Random AF

I’m Roe, a 30 yo with too much free time and a passion for fictional men

[wordsbeachandtequila]

Hey I’m Roe ! New here but I’ve been reading fics on AO3 for a while, and it’s time I give Tumblr a try. I mostly read Pedro Pascal’s characters but I sometimes venture into other fandoms too 🤓

If you stumbled here, feel free to send fic recs, even your own ! I’m greedy like that

Eager to read and discover new writers !

Roe out 🎙️

[berryispunk]

-`♡´- tags: soft!Frankie, safe love, a lot of feelings, fluffiest fluff summary: While a storm rages outside Frankie recognizes the saftest place is in your arms. word count: ~ 460 a/n: Happy Frankie Friday from the sidelines! I hope this little fluff warms your heart just as much as it did mine writing it. Btw, I am working on something bigger behind the scenes involving our favorite pilot. Hopefully I can tell you more about it soon. 😉

The storm was raging outside, throwing itself against the windows hard enough to make the glass shudder in its frame. There had been a time, not even that long ago, when sounds like that made Frankie tense instinctively. Sweat gathered at the small of his back while ugly memories flickered behind his eyelids like lightning. A life carved open by violence had a way of following a man home, even years later. It never mattered much that the things he had done were in the name of a country. That kind of reasoning didn’t quiet the ghosts. Didn’t help him sleep either.

The only thing that ever truly silenced the noise in his head was you. 

Your body tucked against his, his arms wrapped around you tight enough to feel real. Face buried into your hair while he inhaled the familiar scent of vanilla and something warmer underneath it. Something impossible to bottle up into words because it was simply you. Home in a way Frankie had never allowed himself to believe existed for men like him.

In all the years Frankie Morales had spent dragging himself across this godforsaken earth, he had become terrifyingly good at running. Never staying anywhere long enough for roots to catch around his ankles. Movement was easier. Easier than explaining himself. Easier than letting anyone look too closely at the wreckage. “No strings attached” had become less of a preference and more of a survival tactic he wore like armor. Or at least that was what he told himself.

Then somewhere along the way, there was you.

You made him pause long enough to wonder if the life he’d been living was actually freedom or just another kind of prison. Frankie had been buried so deep inside himself for so long that some days he couldn’t even see the sky anymore. Days blurred together. Time passed without him noticing. Survival became muscle memory.

But you came into his life like sunlight through storm clouds, soft and stubborn and impossible to ignore. And for the first time in years, he realized he would move mountains just to keep that warmth close to him.

Now peace looked like this: the two of you tangled together in bed while rain battered the world outside. You complaining sleepily about him taking up too much space while simultaneously stealing the blanket for yourself. Frankie smiling quietly against the curve of your shoulder blades anyway, because somehow this became his favorite thing in the world.

To be loved gently.

To be held without expectation.

To learn, little by little, that not every touch had to hurt.

Wrapped up in your softness, Frankie was finally beginning to understand that staying still wasn’t weakness after all. Sometimes it was the bravest thing a person could do.

thanks for reading 💌

main masterlist • ko-fi

tags: (if you don't wanna be tagged anymore, let me know!): @misstokyo7love @sheepdogchick3 @god-is-an-astronaut @sawymredfox @chasingthepoguelife @librosylove @keylimebeag @diabaroxa @beefrobeefcal @greenwitchfromthewoods @katw474 @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @whirlwindrider29 @yellowbrickyeti @capuccinodoll @missadangel @cozymochaa @sidelit @simpingforjoel @kirsteng42 @carmillahepburn @peterhollandkait @picketniffler @hotforpedro @thepilatesprincess @perfectpoetrybluebird @theanothersherlockian @inept-the-magnificent @confusedpuffin @rav3n-pascal22 @perpetualharpyresonance @perodjarin @daltoncharm @baronessvonglitter @beezusvreeland @lillaydee @underneath-the-sky-again @whiskeyneat-coffeeblack @angiewatson @wordsbeachandtequila @vickie5446 @titabel @ashleyfilm @finco99 @mariamorales1998 @severedbloodlines

[berryispunk]

the biggest lie.

Just friends.

That's what I tell people when they ask why Frankie Morales knows my drink order better than I do. Or why the quiet man with the soulful eyes finally loosens up in my presence.

Just friends.

That's what I tell myself when he calls me on his drive home because he saw a sunset and thought I'd like it. When he leaves little voice messages that say absolutely nothing important but still do.

When he texts me that he made it home. As if I was waiting to know. As if he knows I was.

Just friends.

When he remembers things nobody else does. The anniversary that makes me quiet. The song I always skip. The way thunderstorms make me nervous. The fact that I need the TV on to sleep when my head gets too loud. That I am the only person who knows about the ghosts he carries like luggage.

Just friends.

When I find myself looking for his truck before I even get out of my car at any gathering. When a room feels wrong until he's in it. When something good happens and his name appears in my mind before anyone else's. When no one apart from me knows the shape of his loneliness.

Just friends.

When he says my name in that soft, careful way he does that makes my stomach flip. Like he's holding something fragile. Something far more than words. And when I say his, his eyes crinkle in a laugh bright enough to feel like sunlight.

Just friends.

Until one night we're sharing a bed because life has a funny sense of humor and we're adults who can handle it, right ?

Just friends.

With a pillow between us that feels like a whole ocean. I fall asleep facing the wall and he falls asleep facing the other direction. Until somewhere in the middle of the night, while the world is quiet enough to tell the truth, our bodies betray us.

Just two tired people reaching for comfort.

And when we both wake with only the sun as our witness, neither of us moves. His arm is still around my waist. My hand is still curled against his chest. Neither of us says a word.

Because suddenly just friends feels like the biggest lie we've ever told. And yet neither of us is brave enough to call it anything else.

This is a little different than what I usually write, but my bestie @rhapsodyofdarkness gently nudged(read: bullied) me into publishing this, so there you go.

Edit, made it into a video here

thanks for reading 💌

main masterlist • ko-fi

tags: (if you don't wanna be tagged anymore, let me know!): @misstokyo7love @sheepdogchick3 @god-is-an-astronaut @sawymredfox @chasingthepoguelife @librosylove @keylimebeag @diabaroxa @beefrobeefcal @greenwitchfromthewoods @katw474 @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @whirlwindrider29 @yellowbrickyeti @capuccinodoll @missadangel @cozymochaa @sidelit @simpingforjoel @kirsteng42 @carmillahepburn @peterhollandkait @picketniffler @hotforpedro @thepilatesprincess @perfectpoetrybluebird @theanothersherlockian @inept-the-magnificent @confusedpuffin @rav3n-pascal22 @perpetualharpyresonance @perodjarin @daltoncharm @baronessvonglitter @beezusvreeland @lillaydee @underneath-the-sky-again @whiskeyneat-coffeeblack @angiewatson @wordsbeachandtequila @vickie5446 @titabel @ashleyfilm @finco99 @mariamorales1998 @severedbloodlines

[kedsandtubesocks]

Moonage Daydream

X-Wing Pilot!Reader x Din Djarin

summary: you’ve seen a lot during your rebellion days & now with the New Republic… but working with a mandalorian may just send you into the wildest tailspin yet

word count: 11.9k (i’m sorry)

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI. MAJOR MOVIE SPOILERS ⚠️ takes place before & during the events of the film, reader has a backstory & family but no physical description, light use of gendered language, slight annoyance to friends to lovers, pining & yearning, budding romance, threats & moments of violence/threat of kidnapping, flying as a love language, reader has instances of drinking and smoking, competency kink, light voice kink, slightly jealous!reader, spicy times in the cockpit (helmet stays on), dry humping, unprotected p in v, one moment of spit, creampie, protective and soft!Din

a/n: so… hi lmao I call this my ‘let’s daydream about being in the new movie’ fic or aka my attempt at plugging us into the storyline bcs it’s what we deserve lol big thanks to my dear @babynueva for always supporting my din delulu ily bb! Also this is my first official fic of the year & knowing it’s for Din means so much - so thank you for being here ♡ [divider credit & thanks to the ever amazing @saradika-graphics]

When a mandalorian first strides into base camp on Adelphi, you think you’re seeing things.

The sun bounces off his armor drawing all eyes. It’s like his ancient armor proudly beams of its power and striking force. The mysterious Mandalorian walks with intent, a steady gait that dares anyone to cross him. You can’t help but stare at the mysterious warrior.

“Is he… imperial?” Someone whispers in the mess hall and makeshift cantina.

“Nope, he’s working with us now.” Teva answers simply.

You didn’t believe it. But apparently it’s true.

“He’s set to be an independent operative, but know he is working for and with us.” The colonel’s words then officially etch the truth in stone.

Mando comes around basecamp like a ghost. Barely staying put for you to register his presence, yet the whispers about him grow.

“I heard he took out a whole imperial squadron and a Moff too.” Dyana, your closest friend, tells you enthusiastic to catch up on all the rumors.

Then Ward calls for you, and you miss out on any other gossip Dyana and the others had.

“I’ll be heading to Coruscant this week to meet with a few higher ups and senators… I need you to do all the debriefs with Mando while I’m away.

It’s like a rancor suddenly barreled into you.

“Wait, me?” You stupidly question confused, and Ward shoots you a look, raised eyebrows and all.

“Do you think you’re not capable of handling this, ranger?”

“No, colonel.” You quickly reply, and she nods.

“Good, that’s what I thought.”

When you see her off, it must be obvious how hesitant you still are. Her sturdy hand gives your shoulder a reassuring pat.

“Don’t worry. He’s not as scary as everyone thinks he is.” Ward reassures, but it doesn’t soothe you much.

Especially when the day arrives and you find yourself waiting for him.

Just like before, the mandalorian saunters in and your focus is immediately drawn to him. But then, it gets knocked out of orbit when you find he’s not alone.

A tiny green creature waddles in beside him, childishly blinking at every sight. Why is a child with the mandalorian?

“Where’s Ward?” A rich striking voice startles you. Of course the terrifying warrior would sound this intimidating.

“Went to Coruscant for a meeting.” You reply partly stunned you’re actually talking to him.

“And you are?” But then mandalorian questions, sharp and distrustful, and it pisses you off. He’s the newcomer here, and he decides to question you?

“I’m the person you’re stuck with for your debrief and mission logs unfortunately.” Your voice whips out sharp.

He doesn’t say anything.

“What about Teva?” He counters again, and you want to scream. What’s this guy’s problem?

“Out on a mission,” your reply is sharper, bladed with annoyance.

“If you want you can personally contact Ward and explain why I’m not satisfactory enough for your debrief. I’m sure she’d love that.” Then the defiant reply escapes you faster than you can stop it.

It’s as if the whole cantina mess hall heard you because it becomes deathly silent.

The mandalorian simply stares you down with his unflinching helmet. Then the warrior turns and strides out not saying another word.

“I think you pissed him off.” Wolf snickers breaking the stillness.

A sense of dread looms as you realize you might’ve truly just gotten yourself into a mountain load of trouble.

Ward calls that night, and you knew it was coming.

“Why do you want to start a fight with the mandalorian?” She asks calmly over the comms.

“I’m not! He started it!” You can’t help but childishly counter. You even further explain how demanding and untrusting he was.

The colonel sighs.

“You have to understand… His people don’t trust easily. And for good reason. Try to be the one to play nice here.”

You want to be petty and say he needs to as well, but you can’t argue with Ward.

“Do the whole debrief drunk.” Zeb jokes about it with you the next day, and you scoff.

But by the time sunset arrives you start getting tempted to get a drink because maybe Mando isn’t showing up.

Until he does. And again he’s not alone. The strange but sweet little creature continues waddling alongside Mando.

It’s awkward as hell when he approaches your table. The tension lingers thick from yesterday prickling across your skin in the worst way.

You don’t even know if you should say anything

“Mweh?” A surprisingly soft little noise floats through the tension and you turn towards it. You blink down to find the mysterious little being staring up at you with sweet wide eyes.

With curious claws, the baby reaches for the loth cat charm dangling off your belt, the one of many trinkets your niece has given you.

Melted by the sight, you grin and scoot closer. Then you unclasp the charm for the baby to examine it more.

“You like it? It’s cute right?”

The little one agrees with a chirp sounding so endearing.

Something softly clicks. If a creature so tiny and innocent as this baby confidently travels with the mandalorian, then he couldn't be that much of an ass.

Someone sighs. Then settling back into your seat, you find the mandalorian seated across from you. The baby hops up to sit beside him. Yet his eager eyes remain happily taken with your charm.

“That imp base on Hoth had no leads.” He speaks first.

You’re stunned.

Your gut urges you to not make a big deal about this, to simply now see him as another coworker.

So you nod and casually plug in the info on your datapad.

“Hoth was a long shot, but we appreciate you going.” You even add that in.

You knew of a few pilots who served during the Hoth raid. It’s an unforgiving planet, takes a lot of guts to investigate that icy fortress.

“What’s the next order?” Mando asks firm, all business, just like Ward had told you.

You slide him a bounty chip containing info on a possible military officer who could be running a smuggling ring. The mandalorian doesn’t say anything else, simply takes the card and stands up.

“Come on, kid.” All he does is address the baby, not even sparing you a second glance.

Cute and so politely, the kid hands back your loth cat with a noise that feels like a thank you.

“You’re welcome, little cutie,” you tell him warmly.

Once the pair are out of sight, you sigh exhausted, relieved, and sprawl out on the table glad it’s over. Someone barks a laugh, and you aren’t even embarrassed about it.

You can’t wait till this is over.

It’s already been a week and a half of being grounded, doing these debriefs with Mando. You miss being in the skies. But all that hope of getting back in the clouds gets squashed.

“I need to negotiate a few more issues with Senator Organa… can you continue to do the debrief?” It isn’t much of a question but more of an order from Ward.

So you meet with Mando for the rest of the week and into the next. It’s cordial, barely speaking for more than ten minutes with each other.

You try to be friendly, make a joke about the weather, but he just silently stares at you, obviously annoyed.

And it pisses you off all over again.

But you think of the adorable little baby who eagerly tags along with the terrifying hunter. The kid sweetly waves, and you wave back. You started bringing treats after his guardian chided him for eating some of yours.

The annoyed sigh Mando gave when you brought more snacks to share was worth it.

This time you decided to bring something else along with you.

It was the first charm your sister gave you when you became a pilot. A tradition her daughter, your niece, now does with you.

“Look!” You eagerly hold up the plush creature that makes the baby’s eyes go wide.

With adorable tiny grabby hands, he reaches for it and you happily hand it over.

You grin pleased seeing how pleased the kid coos.

“What’s your name?” The sudden question from Mando surprises you.

A bit stunned, you give it to him.

He nods solemnly, repeating it. Your heart does a strange flip hearing his deep voice say your name.

“This is Grogu.” He then introduces the kid who chimes in hearing his name.

“Nice to meet you, Grogu.” You excitedly greet the kid.

Then you turn to Grogu’s guardian. This solemn but striking mandalorian now has you curious to who he is. Your mind thinks about the rumors that have spread about him.

“And you? What’s your name?” You ask politely, but immediately you can almost hear Dyana screaming at you. She’s become the new expert on Mandalorian customs.

“They’re private people,” she had told you, confirming what Ward had said. “It’s probably why not a lot of people know about him, much less his name.”

“I’m sorry, forgive me.” You stammer quickly. “You don’t have to give it.”

A moment passes, and you worry you’ve unraveled this tentative truce or whatever it is.

“Din… Din Djarin.” His full name. It’s lovely.

“Din…” you repeat it.

“It’s nice to meet you too.” And you mean that.

Mando, Din, nods, and you think it’s worth the few weeks being out of the skies.

When Din and Grogu leave you realize the kid still holds onto your plush charm.

“Come on kid, give it back.” Din urges noticing too.

“No it’s okay. He can keep it. Give it back to me next time.” You grin at the baby, and Grogu giggles pleased at the answer.

“What do you say, kid?”

Grogu chirps a sweet thanks and waddles away content with the plushie in his arms.

The next day, as promised, he brings it back. But you exchange another charm with him. This time it’s a cute cloud with a sweet face. Eager for the new trinket, Grogu ditches the plushie and you laugh.

Work then follows suit. Din explains on the intel he’s slowly gaining on the imp official.

“Taking a bit longer than expected.” Din gruffly admits.

“Don’t worry. Rodents like him know how to hide. It’s not your fault. Then again that’s probably an insult to rodents.” You’ve been trying to stay professional, channel your inner composed Colonel Ward. But the old rebel pilot comes out.

Suddenly, a chuckle follows.

Din laughed.

You swear you misheard it. But the way Grogu giggles agreeing with his protector, you know you heard correctly.

“A fair statement.” Din agrees.

And you grin back at him. A golden victorious feeling bubbles in your chest.

