. Every wet sound of his hand moving on his cock mixed with the obscene noises of him eating you like a starving man.
You looked down at him and let out a shaky, awed breath.
“Oh my God, Joel… look at you,” you whispered, voice full of wonder and heat. “On your knees for me… stroking that pretty cock while you eat my pussy. You’re so fucking beautiful like this.”
Joel groaned loudly against you, the sound vibrating straight into your core. His eyes fluttered but he kept them locked on yours, sucking harder on your clit like your words had lit a fire under him.
You threaded both hands into his hair, holding him right where you needed him.
“That’s it… good boy,” you murmured, voice sweet and filthy at the same time. “Good fucking boy, baby. You’re doing so good for me.”
His hips jerked forward into his own fist at the praise. A broken moan tore out of him, muffled against your soaked folds.
You smiled down at him, breathing hard.
“You like that, huh? You like being my good boy?” You stroked his hair gently, almost tenderly. “Look at you… so desperate, so hungry. I can feel how much you love this. You’re making such pretty sounds for me, Joel.”
He pulled back just enough to gasp against your thigh, voice wrecked and hoarse.
“Fuck, sweetheart… keep talkin’ like that and I ain’t gonna last…”
You tugged his hair lightly, guiding his mouth back to you.
“You still don’t get to come until I do. You hear me, baby? Be good for me a little longer.” you said softly.
Joel whimpered —actually whimpered— and dove back in, licking and sucking with renewed hunger. His hand moved faster on his cock, the wet sounds growing louder, more frantic.
You kept praising him, voice getting breathier as your own pleasure built higher.
“Yes… just like that. You’re so good with your tongue, Joel. So perfect. God, look at you on your knees… touching yourself for me while you make me feel this good. My handsome husband… my good, good boy…”
His shoulders trembled. His strokes became tighter, almost desperate, but he never looked away from your eyes. The eye contact was devastating.
Your thighs started to shake around his head.
It was too much.
You threaded both hands into his hair, holding him against you as your thighs started to tremble.
“Joel—baby— I’m so close…”
He pulled back just enough to murmur against your slick, puffy folds, voice hoarse and full of love.
“I got you, baby. You can let it go. Come for me. Let me feel you.”
The orgasm crashed into you hard. You cried out his name, hips jerking against his mouth as pleasure tore through you in long, overwhelming waves. Your walls clenched around his fingers, thighs shaking around his head.
Joel kept licking you through it, gentler now, soothing every aftershock… but his own hand never stopped moving on his cock. His strokes grew faster, tighter, more desperate as he felt you coming undone on his tongue.
The moment your orgasm started to crest and then slowly ebb, Joel groaned loudly against your pussy, the sound desperate and broken. His eyes locked on yours again, dark and glassy, almost pleading.
“Fuck—darlin’— I can’t hold it anymore…” His voice cracked. “Please… can I come? Let me come, baby… please—”
You kept your eyes fixed on him, watching every single detail: the way his hand flew over his cock, the way his hips stuttered, the way his chest heaved. You stroked his hair tenderly while you watched him fall apart.
“Yes, baby,” you panted, voice sweet. “You can come. Come for me, Joel. Let me see you.”
The permission hit him like a trigger.
Joel groaned loudly against your oversensitive clit, the sound vibrating through you as he finally let go. His hips jerked hard, his hand stroking himself through it, and he came with a deep, guttural moan. Thick ropes of cum spilled over his fist and onto the floor while he kept licking you softly, riding out the last waves of your pleasure as he emptied himself completely for you.
Only when you were both trembling and breathless did he finally slow down.
He stayed on his knees between your legs for a long moment, forehead resting against your thigh, chest heaving, trying to catch his breath. His hand was still loosely wrapped around his softening cock.
You looked down at him and let out a soft, breathless laugh, still coming down from your high.
“Baby… you still have the gummy on.”
“Fuckin’ thing.”
He reached down to slide it off carefully. The moment it came free he hissed through his teeth; oversensitive and aching.
You grabbed his arm quickly, still giggling softly.
“You’re not throwing it away, right?”
Joel looked up at you, one eyebrow raised, that crooked, fond smile on his shiny lips.
“You serious, darlin’?”
You opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out, eyes sparkling with playful challenge.
He stared at you for a second, then shook his head, laughing low and warm and so full of love it made your heart squeeze.
“You are actually insane,” he muttered, but he stood up, stepped close, and carefully placed the slick, cum covered peach ring onto your waiting tongue.
The second you closed your mouth around it, Joel leaned down and kissed you; deep, slow, and filthy. He tasted himself, the sweet artificial peach, and the lingering taste of you all at once.
In the middle of the kiss he laughed softly against your lips, the sound warm and full of love.
“I love you,” he whispered, forehead resting against yours, thumb brushing your cheek. “Goddamn, I love you so much.”
“I love you too.”
For a moment, Joel didn’t move. He only held you there, forehead pressed to yours, one hand cupping the side of your face while both of you tried to remember how to breathe like normal people again. The room was warm and wrecked around you, the sheets twisted, your dress on the floor, the open bag of peach rings sitting near the pillows like evidence of a crime neither of you regretted.
Then Joel let out a quiet, breathless laugh and kissed your cheek, softer now, careful in the way he always became after.
“Alright, trouble,” he murmured, voice rough but tender, already reaching for the water on the nightstand. “Before you get any more ideas, you’re drinkin’ this, and then I’m cleanin’ you up.”
You smiled against his shoulder, boneless and happy. “Still bossy.”
He pressed another kiss to your temple. “Still married to me.”
⋆♱ Beautiful dividers from @saradika-graphics and @thecutestgrotto
i’m the biggest “joel miller is only soft for you but harsh and cold to the rest of the world” believer ever and yes i can elaborate but no i will not apologise
can we have jealous but not like mean joel do you know what i mean like jealous but sure of himself at the same time so he's not being a dick and he knows you're his he just wants everyone else to know it too am i crazy
so sorry this one took so long, this week is a very busy week!!! ahh been scrambling getting things together haha but i hope you enjoy this one!!!
joel x you | established relationship | jackson era | fluff!
summary: joel loves you so much and can’t help but feel just a tiny bit jealous (but in a cute way!)
word count: about 1kish!
Mine
You’re at the Miller home for one of those community nights that always somehow turns into more— beer, a pile of something that was once hot going cold on a folding table, the laugh of someone telling the same before-it-all story for the fifth time. The rest of the town trickles through the yard in pockets, friends and neighbors and anyone who happened to be walking by.
You move through it light, laughter on your lips. You’ve learned how to make these people laugh— the right tilt of an eyebrow, the perfect half-groan at a joke— and they reward you with easy smiles. Tonight you’re wearing Joel’s old flannel— he complained once when you stole it, then didn’t say a word when you left the house in it. The fabric smells like campfire and something solid; it fits like a promise.
A kid from the supply crew— young, confident in the way confidence looks when it’s still untested — slides onto the bench beside you. He’s the kind of guy who thinks a compliment is currency, the kind who leans in as if proximity can purchase interest.
“You got family?” he asks, voice easy, like he’s opening with small talk and closing with something braver.
You smile. “Kind of. Lots of people I boss around.”
He laughs at that, and his hand ghosts toward yours the way a moth might test a porch light. It’s harmless in his mind, it’s a chance. You don’t pull away. You don’t encourage him either. You’re polite, even with the world gone shit, you were raised that way— and besides, sometimes it’s fun to let someone try for a minute.
Joel sees it. Of course he sees it. He notices the tilt of the boy’s jaw, the slow calculation in his eyes. But the moment isn’t for show. It’s just Joel, quietly gathering himself, the way a man collects a knife before he peels an orange. He doesn’t stand up with a scowl. He doesn’t clench his fists and deliver a speech about respect. He simply closes the distance between you and him with a gait that looks like he’s going to sit down and fix a loose board.
When he reaches you, there’s a new shape to the space— his shoulder just behind yours, his presence like a steadying hand. The boy’s grin falters. It’s not because Joel said anything. It’s because Joel’s hand, large and warm, finds your lower back in a movement you’ve seen a thousand times; it’s the same place he steadies you when the ridge of a walking trail gets too narrow, the same place his palm presses when he’s making sure you don’t fall. It’s casual. It’s habitual. It’s intimate as hell.
“You good, sweetheart?” he asks, voice low so only you can hear it, but loud enough that it lands like a pebble in the pond of conversation. His eyes are soft and amused, but there’s an edge there that hums with ownership — not ownership like a trophy, but like a shelter, like he’s saying “this is someone I look after, someone I carry.”
You turn, because you want to. You lean forward so your shoulder bumps his. You feel the warmth of his breath, the rumble in his chest as he hums something that might be a laugh. “Yeah,” you say, though the truth is you feel a little lighter just because he’s there. The kid at your side shifts, suddenly unsure what the protocol is in the presence of something that won’t be bargained with. Joel nods over at him. A friendly head tilt.
Joel doesn’t play for an audience. He doesn’t make an announcement and he never needs to. Instead, he leans in and kisses the top of your head— a small, domestic press that says everything without audacity. The boy straightens as if he’s been handed something he didn’t want. He mumbles a drink refill or an excuse and moves along, swallowed by the hum of other conversations.
Later, when you’re on the porch with a mug between your palms, the night cool and smelling like cut grass, Joel takes the seat beside you. He slides his hand into yours without asking, hooking fingers that have weathered a life you didn’t grow into by accident. You like the way he tugs you closer across the bench, like you’re both two parts of a map folded back into place.
“You make it too easy for them,” he says, half a joke, watching the way your face softens in the lamplight. You poke his ribs. “You’re jealous.”
He tilts his chin, the ghost of one of his crooked smiles. “Ain’t jealous,” he answers. “Just keepin’ tabs on what’s mine.”
You roll your eyes, but the grin you give him is a small surrender. “You say that like I’m your prize cow.”
He snorts. “You a prize cow? Nah. You’re dinner and a damn good story.” When he says it, it’s the kind of line you could laugh off if you wanted to, the kind his mouth throws out to shroud something more tender. You can read him. You always could: the set of his shoulders, the way his thumbs drum across your knuckles, the quiet steadiness that’s more comforting than hot coffee in the morning.
That’s the thing with Joel: his jealousies are direct and honest, not performative. He doesn’t have the language for dramatic scenes, but he has a hundred ways to translate how he feels without stepping on your feet. He shows up. He stakes small claims: a kiss in front of a roomful of people, a hand that won’t loosen, a joke made at your expense that somehow folds back into a compliment. He’s the kind of man who, when the world tilts, is the fixed point you come back to.
The kind of jealousy Joel carries isn’t about control or proving a point. It’s about recognition— letting the people around you see that you are loved, that you are claimed in the smallest and kindest ways. It’s about being sure, and making that surety visible without ever being cruel. He’s not loud. He doesn’t need to be. He is steady. He is quiet. He is yours, and he wants the world to know it in the way he knows how: with his hands, with a folded shirt, with a kiss on the crown of your head when a boy thinks he can buy a smile.
And you, lying in his arms on the couch with his head heavy on your shoulder, know it too— know how he keeps his jealousy like a coat he hands you when the evening gets cold. You don’t need him to shout it; you only need him to always come back.
i want to FLUSTER that man. i want to make him BLUSH. i want to make him feel VULNERABLE AROUND ME. i want to make him WEAK IN THE KNEES. i want to kiss him
—TASTE BACK — PART THREE: "Do it, Cowboy" ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧⋆ ˚｡⋆‧₊˚ (ex!husband joel miller x f!reader) MDNI!!
fic masterlist | read on ao3 | capuccinodollupdates
summary: Extremely nervous, you get ready to break the news of your pregnancy to your ex husband, Joel. You can't guess how the night might end. Final part of Taste Back. wc: 17,3k
TW: graphic violence
A/N: Nothing to say, just... I want Joel to be my yearning ex-hubby. Enjoy this last part!
If you enjoyed it, please leave a comment and reblog! I really appreciate feedback<3
With a bad shoulder, you weren't much help with the heavy lifting. But that didn't mean you had to stay home.
Nora had brought her brother to work; Giuliano was a tall, stocky guy who curiously had way too much free time since quitting his job. He was, in his own words, "drifting." And since you needed to rest and avoid lifting anything heavy for a couple more days, he took over the physical labor; hoisting, moving, and handling the heavy tools. Nora took care of the rest.
Frustrated by how little you could contribute, you kept yourself busy with light tasks, serving them coffee, and constantly asking if anyone needed anything. Their answer was usually no.
Two days had passed since your hospital visit. Your frustration probably didn't just stem from not being able to give your all at work, but from the total lack of distractions.
Dean was about to head back to Austin, and you still hadn't figured out how to break the news to him. Cheating on him was one thing, and you could have sidestepped that detail during the breakup; maybe Kat was right, and you could spare him the painful details, even if it wasn't the most honest or respectable route. But things had changed. Monumentally.
He was sensing it, you could tell. Lately, he had started calling and texting more often, likely picking up on something off in your tone. But what could you tell him? Nothing's wrong, really. And that was a flat-out lie.
Meanwhile, Joel kept texting you every day. He could read you a bit better, even over text. When your replies started taking a bit longer than usual, he called you.
"What's wrong? You okay? Is Dean back?"
You did your best to assure him nothing was wrong, that you were just a bit tired. He probably didn't buy it, but didn't ask.
Since yesterday, he hadn't asked about it either. But as you listened to Nora and Giuliano laughing over a tik tok they'd just watched while drinking the coffee you'd poured them, you stared at your phone screen, knowing you had to do it now.
The last message in your chat with Joel was from him. You hadn't replied yet.
[J]: Outlander
[J]: it’s on netflix, have you seen it?
[J]: if you haven't you should
[J]: I only watched the first two eps but i know you’ll like it because it has time travel, it's historical and it has muscular men in kilts
You bit the inside of your cheek. You had read the text two hours ago and had almost replied no, I haven’t seen Outlander. But every message you sent him made you feel more sick to your stomach because of what you weren't telling him.
It wasn't his reaction that scared you; you could already picture exactly how he'd take it. What terrified you was how fragile everything would become the moment you said the words. Because this changed absolutely everything. This was no longer just about the two of you; it was about something far more vulnerable and precious, something you couldn't afford to ruin. And at the same time, a suffocating fear crept in, making you wonder: What if it's like last time? What if your body can't handle it, if you aren't strong enough?
You were scared. Terrified. You couldn't imagine going through that kind of pain again; you couldn't imagine surviving it. But you clung to the hope that everything happened for a reason, and that if this pregnancy had come right now, in the middle of this chapter of your life, it was meant to stay.
Nora and Giuliano didn't notice when you slipped away from the main workshop area and headed toward the tiny kitchenette in the back. Or maybe they did, but they didn't think much of it. Either way, you shut the door behind you and leaned against the counter, unlocking your phone as your chat with Joel appeared on the screen.
Alright. You can do this. It’s Joel.
Quickly, you tapped the phone icon and brought the receiver to your ear, nervously tapping your chin with your other hand.
Suddenly, your overalls felt incredibly suffocating. The denim was too thick, and it was smudged with paint and—oh, you couldn't be breathing in too much paint, or varnish, or any of that. What were you going to do with all the work you—
"Hey."
Your mouth flew open. "Joel, hi."
"Hey. Was just thinkin' about you."
"Thinking about me?" Your eyebrows shot up, pushing past your nerves to muster a bit of playfulness. "Did you watch Kramer vs. Kramer again?"
A soft, low chuckle rumbled through the receiver. "Nah. Just finished off a blueberry muffin."
Any urge to throw back a witty retort vanished; you just smiled with your cheeks tight.
"You at work?"
"Yeah, in my office. Folks think I'm workin', but I'm mostly just hidin' from a real pushy architect. My assistant told him I was in a meetin'."
"And you're really just in there eating muffins. Uh, that's unfair."
Joel clicked his tongue. "Only for a couple more minutes. I'll get back to bein' a responsible boss once my fictional meetin' wraps up. Won't be long now. What about you? How's work goin'?"
You crossed one foot over the other. "Good. Everything's good. Wasn't really doing anything. Actually, I was calling because I thought... I was thinking, if you're up for it, maybe we could meet up to talk?"
On the other end of the line, there was a brief pause.
"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, when were you thinkin'?"
Your stomach suddenly fluttered, and you took a quiet breath to steady it.
"I know it seems quick, but does today work? Can you do today? Dean gets back tomorrow and I have to talk to him, and I need to talk to you about a few things before—"
"Everything alright?"
"Yes," you said quickly. "Everything's fine, don't worry. Just... I'd really like to talk to you today. If you can."
"Course I can. I'm off around five, maybe five-thirty. But I can head out early."
You nodded. "Yeah, that's perfect. How does six sound?"
"Sounds good."
"At my place. I'll text you the address."
"Alright. I'll be there."
"Okay," you said, straightening up from the counter. "I'll see you then. I'll leave you to your fictional meeting now. You know I could totally expose you, right? I bet your employees would love to know how you're spending your time."
He laughed. "Hey, I just gave 'em some pretty nice bonuses not too long ago. I'm a real good boss. I think I can pick my battles every now and then."
"I'll let you off the hook, then," you said, resting your palm against your cheek, smiling so hard it hurt. "But only until six."
"Until six." From the way his voice sounded, you knew he was smiling.
Before either of you could say another word, you pulled the phone away and ended the call. An overwhelming wave washed over you, rising through your chest until it finally escaped your lips as a long sigh.
"Okay," you muttered to yourself, running a hand over the back of your neck to steady your nerves.
Slowly, hesitantly, you lowered your hand to your flat stomach, resting your palm right over it.
"What a time to show up, baby."
When Joel heard the line go dead, it took him a few seconds to pull the phone away from his ear. He held it out in front of him, staring at the screen for a moment longer.
On the outside, he looked relaxed. He was kicked back in his chair with his legs stretched out under the desk, crossed at the ankles. In front of him sat a coffee mug and a plate littered with blueberry muffin crumbs. There were crumbs on his black t-shirt, too, and a few caught in his beard.
Suddenly, he felt hyper-aware of it. He brushed a hand down his chin and across his chest, shaking off every last trace of his little feast. He straightened up, pulling his chair closer to the desk.
He checked his watch. It was barely eleven in the morning.
He could handle this today. Say the right words, give you the right silences. Above all, he just couldn't ruin things.
Joel knew your relationship with Dean wasn't officially over yet, and that he would need to keep his distance until you gave him the green light. He didn't have any guarantees with you either; just a fresh chance to get close again, and he couldn't afford to screw it up.
But to be completely honest, he didn't give a damn about Dean. He didn't care if the guy was good, or ideal, or any of the things he'd heard over the last few months. He probably wasn't anyway, and Joel knew it. Even if he was, it didn't change a thing. He didn't care.
After tonight, if things changed, Joel had everything ready to offer when the time was right. He knew you too well to think this would be a quick fix, and he knew himself well enough to know that, if it were up to him, he’d be putting a ring back on your finger the second the nearest church opened tomorrow morning.
Two years he’d spent without you. Two years of waking up lonely and miserable in a king-sized bed, in an apartment that felt way too big and entirely useless. Every single day since the last time he’d seen you had been pure torture, a constant reminder that he’d lost the most important person in his life.
He didn’t blame you—he truly didn’t. And he knew that no matter how much he’d hurt right alongside you, no matter how much he wanted to understand, he’d never truly know what it was like to be in your shoes. He’d watched your body suffer, watched you nearly slip away, and saw the raw pain in your eyes every single day afterward as you tried to piece yourself back together. That memory had chased him all this time, a brutal reminder that he’d been completely helpless to stop it.
But when he saw you in Maui, he knew instantly: it wasn’t over. Your eyes had always been dead giveaways, and Joel knew that even with another man in your life, there was still hope for him.
You weren’t the same person you were two years ago, and neither was he. The grief was still there, just as heavy and close to the surface as ever if you dared to reach out and touch it. But things were different now; he hadn't doubted for a second that he was ready to try and win you back. And if luck was on his side, you’d look at him again with those eyes that told him everything with just one glance.
Tonight. He just had to wait until tonight.
Three sharp knocks on the door made him look up startled.
"Yeah? Maggie?"
The door swung open immediately. Maggie poked her head in, tilting her chin down to peer at him over her glasses. It reminded Joel of the silent, scolding looks his mom used to give him.
"Di Palma just left."
He nodded. "Alright."
"Can I officially wrap up your fictional meeting, then?"
"Please do," he said, tilting his head.
Maggie shook her head, but he caught the brief smile she tried to hide before she turned and walked out.
No matter how many times you scrubbed, it still didn’t feel right. And you thought of it as a feeling rather than a sight because, logically, you could see the place was spotless, but it just didn’t feel clean.
Your apartment wasn’t too big, nor was it too small. It fell right into that average comfortable sweet spot. In your living room, you had a cozy, nice navy blue sofa and walls lined with frames full of photos of the people you loved. The television across from the coffee table was on, the evening news murmuring in the background entirely ignored. The place smelled clean; actually, the whole apartment did, mixed with the sweet scent of the vanilla candle you’d lit ten minutes ago.
Joel would be here any second now. You knew he was punctual, and it was already twenty to six. It was only a matter of time before the buzzer went off and he was standing right there with you.
That was when you realized you had to be quick.
He could read you so well. He always had. If he showed up and looked you in the eyes for even a second, he’d know something was up.
It was a childish idea, but you wanted to beat him to the punch, to catch him off guard before he could do the same to you. You wanted to see just how long it would take him to figure it out.
You deserved to have a little fun with this, didn't you?
Okay, you gave up. You had officially polished every single surface in the place, and you were well aware that your nerves were making you act a little irrational. If you scrubbed the floor one more time, you’d be able to see your own reflection right where you stood.
With a sigh, you sat down on the sofa, cradling a warm mug of tea, and checked your phone. 5:48 PM.
Oh, God, please just let him get here.
You’d sent him your address a few hours ago, and he hadn't texted back—he’d just reacted to the message. You weren’t sure if that was his way of trying to play it cool or what, but it definitely wasn't helping your anxiety.
You were being incredibly restless today.
You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. And then, your phone buzzed in your lap.
You snatched it up and stared at the screen.
It was Dean.
Your eyes traced the letters of his name two, three times, debating whether or not to pick up. But before you could make up your mind, the call cut out.
[Dean]: heyy, you there?
The text popped up a few seconds later. You decided the best move, at least for now, was to ignore it.
Tomorrow you’d have to face him anyway, with no way out.
At exactly 5:55 PM, the buzzer rang. Punctual as usual.
You quickly got up from the sofa and stood frozen for a second, catching your breath before you could actually open the door.
This was it. The first time you were going to see each other since Maui.
You pulled the door open, and there he was.
Your eyes lingered on his face, unable to look away and silently acknowledging how handsome he looked. Tall and broad-shouldered, Joel stood in your doorway, his curls looking neatly styled but perfectly messy at the same time. He was wearing a black cotton t-shirt with a small company logo on the chest, paired with black dress pants and his black boots. It was a strange outfit on anyone else, but on him, it looked fucking good.