Watching the pair leave, you find you’re excited to see them again.

The rest of the debriefs go smoother than ever. You bring new charms for Grogu to play with, and Din seems to settle in more.

“You have a lot of those.” He even comments a bit dry when you exchange another new charm with Grogu. This time it’s a fuzzy bantha.

“Managed to gather a small collection.” You explain.

“Really… couldn’t tell.” Din deadpans.

That’s when you realized he just joked with you.

“Think you might like those two,” Zeb teases the next time he drops by the mess hall.

“It’s called being civil.” You stubbornly reply while messing with the holopad, and the Lasat warrior barks a laugh.

“Civil? Yeah sure.” He teases further.

You stay stubbornly quiet.

“Don’t worry… They’ve a pain in my ass too.” Zeb huffs, and it does soothe your annoyance.

Especially now that something is festered in you, a sort of curious itch to learn more about Din Djarin.

“I heard… he really did blow up an entire imperial base. That’s how Teva found him.” Dyana is happy to spill more gossip about him.

“He’s quiet, doesn’t talk much. So I doubt he’d say anything even if he did.” You mutter.

“Does he really keep a pet around?” Dyana presses for any new info.

The word ‘pet’ sounds harsh.

“He’s more like the kid’s guardian.” The word ‘parent’ instead wants to slip out especially after you’ve seen Din’s fatherly watch over the baby.

“Oh that’s even more interesting! Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?!” Dyana shrieks.

“You’ve been busy.” You half lie.

You could argue that it’s because you want to protect Din’s trust and don’t want to disturb that. But the truth is, you don’t want to share this little secret bond you’ve cultivated with him.

You however rapidly kick those thoughts away.

Ward will be back sometime this week. Your brief time with the Mandalorian would be over soon.

Except that time comes sooner than expected.

The next morning Colonel Ward arrives, an early return. Disappointment arrives just as fast. You knew this was only a temporary thing.

Trying not to feel annoyed, you now work on your x-wing. Deep under the hull, you refuel trying just to keep your mind focused here.

“Didn’t know you were a mechanic.” Suddenly, the rich voice of a certain mandalorian echoes in the hanger.

You scramble out from under the ship confused if you heard right.

But standing off to the side are indeed Din and Grogu.

“What? Thought I just did paper work and worked as an assistant?” You tease.

Din chuckles, and it sinks into the glowing sunlight coating the hanger in its glory.

“You’re looking at one of the New Republic’s best pilots!” Dyana.

She perks up emerging from the other side of the ship, and you shoot a glare her way not even knowing where she came from.

“A pilot?” Din questions, curious.

His helmet tilts towards you.

“Sometimes,” you shrug.

“And I wouldn’t say best.” You weakly laugh then glower at Dyana again. She simply beams innocently back at you.

“One day you gotta tell him about Endor. Though I’m sure you have plenty of fight stories to share too, Mando!”

You want to strangle her.

“You fought at Endor?” Din asks, helmet fully facing you and voice faintly awed.

It all makes your skin feel heated and tight.

All you can do is shrug again.

Endor seems like so long ago now. You were so much younger then. Wild and ready to sacrifice it all for the sake of protecting everything you loved. A small secret corner of your heart aches for those days of when you flew with such fire.

“Well… gotta go! Nice to finally meet you both!” Dyana nods to Din and smiles at the baby before scurrying away.

A traitor in the flesh fleeing if you ever did see one.

“So…an x-wing pilot.” Din comments, still watching you. His curious and impressed tone ignites a strange sensation in your chest that threatens to consume you.

“On good days I am.” You again shrug with a half smile.

“So what was Endor like?” He inquires, and you’re surprised he’s curious about that.

“Don’t know, never went on planet… kinda was busy flying around.”

You don’t even need to see his face to know he’s giving you a silent unamused stare. He must not think your joke is as funny as you do.

A surprised giggle does come though. Both you and Din discover Grogu effortlessly climbing up onto the wing of the ship.

“Kid.” Din chides.

“How did you get up there so fast?” You laugh amused at the sight of this tiny creature waddling on top of your x-wing.

Din sighs, truly parental.

“I take it that you fly?” You ask him yet keeping your gaze on Grogu to make sure he stays safe.

“I do.” Din answers, confident.

“Must be why he’s so curious and comfortable around ships. It’s good when kids get to experience being in the air.” You think of your niece who eagerly tries to convince you to fly her around.

“My niece is the same way.” You reveal.

Din hums a noise, acknowledging he’s listening.

“Is she the reason why you have all those charms?” He asks in a tone softer than you’ve ever heard.

“Excuse you, they are medals of honor.” You jokingly try to sound offended.

“With you I wouldn’t be surprised.” He replies deadpan, and you snicker.

“But yeah… she’s the one who gives them to me.” You explain how it was your sister who first started giving you those charms to decorate your x-wing.

They were to remind you to come home safe.

“I was ordered not to come home unless I brought the charms back safe and sound.” You repeat the same words your sister told you.

A soft breeze enters the hanger bringing in a welcoming cooling touch. But it’s then you realize how close you’re now standing next to Din. You didn’t even notice when you or him moved closer to each other.

“That’s… sweet.” His voice carries a tenderness that sneaks under your ribs and sinks in deep.

You turn and find he’s already looking at you.

Under Din’s gaze, it’s like you’re caught in a tractor beam unable to speak or move.

Dangerous thoughts have already begun clouding your mind, and they all connect back to this man. Like how you’ve noticed how broad his shoulders look, and how strong he is helping move crates around the base. What’s worse is you’ve begun wondering what this mandalorian looks like under his helm.

Grogu’s little giggle finally draws your attention away. Currently he peeks inside the cockpit through the window.

“So I take it this is your ship?” Din asks.

“No, I stole it.” You quip back.

“Sure you did.” His dry reply makes you snicker.

“It’s how I got to fight at Endor.” You jest, stealing a quick glance at Din. Of course he shakes his head unamused.

“Thought you didn’t see Endor.” He uses your dry joke back at you, and you can’t help it.

You playfully elbow him.

Another little giggle comes. Glancing back to the ship, Grogu now peers over from the wing’s edge grinning at you and Din.

“Little troublemaker, are you going to be a pilot one day?” You smile at Grogu.

“Mweh!” He squeals.

“I think that’s a yes,” you tell Din proudly.

“No.” Din answers back firmly.

“It’s okay I’ll teach you one day,” you counter sweetly, and the baby giggles more.

“No.” Din repeats again firmer.

A small cluster of pilots approach. Their laughter and conversation fill the air. Guess this moment is over.

“Still need to see Ward… shouldn’t keep her waiting.” Din is smooth about making his exit.

Quickly Grogu jumps into his arms, and you bid the duo goodbye for now.

You haven’t been in the air for long, but it feels like you’re floating now.

The moments you see the pair become like scattered stars.

Months settle in, and a routine follows. You sometimes see Din in the mess hall cantina when you return from a mission. Discussing with the colonel, all you can simply do is give your boys quick smiles.

Other times Din stops by the hanger where you linger now more than ever hoping he drops by. You and him talk about work, missions, the various planets visited.

You want to ask what got him to work for the new republic, but you don’t want to disturb whatever is growing between you and him.

“It’s budding love.” Dyana sagely declares one evening at the cantina, and Zeb agrees.

“It’s not!” You screech over a drink.

“I don’t think Mando has said more than five words to me, yet I see him talking to you so much.” Another pilot chimes in.

“He talks to Zeb the most!” You argue back. The two of them are often paired up on missions now. You try not to get annoyed by it.

“Not as much as you, kid.” Zeb rebuttals.

“Don’t think we haven’t seen the way he hangs around the hanger for you.” Sash Ketter snickers, and it only ignites the discussion once again.

You dismiss all their words as attempts trying to rile you up.

Because you don’t want to face the truth. You long for your chats with Din, even just to see him for a moment and play with Grogu.

It’s just an awful infatuation. That’s it.

Your small vacation break now approaching may be more of a blessing than you realize. It’ll hopefully give you time to clear your head.

“I’m heading home to visit family. I’ll be sure to bring back something good.” You tell Din the next time you run into him outside the cantina.

“There’s no need. Just… be safe.” Din nods.

His gentle words carry you the entire flight home.

The brief week away provides peaceful moments of relaxation. While you enjoy the time spent with your sister’s family, you long to return to Adelphi.

“So, what did you get me this time?” You ask your niece the day before you’re set to head back.

“I got you… THIS!” She proudly raises up an odd creature. You can’t even tell what it is.

“She made it herself.” Your sister whispers, and your eyes go wide.

“What?! Why didn’t you tell me we have an artist in this family now?!” You cry excitedly scooping up your niece in your arms and tickle her with glee as she squeaks excitedly.

“Actually before I go… Do you think you can help me make one too?” You ask her and your niece's eyes light up.

With eager hands she gathers all her supplies to deposit them on the table ready to craft.

“So… are you going to tell me who you’re making this for?” Your sister asks slightly suspiciously as you add little puffballs to your monster creation.

“What if I just want my charm to have a friend, huh?” You deflect.

“Yeah sure.” She’s not convinced but thankfully doesn’t press any further.

As hard as it is saying goodbye to her and your niece, you’re thankful to finally be back to your routine.

And of course, the new little charm sitting in your pocket seems to hold so much weight.

Din returns a few days after you. It’s hard trying to ignore the bubbling joy that rises watching him approach your x-wing first.

“Welcome back.” He greets and Grogu squeals adorably scurrying to you.

Eagerly you welcome his jump into your arms, and you squeeze him tight.

“I miss you too,” you tell Grogu but hope his father knows you mean him as well.

“And look, I got something for you.” You shift to hold Grogu in one arm.

Then you hold up the new charm.

“What is it supposed to be?” Din sounds confused and slightly alarmed.

“It’s a little monster,” you reply lightly insulted.

“My niece and I made these, and I knew someone who might like it.” You grin towards Grogu now.

“Bweh!” He cheers and draws the charm into his small arms so enamored with the strange monstrosity already.

“See! He likes it, that's what matters.” You huff proudly at Din.

Grogu chirps like he agrees. You laugh then catch Din’s chuckle too.

“What do you say, kid?” Din says.

Grogu however doesn’t say anything. Instead he leans up and hugs you. His sweet little arms curl against your neck.

Holding this baby so tight is like holding a little newborn star. You’re grateful for this moment and hug Grogu close, closing your eyes to fully embrace this wonderful tiny soul.

“You’re welcome, little troublemaker.” You softly tell him.

The baby then settles into your arms as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Worried you might have overstepped, you quickly snap your attention to Din. His helmet stays focused on you.

You wonder what his eyes look like, what color swims within his gaze.

“Glad you’re back safe.” Din’s voice sounds low, softer and a bit thick.

“Me too,” you reply, letting yourself sink into whatever it is overtaking your entire heart.

This infatuation, or whatever it’s mutated into, grows stronger. And it terrifies you.

But you’re reminded quickly there are more terrifying things to face.

The wound isn’t looking good.

You’re more pissed at yourself for getting ambushed by damn pirates. This operation was supposed to be simple, check in on the distress signal intercepted by base. But one pirate ambush later and you’re now stranded trying to stop the bleeding.

You just hope the emergency signal you sent back to camp went through. Leaning against your ship, you take a deep breath trying to calm yourself down. You’ve dealt with worse. You can handle this.

Until something pierces your back, and a scream of pain escapes you. Electricity courses through your body knocking you to the ground.

Everything stings. You can barely concentrate, but you hear them. Gleeful disgusting laughs swirling all around. The damn pirates…

“Think of the price we’ll get for x-wing parts!” One of them muses.

“Or even for the pilot, quite a cute one.” That comment unleashes a panicked feral terror.

Get up, you have to get up. Even though every part of your body stings, screaming to stay still, you have to move.

You slowly try to sit up through the aftershocks, but then a boot comes to slowly step on your chest, pressing you down to the dirt.

“Nah uh little pilot, where do ya think you’re going.” A voice snickers.

You clench your jaw hard. This isn’t looking good.

A sudden blaster shot fires and immediately takes out a pirate with accurate precision.

“What was that?!” One of them screams.

Then a blaster shot silenced him.

“Step away from her now.” Din.

Or someone sounding like him.

The voice is deadly, terrifying, and you wonder if it even is Din.

Then the pirate towering above you with his boot still pressing on your chest suddenly gets thrown off.

Weakly you cough sitting up. While you do, you witness Din in action and realize he’s truly here.

And the way he attacks, effortlessly slicing through the pirate captain and the lackeys that try rushing him - he’s incredible.

You’ve never seen anyone fight so fluidly and powerful. You’re witnessing one of the most powerful warriors in the galaxy…

And he’s here to save you.

A small concerned whimper comes to your side and immediately you glance down. Grogu quickly waddles to your arm and flashes his wide worried eyes up to you.

“I’m okay, I promise.” He must see the wound, and you try smiling reassuringly.

He hums a small noise at you. Then he closes his eyes, laying his little claw against your elbow. Slowly a gentle warmth suddenly crawls up your shoulder.

What is he doing?

The stinging pain vanishes instantly. Reaching up to your shoulder, you find no wound.

“Mweh.” Grogu peers up at you with a small little wave.

“You really are something else, little trouble maker… thank you.” You fondly stroke his fuzzy little head, and he beams.

Din urgently yells your name and soon rushes to kneel before you. Gloved hands reach out to steady your shoulders.

“I’m fine.” You now reassure him and move to squeeze one of his hands.

An exhale escapes Din, relieved.

“I’m sorry you both had to come all the way out here. I’m sure there are better bounties to hunt.” You half tease.

“Don’t apologize.” He immediately snaps.

Grogu makes a sad noise as if chiding his father.

“Just glad you’re safe.” So Din gently adds and steadily helps you stand.

Zeb lands moments later with a mechanic to help patch up your ship. The entire time Din stays by your side, letting you lean against him for support. His guiding hand never leaves you.

You’re given the rest of the week off to recover.

“So was Mando on a mission with you when my distress beacon went out?” You ask Zeb when he drops by to check on you.

He snorts, giving you a knowing side eye smirk.

“Is that what you think?” Zeb doesn’t elaborate even when you pester him.

It’s Dyana of course who reveals the truth.

“Mando was the first to rush out. Ward had to practically stop him before he flew off on his own.” Her words unravel something effortlessly in you.

How can you ignore these feelings for a mandalorian anymore?

“I think it’s romantic.” Dyana thankfully doesn’t judge you when you finally admit everything to her.

There was no time for romance during a rebellion, during a war. Even now you almost scoff at the idea. There are other things to do, other things to focus on than get lovesick over someone.

But Din dismantled all those old thoughts in you, leaving you exposed and almost greedy for someone now.

“It’s okay to want that you know… romance and companionship.” Dyana tells you already sensing your hesitation.

You know her and a cute mechanic have been dating off and on for a while. She’s always been urging you to get out more, maybe try to find someone. Guess you just had to wait for a mandalorian to show up.

But you have to put all those giggles and feelings aside.

Your time resting is done, and immediately you’re thrown back into the rush of work.

A mission and orders arrive a few days later on your datapad.

Raid strike this week, get ready

It’s not a full strike squadron, but you’re thankful Zeb is tagging along.

“Think your boyfriend might be joining us.” He teases, and your eyes narrow hard. Now you regret him being here.

“I don’t have a boyfriend.” You rapidly dismiss.

“Huh uh.” He rolls his eyes.

As if summoned to add to your pain, Din enters the command center. It feels like feral lizard birds were released in your stomach.

Immediately his helmet spots you. Grogu perched on his shoulder chirps upon seeing you. Trying to act relaxed, you give the boys a casual wave and bright grin.

Zeb chuckles, and you silently shush him again under your breath. You walk to meet Din halfway.

“Glad you’re doing better.” He says, faintly warm, and you nod grateful.

“Thanks to my two heroes,” you thank them both again. Grogu beams toothy when you tickle his chin.

Din doesn’t say anything.

“Guess we’re finally teaming up.” So you speak up first.

“Seems like it,” Din agrees.

This isn’t the first time he’s seen you in your pilot gear. Hell, he just rescued you last week. But for some reason, you feel more self aware than ever.

Thankfully Ward enters, drawing the room’s attention to her.

The mission is to ambush the warlord now barricaded up in his mansion. He’s apparently greatly armed and even hired a small air brigade. It’s why this strike squadron was called in. You’re curious why Din is here though.

“Without the mandalorian’s intel, we wouldn’t have this opportunity. So we will be following his lead.” She sends her focus to him.

Din simply and silently nods back.

Then he moves to the holo map and gives details about the estate. Hearing how commanding and surefire his voice resounds, the way he walks confidently and without any hesitation, he’s incredible.

But there’s no time to linger on this warrior.

It’s time to fly.