The look in his eyes said only one thing. He was mirroring your own thoughts.
But Joel didn't say a word about it. Instead, he just smiled softly, tilting his head slightly. "You don't live too far from me."
You smiled back. "Oh, really?"
He shook his head. "No. And I've never run into you once. Where've you been hidin'?"
You laughed and stepped aside, letting him into the apartment before shutting the door behind him.
"Want something to drink?"
"Uh..." He hesitated, and you immediately caught the quiet wave of nervousness rolling off him. "Sure. Whatever you're havin' is fine."
"Alright," you said, leading the way into the living room.
Joel sat down on the sofa, his eyes wandering curiously around the space. You noticed him clasping his hands together, his fingers fidgeting; a nervous habit he'd always had.
Stepping away, you headed into the kitchen.
"Coffee?" you called out from there.
"Yeah, sure," he replied.
You didn't ask how he took it; you already knew. You poured him a mug of the hot, black coffee that had been ready on the counter for the last ten minutes, and prepared a cup of tea for yourself. You dropped three small spoonfuls of sugar into your mug, stirring for a few seconds as your stomach tightened, your nerves winding tighter and tighter with every swirl of the spoon.
You pressed your lips together. Dozens of ways to break the news flashed through your mind, but unable to pick just one, you picked up both mugs and walked back into the living room.
Joel was sitting very straight, but he squared his shoulders even more the moment he saw you walk in. You set his coffee down on the coffee table, placed your tea right beside it, and sat down next to him.
"How've you been?" he asked. "How's your shoulder? You feelin' any better?"
You nodded. "I think so, yeah."
"Don't go doin' anything you shouldn't be doin' in the meantime. I've been there, and the healing takes a whole lot longer if you push it."
You hummed and smiled, completely unable to find your voice, even for some light silly reply.
Joel picked up his mug and brought it to his lips.
You watched his profile; his nose, his soft lips resting against the warm porcelain, the curve of his eyelashes, and the stray curls partially hiding his ear.
You licked your lips. "Joel, thank you so much for coming today. I know it was really sudden."
He looked at you immediately, shaking his head. "Not at all. You don't have to thank me for anything. You know I wanted to see you."
You swallowed hard and nodded, lowering your eyes to your hands resting in your lap. "Well, I wanted to see you too. A lot," you confessed, lifting your gaze back to his. "I've been thinking so much, though there wasn't really all that much to think about, to be honest."
He offered a soft lopsided smile. "No?"
You shook your head slowly. Your eyes locked with his, and for a long, heavy moment, neither of you looked away. The quiet space between you felt intense; there was no wall anymore, nothing to stop yourself from spilling everything you hadn't said over the last two years.
Joel set his mug back down on the coffee table. He paused for a split second before turning fully toward you, shifting a little closer.
"Tell me what you want," he said, reaching out and bringing his hand close to yours where they rested in your lap, but he stopped just short of touching you, as if he were afraid to break the spell. "What are you thinkin'?"
You took a slow, deep breath and let it out. Your heart was drumming so hard against your ribs, and every nerve in your body ached to close the distance and just… touch him.
"I'm thinking... I'm thinking that I want you. I want you back," you let the words rush out. "Because I need you, and... and because I can't help it, and I don't want to help it either." You shook your head slowly, keeping your eyes locked on his. "But most of all, Joel, because I love you."
It felt so good to finally get those words out of your chest. And looking at Joel, the way his eyes grew glassed over, his expression seemingly shattering and piecing itself back together all at once; you knew he felt the weight of them too.
He sat completely still, frozen by the sudden rush of it all.
You swallowed hard, waiting.
"I want you back, too," he said, as he nodded slowly. "I've never wanted anything else. My feelings are the exact same as they were in Maui, and the same as they were years ago. I'm always gonna regret a lot of things, mostly not fightin' harder for us back then, but I'll never regret choosin' us over and over again. Because I love you, I'll always love you."
Your throat tightened just as a sudden ache bloomed in your chest as the urge to cry threatened to spill over. You swallowed past the lump, trying to hold it in. Words failed you completely, so you didn't even try to speak.
Instead, your body just leaned forward, your hands reaching up to wrap around his broad shoulders.
The second you moved, Joel was already matching you, his large arms locking around you and pulling you flush against his chest; his mouth found yours in a desperate, breathless kiss, one that tasted of salt as the tears you'd tried so hard to hold back finally slipped down your cheeks.
This wasn't like Maui. This wasn't desperate and built on need; now Joel kissed you with tenderness, with all the time in the world in his hands while they traced your back and kept you close to him.
As he held you steady, you slid your hand up to his face, cradling his cheek. Your thumb swept over his damp skin, and only then did you notice the few warm tears trailing down his face.
You had to tell him now.
Softly, you pulled your mouth away from his; he sought it again.
"Joel, wait."
He barely nodded, his nose brushed yours. "Yeah."
"I need to talk to you about one more thing."
"That about Dean?"
You licked your lips and shook your head, his hands still tracing quiet patterns along your spine. "No. It's not about Dean."
"Oh."
Your hand slid down his neck, resting on his shoulder. "Wait here."
Carefully, you pulled away and stood up from the couch. His hand lingered until the very last second, his fingertips brushing yours right before you stepped out of reach.
You walked to your bedroom and straight to the nightstand, pulling open the top drawer to retrieve the white envelope you'd hidden there two days ago. You gripped it tight, your fingertips pinching the paper as if it might slip away, and headed back to the living room. Joel was waiting exactly where you'd left him, sitting in the same spot.
Sitting back down beside him, you instinctively shielded the envelope under your palm.
Joel's eyes caught it instantly. He looked at the white paper, then at your trembling hands resting over it, before his gaze drifted back up to meet yours.
"I didn't tell you everything the other day," you started, and his brow furrowed right away. "When I went to the hospital, it wasn't just 'cause I got hurt working. Actually, for the last couple of weeks, I've been gettin' dizzy. That's how I got hurt. I fell—"
"You alright?"
He sat really still.
You nodded quickly to reassure him. "Yeah, I'm okay. Don't worry about that. The doctor told me everything was fine; my bloodwork, the X-ray, absolutely everything. I'm healthy."
Joel let out a long breath of relief, his gaze dropping to your feet.
You were doing this so terribly.
You took a breath. "I'm okay. And I'm..."
He raised his eyes back to yours.
"I'm… I'm pregnant."
Instantly, the worry on Joel's face shifted into complete, silent shock. His brows lifted slightly, and his mouth pulled into that soft frown he made whenever something was just too much to take in.
Without a word, you reached out and offered him the paper envelope. He took it automatically, quietly, his breathing picking up noticeably even as he kept his composure. His fingers opened the unsealed flap, and he pulled the paper out. He unfolded it, held it up, and read.
Meanwhile, you read every single micro-expression on his face.
His eyes welled up, and he brought his hand up to cover his mouth, trying to steady himself. A muscle twitched in his brow as his eyes traced every single word printed on the paper.
"Is it…" He looked up at you, his gaze completely melting you. "Is it… mine?"
"It's yours," you nodded, tears blurring your vision. "It's ours. Dean… Dean can't. And we use protection anyway."
Joel nodded, and whatever was keeping him together shattered right then. A smile broke across his face, wide and radiant, contrasting with the fresh tears spilling over his lashes. He reached out and grabbed you by the waist, and you immediately crawled into his lap, burying yourself in an embrace you'd been starving for.
You hid your face in the crook of his neck, finally feeling the reality of it sink in.
"I love you so much," he breathed, his warm breath brushing against your shoulder. "You make me so happy."
"I love you too, Joel, so much," you wept.
With your eyes closed, all you could feel was his warm body against yours; his hands, one of them moving up your back to the nape of your neck, where he tangled his fingers gently into the hair there; his arms holding you firmly by your sides; his scent, which you had longed for so much and that now completely invaded you as you buried your nose in his neck.
It felt so good to have told him, to finally have lifted from your chest the small secret that had been with you for just two days.
"I promise you, baby, I'm gonna make it up to you. Everything."
A sob escaped you. "I missed you so much. I'm so sorry I pushed you away. I never wanted to do that."
"I know, is okay. You don't have to say sorry," he murmured, his thumb pressing softly against your neck. "I should have done things different."
"No," you lifted your head and looked straight at him, shaking your head; your hand took his chin. "You did what you could. I know you were scared, and how much it hurt you. It was your baby too. You deserved support too, Joel, and I couldn't give it to you."
He shook his head gently. "Was not your fault, none of it."
Suddenly, a very subtle pain appeared on his face. To anyone else, it might be almost imperceptible, but it pierced right through your chest.
"We are gonna do better this time," he added, his lips curving into a smile that still held a trace of sadness.
Nodding, you brushed your thumb against his lower lip, pulling it down slightly as you leaned in to kiss him.
Softly, at first; a strange sensation washed over you. A sudden mix of lingering pain, relief, and an aching desire. The different emotions blurred together until they became just one thing: pure necessity.
The softness melted away as the kiss deepened, growing more desperate. When you parted your lips and slid your tongue into his mouth, Joel let out a low breath, tightening his grip around your waist. His hand slid back up to the nape of your neck, his fingers tangling firmly into your hair. He pulled back just enough to tilt your head, changing the angle to take your mouth exactly the way he wanted.
A small, breathless moan escaped the back of your throat, and that single sound broke whatever restraint he had left.
His pace turned urgent, his mouth devouring yours as if he were trying to make up for every second you've been apart. You couldn't get close enough; your hands gripped his shoulders, your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt to pull him even closer.
"Need you," he muttered against your lips. "I need you right now."
"Bedroom," you managed to breathe out between kisses.
Holding you tightly by the hips, Joel stood up from the sofa with you still wrapped around his waist. Your feet touched the floor as your hands kept searching, tracking the lines of his back and shoulders, while his arms remained locked around you, lifting you slightly off your feet whenever the distance became too much.
Every step toward the door was a messy rush of breathless gasps. Joel pressed your back against the corridor wall for a fleeting second, his mouth dropping down to bruise your jawline and the soft skin of your neck, making you arch into him with a gasp.
Look at him. His body was so warm and solid, a mountain of need and beauty. And before you could even catch your breath, he caught your lips again, carrying you forward until you finally crossed the threshold into the bedroom.
Once inside, you finally broke the kiss, but the desperation took over completely. You scrambled backward a step, your hands tearing at the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your head and tossing it blindly aside.
Joel was already mirroring you; his thick fingers gripped the edge of his shirt and ripped it down his arms, exposing his broad chest to the dim warm light in your room. Your heart started beating so fast at the sight, you felt your cheeks boiling hot.
You kicked off your shoes and pushed your jeans down your legs, stepping out of them until you were left only in your underwear. Joel’s shirt hit the floor, and his hands immediately went to his belt, unbuckling it. But the need inside you was too loud to wait.
Dropping to your knees right there in front of him, you reached out and gripped his hips, pulling him firmly toward you. Joel let out a ragged breath, his hands coming down to rest on your shoulders for balance as you reached for his trousers. You undid the button, slid the zipper down, and hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down together.
His length freed itself, heavy and fully aroused, standing thick and rigid right before your face. The sight of him, so ready for you, made your mouth water.
You leaned in, breathing your warm air against the sensitive skin of his tip before you ever touched him. Joel’s thighs flexed, and a quiet hiss escaped through his teeth.
Slowly, you extended your tongue, licking from the base all the way up to the crown.
"Ah... god," Joel groaned, his head tilting back as his fingers tangled into your hair. His grip wasn't harsh, but it was firm enough as you swirled your tongue around the ridge.
A moment later, you parted your lips and took him inside.
You started slow, letting your lips coat him as you drew him into the wet heat of your mouth, moving your head in a steady, rhythmic slide, using your hands on his thighs to pull him deeper, and deeper, and tasting him fully.
Joel's groans grew thicker; he began to budge his hips forward, a desperate instinct taking over, but he caught himself, his hands gently framing your face instead.
"Baby... look at me," he strained out.
You looked up, your eyes watering slightly as you swallowed him deeper, taking the full length of him until your nose pressed against the coarse hair at his groin.
His thumb stroked your cheekbone, his blown out dark eyes filled with a profound feeling that went far beyond just physical release.
"I missed you so much," he breathed, trembling a confession. "Every single day. Was tearing me apart."
The emotion in his voice, mixed with the friction of your throat around him, sent a wave of heat straight to your core. You gave him a few more deep sucking strokes, swirling your tongue over the sensitive underside of his shaft until he whimpered.
But it wasn't enough. The ache between your own thighs was turning into an unbearable demanding throb.
You pulled back, letting him slip from your lips with a gasp.
"No more," you whispered, your voice trembling as you stood up, hands immediately sliding up his bare chest to his neck. "I need you."
"C'mere."
His skin was so incredibly soft under your palms, a total contrast to how rough and heavy the rest of him felt as you dragged your hands all over his chest.
Joel leaned into you, his mouth capturing yours in a consuming kiss that blurred everything together. And lips locked to yours, he slowly crowded you backward until the edge of the mattress hit the back of your knees.
You let yourself fall back onto the sheets, watching him while he stripped out of his trousers and boxers. And there, standing fully bare at the edge of the bed, his dick was thick, rigid, and glistening in the dim light from your saliva, pointing directly at you.
Your breath hitched. Reaching behind your back, you unhooked your bra and tossed it aside, baring your chest to him.
Joel climbed onto the bed. He crawled over you, his body settling perfectly between your thighs. And with steady hands, he hooked his fingers into the sides of your underwear and slid them down your legs, discarding them completely.
Like a good man, he didn't make you wait. Shifting his weight down, his hands slid under your thighs to open you up, and buried his face between your legs.
The first stroke of his tongue against your aching pussy made your eyes roll back, your eyelids fluttering shut as an intense wave of pleasure tore through you, instantly relieving that desperate need. He ate you out with ravenous hunger, deep and slow as he lapped up your slick heat.
Feelin you, Joel let out a muffled groan against your skin, tasting you like a dying man finally drinking water after a long moment of thirst; he thoroughly enjoyed it, his thumbs pressing into your inner thighs to steady you while your hips twitched helplessly against his mouth.
"Oh, Joel, yes, yes, yes…" Your hand gripped his hair. "You do it so good."
Joel and you had so many beautiful, special things in your relationship. And one of them had always been… this.
It went way beyond the simple act of sex; Joel made you feel a way no one else ever could match. His hands knew exactly how to touch you, his mouth how to taste you, his teeth when to bite. The weight of his body was just what yours needed on top of you and inside you, fitting together so perfectly there was no way you weren't made for each other.
No man could compete with that.
As he kept pushing into you, the tension tightened until you couldn't take it anymore: arching your back, your fingers tangled into his hair and gave it a hard tug, your breath hitching as your body completely gave in.
Your hips twitched helplessly against his mouth as the waves crashed over you, your vision blurring as you squeezed your eyes shut. Every muscle in your body tightened so hard it hurt, and a broken moan escaped your lips while your fingers dug tightly into his hair, pulling him closer, and closer, and closer.
It felt like a total release of all the tension you’d been carrying for days, for weeks. A throbbing ache that melted away into unbearable pleasure as Joel kept his tongue pressed firmly against you, drinking you in and riding out the storm until your body finally went soft.
Your fingers tangled, clumsy and heavy, in the hair just above his ear as your eyelids grew too weighted to keep open. Joel started to move up, pressing one last kiss against your center before trailing his lips over your hip and stopping just above, right against the flat of your lower stomach.
He kissed you right there, and let out a long, shaky breath, his forehead resting against your belly for a beat before he looked up at you.
"Please," he choked out. "Please tell me this means I get to come home. Don't make me leave you again."
A shaky exhale left your lips as you tangled your fingers tighter in his hair.
"Then come up here," you murmured. "Don't just stay down there. Come back to me."
He didn’t need to be told twice. Joel moved up the length of your body, and when his lips met yours, it wasn't frantic or rough; it was a deep kiss full of a soft, sweet desperate hunger.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down against you, your fingers anchoring into the short hairs at the nape of his neck just as you were feeling him right at your entrance.
He groaned low in his throat as his large hands slid up to frame your face, holding you there as if you might vanish if he let go. Every bit of the grief and the distance between you seemed to bleed out into the press of his mouth.
Without breaking the kiss, Joel tilted his hips and pushed forward, sliding smoothly and completely inside you.
He didn't rush; he felt massive, a blunt and crowding heat that stretched you open so easily, filling the empty spaces that had belonged to him all along.
He stayed there, buried to the hilt, letting his weight settle completely as your body adjusted to the size of him.
His mouth left yours, breaking the kiss just enough so he could look down at you.
When your eyes met, the emotion in your chest felt almost suffocating, swelling so large and heavy it hurt. You loved him so much it felt like your ribs could barely hold it all in.
Holding your gaze, his dark eyes burning into yours, Joel began to move.
The first few strokes were deep and soft as he slid out and sank back in, testing your limits. But the restraint didn't last. The friction caught, and the pace began to shift, his thrusts gaining a hard, commanding speed that had your hips tilting up to meet him.
A soft gasp broke from your throat, your entire body bathed in electric pleasure that made your eyelids flutter shut.
"Keep 'em open. Look at me," Joel growled.
Your eyes snapped open instantly, locking onto his.
He kept up the pace, driving into you with a force that felt agonizing; a deep ache that hit every single right spot until you were completely breathless. You couldn't speak, couldn't think, couldn't do anything else but feel it. And the intensity of it combined with the unwavering stare he pinned you with, had tears pricking the corners of your eyes.
Another choked moan escaped your lips, your head tossing back against the pillows as the overwhelming pleasure threatened to pull you under completely.
The heat between your skin and his became unbearable, filling the room with nothing but the sound of hitched breaths and the constant clash of his skin against yours; a rhythmic tap tap tap that kept picking up speed.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, locking him against you, searching for him as deep as physically possible. And every time he bottomed out completely, your entire body shook; it was too much, and it felt so good.
As you squeezed him tighter, your shoulder flared with pain, reminding you of the fall from just two days ago. Carefully, you lowered your arm to his waist, digging your fingers into his hip instead.
Joel let out a groan against your jaw, losing track of his own strength. He stopped holding your gaze and buried his face straight into the crook of your neck; his breath burned your skin and his beard scraped your collarbone as he let himself go, hitting the exact center of your pleasure with every single thrust, firmer and harder, while his hands slid down to grip your hips, squeezing your thighs to pin you against the mattress and take everything you had to give.
You couldn't help it; your eyes closed again, completely overwhelmed by the sensation rushing up your stomach. You arched your back against the bed, letting out a loud, broken moan that caught in your throat as you clung to him, feeling your walls squeeze tightly around his cock.
"... Joel, please," you begged in a whisper, not really knowing what you were asking for, just needing more of him, needing him not to stop.
"I got you, baby. Right here," he growled against your neck.
He didn't let you go. He pressed you a bit deeper into the pillows, pinning his chest to yours as he kept moving, gaining speed and force, driven by the need to make you completely his again.
And then, the feeling broke you completely for the second time; your hips trembled and your legs opened even wider as Joel crashed into you faster and faster. His rhythm turned broken, hips driving against yours with an unraveled speed that had you clinging to him for dear life. You were completely coming undone beneath him, your pussy gripping him so hard it finally pushed him over the edge.
He lost his rhythm completely, burying himself to the absolute hilt, and a deep low groan tore from his chest as he came inside you.
Hearing him like that made your heart race; you absolutely loved his groans, loved the way his usual control completely shattered whenever he was inside you. And he didn't pull away; he collapsed his weight over you, and you could hear his shaky uneven breathing right against your ear as the aftershocks kept running through both of you.
It was heaven.
After a few minutes, feeling a fierce need to touch him more, you slid your hands up to his head, burying your fingers deep in his messy hair. His cheek brushed against yours, and you pressed your lips right against it.
You kissed the skin there. "I missed you so much since Maui."
Drunk on you, he raised his head and looked down with a spellbound gaze. "Why didn't you tell me? I’d have come right away. You don't know how bad I wanted to see you."
Your hand caressed his temple. "I wanted to do things right. Wait until I broke it off with Dean..." You shook your head. "I guess it doesn't matter now."
He pressed his lips together. "You ain't a bad person."
"Oh, no?" You tilted your head a bit, raising your eyebrows. "My current boyfriend is away on a business trip and I just made love to my ex-husband, who I'm secretly pregnant by."
Joel rolled his eyes and kissed the corner of your mouth. He was still inside you, soft now, but he didn't seem uncomfortable or in any rush to move.
"I'm sorry for the guy. But this is us." He frowned just a bit. "Don't go callin' him your boyfriend."
The sad edge in his voice when he said that made you smile.
"And what should I call him, then?"
Joel shook his head, and carefully moved his hips back, sliding out of you.
He got up from the bed completely naked, and you watched him move across your bedroom, a space entirely foreign to him, until he found the bathroom door and disappeared inside for a few seconds.
"We can talk about that tomorrow," he said after a moment, stepping back out with a damp towel in his hand. "While I make you some breakfast, how's that sound?" He sat on the edge of the mattress beside you, his fingers brushing against your leg.
"Sounds good," you smiled, reaching out to stroke his bare thigh.
Joel gently wiped you down with the damp towel, cleaning you carefully, and a moment later, you got up to use the bathroom yourself.
In the mirror, your eyes looked different. You couldn't quite explain it; it wasn't a physical change, not exactly, but your entire expression just seemed brighter. You tried to ignore how big this felt. Too much for a night.
Once you finished washing up, you wrapped yourself in a robe and walked back out. Joel was sitting on the bed in just his boxers, checking something on his phone. The deep look of concentration on his face reminded you of your own phone, left behind somewhere in the living room.
You hurried out, flipping on the lights as you went. The night had completely swallowed the house, leaving only a dim glimmer of moonlight through the windows. The living room lamp was still burning, though, illuminating your phone right where you left it on the side table by the couch.
Four missed calls from Dean and three text messages stared back at you from the lock screen.
Your heart stopped for a second.
At six-thirty, he had written:
[Dean]: Baby is everything okay? I've been calling you
[Dean]: you home?
[Dean]: you asleep? how's your shoulder doing?
Now, it was already almost eight o'clock. Jesus.
If you already felt like a bad person, reading his worried messages only made it worse. You were going to pay for this somehow, you were sure of it.
[You]: Sorry, I was asleep
You had never lied so fast in your life.
[You]: Everything's fine, my shoulder doesn't hurt that much. Nora didn't let me work too hard today.
[You]: u getting ready to come back tomorrow?
"You want somethin' to eat? You hungry?" Joel's voice startled you.
You looked back; he was walking down the hall, still in just his boxers.
"Yeah, what do you feel like?"
He stepped up to you, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear while pressing his lips together.
"Right now, I'm cravin' a steak."