“Finally get to see you in action,” you tell Din as he walks out with you.

“Guess you will.” He replies with a hint of something playful, and it only speeds up your racing heart.

All you can do is laugh before parting ways.

“Don’t get lost in the clouds.” You teasingly yell to the mandalorian and he looks back at you from over his shoulder.

You can’t see Din’s eyes, but you hope they’re amused.

Him and Grogu now trail away from where you’re stationed, and you settle into your ship.

Your x-wing roars alive, and the familiar comms flicker in your ear. Then the call signals electrify the start to battle.

“Delphi squadron, lock in.” Teva announces on the main channel, the leader for this run. Everyone follows suit locking in their coordinates.

“Blue 9, standing by.” You chime in, readying the flight path.

“Starfighter, standing by.” Then a new voice floats through your helmet.

The tone resonates rich as a stormy ocean sending a shock through your system.

Hearing Din in your helmet does something to you so wild that you feel guilty at how fast your core clenched. You recollect yourself fast.

That’s when you notice the ship he joined in with.

A starfighter? There’s no way. Those ships don’t exist.

But again, you’re proven so wrong.

Among the gunfire and smoke, the sounds of battle, a new gleam of silver catches your attention. The Naboo N-1 fighter is a marvel.

A sleek whisper of a dream, one minute she’s a simple flicker of light then the next she’s firing directly in the trenches of the fight.

But as in awe of the ship as you are, it’s the mandalorian who leaves you breathless.

Din flies amazing. The fast maneuvering, the excellent read he makes of the battle, among his readiness to swoop in and out of tight spaces - you’ve never seen anyone fly this beautifully.

It inspires you, the type of flying that makes you want to soar higher to catch up.

So you do.

You embrace the rebel pilot you always might be and dive through the canyons chasing after one of the bandits the warlord hired.

Quickly you dispatch the enemy ship then swirl and maneuver your x-wing to return to the open sky.

“Target on your left.” Din’s voice suddenly thunders in your ear, chiming in on your personal channel.

“Got it.” You reply steady and twist fast enough to fire on the swing mid air.

“Got him, great shot!” Listening to Din’s deep fierce voice over your private channel, his voice colored in pride, you have to mute the channel to exhale.

Because a wave of arousal crawled up your spine so fast you had to bite your lip. Now you try settling yourself down again.

You pride yourself on being composed when you fly. There of course have been times when you’ve gotten emotional and maybe reacted.

Yet here this masked man completely disarms you.

It’s a fight you realize you won’t win.

The raid is successful, and the warlord gets taken in alive. That’s the win that matters.

“Great job,” Din suddenly voices back in your comms, still sounding so proud, and you melt all over again.

“You too, thanks for the support,” you answer back, just as fond, then rapidly switch over the channel.

“Captain,” you ask Teva on his personal comms.

“Before we leave, do you think I can test Mando on how he flies?”

Teva takes a moment then sighs.

“Make it quick.”

Giddy you quickly chime back onto Din’s channel.

“Wanna go for a run?” A part of you worries he won’t want to join you.

“Lead the way.” But Din quickly answers, and you pull back up to the clouds.

The planet is rather gorgeous, full of lush canyons and towering mountains. It’s a flight playground. Among the skies, twisting and twirling down through the natural landscape, you and Din soar around each other, with each.

Playful, yet delicately cautious, your x-wing revolves alongside his starfighter. Din keeps up with you every moment. Quietly the image of a dance among the clouds floats into your mind.

“Up for a race?” He suddenly asks.

“Oh, you know it.” You agree, excited. You settle into your seat, ready to take off.

But in a flash, he zooms past you.

“What the hell?!” You shriek over the comms.

Din’s husky laugh in your ear is a beautiful reward.

Returning back to Adelphi, you and him fly beside each other. Ward gives everyone the night off, and the cantina already seems to shine extra bright landing in.

Settling into your spot in the hanger, you notice Din lands his starfighter closer than ever.

Sliding off your helmet, for a moment you worry about how bad your hair looks, how messy and sweaty you must be.

But heading down the ladder, Din already walks towards you.

All your worries vanish. You don’t even care how fast you walk towards him. Here standing before Din under the low lights of the hanger, the world melts away.

“You were incredible.”

“You flew… amazing.”

Both you and Din speak at the same time, words jumbling up and getting tangled. It startles you, even his shoulders stiffen a bit.

Then you laugh.

“No, you were the incredible one.” You tell him first.

“Not compared to you,” he shakes his head.

“Glad I finally got to see one of the Rebellion’s and New Republic’s best pilots in action.” There’s a smirk in his voice, and heat burns through your veins.

Any words you want to say, he’s stolen them right from you. All you’re reduced to is a love struck fool caught in the orbit of this powerful mandalorian.

Din doesn’t say anything either. It’s like you and him can’t look away from the other standing this close.

“Hey! Ya two love birds gonna join us or what?” Zeb suddenly breaks the spell, and your blood instantly boils.

You hiss foul curses at Zeb, and he only cackles with laughter.

Embarrassed and trying to escape this moment you shake your head heading towards the exit.

“Come on, let’s go celebrate.” You manage to smile at Din hoping to dispel any comments about what Zeb said.

The mandalorian follows you into the mess hall cantina. The lively celebratory air glimmers with joyous laughter. It’s a welcoming atmosphere, and even Wolf along with a few other pilots ask Din to join them.

“Maybe in a bit,” He nods, instead staying by your side when you approach the bar.

“No pressure, but drinks on me if you want.” You offer.

“I’ll pass, but thanks.” He instead places down credits for your drink, and you thank him with a toast.

“Come on, let’s see how good of a sabacc player you are.” After taking a huge sip, you allow the alcohol to sting in the best way.

“Think you might be dissapointed,” Din chuckles.

Of course he’s a damn natural.

Everyone at the table cries in frustration when he wins the second round, and you even narrow your eyes at him.

“Oh, so you’re a liar.” You joke good naturedly.

“Never said I was good or bad.” He answers and it’s rather coy, lighter than what you’ve heard from him.

“Next time Mando I want you comin’ with me off planet! We could really win big.” Someone suggests and now it’s comforting seeing how much everyone has warmed up to him, how much Din has settled in here too.

Until you realize the baby is missing and immediately turn to Din. Maybe it’s the atmosphere but you lean closer to him placing your hand against his arm.

“Wait, where’s Grogu?” You ask concerned and low.

Din leans closer to you, his helmet almost grazing your face.

“Don’t worry, he’s asleep in the barracks.” Din’s answer comes low, reassuring.

Then he reaches up to lay his hand on top of yours. It’s a reassuring hold, a soft touch that brings comfort.

You exhale relieved and don’t have time to realize what he just did until someone drags Din away to play darts.

He squeezed your hand, and you now fight against a dumb smile just thinking about it.

Even after another round of getting your ass kicked at cards, you don’t care. You glance over to Din.

A cluster of pilots surround him. You’re not surprised. He’s a marvel, someone truly remarkable. But one of the prettier pilots slides up next to Din, batting her eyelashes so dreamily up at him.

Something fierce, venomous and coated in jealousy, strikes.

Reaching to Wolf, you nudge his shoulder a few times, and he knowingly looks at you. Not saying anything, he discreetly slips you a smoke stick.

You head out of the cantina into the soft warm night and light up. The smoke in your lungs settles you down for a moment and cuts through the alcohol.

Dumb Mandalorian man making you feel this way…

Taking another drag of the smoke stick, you watch the smoke you exhale mix into the air.

“Didn’t know you smoked.” Din.

His voice melts into the night like he stepped out of the shadows themselves. As he wanders towards you, you shift to lean against the rail of the patio.

“Not often,” you truthfully answer. It’s been a long time since you lit up.

A bad habit you picked up during your rebellion days, being as young as you were around seasoned veteran pilots. It became a way to calm yourself down and stop your hands from shaking from the nerves.

You even tell him that.

“What made you join?” He asks, tentative and quiet.

A loaded question but one you feel comfortable enough to answer, especially with him.

The empire took so much from you. You’re grateful you and your sister managed to keep each other safe, look out for each other. You weren’t lying when you joked about stealing ships. Learning to steal is how you survived for a while as a kid.

Then you accidentally stole from a man named Luthen Rael, and your life changed. Whatever he saw in your eyes that day when he caught you… it kept you alive.

He’s the one who helped get your wings, got you in touch with rebellion once you could fly. Once you joined, you never saw him again.

“Never looked back since.” You tell this all to Din.

You don’t regret your choices. They’re what brought you here after all, kept you safe even during the danger.

“You did what you had to… you should be proud of the life you’ve made. Of the wars you've fought and survived.” Din sincerely commends you, and his words settle deep in your heart.

You softly thank him, appreciating the sentiment.

“And you? What brought you to the New Republic?” Taking another drag of the smoke stick, you finally decide to ask.

This time he’s sighing and moves to lean against the rail beside you. He’s pressed up right beside you.

“Benn a long way to get here as well.” He’s vague, but explains how he was, and still is a bounty hunter by trade. How that path led him to the kid. How Grogu is by Mandalorian creed his son and apprentice now.

“I couldn't keep getting involved with pirates, working for gangsters. It’s not the life I wanted anymore.”

It’s admirable seeing how valiant Din’s spirit shines, yet you hear how weary his soul must be like he carries so much guilt.

“There are wars you’ve fought too, Din. You should be proud of your victories. Even the ones you don’t think you should be.” Maybe it’s the fading alcohol and slow numbness of the smoke stick, but you want more than ever to just hold him.

You go to take another drag to stop yourself from doing anything reckless, but find your smoke stick is burnt to its final end.

“I don’t.. deserve such kind words. But thank you.” Din’s voice is thick, tangled in thorny emotions.

Yet underneath it all, he sounds softer and raw, like a man trying to find comfort in your words.

So you turn and see his striking dark T visor gaze on you.

A moment passes where it’s just you and him under the night sky, staring at each other.

“No matter what path you took, I'm glad you’re here.” You earnestly tell him.

In such a short amount of time this mandalorian has reawakened something in you and takes up such a large part of your heart.

“Me too.” Din mutters, nodding.

Another x-wing lands outside stealing your attention away as the engines break the quiet night air.

“Always been curious to how they fly.” Din suddenly comments sounding intrigued.

“You wanna see?”

He turns to you, helmet tilted incredulous and challenging.

“Come on,” so you challenge him back with a toothy grin.

Immediately Din follows behind you, footsteps quick yet terrifying agile.

The hanger sits in eerie stillness this time of night.

“Should we even be here?” Din asks low, a bit cautious.

“Didn’t take you as a ‘by the books’ guy, Mando.” You use the common name everyone calls him as a tease.

“Only when it comes to my employer.” He replies unamused.

“Trust me, we’ll be fine.” You wave him off and he continues following you further into the dark hanger.

He doesn’t know it, but this place, especially for pilots, is an infamous makeout spot. You try not to think about that too much.

There you arrive at your x-wing.

“Hop in,” you nudge him towards the ladder.

“What?” Din sounding so boyish and confused makes you laugh.

“Get in,” you urge.

Sighing defeated he climbs up the ladder to the cockpit and you follow. You look away trying not to stare at his cute ass.

“Can we even fit in this?”

“X-wings are capable of holding various types and sizes of pilots. We are not the empire, thank you very much,” you proudly declare.

The hatch opens, and Din jumps in. The dashboard and control panel light up as he takes a seat in your chair.

Your throat goes dry seeing him sit in the same pilot seat you fly in.

“Throttle, control stick,” he points out immediately.

As much room as you have, it is cramped standing up. So you curl to the side, closer to him, but keep your eyes on the control monitor.

“It’s got a good radar system.” Din comments admiring the monitor too.

You rattle on about how these are the upgraded models everyone got after the war. The original ones you used during the rebellion are classic, but the upgrades were warmly welcomed.

“Sorry, this all must sound boring.” You weakly laugh.

“It’s not. Tell me more.” He reassures.

You’re about to until you hear commotion around the hanger.

So, quickly you scramble up and around to slide into the seat -

Right between the V of Din’s legs.

You crouch low and drag him down too.

“Wh…what are you-”

“Shh…” you shush him. “Have to lie low just in case.”

“So we should leave.” Din urges urgent.

“We’re fine.” You reassure him now.

The commotion you thought you heard passes by, and silence returns.

You exhale a bit relieved, moving to sit up. Then you grin at him from over your shoulder.

“See… told you we’d be fine.”

He stays quiet.

It hits you. Maybe you upset him or crossed a line being this close. Though you aren’t fully pressed up against his chest, the position is still intimate. You’re literally between his legs.

You want to apologize, especially now that the courage fades away fast.

But all you can think about is how stunning Din is, how gorgeous he looks here in your ship.

“One day you should fly it.” You truthfully blurt out while staring at him.

“Don’t think Ward would let me.” He stiffly replies.

“I would.” You immediately counter.

“Plus you look good in here...” Then you realize what you just admitted.

So you try to recover fast.

“Knowing your skills, if you had been with us during the rebellion days, you would’ve fit in just fine. Probably would’ve even been half as good as me.” You add hastily, half joking, hoping he doesn’t linger on anything you said before.

You now glance away to check out the window. The hanger is thankfully still empty.

Then Din suddenly softly breathes your name.

You’ve never heard it sound so holy and raw that it rips you wide open. You completely shift around to glance at him in the lowly light cockpit.

“How inebriated are you?” He asks husky, thick.

“I could recite the entire radar flight plan chart we made for Endor.” You tell him completely wide awake now. Every part of you feels like a live wire completely focused on this man.

His low weak chuckle makes your stomach flip in the best way.

Din exhales, breathy and deep.

You don’t want to over step, don’t want to ruin this. So you patiently wait, hoping he makes the first move.

Feeling his arms slide around yours, tentative but curious, you’re galvanized.

Immediately you rise and twist around to fully stare down at him. Looking at Din for a moment, here in the cockpit of your ship, you want to burn this image into your memory. Want to consecrate this in a way you never may do with anyone else again.

You rest your legs on either side of his, caging him in then you settle down onto his lap.

The soft low noise Din makes is music to your ears.

He says your name, but it sounds more like a warning.

“I want this… I want you.” You tell him, finally admitting the words out loud.

Then, you grind down on his lap, straddling him, and immediately pleasure floods into your system.

Din groans, and it spurs you on instantly.

Frustrated that you’re still in your damn flight suit, you unzip the top, slide off the jacket, and exhale feeling the coolness reach your skin. Sliding your hands up to his shoulders you whisper his name.

Then you grind against the bulge in Din’s pants pressing into you, and your mind goes foggy.

But not foggy enough that you notice Din remains still.

Everything collides into you with a halting stop. What if he doesn’t want this?

“I’m… I’m so sorry.” You halt your movements and apologize composed as you can. Awkwardly you lift yourself off of him.

“No I-” Din starts, but then stops himself.

You settle back down on him but this time further back on his thighs.

“Do you… not want to do this?” You ask cautiously. “Because it’s okay if you don’t.”

It’s okay if you don’t want me, is what you actually want to say. But you’re not brave enough for that, no matter how many empire ships you’ve shot down.

“No.” Din noisily exhales frustrated.

His hands go to rest on your thighs. His head falls forward, crestfallen.

“I want this, want you. Just afraid I won’t be able to stop.” He admits weak.

“You don’t have to stop… I don’t want you to.” You admit, soft and greedy, deciding not to hold back now.

Here in your ship, you think maybe he’s become your prey, trapped in your spiderweb. But then his helmet ever so slightly tilts up to you. Under the watch of his unflinching visor, you now feel like a prey caught within a hunter’s gaze.

His heavy breathing grows stronger and reignites something in you.

“Din,” You mutter his name, and he lets out a strained curse.

“I think about you… too much.” Din reveals like it’s a painful truth, as if the words hurt to say.

“I think about you all the time.” The truth leaves you effortlessly now.

“Wonder about what color your eyes are,” You decide to be the brave rebellion pilot you are.

“If you and the baby are safe, eating well,” you add, and he chuckles breathily.

“I think about how brave you are and how… lucky I am to know you,” you continue feeling molten and sentimental now.

Din says your name again, this time tender, and it almost causes you to falter.

So you lean closer to his helmet.

“I think about how handsome you are… imagine your cock inside me.” You mutter and hearing the words aloud feels too much.

But then his strong hands dig into your thighs and slide you on his lap fully, dragging you across his clothed cock.

How strong he pulled you, the fast friction draws a whine from you.

“Yeah?” He growls and leans his helmet directly against your face. The cool beskar touching your skin is heavenly.

“Yeah.” You moan, and your hips begin their rhythm again.

This time it’s not just you moving. Din finally grinds up into you, and you see stars. Your underwear sticks to your sticky core, but you don’t care.