A laugh escaped your mouth. "Check the fridge."
Joel gave a sideways smile and followed the nod of your chin toward the kitchen. As he walked away, you watched him go with a foolish grin plastered across your face.
He opened the refrigerator, leaning down to scan the shelves.
You loved to cook. You were always making lunch and dinner for your friends, and you especially loved Sundays, which was when your mom would come up from San Antonio every other weekend. Nora almost always joined in too, and you would spend the entire morning getting everything ready. Vegetables, fruits, different meats; you kept a well-stocked fridge.
Joel whistled. "Baby, I'm gonna make ya dinner."
It was as if no time had passed at all. As if there had never been any pain between you. Nothing awkward to hold a grudge over, nothing painful to hide.
Joel made steaks with well-seasoned vegetables, showing off by preparing two different sauces. The man was starving, that much was clear, and his appetite only pushed him to cook dinner with a level of care you could taste in the very first bite.
While he cooked, you set the table and kept him company in the kitchen. You had a few bottles of wine you would have loved to open, and this was the perfect occasion, but given the new guest living inside you, you limited yourself to pouring a glass of soda. Joel drank the same out of solidarity.
During dinner, you realized just how much had happened for each of you since you stopped seeing each other. Joel told you about the progress he had made at work; how a major deal last year had allowed them to grow immensely and secure big, long term clients. He told you how much Tommy had improved on the job; he wasn't getting into trouble anymore and had even stopped going out to bars and all that, since he was trying to be a better man. You really missed him too. He told you about his place, an apartment not too far from yours that he'd been renting for a few months, though it was just temporary since he wanted to buy a place of his own. But not once did he pressure you with questions or demands about what you were going to do now.
Tomorrow at breakfast, he had said. And you both respected that, avoiding any complicated topics.
You wanted to get back together with him, and he wanted to get back together with you. That much was clear. But it wasn't as simple as pretending nothing had happened, getting remarried, and moving back in together right away. You had your own independent life and he had his, and you were going to have to find a way to work together to share them again.
But that was a conversation for tomorrow.
After dinner, Joel cleared the table and you washed the dishes. He stayed in the kitchen the whole time, venting his frustration and telling you about Di Palma, the architect he had been avoiding all week. Apparently, the man had zero work ethic. But Joel didn't waste time on long or boring explanations; he just wanted you to understand why he had decided to fake a meeting.
"And I don't normally do things like that," he said, defending his stance as a good boss. "You know how I am."
You believed every word, of course, because you knew him well enough to know that if there was one thing Joel hated, it was people who didn't respect other people's work.
After half an hour of talking, and with no more missed calls or text messages from Dean, sleep caught up with both of you and you decided to head to bed.
Joel wrapped his arms around you the moment you lay down beside him, and you settled your cheek against his bare chest the exact same way you always used to. His hand caressed your back, and the steady sound of his breathing calmed you down. Nothing could really be that bad if it meant having this.
Looking up, you noticed his eyes wide open and shining in the darkness.
"What are you thinking about?" you asked, sliding your hand up his chest.
He sighed. "I'm thinkin' I need to get fit."
"What?" you laughed.
"I'm gonna be a daddy. Need to be in good shape to play and do all kinds of stuff with the baby."
"Mm. I think you're fine. You've always been strong and tough, I'm sure you'll be able to do whatever you want with the baby. I don't think a little kid demands that much."
"And when they turn into a toddler?"
You smiled. "Maybe. Could be."
"Mm. That's what I thought."
In silence, you kept watching him for a few seconds. He frowned slightly.
"You're doin' alright, aren't you?" When he asked, his voice sounded firm, but the worry underneath it was hard to hide. "I mean, this baby… this baby ain't gonna put you at risk? They tell you anything at the hospital?"
"They told me everything was fine. But I have to go get an ultrasound next Monday. Are you coming with me?"
"Course I am. What time?"
"At ten."
"Good, I'll be here early."
Turning toward you, Joel kissed your forehead and wrapped you tight in his arms.
You kissed his chest. "Everything is going to turn out fine, you'll see."
In the dead of night, a harsh thud ripped you from sleep.
THUMP.
A dull, heavy impact echoed through the floorboards.
It took a second for your mind to claw its way out of the fog. The bedroom was drowned in thick shadows, the door left half-ajar, spilling a faint yellow sliver of hallway light across the floor.
Reaching out blindly for warmth beside you, your hand met only cold sheets. Joel was gone.
"Joel?" you rasped.
You sat up, straining your eyes against the dark as a cold prickle of dread crept up your arms. Then, the muffled rumblings in the hall sharpened, turning distinct, and vicious.
"Where the fuck is she?"
"Hey, take it easy—"
"Don't you fucking tell me to take it easy!"
In a single heartbeat, the blood drained straight to your toes. Your stomach dropped so fast it made you sick.
That voice.
No, no, no, no, no, no…
He wasn't supposed to be back until tomorrow evening. You were supposed to have time. You were supposed to…
Harsh panic hit you like a live wire. Reason vanished. Completely reckless of how incriminating you looked wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and underwear, you scrambled out of bed.
Your bare feet slapped against the ice cold floor as you hurried toward the doorway, chest tight, breath coming in ragged uneven gasps. Rounding the corner into the hall, you dug your heels in and froze.
"Dean."
The name slipped through your lips as a shattered whisper, carrying all the guilt you couldn't put into words.
Right there, under the dim overhead light, the nightmare was laid bare.
Dean stood near the front door, his keys still clutched in a white-knuckled fist and his bag dropped awkwardly onto the floor. His jacket was damp from the midnight rain, and his jaw was set so tight the muscle twitched. But what truly stole the air from your lungs was the figure blocking his path.
Joel.
Joel had his back to you, broad and towering, wearing nothing but his boxers. The faint shadow of old scars traced across his bare chest, and his dark hair was rumpled from hours of pressing against your pillow.
At the sound of your voice, the muscles along Joel’s spine went rigid. He didn't break eye contact with Dean, but he shifted back a fraction of an inch, subtly interposing his frame to shield you.
"What the hell is this?" Dean spat, his voice raspy and trembling with fury. "What the fuck is this guy doing here? Is this why you didn't answer a single damn call yesterday?"
Dean’s eyes darted from Joel’s bare chest down to your exposed legs, the wrinkled t-shirt, and the stark lack of any explanation. Every single detail was a piece of damning evidence, tearing down any lie or excuse before you could even frame the words.
"Dean, please, just let me explain..." You tried to step forward, hands rising slightly, but your knees shook so badly you felt on the verge of collapsing.
"What the fuck do you have to explain?" He took an aggressive step toward you. "I go away for a little while and that's all it takes for you to throw everything we have in the trash? If I hadn't walked in right now, what was gonna happen tomorrow? Were you just gonna pretend everything was fine?"
"No," you shook your head, firm despite the panic. "No, that's not how it is. I was gonna tell you—"
"Bullshit."
"I was gonna tell you before your trip but you left—"
"You've gotta be fucking kidding me—"
"Dean, please, just listen to me," you took a step forward, knowing full well you had no right to demand his attention, let alone expect him to give it. "I know you don't deserve this and I didn't plan for it to happen like this—"
His face was flushed red with fury. "You didn't? You've been cheating on me since before I left for Oslo, and now you wanna play me for a fool?"
"I know but—"
He surged toward you, jabbing a finger in your face. "You're a fuckin' b—"
"Step back," Joel cut in, shoving him back with a single hand. His voice was no longer the soft rumble that had been whispering in your ear all night. "You don't talk to her like that, and you ain't takin' another step into this house."
"She's my girlfriend, asshole!" Dean exploded, taking an aggressive step forward. "Who the fuck do you think you are? Get the fuck out of my way!"
Joel didn't even blink. He adjusted his stance, planting his feet firmly like an unmovable wall.
"I don't give a damn who you are," Joel replied, a terrifying calmness settling over him as the vein in his neck bulged. "You take one more step toward her with that attitude, and I promise you this conversation ends right here."
"Joel," you whimpered, your voice shaking and soaked in tears as you reached out, resting a trembling hand against his back to calm him down. Your eyes spilled over, your face burning hot.
At the sound of the name on your lips, Dean snapped his gaze to you, his glare so intense it felt like it could bore right through your skull.
"Joel?" he repeated. "This is Joel?"
Dean's face shifted drastically; the initial confusion mutated into a cold, sickening contempt as the pieces clicked into place.
In nearly a year together, you had never shown him a photo of Joel, never dug deeper than absolute necessity. You had guarded the ghost of your divorce with a painful secrecy, keeping the past hidden like an open wound. You'd told him about him, of course, about the relationship and the agonizing divorce, but for some reason, you had shielded his face, his identity.
And now, the myth was standing right in front of him, bare-chested in your hallway.
"Ah... you gotta be fucking shittin' me," Dean let out a bitter, humorless laugh. His eyes flicked between Joel and you, shredding you with a single look. "Joel? Joel Miller? The grand tragic love you cried about for so damn long?"
"Dean, please..."
"Shut your mouth!" Dean roared, taking a rabid step forward. He pointed a finger at Joel, his whole hand trembling with rage. "This is the goddamn prick who left you broken? You used me! You used me for months just to fill this asshole's shoes!"
"I told you to calm down," Joel's voice rumbled through the hallway, much lower than Dean’s shouting, but somehow carrying twice the weight. He stepped all the way forward, completely blocking you from view. "Ain't gonna tell you again. Grab your shit and get outta here. Now."
"You're telling me to leave?" Dean let out a scoff of sheer disbelief, closing the distance until he was mere inches from Joel's bare chest. "This is my girlfriend's place, you idiot. What the fuck are you even doing here? Came back to play the dutiful husband again? Or'd you just pop in to collect your pity lay?"
"Dean, shut up, please..." Panic was suffocating you, your face burning with tears as your knees threatened to buckle beneath you.
"No, I ain't shutting up," Dean spat, glaring up at him. "Why don't you tell her what you really are? You're a manipulative piece of trash! You know damn well she's sick over you, and you just take advantage of it to come fuck her whenever you feel like it!"
In a flash of instinct, Joel’s hand shot out and clamped around the collar of Dean's jacket, dragging him back half a meter in one violent jerk.
Dean's body slammed against the hallway wall, rattling a picture frame against the plaster.
"Joel, no!" you screamed, lunging blindly to grab his arm.
"Don't you ever speak about her like you know her," Joel hissed. "You ain't got a damn clue what you're talkin' about, or who the hell I am, or what's gone down between us. You walk out that door this exact second or I swear on whatever memory you hold dear in this life, I will drag you out myself."
Dean shoved against Joel’s bare chest, trying desperately to break free, but it was like trying to shift solid stone. The sheer disparity in strength was overwhelming.
"You're crazy," Dean spat at him, but his eyes locked onto yours over Joel's broad shoulder. "You're fucking out of your mind. Go back to him if you want, you're a piece of shit. Every damn bit of you is a fucking lie."
Joel tightened his grip, lifting Dean an inch or two off the floor. "I warned you."
"Joel, no. Please, let him go!" Your trembling hands clawed desperately at his bare arm, feeling the rock-hard tension in his muscle. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."
The words tumbled out of you in a frantic spill, smothered by sobs as tears completely blurred your sight. You felt miserable, small, utterly hollowed out by guilt.
Seeing you break down like that snapped whatever restraint Dean had left, turning his rage into desperation. Eyes bloodshot, he swung a blind fist straight toward Joel's face.
Joel didn't even blink. With clean instinct, he ducked the clumsy punch, caught Dean's wrist mid-air, and instead of throwing a hit back, used Dean's own momentum to drive him brute force into the adjacent wall. The impact rattled straight through the hallway.