Not when you and Din rut against each other and his hands chart a path all over you. One hand slides up to your neck, anchoring you close to him. The other moves to your back, sliding up to bunch your tank top in his grasp.

It’s too hot now, and you’re wearing too many clothes.

So you weakly draw away from his hold to reach up and yank your top off.

Then you wiggle the last bit of the jump suit off, trying to let your hips and legs be free. But it’s hard.

Din even chuckles at your struggle, and you shoot him a look, annoyed. Patiently, he helps slide the material down until it pools down your legs.

Now you’re simply in your underwear, completely bare before him.

The sensation of his gloved hands running up your stomach, across your back, reverently taking in every inch of your bare soft skin, it melts you.

“Beautiful,” Din breathes in awe.

Then one of his gloved hands crawls up to knead your breast in his grasp, pinching your nipple. Your head falls back, and your hips return to seek relief. Grinding against him without the jumpsuit, the friction is so much stronger, a delicious undercurrent making you want more.

“Din,” You sob, feeling the pleasure build fast.

“Want you inside of me,” you whimper quickly getting drunk on him.

He cusses again sharp, dragging you harder against his clothed cock.

A loss comes when his hands leave your body, but wearily your eyes open once you feel him move to his pant buckle. Eagerly you join in to help.

His cock in your hand is warm. He’s thick, delicious in size. He’s already leaking, and possessed by something raw you lean down to lightly spit on his cock. Din groans so loud you think it rattles your bones.

Stroking his cock slow, you love feeling his mess mix with your spit.

He quickly hisses your name.

“Inside now,” he urges, a desperate man. Clutching at your hips hard, he practically draws you up.

Who are you to deny your mandalorian?

He helps slide off your stick underwear, now fully bare.

Before you sink down on him, you lean closer to his helmet.

You don’t have to say anything. You simply look at him, a final reassurance to see if he wants this the way you want him.

A gloved hand curls up to your face, cradling your sweaty face, stroking your cheek. His touch is fond, and it rocks you more than anything.

He nods firm, so sure.

So you sink down on him, guiding him into you. Both you and him moan and the world implodes in the most beautiful way.

When you were younger and around the veteran pilots, they used to share tales of how they’d christen their ships. Back then, you couldn’t imagine bringing anyone into this sacred space to do that.

Now you don’t want Din to leave it.

A fervid raw desperation has you clinging to him, Din touches you so protectively, keeping you close. His hands clutch you firm, like he’s worried you could fly away from him at any moment.

Needing to be closer, you curl against his neck. You ache to kiss his skin. But the smell of gunpowder, of something beautifully musky, purely Din, floods your mind and makes your mouth water.

His pace grows sloppy, and you feel it coming too.

“Where?” He slurs urgently.

“Inside, got the implant,” you mutter half dazed, but when you feel his cock twitch inside you moan embarrassingly loud.

“Inside Din please please please.” You now beg, wanting to feel him so badly.

“Not until you come first, wanna feel you.” Din demands growling back, and it pushes you over the edge.

Your climax knocks you into another realm. You’re floating. Din follows you over not long after with the deepest groan.

His warmth fills you, even feel it leaking out, causing you to whimper so content.

Exhausted you flop against his chest loving the cool press of his armor against your bare skin. Then a part of you hisses to pull away. Until Din’s helmet gently leans to rest against your head, and his gloved fingers tenderly stroke your back keeping you in place.

“So… you ever done that before in here?” Din asks, partially joking but still curious.

You shake your head no.

“You’re the only one.” You reveal.

His hand tracing across your skin suddenly stops. Then it fully draws across you to draw you closer to him in a soft like embrace.

An aching adoration for this man cements itself into you. It’s now etched into your heart and now your ship. Maybe the two are the same.

After this night, you find him everywhere now.

Anytime he or you return back from a mission, one seeks the other out.

Din and Grogu now even rest in your quarters.

The lodging here is small, but it’s become your makeshift home. Grogu snuggles up warm among the blanket pile you’ve made for him on the extra cot. And Din sleeps beside you in your bed.

You believed it was something sacred to know a mandalorian, but you realize it’s a true honor to find one seeking rest beside you.

Bathed in the moonlight leaking into your room, you and Din stare at each other lying side by side.

You wish he could relax more, maybe take off his armor.

But remaining helmeted, you understand his creed and don’t want to push. It’s just a small piece of you being selfish and wanting to see him.

“What’s wrong?” He notices your silence.

“I wish I could make this more comfortable for you.” Is the best way you can tell him.

He chuckles.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine.”

To even prove it he settles deeper among the pillows sliding closer to you.

“Nicer than the cot that I have on Nevarro.”

You almost laugh. He’s so endearing sometimes and doesn’t even realize it.

But you’re reminded he does have a home.

“What’s your place like on Nevarro?” You ask about it.

“It’s good, simple.” Such a boring classic Din answer.

“Maybe… one day you can see it.” That addition he makes has your heart racing.

“Yeah, I’d like that” you nod, grateful for the offer.

Slowly your eyes close on their own now.

“Brown,” until suddenly he blurts out a random color.

Wearily opening your eyes blinking at him a bit confused.

“My eyes… they’re brown.” He reveals.

A soft grateful smile warms your face as you thank him.

You fall asleep beside him, wondering about his home, what it would be like to wake up and see his beautiful brown eyes.

But those daydreams get shoved away fast.

Missions begin piling up. The empire trash is getting sneakier, working faster in the shadows. It keeps everyone busy. You barely see Din. When you do the exchanges are brief, simple glances or even short catch ups.

Ward eyes you and Din suspicious but of course aware.

Approaching Din you try avoiding the colonel’s gaze as she leaves.

That’s when you spot the ship that flew in yesterday.

“You wanted… this hunk of junk?” You dubiously stare at the razor crest. This is the beloved ship Din apparently had been searching high and low for.

“She flies better than she looks.” Din defends.

Grogu excitedly waddles up the ramp eager to be inside the old ship.

You still eye the gunship worried about how good she can protect the cargo she’ll soon be carrying.

“Might not be a x-wing, but I trust this ship with my life.” Din senses your apprehension.

You give him a soft elbow nudge that barely makes his budge. But he playfully nudges you back, and a grin tugs at your lips.

“Ugh,” Zeb groans with faux disgust seeing you and Din. You roll your eyes.

“You know, I notice with all the markings… this ship looks like it could fit in with a gold squadron.” You tell Zeb nudging your chin towards the paint.

He barks a laugh.

“Wouldn’t that be a sight. This piece of junk flying with us?” Zeb muses.

“I don’t know…I think the crest would fight right in.” You shrug, fond.

“Yeah? Think we could get Mando in a uniform?” Zeb adds and Din flat out shuts that down with a hard no.

It makes you and Zeb snicker.

Now you head in to examine the ship yourself and look around. The older metal, the antique design and layout, it really doesn’t ease your apprehension, but you trust Din.

“Your beskar boy has shit taste picking a ship like this.” Zed snorts heading up to the cockpit.

“Shut up.” You practically hiss at him.

But he leaves you and Din alone.

It’s hard to navigate this strange space lingering between you and him, as if neither you or him know how to move.

So you decide to be brave. You grab his hand and squeeze it.

“Be safe,” you nod to the mandalorian.

He quietly nods back, gathering your hand in his. He squeezes back just as firm.

You head out of the razor crest and into the bright afternoon sun. From the cockpit window you spot your boys. Din nods a farewell, and Grogu spotting you waves down from the control panel. In his grasp is your silly little monster charm.

Not moving from your spot, you keep your eyes on the ship until it fades into the jump of hyperspeed.

You don’t hear from Din for half a month.

It’s nothing new. You’re had months where missions kept you both busy. And from how displeased she was with the last mission, Ward apparently has him working on something fierce.

Then another week passes, and you’re sent on a protective mission to Chandrilla.

It takes your full attention. But the entire time your mind is on Din. Are he and Grogu safe? Is everything going okay?

“You must be in love.” The Senator you’re escorting on the mission says suddenly. Embarrassment floods you fast.

“I’m sorry?” You ask slightly confused.

He smiles at you kindly.

“You’ve been sighing, seem distant. Like a heroine kept away from a lover.”

Shit.

“I apologize. I promised I’m focused.” You reassure him, and the senator laughs.

“It’s fine, my dear,” he reassures, then leans in eagerly. “So tell me about the lucky person.”

Now here you are telling this Senator about your awful admiration for the mandalorian.

“Oh, a mandalorian.” He whispers in awe. “They’re a rare kind. He must be quite a sight.”

He is. But he’s more than that.

He’s kind and unbelievingly sharp. Strikingly powerful, and unwaveringly supportive. There’s a compassion that walks hand in hand with Din’s firm courage.

“Oh you got it bad,” the Senator laughs.

It’s unfortunately true.

How fast and quickly this mandalorian has disarmed you, but what else would you have expected from a warrior like him? Maybe you were doomed from the start to fight against feelings for such a fierce conqueror.

The thoughts of him keep you going through the mission.

Arriving at base camp, you instead find there’s already commotion.

Din has returned, but he’s not alone.

Jabba’s son, Rotta the Hutt, is with him.

At least Din and the baby are safe.

Standing off overlooking the beach, Din patiently watches Grogu play among the beach waves with the young Hutt.

“So, looks like you’ve been busy.” You say moving to his side.

“Tell me about it.” He sighs.

The rundown he gives you is surface level, getting tied up among the Hutt twins while trying to search for the infamous Commander Coin.

“Things might get hairy soon. I’m heading back to Nevarro to lie low for a while.”

His somber tone says more looms.

“Din…” you mutter cautiously.

He turns to you.

“If you’re in any danger…know that I want to help.” You urge, hoping he’ll tell you more.

“I know.” He nods, yet says nothing more.

Please, your heart begs, please let me stay by your side and fight with you.

But you know fighting against this adamant man is a losing battle. So you sigh and reach down to your belt.

The charm you have on today is your favorite, and you hand it to him.

“Remember to bring it back to me.” You can’t even look at him because your eyes suddenly feel like they could spill over a river of tears.

His gloved hand cradles your face, letting you fully look at him.

“We’ll be fine.” His voice soothes you steeled with resolution.

You nod, fighting harder against tears.

Then Din leans down. He presses his helmet against your forehead. You close your eyes and lean into the cool beskar.

With a goodbye hug to Grogu, you tell the sweet little soul to keep an eye on his dad.

This time, you don’t have the strength to watch them leave.

You throw yourself into any available mission.

Ward must sense why you’re doing this and in a punishment of sorts, she instead sticks you on filing reports.

“Mando will be fine,” Teva tries to reassure you.

You hope he will be. Days pass and you try to settle into a routine.

But then a group of Anzellans arrive in a panic. You’d been working on your ship when they landed.

Currently they rapidly relay a message to Ward. She patiently tries to listen to all of their worried voices.

“What’s going on?” You ask Wolf.

“Apparently Mando and the kid are stuck on Nal Hutta… don’t think it’s looking good.” He mutters back somber.

Absolute dread is unleashed in you.

You don’t realize you’re moving until you’re standing right before the colonel.

“Let me join the rescue strike.” You urge.

Ward turns to you, then sighs, even says your name a bit heartbroken. That says enough.

“Are we really considering not going?!” Your voice raises, shocked and upset.

“It’s not that simple.” Ward, calm and composed, tries to clarify, but just hearing that line feels like an alarm goes off in your head.

“What isn’t simple?! He’s one of us. We have to rescue them.” You argue back harder.

“There are protocols. And with the intel and alliance we’ve tried establishing with the Hutts we can’t just strike in, ranger.” Ward sharply explains, putting you in your place.

Anger burns through your veins.

“She’s right, colonel…” Teva suddenly speaks up.

“Mando is one of us.” He agrees with you.

More Delphi officers stand up.

Before Ward can even say anything, you turn on your heels and head out of the hanger zipping up your flight suit.

You don’t care if this will get you in trouble, hell even dishonorably discharged. Din needs you. Grogu needs you.

Then you hear a few others arrive in the hangar.

Ward calls out your name. This is it.

Turning towards her, you ready yourself to accept whatever punishment. Yet, you instead see your commander in her flight suit as well. Your eyes can’t help but widen.

She sighs yet gives you a half grin, understanding.

“I should sit you out on this mission.”

“I know. I’ve accepted that I’ll be doing reports for the rest of the year.” You sleepily shrug.

Her smirks grows bigger.

“Try two years,” she says heading to her ship.

You’ll happily accept that too.

The twin’s palace is heavily guarded, and it’s a true dogfight on Nal Hutta.

Then Din’s voice electrifies the coms as he reports in with Colonel Ward. Absolute relief blooms in your chest, and you feel like crying. He’s alive.

Now you fly harder and faster than you ever have. It reminds you of Endor. That final battle all you thought of was the hope right before your eyes, knowing something precious was so close and needed to be defended.

That’s what this feels like.

You manage to knock out a few droid ships, but the main focus is on the palace.

Yet Din remains inside.

And Ward gives the command to light the place up.

“Get out of there. Please.” You whisper out loud or maybe to the force itself.

Then, the stronghold goes under flames.

You and the others circle around, flying out of the line of fire from the explosion. Yet your stomach stays in knots.

“Anyone got eyes on Mando?” Wolf asks before you can.

Out from the smoke, there among the water below, you spot them. Your boys are alive.

A watery relieved laugh escapes you as you blink away the tears.

“Go pick up the trash, Zeb.” Ward jokes, and you can’t even be mad.

Knowing they’re safe is all that matters.

Vibrating with so much emotion, you land besides Zeb’s ship hoping to see them.

But Ward of course arrives first.

You instead idle by your x-wing, pretending to be checking your engines. Ward tells him the truth about the Hutts that even you didn’t know. So that’s why she finally agreed to go.

“And… we don’t leave our own behind.” Her words resound within you.

Din deflects, saying how he’s not with the New Republic.

“Sure you aren’t Mando, sure you aren’t.” She says.

“If you aren't one of us… Who do you think helped convince us to come?”

Ward’s insinuating tone shoots a shock up your spine.

You keep your gaze on your ship, refusing to even look their way. Focusing on mindlessly keeping busy, you don’t notice footsteps approaching until you move out from under the wing. There Din stands waiting.

He’s here.

Grogu cries gleefully, and your attention turns to him. You eagerly accept him into your arms hugging him tight.

“I’m so proud of you. You must have been so brave, my little ranger.” You even press a kiss to his fuzzy head, addressing him as the courageous officer he is.

The baby coos back fond, embracing you with his sweet but sturdy little arms.

While he’s still in your hold, your eyes open to find Din.

He stares unwavering at you, and your eyes water again.

“Welcome back,” you croak out.

Din nods, then, he raises up your favorite charm you gave him.

“Had to bring this back.”

With a watery laugh, you shake your head.

“Your dad is so silly,” you half whisper to Grogu who giggles, agreeing.

A sigh leaves Din but, in a few steps, he walks towards you.

Then you and Grogu are gathered into his embrace. You immediately wrap one of your arms around Din.

“Thank you… for coming for us.” Din’s voice is gentle, grateful.

“Always.” You answer back with a resounding truth.

Your job is tied here, and you might fly for the sake of the New Republic. But you believe your true wings, your heart’s flight navigation, now will always include a path for and to Din Djarin.

Currently he chats with Rotta, from what you heard might be staying here too.

Once you head into the mess hall Ward calls your name. With a patient knowing grin, she holds out the datapad with the promise of the paperwork you knew would be waiting for you.

Logging in with your chain link, a new message suddenly chimes onto the monitor from an unknown contact.

It contains a coordinates location to Nevarro along with a single message attached.

Stop by whenever, we’ll be waiting

Quickly, you start the reports happily accepting your punishment.

After all, there's a flight to Nevarro calling your name.

[auteurdelabre]

I'm just curious if anyone can drop any suggestions for Joel Miller x reader where the reader is clearly in her 30's or older? I'm trying to compile a list! Thank you!

[wordsbeachandtequila]

Been waiting for something like this !

[amanitacowboy]

beg (din djarin x f!reader)

i literally wrote this a year ago because of a little "what can i write in a limited amount of time" challenge with @chaotic-mystery and @pedgito posted out of peer pressure and bullying from @gracieheartspedro (love u tho) divider by @saradika-graphics as always, taglist is at the end, let me know if you want to be added or removed!

pairing: din djarin x f!reader (no use of y/n ever, no descriptions of reader)

word count: 676 (shorty, i know)

rating: 18+ explicit IF YOU ARE A MINOR DO NOT READ FURTHER, THIS CONTENT IS NOT FOR YOU

summary: din tortures and edges you with a remote control vibrator

warnings/contents: smut (obv), edging, orgasm denial/delay, din is a cocky mf but sweet too (please let me know if i missed any)

pet names used (for reader): cyare, baby

You had been suffering through the intermittent vibrations on your clit for hours, Din never letting up on that stupid little remote. You had loved it at first, and been confident that you could hold yourself from coming, but now you were sure you would explode if you didn’t cum soon.