"It's fuckin' enough," Joel warned, raising his voice for the first time, pinning Dean against the plaster with a heavy forearm locked across his chest; no intent to hurt him, just keeping him dead in his tracks. "Settle the hell down and think about what you're doin'."
"Let go of me, you fuckin' bastard! Let me go!"
Joel dug his forearm in deeper.
"Joel, please, just leave it... please," you begged, slipping up beside him, resting your hands against Joel's bare chest, feeling his heart pounding like a war drum.
Dean stopped fighting for a fraction of a second. Pinned against the wall, he locked eyes with you. The rage on his face had cracked, revealing a deep, hollow sadness; the bitter grief of someone who just had their heart smashed into a thousand pieces. His bottom lip quivered.
"Nearly a year..." he muttered. "I gave you everything for almost a year. You let me into your life, into your bed... and I was never even there, was I? It was always him. You're a piece of shit, you make me sick."
You stumbled back a step, stifling a pained groan as you covered your mouth.
Joel's face darkened instantly as he saw the words shatter you. He ground his teeth but forced himself to hold back, and eased the pressure of his arm and stepped back, letting Dean go.
"You said your piece," Joel said. "Grab your stuff and get out."
For a split second, it looked like Dean was going to give in. He straightened his jacket, breathing heavily, eyes fixed blindly on the floor. But it was too much. The wounded ego, the humiliation, and the sheer heartbreak clouded his judgment entirely.
Without warning, Dean let out a roar of fury and threw his entire weight straight into Joel.
"You son of a bitch!"
The charge caught Joel off guard just as he turned back toward you, and the impact threw him off balance, both men crashing hard to one side.
Driven by desperate strength, Dean tackled him into the wall, slamming Joel's back violently against the plaster. A framed picture tumbled off the hook, shattering into a thousand pieces with an unbearable crash against the floorboards.
Dean started pounding on Joel with unhinged violence; a solid right caught Joel flush on the cheekbone, followed by another hard blow to the jaw. Joel tried to throw his arms up to guard, but Dean’s weight in the cramped hallway broke his balance, sending him heavily down to his knees.
"No! Dean, no!" you screamed, out of your mind with terror.
Panic wiped out any trace of logic. You lunged toward them, reaching out to grab Dean by the shoulders, desperate to yank him off, to pull him away from Joel. But the second Dean felt your hands on him, jacked up on adrenaline, he spun around on instinct and swung a blind fist backward.
The full force of his knuckles caught you right in the face.
The pain was dull and blinding; it sent you flying backward, completely stealing your balance until you hit the floor hard on your side, and the heavy impact against the wood knocked the breath right out of your lungs.
And in that hallway, a deafening, sickening silence fell for one terrible second.
Joel saw it all from the floor. He saw your body collapse, saw the terror in your eyes, and saw the blood begin to spill.
Every ounce of restraint, every bit of composure he had been desperately holding onto just to protect you and keep things from spiraling, vanished in a single microsecond.
"She's pregnant, you fucking idiot!" Joel roared.
Before Dean could even process the words, Joel launched himself forward with every bit of his two hundred pounds of muscle and built-up fury. He seized Dean by the throat with a single hand, hauling him nearly off his feet, and slammed him flat against the floor with terrifying force. Dean let out a strangled gasp as the wind was knocked clean out of his lungs.
Joel gave him no room to breathe; he pinned him down and unleashed all the brutal strength he’d been holding back. He drove a vicious fist straight into Dean's face, then another, and another, and another. The sickening crunch of bone against flesh echoed through the space, and within seconds, Dean's face was a bloody mess, utterly crushed under Joel's relentless force.
He was gonna kill him. He was one hit away from beating him to death.
But then, Joel froze his fist mid-air. He was breathing through his mouth, his bare chest heaving violently, slick with sweat and splatters of blood. He stared down at the wrecked man beneath him, released his hold on his throat, and spat in a deadpan, deadly voice:
"You better watch real fuckin' close what you do next."
Joel sprang to his feet, abandoning Dean completely, and rushed straight over to you.
You were trying to push yourself up off the floor, your hands shaking against the wood. Your shoulder hurt like hell, your face felt like it was on fire, your nose was bleeding heavily, and your mouth tasted like copper from a split lip.
"Look at me, look at me..." Joel's voice shifted instantly, turning frantic and soft as his hands gently took you by the arms to help you up. His gaze darted frantically from your bloodied face to your stomach, then back to the door, keeping a sharp eye out in case Dean tried anything. "Let me see you, baby, let me look at you."
"I'm okay... I'm okay..." you managed to choke out between sobs, trying to wipe the blood with the sleeve of your shirt while Joel's face crumpled with raw guilt and agony, his thumb tracing your cheek with tenderness.
A few feet away, a agonizing groan sliced through the air.
Dean, bleeding heavily from his nose and mouth, one eye swelling shut at a terrifying speed, dragged himself up off the floor against the wall.
He was beaten to a pulp, battered and humiliated, but his bloodshot, tear filled eyes weren't locked on Joel. They were fixed on you. On Joel's hands wrapped around you. On the confession he heard minutes ago.
"Are you... are you pregnant?"
Unable to hold his gaze for more than a second, you simply nodded, letting your head drop as a fresh wave of tears burned down your cheeks.
"When?" he demanded to know.
You swallowed hard, feeling your throat close up.
"Maui," you confessed. "It was just one time. I was planning on tellin' you when you picked me up at the airport... but you were so happy about Oslo. I couldn't bring myself to do it."
Dean nodded. A broken laugh escaped his chest as tears cut clean tracks through the blood on his cheeks.
"I didn't tell anyone yet, just Nora," you continued, pleading in a choked whisper. "I only found out three days ago. And Joel found out last night. Before that, we hadn't seen each other, Dean... I mean it. I wanted to tell you."
"But you couldn't wait just one day for me to get home, could you?" he scoffed, shaking his head as he took in the scene: you half bare, Joel standing over you like a protective shield, his skin flushed, his cheek bruised from the fight, and his lip bleeding. The picture-perfect image of a family piecing itself back together over the ruins of his own heart.
"I'm sorry."
Dean shook his head once more, turning away with a defeated sigh.
"You know what? Save it."
He winced as he crouched down, letting out a groan of pain as he scooped his bag off the floor. He grabbed the handle and yanked the front door wide open, letting the cold air from the hallway rush in.
Right before stepping over the threshold, he froze.
He didn't turn around, but his voice sounded hauntingly hollow, worn down to nothing:
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hit you. Please forgive me for that."
He cast one last look at Joel, then let his eyes rest on you for a fleeting second before stepping out and slamming the door shut.
The silence that followed the slam of the door was deafening, so intense it hurt your ears.
Joel looked at you immediately, and the moment his eyes met yours, the air left your lungs completely and you broke down, crying so hard your whole chest heaved with gut-wrenching sobs. He didn't hesitate for a single second; he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush against his bare chest.
"It's okay... it's over now, it's okay," he murmured against your hair.
You wept uncontrollably, but why?
It wasn't the end of your time with Dean that was tearing you apart inside. You didn't feel the loss of that relationship; what suffocated you was that it had gone down in this... this way. So violent, so unfair, so grotesque and aggressive. Because Dean didn't deserve this; nobody deserved that kind of surprise. Every blow Joel and Dean had traded burned in your mind, the sound of flesh against bone echoing in the memory of your ears, and your own body ached from the hit you'd taken in the crossfire.
Joel loosened his hold just enough to frame your face in his large hands. His thumbs gently wiped away the thin trails of blood running down your skin.
"He hit you real hard. We gotta go to the hospital."
"No, Joel, I'm okay," you shook your head quickly, though the motion sent a spike of pain through your temple. "Seriously, it was just... it was just one hit."
"You took a hard fall. And you're pregnant. Best we make sure you're alright. I ain't takin' any chances."
"And what're we supposed to tell them there?"
"The truth. What else?"
Your eyes drifted across Joel's face: the split brow, the nasty scrape across his cheek, and his bleeding lip.
"You need a doctor way more than I do," you whispered, carefully reaching up to touch near his split lip.
"Well, then let's go for me, and we'll get you checked out while we're at it, if that works as an excuse for ya," he replied, raising his brows, though he winced right after; the movement agitated the eye that was already turning dark purple. "I ain't takin' no for an answer. You're still bleedin'."
The firmness in his voice was the exact anchor you needed to keep from completely falling apart. Without another word, you threw yourself against his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist with every ounce of strength you had left.
You felt Joel's hand glide up into your hair, tangling his fingers in your strands and stroking it softly, keeping you safe from the world amid the ruins of that night.
The harsh stench of antiseptic and the glaring fluorescent lights made everything feel far too cold. You had hated places like this for as long as you could remember. But after spending so much time wandering their halls, after collecting so many horrible painful memories in every hospital and clinic across Austin, being here now felt infinitely worse.
Yet Joel, sitting right beside you, made it bearable.
Over two hours had slipped by in the middle of a storm of paperwork, signatures, and suspicious stares. Arriving in the dead of night with battered faces and split skin meant the hospital’s safety protocols kicked in immediately. The nursing staff and the ER physician asked probing questions, pulling each of you aside to rule out domestic abuse or immediate danger. You both had to tread carefully, repeating time and again that it had just been a blowout at your place with your ex, that you didn't want any trouble, desperate to keep the paperwork from turning into a full police report that would only complicate things further.
They cleaned Joel's cuts, closed the split above his brow with a few neat stitches, and handed him a heavy-duty prescription for painkillers and anti-inflammatories; 800 mg ibuprofen and tramadol for the throbbing ache in his bruised ribs. His left eye was now angry purple, swollen and almost completely shut.
From the gurney where they kept you under observation, you couldn't take your eyes off him. And as you traced every bruise on his face, it was impossible to keep your mind from drifting to Dean.
No matter how guilty you felt, no matter how certain you were that what you had with Joel was forever, you couldn't just switch off your empathy overnight. You had shared nearly a year of your life with Dean. He had been good to you—attentive, patient... and knowing the state he was left in, after taking blows three times more brutal than Joel's, made your stomach churn.
You felt like utter trash for how everything had played out, but right now, that mountain of guilt had to be set aside.
There was something far more urgent to worry about.
Even though the general physical exam showed that the hit to your face and the fall hadn't caused any serious trauma, Joel remained completely unyielding. Driven by that protective stubbornness of his, he didn't rest until the ER doctor authorized an ultrasound just to be safe.
They had you lie back on the gurney and exposed your stomach. The cold gel hitting your skin made you shiver, but your entire focus locked onto the dark monitor beside you.
At one month along, the risks after a fall are small but still very real due to the raw impact and severe stress, even if the embryo is no larger than a tiny seed protected inside the gestational sac.
You knew all about loss; you knew every single risk that came with each gestational month. You had studied them relentlessly years ago, and neither the knowledge nor the terror ever truly left your mind.
The doctor glided the transducer over your abdomen and flipped on the monitor. You squeezed your eyes shut right then, completely unable to look. Joel squeezed your hand back tight.
"It's alright, baby."
The sonographer moved the device across your belly for a moment.
"There it is," he said after a few seconds, and your eyes snapped open instantly. He pointed toward the screen. "The gestational sac is fully intact and well implanted. No signs of detachment or hemorrhaging. Everything is right where it should be."
On the black and white screen, nestled among shadows and soft gray tones, a small dark cavity appeared, and inside it, a tiny white dot.
A ragged gasp escaped your chest as an entire mountain of weight lifted off your shoulders.