Din just sat and watched you squirm, a smirk forming beneath his helmet. When he turned it off for the tenth time, he was sure you would give in like he expected. But all that came from you were high pitched whines and frustrated groans. 

“Cyare, you know you can tell me if it’s become too much,” he prodded, turning his head to look at you next to him, your brow furrowed aggressively and sweat beginning to form across your forehead. 

You sighed sharply and shook your head, determined to prove him wrong for once. He was always right, and you hated it. But you needed to be right, just this once. You weren’t going to give in or beg or plead to cum in your underwear like he said you would. 

You re-situated yourself in the seat he’d made for you in your bunk, staring down his helmet with stark determination. “I can take it, I swear. I told you I could,” you stated, voice wobbly but confident nonetheless. 

Din shrugged his shoulders and reached for the remote again, this time turning it higher than it had been at any point before. You sucked in a harsh breath, clenching your jaw hard enough that you could feel it in your temples. Your eyes rolled back as the vibrations picked up impossibly more and your clit throbbed in time with your heartbeat.

You could feel every nerve in your body light up all at once, and your orgasm rocketed to the surface once again. You knew you were about to cum if Din didn’t turn the vibrator off, and as much as you tried to hide it, he knew your body better than you expected. Within a second, the vibrator was off and you were nearly screaming with the loss of sensation.

As much as you wanted to be right, there was no way you could hold off any longer. You rolled your eyes and tilted your head to look at Din with the widest eyes you could, regret written all over your expression, knowing he could see it too. 

“Something you wanna tell me, baby?” he asked, a teasing lilt to his modulated voice telling you he had a cocky smile on under that shiny helmet of his. You groaned and nodded your head, your clear hesitation making him chuckle to himself. 

“Please, Din, please let me cum,” you whined, “I need it, I don’t think I can hold it any longer.” You pulled on the restraints around your wrists, showing him the desperation you felt.

Din just nodded and turned the vibrator on the lowest setting, enough to let you feel it but not nearly enough to get you off. Your breaths picked up their speed, and with them the vibrations against your aching cunt. 

Your voice reached a higher and higher pitch with every passing second, until the dam broke and your orgasm hit you like a brick wall. Your muscles locked up as your pussy gushed and pulsed, finally releasing what had been held back for so long.

Once you had come back down to yourself, Din stood and walked over to you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before kneeling in front of you. Your chest heaved as your breathing started to regulate and you stared down at your reflection in his helmet.

“I told you you’d eventually start begging for me. It only took two hours to get you there, but I knew you could do it,” Din whispered, his voice taking on a deeper tone than it had before and sending a shiver down your spine. 

You hated that he was right but you would be damned if he didn’t sound sexy when he was. 

@ozarkthedog @hellishjoel @jolapeno @sp00kymulderr @guiltyasdave

@bonezone44 @sizzlingcloudmentality @perotovar @mandaloriankait @hauntedhowlett

[wordsbeachandtequila]

Why is he fictional 😩

[queenofslowburn]

It's getting tight

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader (no use of n/y)

Summary: When a mission goes a bit sideways, you suddenly find yourself stuck with Din in a hideout that allows little to no movement, leaving you in a precarious situation - between his legs.

Warnings: +18, MDNI, took the locked room trope to its farthest edge, oral (m receiving), praising, the helmet stays on, forced orgasm if you squint?

A/N: this is the result of a trope survey I did, Din Djarin & locked room came in second. If you are interested in the others just follow the link.

wc: 4.8k

My Pedro-Character-Masterlist

This was… a predicament, to put it mildly.

You crouched inside a storage cavity that clearly had not been designed with a human occupant in mind - certainly not two of them. The narrow compartment smelled faintly of machine oil and old dust, the metal walls pressing close on every side as if the space itself resented your presence.

One person would have been uncomfortable.

Two was a logistical nightmare.

Especially when one of those people insisted on wearing an entire arsenal of beskar plates that stole what little room existed.

Every minor adjustment from Din Djarin produced the faint scrape of metal against durasteel.

You clenched your jaw.

“Would you hold still?” you hissed under your breath, trying to shift your position for the tenth time and failing just as miserably as before.

The helmet tilted slightly toward you.

“Quiet,” he shot back immediately, voice low and edged with the same irritation while looking down.

Very much down.

Because while the two of you had been sprinting through corridors trying to shake the men chasing you, this tiny hiding place had appeared during a frantic scan of the hallway. Without pausing to debate the idea, Din had grabbed you by the arm and shoved you inside.

He followed a heartbeat later.

The security panel had slid shut with a quiet thunk.

Only then had the reality of the situation become clear.

The space was barely large enough for one adult standing upright. With both of you inside, it became an exercise in awkward geometry.

Din stood with his back pressed firmly against the sealed panel. One armored arm braced against the wall in front of him, creating a makeshift support so he wouldn’t lose his balance in the cramped quarters.

At least he was standing.

You, on the other hand…

You lifted your gaze slowly.

From the floor.

From where you were kneeling.

Directly between his legs.

“Oh, don’t you dare tell me to be quiet,” you muttered sharply, craning your neck to glare up at the visor. “You’re the one who got us into this mess in the first place.”

Technically speaking, you were right.

Months of working together had built enough trust that when Din proposed the job, you hadn’t questioned it much.

An easy contract, he had said.

Quick entry. Quick exit. Minimal guards.

Simple.

Every single part of that description had turned out to be spectacularly wrong.

The artifact storage facility had recently made local news - something neither of you had learned about until far too late. Apparently publicity had inspired the owners to double their security.

What should have been a short operation had turned into a crawling nightmare.

Air vents.

Abandoned wastewater tunnels.

Forgotten maintenance corridors that hadn’t seen maintenance in decades.

The two of you had spent hours creeping through the guts of the building just to reach the prize.

Still, the effort hadn’t been wasted.

Your hand instinctively brushed your pocket.

Inside rested the object you’d come for: a Kyber Resonance Shard, a fractured piece of crystal rumored to hum faintly with residual energy when exposed to certain frequencies. Collectors paid absurd amounts for relics tied even distantly to the old Jedi traditions.

You had managed to lift it cleanly from its display.

Unfortunately, the display had also triggered a silent alarm.

Minutes later the corridors behind you had filled with guards.

Not just a few.

Dozens.

The careful stealth of the mission had evaporated instantly. Instead of sneaking out quietly, you had been forced to fight your way through the first wave and run before reinforcements sealed the building entirely.

That was when the plan changed.

Getting out immediately had become impossible.

But hiding?

Hiding might buy time.

Eventually the guards would assume you had escaped the facility entirely. Once the search widened outside, slipping away would be far easier.

At least, that had been the theory.

Which was how you ended up here.

Wedged inside a maintenance cavity barely wider than a locker.

Kneeling awkwardly on the floor.

Directly between the legs of a fully armored Mandalorian bounty hunter who filled most of the remaining space.

You tilted your head again to glare up at the dark visor hovering above you.

“Yes,” you muttered under your breath, “this was definitely your brilliant plan.”

“Maybe you should’ve listened when I told you the alarm might trigger,” Din Djarin muttered sharply above you, the words low and tight through the helmet’s modulator.

You snorted quietly.

“Helpful warning,” you whispered back. “Shame it arrived after I had already pocketed the shard.”

You shifted slightly on your heels, trying for the third time to relieve the pressure building in your legs. The cramped position forced your weight awkwardly onto your calves, and the metal floor beneath you was doing nothing to improve the situation.

Your muscles protested.

“Next time a meteor storm smashes into the Razor Crest,” you added dryly, “I’ll be sure to warn you afterward too.”

Din’s right foot nudged lightly against your leg.

You couldn’t tell whether the movement was meant as a quiet command to shut up - or simply an attempt for him to adjust his own balance in the ridiculous configuration the two of you had been forced into.

“If we get out of here,” you continued under your breath, shifting your weight again, “remind me to avoid any future jobs that involve stealing.”

The response came immediately.

“That from the master thief?” he said. Even without seeing his face, you could hear the faint crooked humor in his tone.

Months of working together had trained your ears well. You had learned to read the small inflections beneath the helmet’s mechanical filter. The subtle changes that meant he was smirking, even if the visor hid it completely.

You had seen that smirk before though.

More than once.

Because you have seen his face many times now.

The first time had been an accident - an unexpected glimpse of his face during a moment neither of you had planned.

The second had been necessity, when he’d taken a nasty hit and removing the helmet had been the only way to patch him up properly.

The third…

Well.

That had happened in the narrow bunk aboard the Razor Crest, sometime after both of you decided that surviving too many dangerous jobs together had earned you a more… relaxed way of blowing off steam.

Originally, the partnership had been strictly professional.

Lately, things had become a little more complicated.

“I wouldn’t mind switching back to bounty work,” you murmured, glancing up toward the dark visor. “You know I’m better at luring targets out than you are.”

A faint pause followed.

Then he replied quietly, “A little too good at it.” The final word slipped out in the soft cadence of Mando’a. “Mesh’la.”

Thankfully the darkness inside the cramped storage compartment hid the warmth that crept across your face.

You had never asked him exactly what the word meant.

Something affectionate, you suspected.

Something he said with an ease that made it feel… oddly intimate.

Even filtered through the helmet, the sound carried a certain weight.

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Din,” you whispered, voice tilting playfully. “Is that why you picked this miserable job? So I wouldn’t be flirting with half the galaxy while we worked?”

Your hand lifted almost absentmindedly, sliding along the side of his leg. The motion was half reassuring, half teasing as your fingers traced lightly over the armored plating before settling there.

“Focus,” he said quietly. But the word lacked its usual bite.

“Not much focusing I can do down here,” you replied softly. “We’re stuck waiting. Let me keep my sarcasm - it helps pass the time.”

Outside the sealed panel, the facility remained silent for the moment. No footsteps. No voices.

Still, both of you kept your voices low.

Better safe than discovered.

“You could start thinking about buyers,” Din said after a moment. “Once word spreads that the artifact disappeared from a secure facility, the list of interested collectors will shrink fast.”

You shrugged lightly, the movement barely noticeable in the cramped space.

“Let that be my headache.” He knew you would handle it. You always did. “You,” you added, glancing up again, “just focus on choosing our next job with a little more care.” A faint smirk crept into your voice. “I don’t mind spending time alone in a room with you,” you murmured. “But this setup? Less appealing.”

Your gaze lifted.

The visor angled down toward you.

“Think so? I can’t say the view is terrible.” There it was again - that invisible grin you had come to recognize.

Your hand, still resting on his shin, slid a little higher along his thigh. Your fingers tightened briefly in a light squeeze.

“Careful,” you murmured. “You know I like pushing my luck.”

“Focus,” he repeated again, though the command sounded slightly rougher now. “We need to be ready to move the second an opening appears.”

His tone still carried its usual seriousness. But there was something else hiding beneath it. A quiet thread of tension.

“I can focus just fine,” you said softly. “I’m practically meditating down here. Feeling like a damn Jedi.”

You shifted again, trying to relieve the ache building in your legs.

As you moved, you rolled your neck slightly - 

 - and accidentally brushed your head against his crotch.

The reaction was immediate.

Din shifted abruptly, a quiet hum escaping him through the modulator as he instinctively pulled back where little to no space was left.

You blinked, then slowly looked up. A wicked grin spread across your face.

“Well now,” you murmured, lips parting slightly. “Don’t tell me…” Your voice dropped to a playful whisper. “Din Djarin,” you teased, “are you actually getting turned on by this?”

You didn’t wait for an answer.

Instead your hand moved higher along his thigh, slipping beneath the edge of the segmented armor until your fingers found the softer resistance of the flight suit beneath. The fabric was warm from his body heat, taut where it stretched across muscle. You let your palm settle there for a moment - just long enough to confirm what your instincts had already guessed.

And there it was.

A slow, unmistakable firmness growing beneath your touch.

Your mouth curved slightly.

Well. That answered that.

“Cyar’ika…” Din’s voice dropped into a low rumble, the word dragged through the helmet’s modulator like a warning trying very hard to sound stern.

Except the tone betrayed him.

Half caution. Half something else entirely.

“What?” you murmured softly, fingers tightening through the fabric in a deliberate squeeze that completely contradicted the innocence of your question. “Should I stop?”

His breath caught.

“This is not the place,” he said, words slightly uneven now, “and definitely not the time.”

A faint inhale followed, sharp enough that he nearly stumbled over the last part of the sentence.

“Seems to me we’ve got plenty of time to kill,” you whispered.

Your hand didn’t slow.

If anything, the motion became more deliberate - testing, exploring his length through the layers of fabric while your eyes stayed locked on the dark visor above you.

Whatever sharp retort had been forming died instantly when your curious squeeze shifted into a slow, teasing stroke.

Din’s helmet tipped back against the wall behind him with a muted klonk. The hand braced against the opposite surface tightened, his fingers curling slowly into a fist as if he needed the pressure to steady himself.

“You really shouldn’t…” he muttered.

But the growl beneath the words lacked conviction.

It sounded less like a warning directed at you and more like something he was trying to remind himself.

Meanwhile your hand had already found the seam of the flight suit.

You slipped beneath it.

The moment your fingers brushed bare skin, Din’s hips shifted instinctively against your touch. A quiet roll forward.

A reaction he clearly hadn’t intended.

“You keep watch,” you suggested lightly, your voice barely louder than a breath, “I’ll keep you entertained.”

Your fingers wrapped fully around his cock now.

The muffled sound that escaped the helmet in response sent a small thrill down your spine.

You had seen Din without the helmet before. You knew the expressions he tried so carefully to hide from the rest of the galaxy - the tightening of his jaw, the way his eyes darkened when you touched him just right.

But this?

This was different.

With the helmet still firmly in place, you couldn’t rely on facial cues at all.

Instead you found yourself reading the language of his body.

Every small shift of muscle.

Every subtle change in the way he held himself above you.

The signals were clearer than he probably realized.

And right now they were telling you that you were very much on the right track.

His length twitched faintly in your grasp.

Yes.

Definitely the right track.

“You’re being reckless,” Din whispered after a moment, his head tilting slightly as if he was still trying to listen for sounds in the hallway beyond the hidden compartment.

“This entire mission has been reckless,” you replied with a quiet smirk. “I’m just staying consistent.”

Your hand moved again.

With a practiced motion you eased him free from the remaining fabric, the flight suit sliding aside just enough to reveal his length completely.

Especially from your low position you couldn’t help the brief flicker of appreciation that crossed your mind as he stood towering above you.

Your legs had been aching moments ago from the cramped kneeling position.

Now the discomfort barely registered.

You shifted slightly, adjusting your posture so you were better aligned with his cock in front of your face. Your gaze traveled upward for a moment before settling again on the task at hand.

Almost unconsciously, you wet your lips.

Your hand gave him a few slow strokes, deliberate and unhurried.

“You should stop,” he hissed quietly.

You smiled faintly.

“I haven’t even started yet.”

Leaning forward, you pressed a soft, almost reverent kiss against the soft skin of his tip.

The thing was,  you had never been particularly patient. The teasing kisses you had started with didn’t stay gentle for long. As you closed your lips around his tip you could feel a tension coiling through Din’s entire body and you could hear the change in his breathing.

The quiet restraint he usually carried with such discipline began to slip. A low sound escaped him - muted by the helmet but unmistakable.

Above you, his free hand found your hair. Just threading through the strands in slow strokes that felt almost absentminded, as if he was grounding himself in the sensation. The movement sent a clear enough signal on its own.

You were doing exactly what he wanted, that he did not want you to stop at all.

Encouraged, you took him in deeper, the tight space forcing you to adjust carefully as your tongue circled his soft skin. Din’s hand moved from the side of your head to the back of it as you leaned in further, the grip tightening just slightly as instinct took over.

For a moment the two of you went completely still.

The closeness of the compartment left almost no room for movement anyway. The faint hum of machinery somewhere inside the walls vibrated through the metal around you while you both adjusted to the new position.

Din’s breath hitched again.

“Mesh’la…” The word slipped out rougher this time, dragged low through the modulator as he looked down at you. The dark visor tilted slightly, studying you in the dim light filtering through the vent.

“You look… perfect like this.”

The praise landed like a spark and a shiver ran through you.

Your hand slid higher along his thigh to steady yourself while the other braced against the wall behind you. Slowly you began to move your head, careful in the cramped space, finding a rhythm that worked despite the awkward positioning.

You slowly started to move your head, taking him in just an inch more before rolling back, catching a breath. Spit glistened on your lips and his soft skin, even in the shady dark light of this makeshift hideout, the air inside the compartment growing thick and humid as the seconds stretched.   

Your own pulse had begun to race now and heat coiled low in your stomach. You could feel the wetness between your legs growing although he did not even touch you fully.

It was almost frustrating to realize there would be no space for him to return the favor here - not with the two of you wedged together in a compartment barely big enough to breathe in. Not to speak of the lurking danger outside.

But you had no doubt, the moment you made it back to the Crest, he would remember exactly how to repay you. And different to now he would take his time with you.

For now though, the focus was entirely on him.

Din’s grip tightened slightly in your hair as you relaxed your jaw just a bit more, to take him up to the hilt. Before you could settle fully into your pace, he guided you forward with a firm pressure at the back of your head, pulling you closer with a sudden urgency that stole your breath for a moment.

“You take me so well,” he murmured. The words vibrated through the helmet’s modulator, sending another shiver down your spine. Your lungs protested briefly at the fullness, but your mind was far too focused on the effect you were having on him to care much about that.

Just before the pressure became too much he eased the hold, letting you pull back enough to breathe again.

You inhaled deeply before leaning in once more, eyes slipping closed as you focused on the rhythm he gave you. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his flight suit for balance as you let your tongue explore his full length, feeling every vein and twitch. He felt impossibly hard now and you longed for the moment back on the ship when he would bury himself in you, hips rolling in that infuriating slowness he always used to bring you closer and closer to the edge.

Above you, Din’s movements became less controlled now. The subtle tension running through his body and the twitching of his cock told you everything you needed to know.

“I’m almost there, cyar’ika,” he breathed quietly. Then his helmet tilted downward again. “Look at me.”

You obeyed immediately, lifting your gaze to the dark visor looming above you. Your jaw softened slightly, preparing yourself for the moment - 

 - but suddenly he froze.

Every muscle in his body went rigid.

A sound echoed faintly from the hallway beyond the hidden compartment.

Footsteps, distant enough but approaching.

The situation became instantly absurd.

You were kneeling in a cramped maintenance cavity, his cock buried deep in your throat, both of you frozen in complete silence while someone walked somewhere nearby beyond the sealed panel.

Din held himself perfectly still, his grip tightening in your hair in a silent command to stop. To wait.

You felt it.

You understood it.

You ignored it. Your tongue moved again in a teasing flick against his underside and his throb told you how he ached for the sweet release. A strangled hiss slipped through the modulator.

The footsteps grew slightly louder as they passed somewhere down the corridor.

Din’s fingers clenched in warning. Not yet pulling you away, but very clearly telling you to behave.

You didn’t.

Your hands slid around the backs of his thighs instead, gripping firmly just beneath the curve of his backside. Then you pulled him closer, deeper, stealing your own breath, all while keeping your gaze fixed on him.

That was all it took.

Din’s head fell back against the wall with a silent thud as the tension snapped.

The insulation of the compartment and the distant machinery thankfully swallowed most of the sound. Outside, the footsteps continued past without slowing.

Inside, you had no choice but to hold steady as the wave finally broke and he spilled into your mouth, his warm cum coating the back of your throat and dripping down.

True to his earlier command, you kept your eyes lifted to the visor above you as you swallowed around his cock, taking every drop of him.

His fingers dug sharply into your hair now, the pressure almost painful as he fought to stay quiet through the release that rolled through him.

The footsteps faded down the corridor.

Only once the silence returned did Din finally exhale.

The breath came out slow and shaky.

After a moment he carefully pulled his still hardened length away, the movement making his tip bump lightly against your lips as he straightened.

“You…” he muttered, voice still rough. “…are an absolute menace.”

You leaned back slightly, licking the corners of your mouth before flashing him a satisfied grin.

“Happy to be of service.” You gave him a small, mocking nod.

With practiced hands you helped Din straighten himself back into the flight suit, smoothing the fabric into place before giving the front of it a light, almost condescending pat.

“Good as new,” you murmured under your breath.

The grip he had held in your hair finally loosened. Instead of the sharp hold from moments ago, his fingers slid through the strands in slow strokes, brushing your scalp before drifting down along the side of your face, tilting your face upwards by the chin. The gesture carried none of the urgency from earlier - just quiet warmth.

“We’re going to have a conversation about your sense of risk assessment once we’re back on the ship,” he said after a moment. Even through the helmet you could hear the grin in his voice. “Can’t take you anywhere.”

“Speaking of taking me places,” you said, nodding toward the sealed panel behind him, “you think things have cooled down out there yet?”

“I certainly have,” he replied dryly. The helmet tilted slightly as he listened for a moment, the faint sounds of the facility humming through the walls around you. “Seems quiet enough. Might be our best window.”

He glanced down toward you.

“Can you get it open again?”

Your lockpicking kit was still tucked safely in your pocket. After all, the panel had sealed itself automatically once you had picked it the first time and Din had shoved you inside. Your part of the job hadn’t exactly ended when the door closed.

You pulled the tools free with a quiet clink.

“What exactly are you contributing to this mission again?” you asked with a crooked grin.

Din awkwardly stepped over you in the tight compartment so you could shift forward, bracing yourself on your knees while you reached the panel controls.

“Because as far as I remember,” you continued, sliding the picks into place, “I handled the theft, the lockpicking, and the tension relief.”

Behind you he shifted his weight against the opposite wall.

“I’m making sure no one stands between us and the ship so I can repay you,” he replied calmly.

The panel hissed softly as the locking mechanism disengaged beneath your tools.

He leaned closer.

“Now hurry up,” he added quietly, “before I make you.”

You didn’t need further encouragement. You scrambled to your feet quickly - only to wobble immediately as your legs protested the long minutes spent kneeling.

Pins and needles shot through your calves.

“Stars,” you muttered, shaking them out. “Did the Jedi deal with this kind of thing all the time?”

Din didn’t slow.

“Less talking,” he said simply. His hand closed around your wrist and pulled you forward down the corridor. “More moving.”

Waiting had been the right call.

The frantic security sweep from earlier had thinned considerably. Most of the guards had clearly moved their search elsewhere by now, likely assuming you had already slipped off the premises.

Still, the path back to the exit wasn’t completely empty.

Twice you had to flatten yourselves against shadowed corners as patrols passed nearby.

Twice Din handled the problem when stealth alone wasn’t enough.

Before long the familiar shape of the Razor Crest appeared waiting at the edge of the landing platform like an old friend.

You sprinted the final stretch. By the time the ramp lowered you were already breathing hard.

Din reached the cockpit first, vaulting into the pilot’s seat as the startup sequence flared to life across the control panels.

You stumbled up into the cockpit seconds later and dropped into the copilot chair beside him, chest still rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath.

But the grin on your face refused to fade.

From your pocket you produced the prize.

The Kyber Resonance Shard caught the cockpit lights as you tossed it lightly into the air and caught it again.

“Well,” you said, leaning back slightly as the engines hummed louder beneath your feet, “that was an experience.”

You flipped the shard once more.

Din said nothing. His gloved hands moved across the controls with steady precision, initiating the final departure sequence.

The ship lifted smoothly from the platform.

You glanced sideways at him.

“What do you think this thing will sell for?” you asked, turning the crystal between your fingers.

Still nothing.

A small flicker of unease crept into your thoughts. Had you pushed too far earlier?

You cleared your throat. “Maybe we should take more breaking-and-entering jobs,” you added casually.

You tossed the shard again - 

 - but this time Din’s hand shot out and caught it midair before you could.

The motion was so quick it left you blinking.

Without looking at you, he engaged the hyperdrive controls with his other hand. The Crest lurched gently as it entered hyperspace, the blue tunnel of stars stretching across the viewport.

Din turned the crystal over once in his hand. Then set it on the console. Only after that did he rise from the pilot’s seat. His broad silhouette loomed over you.

“Bunk,” he said.

Just one word.

No humor left in it.

The tone wasn’t angry.

But it was unmistakably an order.

And stars help you - you obeyed it eagerly.

You were out of the copilot seat in a heartbeat, heading down the narrow corridor toward the sleeping quarters.

Behind you, heavy footsteps followed.

You reached the bunk and climbed inside just as the familiar sound echoed through the small cabin - 

The quiet hiss of a helmet seal disengaging.

Your grin widened.

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you stretched out on the mattress and looked toward the doorway with open anticipation.

You had worked with Din long enough to know exactly how this was going to end.

He always believed in settling the score.

My Masterlist

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𝚃𝚘 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙶𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝙼𝚎 🥀

cover artwork by north.the.lemon

𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

𝖲𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒: Joey Byrne is no stranger to loss. It is something that has unfortunately defined him. Raised in a small town in Ireland, he wanted to use his passion for working with young people to make a difference and help those in need.

When he earned the opportunity to work with kids overseas through an agency, he found himself in Brooklyn, NY. He was living a seemingly perfect life; working in one of the biggest cities, living with his perfect boyfriend and his dog, Bobo. Nothing could have prepared him for the world to crumble in an instant while his family flew to New York to visit him.

Twenty years on, Joey barely escaped Silver Lake and is now out in the wilderness searching for safety in a town called Jackson in Wyoming. Maybe it sounds too good to be true, but he has nothing left to lose. All he wants is to feel like he belongs somewhere and a reason to keep living.

𝖩𝗈𝖾𝗅 𝖬𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗋 𝗑 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝖨𝗇𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗍 (𝖮𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝖬𝖺𝗅𝖾 𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝖾𝗋) tags: slow burn, slow build, slow romance, canon-typical violence, torture, murder, mental health issues (various), psychological trauma, cannibalism, familial loss, issues with food, behaviours that are associated with eating disorders, mild pregnancy complications, abusive parents, implied/referenced suicide, suicide, explicit sexual content, smut, sexual tension, found family, domestic fluff, gay romance, mutual pining, enemies to lovers, eventual smut, eventual romance, eventual fluff, eventual relationships, eventual sex

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Chapter 1 - Arrival Chapter 2 - Warm Welcome Chapter 3 - Outbreak Day Chapter 4 - The Verdict Pt. I Chapter 5 - The Verdict Pt. II Chapter 6 - Jackson Chapter 7 - Dinosaurs Chapter 8 - Guardian Chapter 9 - Tea Chapter 10 - Ribs Chapter 11 - Warning Chapter 12 - Tommy's Turn Chapter 13 - Close Chapter 14 - The Final Verdict Chapter 15 - Silver Lake Pt. I Chapter 16 - Silver Lake Pt. II Chapter 17 - The Apology Chapter 18 - Birthday Girl Chapter 19 - The Letter 'D' Chapter 20 - The Kiss of Death Chapter 21 - The Great Escape Chapter 22 - An Hour Chapter 23 - Nothin' Chapter 24 - Seen Chapter 25 - Roots Chapter 26 - Ambush Chapter 27 - PB&J Chapter 28 - Pairs Chapter 29 - Take On Me

Joey by jaymee.draws

[wordsbeachandtequila]

This is one of my favorite ongoing stories and it deserves so much more love! If you haven’t given it a chance yet, you might want to consider reading it 😊

Joel is written perfectly, and Joey is such a lovely OC! The story is very well built and it’s a great mix of action and fluff 🩵

Come join us on this ride, we’re having the best time!

[sunisid3up]

Chapter 29 - Take On Me

Chapter artwork by @jaymee-draws

Tags Suggested Listening: 'Take on Me' by Bella Ramsey Word Count: 10k

Previously: After reporting Dubois’s events to Tommy, he privately cornered Joey to inform him of his awareness of their relationship and that while he's happy for them, he wants Joey to be careful. The following day Joey spent the morning and afternoon at Joel’s and discovered a photo of Joel with an unknown girl. When Joel saw Joey holding the photo he closed up and seemed distant, clearly unwilling for Joey to know about the girl in the picture. Despite his shutting down, Joel asked Joey to return the next day.

Summary: The next day Joey arrives at Joel’s and is shocked by what he finds. He has no idea what kind of day awaits him.

June 4, 2024

Showing up with breakfast muffins is objectively ridiculous and you realise it as you walk up to his front door. There’s something borderline farcical about standing on Joel’s porch holding the small lunchbox like it constitutes an apology he already said you don’t owe him. Still, the guilt of accidentally digging up something he had buried got worse after you left yesterday and you had to do something about it.

You knock and wait. A minute goes by.

Nothing.

A second, firmer knock then. 

Still nothing. 

That’s when the worry starts to barrel in uninvited again. It’s hard not to start thinking about the way he shut that drawer yesterday and wonder if he’s doing the same to you now. But he asked you to come back today. He wanted you here.

Trying to play it off, you glance around and attempt to not appear anxious. You decide on one last attempt and knock a third time, much louder now. Even with his bad ear, he’d feel it through the floorboards.

No answer.

Did something change overnight? Did he get back in his head and let it consume him when you weren’t around to stop it?

You’ve already turned to step off his porch in quiet defeat, swallowing the pain down when you hear the latch.

Whatever state you were expecting to see him in, it wasn’t this. He looks rough. Really rough. His eyes are at half-mast and his shoulders carrying none of their usual authority. It’s startling to witness.

“Hey,” you say carefully.

“Hey.” His voice is rougher than usual and scrapes uncomfortably out of his throat. “Sorry. Didn’t hear you knockin’.”

You just stare at him for a moment. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah…” He scratches across his stubble. “Just didn’t sleep last night, that’s all.”

“Oh,” you say, suddenly feeling like you’ve just interrupted an attempt at getting some rest. “I can come back tomorrow instead if you—”

“No— no.” He seems to wake up just enough to blurt it out quickly. “I was waitin’ up for ya. Come on in.”

You follow him in and the house confirms everything. His workstation is still scattered with yesterday’s shavings, there’s dishes on the counter and in the sink that nobody bothered to deal with and the living room looks like it has been completely neglected. This is evidence that the man had gone upstairs, shut the door and stayed there after you left. You do your best not to acknowledge any of it openly as you look around.

One thing you love about Joel is how he moves. It’s like watching a lion overseeing its pride. Today, however, he moves like every step requires energy he simply does not have. He makes it as far as the kitchen counter and parks himself there, leaning and taking the weight off of his legs.

“I brought these,” you say, holding up the lunchbox uselessly. “Thought you might be hungry.”

He takes it from you and turns it over in his hands before popping the lid off. He inhales a whiff and and something about him mellows to a degree. “Made these yourself?”

You shrug. “With Michelle’s help. Spent the evening with her and Arron after Jeremiah went to bed.” A short pause. “Wanted to make you something after yesterday.”

He musters up as much of a smile as he can before pressing the lid back on and setting them aside. His eyes drop to the tiles as he leans back against the counter again. “Sorry for how I reacted. I didn’t mean to… y’know—”

“It’s fine. I promise.” And you mean it. “Things were going a little too well. It was bound to happen.”

He looks up at you now like he expected consequences and can’t believe he’s receiving unearned generosity and understanding instead. He’s been up all night convincing himself he’s botched whatever this is, and here you are buffing it out with humour.

You stumble over and take the space next to him and let your shoulders sit together. The morning light filters through the kitchen windows across the mess neither of you is addressing.

“We’ve been through this already,” you begin. “This isn’t going to be easy, for you or for me. But I’m not here because I want answers you’re not ready to give me yet. I’m here because I want to be here. And I hope you know that by now.”

His chin stays dipped, eyes vaguely aimed somewhere near your feet. “How can you be okay with me knowin’ so much about your past but you knowin’ hardly anythin’ about mine?”

You give it a minute of thought.

“The past is the past,” you reply, glancing sideways at him. “We’ve all got one. I had to give mine up for safety, for trust. Yours isn’t mine to take. Maybe— hopefully one day you’ll feel capable of sharing it with me. But what I care about right now is the man here with me today.”

He takes a long breath and holds it before letting it out slowly. His hand starts to move across the counter, his fingers finding the edge of yours. You turn your hand over and close it around his and trace your thumb idly across his knuckles. Tommy’s voice asking you to be patient with him loops in your mind.

“It means more than you’ll ever know,” he murmurs eventually. “Just don’t know why you’d do all this for such an old sad sack o’ shit like me.”

“Ah, give over,” you tut. He turns to look at you. “You asked me for time, so I’m giving you time. And I’ll wait as long as you need me to. Until then, you’re my oldsad sack of shit.”

The lines between his brows loosen. He leans across to kiss you. There’s no trace of coffee or toothpaste, just his warmth. When your lips part with a soft pop, his eyes hang half-open, blurred by tiredness and whatever the kiss drained out of him.

“Why don’t you go lie down?” you suggest then. “Go get some rest.”

He straightens up a little and glances around. “Uhh… Yeah. Are you… are you comin’?”

“I’ll follow you in in a bit,” you say, pushing yourself off of the counter. “I want to get all this stuff put away first.”

“No, no…” he says dismissively. “Ellie’ll do it when she gets home.”