Turning your head, you looked up at Joel. He stood beside the gurney, his good eye fixed on the screen, his mouth parted slightly.
Despite the blackened eye, the neat row of stitches over his brow, and the faint smears of dried blood still staining his neck, his face transformed entirely. All the harshness, the fury, and thetension of the night melted away in an instant, replaced by a deep almost childlike wonder.
Joel took a step closer, unable to tear his eyes away from that tiny dot on the monitor. He raised a trembling hand, tracing the screen with his fingertips as if trying to touch the image itself.
"It's... it's so small," he murmured. For the first time all night, a single clean tear slipped down his cheek, cutting a path through the scrapes on his face. "Look at 'em... they're alright. Right there."
Seeing him like that, the crushing weight in your chest finally broke. A soft smile touched your lips, shattering the last remnants of the night’s horror, and you tightened your grip on his hand, weaving your fingers through his.
At your touch, Joel pulled his gaze from the screen and turned to you. His features, battered and worn thin by exhaustion, softened completely. He leaned over the gurney with tender care, closing the space between you, and found your lips.
He kissed you softly, a sweet, unhurried press of his mouth. Then came another kiss at the corner of your lips, and another against your cheek; a succession of tender pecks that pulled an airy, honest laugh from your chest despite how tired you were.
Joel smiled, and that grin lit up his entire face. His eyes shone with an overwhelming brightness; filled with hope, with a devotion that left no room for regret.
"Worst of it's over now," he whispered against your lips.
And looking at him right there, with his hand wrapped firmly in yours and the tiny yet monumental presence of the baby resting on the monitor, you knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was right.
The worst was finally behind you.
4 months later.
"Mmm. A little more to the left, looks a bit crooked from here."
Nora shifted the frame a few millimeters against the exposed brick wall and immediately glanced back over her shoulder at you. "Like this?"
"Yeah, yeah," you raised a thumb with a smile. "Perfect."
She grinned, pleased with her work, and tilted her chin up. "Always a pleasure, ma'am."
In the frame, a woman from the Old West was looking forward with her hand raised, dressed as an outlaw, while holding a water gun. Beside her, a speech bubble said, 'Do it, cowboy!'
You watched her step down nimbly from the wooden stool she’d been perched on.
"By the way," Nora said, dusting off her hands against her work apron, "Crane called early. Giuliano’s swingin' by at two this afternoon to pick up the bookshelf for the delivery."
You nodded. Giuliano had joined the workshop full-time two months back to help out with logistics and the heavier hauls; an addition that had lifted an enormous weight off both your shoulders.
"Awesome. It’s all wrapped up and ready in the back," you said, leaning back against the workbench. "So... you gonna spill the tea on how last night went, or are you gonna keep playin' mysterious?"
Nora let out a choked laugh, a bright flush instantly staining her cheeks.
The whole thing with Mr. Harrison had started in the most unexpected way: two weeks ago, he’d ordered a custom desk purely as an excuse to get close to her, confessing the truth the second it was delivered. Sure, he’d actually needed the furniture at first, but he’d fallen for Nora, too.
Ha, told ya!
Even though Nora had been "caught off guard" at first and hesitated to say yes, she had finally caved and agreed to a first date.
"It was... incredible," Nora confessed, sinking into one of the shop chairs with a dramatic sigh and a bright sparkle in her eyes. "Honest to God. He took me to that Italian place by the lake I've been dyin' to try, but the food wasn't even the best part. He's charming, attentive, funny as hell... We talked for four straight hours without stoppin'. Swear I haven't felt this good about someone in years. It ain't weird, is it?"
You laughed out loud, loving how giddy she looked. "Why on earth would it be weird? It's awesome."
"Ehh, I don't know, you know... he's older, and I just—"
"Doesn't matter one bit," you waved a hand dismissively. "Besides, works out great for us if things go well between you two. That way he'll keep buyin' furniture from us."
Nora cracked up. "Look at you, such an opportunist! You're right, though."
Before you could say anything else, the shop door chime chimed, announcing a visitor.
Spring had rolled into Austin a month ago, painting the city green, flooding the streets with warm breezes and golden sunlight. Everything looked infinitely prettier this season... and your boyfriend was no exception.
Joel pushed the door open and stepped inside the workshop, looking ridiculously handsome.
He wore a soft white button-down tailored neatly at the shoulders with the top few buttons undone, paired with black trousers and black shoes. His hair had grown out a bit more over these past few months, just enough for a few unruly strands to tuck loosely behind his ears.
"Afternoon, ladies," Joel greeted, stepping up to Nora first and planting a warm kiss on her cheek. "Nora."
"Joel. Look at you, right on time," she teased with a grin.
"Am I? How's Mr. Harrison treatin' you?"
Nora let out a theatrical sigh. "I'm tellin' you all about it later!"
Laughing, Joel walked straight to you.
Without a second thought, he slid a hand gently around your waist, leaned down, and pressed a kiss to your lips that stole your breath for a beat.
"Look at you, darlin'," he murmured, pulling back just an inch or two. His palm slid down right away to rest against your stomach, seeking the warmth of your skin.
At five months along, your bump was still small but undeniably visible, highlighted by your outfit: a skirt sweeping down from your hips to your ankles with a slight slit on the side, and a white crop top that left just a small glimpse of your belly bare and uncovered.
Joel traced the curve of your bump with his thumb, his face softening with that tender warmth that was all yours now.
"You ready?" he asked.
"More than ready," you smiled, giving his hand one last squeeze.
You turned back to your partner, who was watching the two of you with a sweet expression.
"I'm outta here, Nor. See you tomorrow."
"Go on, have fun," Nora waved you off. "I'll lock up."
You laced your fingers through Joel's, letting him lead you toward the exit you knew by heart.
It had become a ritual. Every Friday for months, Joel would pick you up at the shop just before closing for date night. There was no need for elaborate planning; the routine you had built was perfect, centered around a few favorite local spots.
Some nights, you managed to snag a table in a quiet corner of Genoveva's for a delicious meal. Other times, you would stroll leisurely down South Congress, enjoying the glow of the streetlights, sharing ice cream, browsing through antique shops, and grabbing a bite from the food trucks along the avenue. On simpler evenings, you would just pick up takeout tacos and sit near the lake, watching the evening fade over the Austin water.
It was the perfect way to close out the week and ease into the weekend, which almost always found you both at home, cooking together and setting the table to host Sunday dinners, as though no time had passed at all.
That you and Joel had gotten back together didn't surprise anyone because it was outrageous, but rather because of how sudden it had all been. The change in him was immediate, and the person most thrilled by the news was, without a doubt, Tommy.
To him, his brother had spent years living as a shadow of himself, and he never missed an opportunity to remind you, or anyone else willing to listen.
"I told him, didn't I?" Tommy said one afternoon, popping the cap off an ice-cold beer as you hung out in his sunny backyard. "I kept tellin' him to quit messin' around and go get you back once and for all."
Tommy was a completely different man from the boy you had first met. You had watched him grow over fifteen, almost sixteen years; from a rebellious teenager into the man he was today.
You were family, plain and simple. Tommy had always been there to witness every major chapter of your life, and this new stage was no exception: he was right by your side when you finally reached the three-month pregnancy mark.
The pregnancy was proving to be a strangely beautiful experience. You barely had any symptoms; nausea was minimal, and against all odds, your body felt stronger, healthier, and more full of life than ever.
Even so, with all the good news on your side, you and Joel had decided to keep the secret and wait patiently to hit the first-trimester mark before sharing the news with family.
During the last ultrasound, the obstetrician confirmed that the baby was perfectly healthy and growing strong. When she asked if you wanted to know the gender, you decided to wait until the birth.
Time to tell everyone; when you finally told them, it felt as though the world around you settled right into place.
Tommy was overjoyed. But your mom's reaction was no less intense: the very day after learning you were back with Joel, she had caught a bus from San Antonio to Austin just to wrap her arms around you. And the moment she found out a grandkid was on the way, she didn't hesitate for a second and began packing up her life to move to the city for good.
"I ain't gonna make the mistake of bein' far away, not like last time. I'd never forgive myself," she told you, her voice breaking as she squeezed your hands tight.
You knew all too well the weight she carried in her chest for not having been there the night everything crumbled. But you had never blamed her. How could she have known? Nobody knew.
Life, however, seemed ready to offer everyone a fresh start, and this new beginning with Joel felt warmer, brighter, and more hopeful than anything you could have imagined.
A healthy baby on the way, a peaceful pregnancy, and the man you had loved since you were nothing more than a girl, back by your side.
The car glided smoothly through the streets as Billy Joel played softly over the speakers. You had the window rolled down, letting the warm spring air rush in, carrying the delicious scent from this time of year: a sweet blend of damp earth, oak trees, and the first blossoms of the season opening under the sun.
Joel kept one hand on the wheel while the other rested comfortably near the gear shift. You had asked him at least three times where you were going, but all you got in return was a sly smirk and the exact same evasive answer.
According to him, it was a surprise, and he had no intention of spilling the beans no matter how much you begged. He knew your curiosity was bottomless, and he seemed to enjoy every second of your mild frustration.
As you drove further, the city landscape began to blur away. The massive downtown structures, heavy traffic, and towering buildings faded into the distance, giving way to broader streets lined with one-story homes, lush lawns, and a far more tranquil suburban stretch.
"Where are you takin' me?" you asked again, letting out a soft laugh and leaning slightly toward his side to try and read his face.
Joel clicked his tongue without taking his eyes off the road, though the corner of his lips tugged upward.
"You'll find out soon enough, don't be impatient," he murmured, reaching out with his free hand just to give your knee an affectionate squeeze before settling back into place.
You turned back to look out the window, crossing your arms as you scrutinized every passing corner. You tried to get your bearings, guessing the name of some hidden restaurant, a park, or any familiar spot. The route felt vaguely recognizable; you knew you’d been around this area years ago. Yet no matter how much you mapped it out in your head, you couldn't quite connect the dots on what Joel might have planned this time.
The car kept rolling for a few more minutes, heading down a street shaded by a massive canopy of trees, until Joel flipped on the blinker and came to a smooth stop by the curb.
The moment the engine cut off, you looked up.
Standing before you was a warm fronted café and resto-bar, complete with string lights glowing on the porch and a handful of small tables scattered outside. The original structure was still there, but the place looked completely different from how you remembered it. Even so, muscle memory kicked in, and you recognized the corner in a heartbeat.
You froze for a second. Then you turned to look at him, your heart doing a sudden flip in your chest as an inevitable smile spread across your face.
Fifteen years ago.
The memory rushed back instantly. You remembered a younger version of yourself, lying in bed, exhausted and crushed under a cloud of bad mood after a miserable week at a dead-end job that drained your life away and kept you from focusing on your studies. One of your best friends back then, and still today (your precious Kat) had practically forced you to get dressed and leave the house to clear your head.
She had brought you right to this very place: a simple, noisy, cozy neighborhood bar that was always packed with college students.
You remembered sitting at a low table, drinking cheap beer and eating bacon fries, trying to drown out your frustration while your friends talked. But the beer wasn't enough; you needed something stronger to turn off the noise in your head.
You got up, walked to the wooden bar, ordered a stiff drink, and stood there waiting; staring into space with a furrowed brow, wondering what the hell you were supposed to do with your life. You weren't feeling particularly optimistic.
That was when he showed up.
You saw him first: a young stranger with a gentle face, a slightly lanky posture, and the most intense, expressive eyes you had ever seen. He walked right up beside you and, without pretense or hesitation, looked you dead in the eye.