“She’ll be tired and she’ll have homework,” you reply, already rolling up your sleeves and starting to stack dishes. “Besides, I don’t mind. I have a little energy I could burn off.”

“I’m not havin’ you clearin’ up in my house—”

“Joel.” You cut him off with a stare. “I want to. Now go on. I won’t be long. Should only take me a few minutes.”

He holds his stance for another second before surrendering. He swipes a hand down his face and moves off into the living room, not having the energy to argue any further. You hear the distant sound of him losing the battle with gravity and dropping onto the couch followed by a long, exhausted exhale. 

The layout of his kitchen comes back to you quickly. You’d practically memorised it the afternoon you helped Ellie bake her own birthday cake without meaning to. Dishes get rinsed and returned to where they belong, the dried clods of mud crumbled around the floor get swept up and dealt with and the layer of wood dust gets cleared from his work station. It’s nothing over the top, but the place looks like itself again.

“Alright, all done,” you sigh, rounding the couch to find him. “Do you want me to heat you up one of the breakfast muff—”

You halt in place. 

He’s out like a light. Feet up on the armrest, one arm tucked behind his head and the other draped loosely across his stomach.

Your heart turns to mush at the sight of him. Any plan for what the day would entail is resigned in that instant.

“Hey,” you whisper, tapping the side of his foot gently. “Mind if I join you?”

His eyes open by the smallest fraction. They’re clouded and barely there, purely from surfacing back out of the deep sleep he was about to slip into. A low sound comes out of him before he starts making space and lifting his arms. It’s less of a sleepy invitation and more of an instinct.

You pull the red knitted blanket from the back of the couch, kick off your boots and tuck yourself into the gap he’s made. Your head settles under his chin and his arms come around you, one hand pulling the blanket up and the other taking hold of your forearm. 

A long exhale from him follows which lets you know he’s gone again.

You stay awake for a little while. There’s no real reason to, but you just find yourself enjoying listening to the way his breathing deepens, the way his hand stays circled around your forearm but goes gradually more slack as sleep takes him fully. 

Whatever kept him awake all night apparently left him the moment he felt safe enough to allow it. He waited for you and he opened the door. He’s resting because you’re finally here. 

His snoring starts up eventually and the heat of him becomes utterly sedating. Your eyes grow heavier with every breath you take until you finally follow him into a state of tranquility.

—

Your mother stands at the water’s edge. The sky above Silver Lake is colourless and her skin matches it, grey and papery, depleted of everything that once made it look alive. She’s speaking, but the space between you keeps swallowing her words. You can barely make out what she’s saying. I’m sorry, son. I’m sorry. Over and over. The gun appears in her hand and is pressed to her temple without warning.

Your heart starts to thud and you run to try and save her. The gravelly beach beneath your feet tilts, and no matter how hard you try, the distance between you only opens wider. 

Then you hear the bang. Blood coats the rocks where she lies. Your own scream comes from somewhere outside of your body and it’s louder than anything you’ve ever heard.

David rises from the water behind, crawling up the shore towards her body. He’s almost unrecognisable with his face reduced to a pulp of knife wounds and cordyceps claiming much of his body with thick, fungal plates. He opens what’s left of his mouth to reveal tendrils sprouting from his throat along with haunting, wet clicks. 

He starts to charge directly at you.

“Joey?”

Joel nudges you awake and his voice chases away the hazy images in your mind.

Your eyes snap open and for a brief second, you’re disorientated and trying to figure out where you are. Your pulse hammers in your throat and your whole body is tense and shivering like it’s still locked in the nightmare you just got pulled out from. As Joel’s living room starts to reassemble around you, you become aware that he’s still underneath you and you’ve got a fistful of his undershirt bunched in your hand.

“Wh-what happened?” Your voice comes out ragged. You lift your head from his chest.

“Nothin’. Everythin’s okay.” His voice soothes without even trying. He notices the fright still sitting behind your eyes. “You were mumblin’ and twitchin’. Were you havin’ a bad dream or somethin’?”

More sensation starts to return in stages. His arms are still around you and you’re overheating from the blanket.

“Yeah. Just a dream.” You swallow. “Sorry. It happens every now and again.”

His hand cups the back of your head and guides it back down to his chest. His other arm closes around you even tighter. “S’okay, baby. I’ve got you. You’re safe. Happens to me too sometimes.”

Your fingers curl into his shirt again as the last stubborn traces of the nightmare ebbs out of you. He starts stroking up and down your back in slow motions until eventually, the shaking ceases and your breath untangles itself. 

You’re almost slipping back into sleep when a distant, cheerful voice from somewhere outside Joel’s house reaches you… and it’s getting closer.

“Alright, see you tomorrow!”

Ellie. She’s home from school.

The two of you are on your feet and moving in a graceless, soundless panic before you’ve even thought to question it. The velocity in which you snatch your boots off the floor and Joel folds the blanket back over the couch ironically resembles two teenagers caught doing something they weren’t supposed to be doing.

“Bathroom,” he says, nodding towards the one tucked away under the stairs out in the hallway. “Go. I’ll try get her upstairs.”

Being asked to physically hide yourself still stings despite everything, but Ellie walking in on the two of you like this deserves more than fifteen seconds of preparation. You take your boots and head for the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind you with as little noise as possible.

At the same time, the front door pushes open. Ellie’s sigh carries across the hallway.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey kiddo.” You hear it straight away. His tone sounds like he’s trying too hard to conceal something. It’s too even and not like him. There’s no doubt she’ll notice that. “How was school?”

“Boring. Same as every other day.”

You stand there and listen to the muffled sounds of her dropping her bag somewhere and unzipping her jacket. All of it sounding way too close to the door between you and the scene.

“Got much homework?” Joel asks.

There’s a pause long enough that you can feel her suspicion forming. It’s clearly not normal for him to show this much interest in her day at school.

“Not really. Why?”

“No reason. Just— I want you gettin’ it done earlier from now on. None of this leavin’ it ’til last minute any more. Head on upstairs and make a start before dinner.”

She pauses again. 

“Why do I have to do it upstairs?”

“Because this is my house and you’ll do as your told,” he says with a touch too much force than the situation calls for.

You clamp your eyes shut and try to communicate with him telepathically. Dial it back, Joel. Jesus.

“Let me guess,” Ellie says, her voice changing from suspicious to more understanding. “Didn’t sleep again?”

You hear Joel shift on his hips and let out a small exhale right outside the door. “Yeah. Sorry. Rough night.”

“Dude, you need to get that under control,” she says, starting to move around again. “You can be such a dick when you don’t sleep.”

“Language.”

She rolls her eyes so hard you can hear it through the wood. “Sorry, sorry…”

Then, you hear her stop right by where the foot of the stairs are.

“Uh, what’s Joey’s jacket doing here?”

Your internal organs fall out of you to the tiles below. You hung it up on the banister when you arrived earlier. It was mild enough outside this morning that you didn’t even really need to bring it. You just grabbed it out of habit. And now it’s there, giving away your presence like it’s a neon sign.

Joel’s not quick enough to think of an explanation. He leaves it two seconds too long so you act on instinct and impulse. You flush the toilet and let it confirm that you are indeed in the house. After counting to ten, you push the door open and step out into the hallway with as much casualness as you can possibly gather.

Joel’s face is the first thing you see. His eyes are pulled wide open and he’s frozen in place wondering what the hell you’re doing. Ellie is stood by the banister where your jacket hangs, confounded by what’s unfolding before her.

“Hey, Ellie,” you say in the voice of someone who was absolutely not just standing in a tiny bathroom under her stairs listening to the entire conversation she was having. 

“Hey…” You can see her glancing between you both, picking you apart and trying to piece together what’s going on. “What are you doing here?”

It registers then how strange it must be from her perspective. You’re essentially a staff member at her school and a confidant she has grown to trust. And here you are, chilling at home with her guardian in your free time when you have no real business to be doing that.

“I, uhh… I was just passing through,” you begin, already aware that this is going to require some seriously believable engineering to get by Ellie. “I dropped off some breakfast muffins for you to try.” You flick your head back in the direction of the kitchen. 

“I made them last night. I wanted to see if you liked them. Thought maybe we could practice them together sometime or get Elise to do them for the next masterclass. I wasn’t even supposed to stay long, but I really needed to use the bathroom before the walk back and Joel kindly offered, so…”

She continues to dissect you. The sleep crease on your cheek, your hair flattened on one side, the relaxed attire… Something about the blankness in her expression tells you she’s not buying it. It’s too over-explained and convenient, but she opts not to dig into it.

“Oh, cool…” she says in a way that only sets you more on edge. “Well, I was actually going to stop by Jeremiah’s later to ask if you still wanted to teach me Take On Me. I know you still have a few days off work, but—”

“Of course,” you say. “No, yeah, let’s do it. How about tomorrow? Are you free after school?”

“Yep!”

You look over to Joel who’s still trying to hold himself together. “Is it okay if I stop by tomorrow then?”

He glances between the two of you and his chest slackens from letting out the breath he was holding. “Yeah… Okay. As long as your homework gets done.”

—

June 5, 2024

“Ugh, I’m never gonna get it,” Ellie says, dropping her hand from the strings. “Why is it so hard to switch from this chord to this one? I can’t get my fingers right.”

She has spent the bulk of the evening attempting it and the frustration has been accumulating steadily. There was a precise moment where she stopped playing her guitar and started fighting it.

The porch holds the last of the day’s warmth. The sun is dragging itself down slowly behind the roofline across the street. Joel is inside putting together something for their dinner. Behind the screen door, Ellie’s schoolbag is slumped against the wall where she left it the second she got home.

“Okay, I think it’s time for a break,” you say, feeling the need to step in before she throws the instrument across the yard. “You’re doing really well already, but sometimes just taking ten minutes can help reset.”

“No, my stupid brain and stupid fingers just need to coordinate properly,” she mutters.

“Hey. Enough of that. You’ve literally just started learning it today. These things take time.” You hold out your hand. “Give me the guitar.”

She gives up and shoves it across to you. You settle it on your knee and look at her for a long moment. 

“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself,” you say. “You’ve got a lot of skills under your belt already that most fifteen year olds don’t have. Look at how quickly you picked up the bow.”

“I know,” she says. “So why am I not getting this as easy? It shouldn’t be this hard.”

“There’s not one person alive who’s perfect at everything,” you reply, turning the tuning peg absentmindedly. “And things aren’t always easy. But think about it, it’ll be so much more rewarding when you do get it. Because you will get it. A part of the skill is the patience it takes to master it.”

“But, I am patient!” she says, as though you’ve accused her of something.

Your tilt your head and raise an eyebrow at her. “Ellie… You are many things. Patient is not one of them.”

She goes to open her mouth, but aborts and just sits back in Joel’s chair. You can’t help but smile.

A comfortable enough silence passes. The neighbourhood hums quietly as everyone starts to wind down for the night. Ellie twirls the guitar pick between her fingers, passing it back and forth and staring blankly at the wood beneath her.

“Joey, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

Another rotation of the pick. She hesitates, but then decides to just plough ahead.

“Is there something going on with you and Joel?”

The question crashes into the evening like a meteor and you find yourself trying to do anything but overly react to it. You take a sudden interest in the streetlight furthest from the house and keep your eyes fixed on it.

“Uhh— What do you mean?”

“Like, are you two…” She takes a second to choose her next words carefully. “Seeing each other?”

Nothing gets passed this little twerp. She can read people better than you can read a fucking billboard. Every time she showcases this unsettling talent she has, you’re not sure if you admire or despise her for it. Usually, you end up leaning more towards admiring because you start imagining what she’s been through that has required her to develop and sharpen this particular skill.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you say. “Why would you even ask that?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugs. “Because it’s really fucking obvious.”

“Hey, language,”, you quip, but then immediately catch yourself.

She produces the most insufferable smirk because she knows she’s cracked the code. You can physically feel the secret slipping between your fingers. The one person Joel didn’t want to find out yet above everyone else now knows.

“Joel and I are just friends,” you say with as much conviction as you have in you. “He’s my partner— patrol partner, I mean. You don’t need to be worrying about it.”

“Oh, I’m not worried,” she says pleasantly. “I just wanted to know. Besides, I think it’d be good for him. To have someone. Especially someone like you.”

She quietly picks at a splinter in the arm of Joel’s chair and you wonder how a fifteen year old could possibly know what would be good for a man like him. 

“He’s different when you’re around,” she continues. “He’s been different since… Since my birthday, I guess.”

Your eyes are still glued to the far end of the street. You take a long and slow breath in and out. “Hmm, yeah. Well, it’s got nothing to do with me, so…”

“Ding ding ding, my bullshit-o-metre is going off,” she teases.

You’re about to double down when you catch a glimpse of scarring on the underside of her forearm. The skin there has healed over and is left smooth and shiny. You’d forgotten about the bandage she had back in March around her birthday. She catches your eyes dipping to it and quickly tugs her sleeve down.

“Ellie, is that a burn?” you ask. “What the hell happened? It looks really nasty.”

“Nothing. It was just a stupid accident.”

You tilt your head again at her. “Come on, if we’re going to be grilling each other with questions, you can give me a little more than that. Tell me what happened.”

Before she can answer, the front door swings open. Joel leans out and takes in the scene before looking down at her schoolbag. “Ellie. Homework. Food’s almost ready.”

She reaches over, takes the guitar back from you and starts to get to her feet. “Is Joey staying for dinner?”

You go very still and look at Joel. He glances between you both as she approaches the front door.

“Yeah,” he says after a brief pause. “If he wants to. I made enough.”

The grin that breaks across her face is entirely too unnerving and makes the hairs on your arms stand up. She tops it off with an exaggerated smoochy face, obvious enough that Joel catches it, before bouncing back inside.

His neck almost snaps turning to face you as she passes him by. Whatever laxness he had in his face has curdled into unbridled horror. He checks behind him and then steps out fully onto the porch and pulls the door closed behind him. 

“What the fuck was that? What did you say to her?”

You jump to your feet. “Nothing! I didn’t tell her anything, but she knows!”

“What did she say? How does she know?” The urgency in his voice almost frightens you.

“She asked if there was something going on between us. I said there wasn’t, but it was like she already knew. Apparently we’re not that good at hiding it.”

He looks off down the street, his jaw tightening and hands finding his hips. “I don’t fuckin’ believe this… How the hell would she—…”

“I think you greatly underestimate how smart that kid is, Joel.”

“Oh, I know all too well,” he grumbles. “She just wasn’t supposed to know yet. No one’s supposed to know.”

The stress visibly flourishes in his features so you step closer to try and offer him some level of comfort and reassurance. “Hey, hey… Look, I know this isn’t what we planned and I know it’s scary, but she didn’t seem to be bothered by it at all. She actually seemed quite… happy about the idea of it, if it were true…”

His jaw stills for a second before he exhales hard through flared nostrils. “That’s not the point, Joey. I’m not ready for her to know. I wanted more time. It was supposed to be just for us.”

“Well, I don’t think we have that luxury anymore, Joel,” you say quietly. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not how you wanted it, but we’ve got to do something. Continuing to pretend like this is not happening is the worst possible thing you could do right now. For you and for her.”

He lifts his eyes then and looks at you like you’ve just said something extremely dangerous. “What’re you sayin’?”

You hold his gaze and bite down on your bottom lip. “I think you should just tell her.”

“Are you— Have you lost your goddamned mind? Didn’t you hear what I just said?”

“Joel. She already knows,” you repeat. “I didn’t want to be the one to confirm it for her. It’s not my place. But she knows, and the longer you lie to her face, the less she’s going to trust you in the long run. Believe me. She needs to know she can trust you.”

That seems to register deeply in him. Trust, and the breaking of it, appears to be a subject him and Ellie might have faced at some point in their history.

“I know it’s a lot to consider,” you continue, “and I can understand not wanting everyone in the settlement knowing, but Tommy and Ellie… these are people that care about you. This is your family. And unless you’re planning on ending this, I think they should know because it’s too messy to hide. Think about how much easier it’ll be if we can at least just let our guard down around them.”

He goes very quiet and very still. He stares down at the porch boards fighting himself. The breeze picks up suddenly and rustles the trees surrounding his yard.

You take another step closer and reach to brush a finger against the side of his hand, just enough to let him feel your touch. His hand reacts and his fingers curl into yours.

“I’ll be right there with you if that’s what you want,” you say. “But she deserves to hear it from you. You know she does.”

Eventually, he nods. Once and barely.

“I’ll tell her at dinner.”

—

“Looks good,” you say as Joel places a plate of vegetables and buttered bread in front of you. It doesn’t, if you’re being truthful, but someone had to break the uncomfortably awkward silence at the table.

“Why can’t you cook for us more?” Ellie asks you from across the table.

“Because Joey doesn’t live here,” Joel says, shooting her a look. “He lives with Jeremiah. Now eat.”