"You alright?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," you replied, dropping your head with an awkward slightly embarrassed smile for being so transparent in your misery.
But Joel, even as little more than a boy, had that innate ability to read you like an open book, even without knowing you. He hadn't bought your answer for a single second.
"Tell me what happened," he said.
And just like that, without you even realizing it, the entire night slipped through your fingers. What began as a cautious conversation with a total stranger turned into hours of laughter, whispers, and knowing glances across the bar.
By the time the sun started peeking over the horizon, that stranger had already claimed a piece of your life.
Today, the noisy weathered bar of your youth was gone; in its place stood this warm, renovated restaurant. But the corner was the exact same.
Joel got out of the car, rounded the hood, and opened the door, extending a hand to you. He helped you out gently and, without letting go, guided you toward the entrance.
As he pushed open the heavy wooden door, the faint chime above the entrance announced your arrival, but the Friday evening bustle you expected was nowhere to be found. The space was completely empty, just for the two of you.
A peaceful quiet enveloped the space, where the only sound was soft music drifting from small speakers hidden somewhere out of sight. There were no patrons at the bar, no murmur of background chatter; it was just the two of you, along with two impeccably dressed servers standing in a welcoming posture beside a small table prepared in the middle of the room.
The lighting throughout the space was gorgeous: dozens of tiny warm lights, strung together like delicate garland alongside exposed filament bulbs, hung from dark wooden beams, bathing everything in a golden glow. The tables shimmered beneath that radiance, and at the exact center of the room, the table set for you was covered in a linen cloth, two crystal glasses catching the light, a simple floral arrangement, and a single candle whose flame flickered softly.
You turned completely toward him, a smile spreading across your face as a deep warmth filled your chest.
"Joel, what is all this?"
Without waiting for an answer, you raised your hands to cup his face, feeling the rough texture of his beard against your palms, and leaned in to kiss him. Joel didn't hesitate for a second: his arms wrapped firmly around your waist, pulling you in gently as he deepened the kiss.
"This is where we met," you murmured against his lips, pulling back just a fraction of an inch, feeling his warm breath mingling with yours.
"Bar's gone," he said, gesturing with a slight nod toward a corner of the room where a row of tall windows now stood, "but it was right there. You remember?"
"Of course I remember. How could I ever forget?"
You looked around once more, taking in every single detail. Meeting the eyes of the servers, you offered them a grateful smile; they returned the gesture with polite nods and, sensing the intimacy of the moment, quietly slipped into an adjoining room.
Then Joel took both of your hands in his, lacing his fingers through yours, and guided you toward the center of the room, right beside the candlelit table.
He stopped in front of you, looking down at your joined hands for a moment before lifting his eyes back to yours. A faintly shy smile curved his lips as he shook his head.
"I was gonna wait till we finished dinner," he confessed, letting out a small, nervous chuckle. "But I can't. I truly can't wait no longer."
You said nothing; you simply met his gaze, letting the smile spreading across your lips speak for you.
Joel’s expression shifted. His face turned serious for a fleeting moment, weighted with a almost childish nervousness that sparked a swell of tenderness in your chest. It instantly brought back the Joel from your first dates; the jovial yet clumsy man who adjusted his shirt every few seconds and weighed every single word because he was terrified of messing up. Of course you noticed.
"These past few months with you... baby, you got no idea how happy I've been," he broke the silence. "Just as happy as I was before, maybe even more so. I know I say it all the time, but you truly ain't got a clue how much I love you."
Your smile widened as you raised a hand, tracing your fingertips along the warm skin of his cheek.
"I love you so much too, Joel. More than you know."
He caught your hand in his, tilting his head to press a soft, lingering kiss right in the middle of your palm.
"You're the love of my life. And being without you all that time... it was a nightmare, you know that?"
Of course you knew.
Joel’s words brought a wave of unearthed memories crashing over you; you remembered the endless nights when your subconscious betrayed you, bringing dreams of the warmth of his embrace, the sound of his laughter, or the familiar weight of his arm over your waist, only to wake in the dead of night to the icy emptiness of a lonely bed. You remembered that bitter ache, the heavy tightness in your chest upon realizing you were no longer together, that the "us" had broken.
Above all, you remembered the painstaking discipline it had taken not to pick up the phone and dial his number at three in the morning.
"I ain't ever gonna be able to erase what happened," he continued, lowering his voice. "Gonna carry the fact that I let you go once like a fool. But I think I'm the luckiest man alive, 'cause despite my mistakes, life went ahead and brought you right back to me."
He took another step closer, closing the tiny distance remaining between you.
"And I know it was messy, troublesome, and downright questionable dependin' on who you ask... but I'd do it a thousand times over if I had to. Do things a hundred times worse, just to keep you right here with me," Joel raised his brows. "And I know that makes me sound a little bit crazy."
You let out a soft laugh, keeping your eyes locked on his.
"It's the honest truth, though," he added.
Still smiling, you slid your hands up the fabric of his shirt, moving up his firm chest until your fingers laced together behind his neck.
You tilted your head. "Yeah... truth is, you do sound a little crazy sometimes."
Joel offered a lopsided smile his that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "I know, what're you gonna do about it?"
You shrugged lightly. "I don't know, Miller... what are you gonna do about it?"
Bringing his face close enough to steal the air between you, Joel rested his forehead against yours.
"I'm gonna get my Mrs. Miller back."
With his eyes locked on yours, Joel began to step back. His hands glided down your arms until he let go, and with a measured movement, he bent one leg and rested a knee upon the floor.
A lighthearted laugh escaped your lips. You immediately brought your fingers to your mouth to muffle it, feeling a warm moisture pooling in your eyes that threatened to overflow at any second.
Joel spoke your name. From his pocket, he pulled out a small pink velvet box, opening it on the palm of his hand as he held it out to you. In the center, set against the pale cushion, a breathtaking ring caught every ray of light in the room: a gorgeous, big, elegant oval-cut center diamond, flanked by a delicate band paved from end to end with tiny sparkling crystals that shimmered at the slightest tilt.
Joel looked up at you. A faint twitch flitted across his brow, betraying the nerves that the solid strength of his words tried to hide.
"Baby, you've been makin' me the happiest man alive since the very first night we met, right here, fifteen years ago. I couldn't ask for a single thing more from life than what it's already given me. But you... you..." He swallowed hard, seeking your gaze behind the veil of tears clouding your eyes. "Will you marry me?" He paused briefly, a flash of mischief peeking through the vulnerability on his face. "... Again?"
You began nodding frantically, a breathless laugh wiping away any other expression as tears finally spilled down your cheeks.
"Yes. Yes, Joel, of course I'll marry you... again!"
Before he could react or even push himself up, you threw yourself into his arms, wrapping your hands tightly around his neck.
Joel reacted with his usual reflexes: he caught you mid air, gripping your hips and back firmly to cushion the impact and make sure you didn't get hurt in the slightest.
With a shaky sigh of relief that rumbled in his chest, he pressed you close against his body and, using the strength of his legs, stood up while holding you in his arms.
The moment his feet planted on the floor, you gave him no quarter. You kissed him; desperate, hungry kisses overflowing with a happiness so pure it set your skin ablaze. Your right hand buried itself in the back of his neck, tangling your fingers in the soft texture of his hair, while the other stroked his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw and moving down toward the warmth of his neck.
When you finally pulled apart, breathless and with your foreheads still pressed together, you offered your left hand to him, your fingers trembling slightly.
Taking your hand, he began sliding the sparkling oval diamond down your finger. But right before settling it completely in place, he paused;
"Got somethin' that belongs to you."
With his free hand, he reached into his pants pocket and pulled out another small box. He opened it carefully and held it out for you to see.
Your smile softened into a look of absolute awe.
"My rings..."
There, resting against the velvet, was that first delicate ring with the tiny diamond in the center. Your absolute favorite. The very first ring he’d ever given you; the one he’d used to propose in the middle of the living room of his cramped apartment on a rainy night thirteen years ago, back when neither of you had anything to offer but promises. And right behind it lay the second one: larger, more striking, the piece he’d gifted you three years later, born from years of hard work and sacrifice.
"You had them this whole time?"
Joel let out a shaky breath. "They're yours. Always been yours."
Your lips trembled into an inevitable pout. You threw yourself into his arms once more, smothering a sob against his mouth, kissing him, and framed his face with both hands, pressing desperate kisses to his lips, his cheeks, the corners of his mouth, his chin. You kissed him again and again, feeling as though no amount of kisses would ever be enough.
Smiling through the blur of your tears, you pulled back just enough to look at him. Joel took your hand again and, with a playful glint in his eyes, began sliding the other two rings onto your finger, fitting them right alongside the gleaming new diamond.
You burst into a laugh at the sight of the stack of jewelry piled up against your knuckle.
"I don't think this looks very good."
Joel huffed, shrugging with a smirk. "Well, you get to choose. They say third time's the charm, don't they?"
You let out a laugh and leaned in to kiss him again, but right as your lips brushed his—
"Oh."
Your head snapped down. Your left hand flew instinctively to your stomach, pressing gently against the fabric of your clothes. You felt a small flutter right there.
"What? What is it?" Joel’s face shifted instantly, alertness flaring in his eyes.
You looked up at him, and the smile that broke across your face was so radiant it lit up Joel’s entire expression.
"The baby just kicked... They just kicked, Joel! Look."
You took his broad warm hand and pressed it firmly against your belly.
Silence fell over the two of you. Joel didn't even breathe; his eyes were glued to the exact spot where his palm touched your skin, his jaw set with anticipation.
And then... Bump!
A small but firm little nudge hit from within, pressing right against Joel’s hand.
"There it is. Did you feel that?" you asked, smothering a giggle.
Joel let out a soft laugh, his eyes suddenly bright with unshed tears.
"Yeah... yeah, I felt it. Good Lord... what're the odds?"
"I don't know," you covered his hand with yours.
Joel kept his palm pinned to your stomach, unmoving, waiting patiently for another little kick, another quiet sign that the baby was not only awake, but completely on board with this latest family decision.
"Think they're tellin' us we gotta go buy a house as soon as possible," he said, breaking the spell with a lopsided smile.
You chuckled softly. "With a big yard."
"And a pool."
"And big windows."
Joel huffed. "Course with big windows."
You fell quiet, watching his face illuminated by the lights of the room, tracing every line on his face, taking in every detail of the man standing right in front of you. Yes. Seeing his hand resting over your belly and feeling the weight of all three rings on your finger, you knew there was no doubt left in your mind.
You would do it all over again, too.
The end!
I might add an epilogue if you guys want, may be nice to know how Joel and reader are doing after a while. Hope you enjoyed this <3
First of all, HELLO. I’m here to share two things with you.
First, part three of Taste Back will be sliiiightly delayed (it was supposed to be posted today). As some of my twitter followers might know, my dad's house caught fire a few weeks ago. Because of that, I’m currently away from home helping him handle some things here. Don't worry, everything is fine! I’m just away from my laptop and can't finish editing and prepping the chapter exactly how I want. I'll most likely post it sometime this Saturday or Sunday.
Second, I wanted to let you know that The Venezuela Relief Giveaway hosted by The Pascal Pulse for Venezuela is now live! Lots of creators from our community (myself included) are participating with different prizes, so go check out the list.
As a reminder, you can win a custom one-shot written by me, and it can literally be about anything! For example, if you like AHB or TBA, you could get a custom story about Snow and Joel, Shortcake and Frankie, OR any other universe, character, or ship you want. I'm open to anything. You can read all the details in the link below.
That's all for now. Hope you have a lovely night! x love you
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