He drops into the seat beside you and starts shovelling carrots into his mouth without another word, eyes fixed to his plate and brow scrunched grumpily. He’s rigid with nerves.

You pick up your own cutlery and make a start.

The first carrot you chew confirms what you suspected. It’s overcooked to the point it’s almost liquid. It just tastes like the boiling water it was cooked in. No flavour, just mush. Your eyes flick over to the salt shaker, but you resist.

“Want some salt?” Ellie says then, lifting the salt shaker like she knew you were thinking about it.

You glance at Joel next to you and then back to her. “No. I’m fine, thanks.”

She pops her eyebrow knowingly and then proceeds to lace her own plate with it until Joel notices and tells her that’s enough. You’d rather suffer through the rest of this food as it is than hurt his feelings any more than they already have been.

Everyone has almost finished eating by the time you realise no one has spoken a word. Every scrape of cutlery around the table feels amplified. Ellie has remained quiet all throughout dinner which is very unusual for her. She always fills the silence no matter where she is. It’s practically her function. A part of you wonders if she’s keeping quiet because she’s waiting for someone else to fill it tonight for a change.

Under the table, you reach over and press your knee against his. His eyes slide over to you and he reacts like he was trying to forget what he set out to do tonight. From your periphery, you watch him fight himself one last time. He swallows down his last mouthful, pats his mouth clean with his napkin and readies himself with bunched fists.

“Uhh— Ellie.” 

His voice comes out with a flakiness to it. He’s already unsure and wobbly.

She stops mid-mouthful and looks up. Without even needing to acknowledge it, you can sense that he can’t look at her directly.

“I got somethin’ I need to talk to you about.”

Her eyes flick between the two of you. The tips of her ears flush red and she presses her lips together to hide the smile pushing up at the corners. You can almost hear her saying this is gonna be good in her head. She places her fork down and leans back, open and ready.

The room quiets even more around him. It takes him a moment to get started.

“I— uhh… I heard you asked Joey a question… out on the porch earlier today,” he says quietly. “About us.”

He speaks like every word is the equivalent of stepping on glass.

“Mhm.” She doesn’t blink.

He wipes his clammy hands on his jeans, still not able to face her.

“Well, uhh—… I thought I should let you know that, umm…” He and his words start to fall apart slowly. His shoulders sag and his head dips to his lap. “Me and Joey— uhh…”

Even Ellie’s expression softens watching him struggle through whatever it is he wants to say. The amusement drains out of her now that he’s shrinking. It’s almost pitiful to witness.

He’s just about to continue on and push through when he gives up on himself and collapses inward.

“You say it,” he mumbles to you under his breath. “I can’t— I’m sorry. Fuckin’ stupid…”

You hear the frustration in it. It’s not aimed at you or Ellie, but it’s difficult watching it swallow him whole.

Taking a breath, you straighten up a little in your seat. Beneath the table, your hand finds his where it rests on his thigh. You curl your fingers around it and give him a small squeeze.

“It’s alright,” you murmur, just for him. “I’ve got you.”

When you turn back to Ellie, she’s already watching and waiting.

“What Joel wants to tell you,” you say, picking up where he left off, “is that he knows you’ve noticed that we’ve been spending a lot of time together. Outside of patrols and stuff.”

She measures you like she already knows where this is all going and she’s just waiting for you to cough it up.

“Well,” you continue, trying to choose the right way to say it, “that’s because we enjoy spending time together. And we’ve gotten… quite close in the last while.”

Beside you, Joel visibly squirms. You feel it more than you see it. His hand tightens under yours and the rest of his body goes rigid like he’s bracing for some sort of impact.

“Joel is a really, really good man. He’s helped me with a lot since I got here. And I’ve helped him too, I think. And somewhere along the way, we’ve realised that we rely on each other — and that we care about each other… a lot.”

Ellie’s expressions remains unreadable, but she’s listening. Really listening.

“So when you asked earlier if there was something going on between us… I lied, and I shouldn’t’ve lied. I’m sorry I did. But I did it because this is something Joel wanted to tell you himself in his own time… when he was ready… because it’s important to him. But I think you know the answer.”

Your thumb traces back and forth over Joel’s knuckles and it’s unclear who it’s more grounding for, you or him.

Ellie tips her head forward slightly, peering at you through her lashes. “So… you two are seeing each other?”

You don’t want to answer this part. Instead, you wait and let him do it. He eventually looks up from his lap. His eyes move from you to her and he gathers up every last bit of courage he has knowing he’s got the final word. 

“Yeah.”

A single syllable, but now it’s out there. He did it and you can’t quite believe he did it. Your hand squeezes his again. His body language hides nothing. It’s abundantly evident that it took a lot for him just to do that.

Ellie’s cheeks tint a little and that small flicker of amusement returns to her eyes.

“Cool,” she says, like you’ve just told her some mildly interesting fact about space she hasn’t heard yet and not something that has had Joel in knots this entire time.

You look at her across the table and the smile you wear is just for her. She’s young, but she’s intelligent enough to understand what she’s just done for him, and by extension, you. You see it in how she knows to not use it as an opportunity to tease him the way she normally would or make it into anything it doesn’t need to be. By being appropriately gentle, she just took an enormous burden off of his shoulders, and you’re full of gratitude for that.

Joel’s eyes find yours then and they give away exactly how he’s feeling. He doesn’t know quite what to do with it. He’s jammed somewhere between relief and disbelief. All that tension he had held on to, all that fear, and she just… accepts it like it’s nothing. Now it just needs to find it’s way out of his body.

"So you're… okay with it?" he asks, still shielding himself as if she might change her mind. "It doesn't bother you?"

She almost winces at that, like the question itself is a little painful to receive. “Psh, nope. Why would it bother me? I like Joey. Joey’s cool.”

"I just—…" He exhales and collects himself. "It doesn't change anything. Between you and me. I need you to know that."

She picks at the ends of her fingers and nods like she understands the gravity behind those words. A small silence passes before she looks back up at you both. “Wait, so how long has this been going on? Am I literally the last one to find out?”

“Not that long,” you say, your fingers still laced through his under the table. “It’s still quite new for us. But only you and Tommy know, and we’d like to keep it that way for now. Okay?”

She nods again.

“Ellie.” Joel’s voice is considerably more firm than yours. “I mean it. You can’t tell anyone. Not until we’re ready.”

“Yeah, I heard him the first time, jeez…” she replies. “I won’t say a thing.”

He analyses her for another moment, checking for any potential cracks in her demeanour, before finally letting it go. “Alright, well… clear your plate away and go to your room or somethin’.”

She slides her seat back, takes her plate to the sink to rinse it and then begins to make her way out to the hallway. Back at the table, you and Joel follow suit, collecting what’s left of the dishes to finish tidying up.

She stops in the doorway and turns.

“You know,” she says, making you both pause. She takes the sight of the two of you in, standing together in the amber light of Joel’s dining table with dishes in hand, like she’s piecing you together in a new way for the first time. “You guys kinda suit each other.”

She says it simply and like she’s pleased with herself for saying it. Then she’s gone. Her footsteps go climbing up the stairs and her bedroom door closes.

The silence she leaves behind is very different than the one before dinner. 

Joel leans forward onto the back of a dining chair, propping himself up and letting it take some of his weight. His eyes find the tiles below and he lets out a resolute exhale as he starts to process what just happened. You set down the dishes you’re holding and cross to him. Your hand moves up his arm and stays there. You fold yourself against his side, resting your face on his shoulder and your arm curving around his back.

“You did it,” you whisper against his flannel, pressing several little kisses there. “I’m so proud of you.”

He doesn’t move for a minute. He just stands there and lets it all flow through him.

When he finally straightens and looks at you, his eyes are glossy and a little lost. Not lost in a bad way, lost in a way that someone would look if they carried that much shame and worry only to learn that they never needed it in the first place.

“How do you feel?” you ask.

He shakes his head. “I dunno…” he says. “I don’t know what’s goin’ on… I just didn’t think it’d be like this. I don’t know what I thought was gonna happen.”

“She’s not like us,” you reply softly. “You’ve got to remember that, Joel. Ellie didn’t grow up with what we grew up with. None of this matters to her the same way it did for us. She’s like Tommy. She just wants you to be happy.”

He absorbs that somewhat and nods slowly, his gaze drifting somewhere past you before finding their way back.

“Would it be alright if— uhh…” He clears his throat and tries again, quieter this time. “Would you mind stayin’ tonight? I just— I think I’d sleep better if you were here.”

The shyness of it, the need… it makes you melt. It’s still very much apparent how hard it is for someone like him to be this way, so you don’t take it for granted. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “I can stay. I’ll just need to go and get Jeremiah sorted first. I’ll be back in a bit.”

—

Joel eases his bedroom door closed with a soft click once you’ve returned and everyone has decided it’s time to turn in for the night. With Ellie tucked away in her room and getting herself ready to sleep, you can’t help but notice the subtle difference in how he moves around his room now. He’s still carrying some residual tension from the reveal earlier tonight, but he’s definitely a little looser. Even when he answered the door downstairs just now, there was an openness that wasn’t there before and almost a relief that you had returned.

Your patrol backpack has been repurposed to an overnight bag for the night. Some spare clothes and a few essentials, nothing major. You set it down at the foot of the bed and take in your surroundings like it’s the first time. Nothing has inherently changed except the eyes that look around it now. Everything feels different through this lens.

The room still holds Joel’s version of cozy. It’s practical and a little worn-in, but it’s tidy. Lamps hum warmly in the corners, casting shadows along the walls. Every surface still holds tools, books or just random belongings of his. Nothing feels out of place though.

At the window, he draws the curtains closed to shut out the quiet stretch of street outside.

“How’s Jeremiah?” he asks, unbuttoning his flannel and toeing off his boots.

“He’s actually doing pretty well,” you reply, doing the same, starting to shrug off your own layers. “You know how much I hate leaving him on his own, but I think he enjoys having the place to himself. Less of me hovering around him all day.”

By the time you’ve brushed your teeth, he has already changed into his nightwear and passes you in the doorway with a graze of his shoulder as he heads to take his turn at the sink.

The bathroom door swings half-shut behind him and you take a second to just watch him. It’s strange how easily it’s all slipping into place. It feels almost presumptuous to wonder if this could become a regular thing, but the thought is there nonetheless.

When he reemerges, you’re standing at the end of his bed.

“Which side do you want me on?” you ask.

“You choose,” he murmurs, barely glancing over as he busies himself with folding the last remaining articles of clothing left lying around.

There’s no need to overthink it. Naturally, you gravitate to the same side he made you sleep on the last time and tuck yourself under the covers.

The sheets are fresh and cool against your skin as you slide in. You catch the scent of soap as you pull them up over your chest. You watch him circle the bed before following you in and leaning down to press a light kiss to your forehead.

He reaches behind him to switch off his bedside lamp. In that moment, something nags at you. You consider letting it pass. Tonight has already taken enough out of him and out of you. But you need to know the truth.

“Joel,” you say quietly, just before the lamp goes off. “I need to ask you something.”

He pauses and glances over his shoulder at you. Whatever he sees in your face makes him stop. He turns back to face you and props himself up on his elbow.

“What’s wrong?”

You take a long breath in to buy yourself a second, trying to think of the smartest way to ask.

“I know today has been a lot. And I meant it when I said I wasn’t looking for answers that you’re not ready to give me yet, but there’s something I really need to know.”

He shifts again and sits up a little like he’s bracing for whatever it’s about to be.

“How did Ellie get that scar on her arm?”

It drops on him heavier than you intended it to. The stillness is immediate. His eyes become quite vacant as they drift past your shoulder. You can see thoughts starting to churn uncomfortably in his head.

“I saw the bandages before and I asked her, but she wouldn’t say what happened,” you continue. “I asked her again out on the porch when I saw it had healed over, but she still wouldn’t tell me a thing. She just kept saying it was nothing.”

His gaze drops to the rumpled sheets between you. He swallows nervously. 

You hesitate, but then decide to push a little further.

“It didn’t look like nothing. It looked like she was trying to cover something.”

That pulls his eyes back to you. He receives it almost like it’s an accusation. Without you needing to say it, he knows what you’re insinuating.

There’s no mistaking what he’s thinking now. You can see it written all over his face. You’ve stepped on the line, maybe even over it, but he’s calculating whether this is something he can be truthful about with you. After the past few months you’ve had with him, if he can’t trust you at this point, maybe he’ll never be able to fully trust you.

It takes a long moment, but he eventually breathes out slowly, like he’s decided what he needs to say.

“She’s immune.”

He says it flatly and with no build-up or cushioning. The words are so disorientating that you’re not even fully sure you heard or understood them correctly.

Your brows pinch slightly. “What do you mean immune?”

There’s a clench in his jaw. His eyes stay glued to the creases in the sheets like he’s reading from them, like it’s easier than looking directly into your eyes.

“She got bit,” he says then. “Long time ago now. But she didn’t turn.” He pauses and swallows. “It just healed. By itself. That’s how she ended up with me. Someone wanted me to take her out west — to Salt Lake City. Fireflies had a base out there. Said they might be able to use her to make a cure.”

Your head feels overloaded and like it’s struggling to keep up. Every piece of information shatters everything you thought you knew even more.

“A cure?” you repeat, but your voice is barely audible.

“It ended up not workin’,” he continues. “So we left. Came back here so we could be with Tommy. Give her a life worth livin’. Keep her safe. She burned herself to hide the bite. Didn’t want any attention.”

You drag your gaze away from him because looking at him feels like too much right now. The world you’ve been surviving in, as broken as it already is, has never felt more out of alignment. 

Immune. The word runs circles around you and refuses to sit still. A cure. A concept you didn’t think was even possible anymore. 

All the years passed. All those that were lost. The idea that things could’ve been different or still could be different. It’s crushing. It’s too great to even comprehend.

“If people knew,” Joel says, and this time you feel his eyes on the side of your face, “I don’t know what they’d do, so they can’t find out. There ain’t anyone else like her. Might never be anyone else like her again.”

Just when you thought you had him figured out, he uncovers this layer to him that completely rearranges any notion of reality you had. Jackson doesn’t feel quite as simple anymore and neither does this.

“If we’re really doin’ this,” he murmurs, each word measured carefully, “I need you to swear to me that you’ll keep her safe. No matter what.”

Your eyes meet his again. They’re heavy with the burden of what it takes to be around him. Joel’s fear is never loud, it’s always buried deep enough that only those who truly know him get to see it.  He’s speaking to you in a way that should feel like you’re being given an ultimatum. But you made your mind up the day she barrelled into you in Elise’s bakery, whether you knew it or not.

You give one slow and certain nod. “No matter what.”

Joel watches you carefully after that, in that way he does when he’s testing for any fragility. You just let him. You can feel it in the way his eyes move across your features. He doesn’t find anything. You mean it and he knows you do.

Still leaning on one elbow, he reaches over and cups the back of your head to pull you into him. He kisses you with intention. It feels less like affection and more like an unspoken oath you’re making here in his bed. When you part, your lips separate softly and he keeps you close for another minute, foreheads pressed together while the quiet breathes around the two of you.

Then he shifts lower beneath the covers, settling into the mattress and ready to rest. Instinctively, he reaches to pull you against him, but you stop him halfway and flip the motion on him, guiding him carefully until his back rests flush against your chest instead. You tuck yourself into him, your arm slipping under his and lacing your fingers together. You press feather-light kisses to the back of his ear.

Tonight, you’re holding him.

After the day he’s had, after everything he’s done to include you, you don’t want anything from him now other than to let you hold him. It’s a wordless gesture to let him know that he no longer has to carry the full weight of all of this by himself anymore. 

Things between you have moved faster than you ever imagined they would. Faster than either of you probably intended. But that’s the new world. It’s all about survival and rebuilding. Healing. It just so happens that you’re both puzzle pieces that fit perfectly together the way you do right here in this bed.

Who knows how it will end. Who knows if any of this is a good idea.

All you know is that lying here with him, with Ellie asleep a few doors down the hallway, it’ll all be worth it.

—

June 6, 2024

The first thing that registers as you stir awake is the light, brilliant and insistent pouring through the gaps in the curtains. The second is the empty space beside you when you stretch your leg over to feel for his. The sheets have already gone cool where Joel had been. 

The en-suite door is open and no one is beyond the frame. The house feels eerily quiet and there’s a sharp chill in the air that the duvet had been shielding you from. Propping yourself up on both elbows, you look around the room one-eyed as you slowly surface from sleep, listening for any sign of life until you hear something.

Before your heart has a chance to start ticking, the clang of something heavy being placed on the hob in the kitchen downstairs confirms someone is still here.

Once your chest has unknotted, you climb out of bed, throw on some fresh clothes and head out to the hallway. Ellie’s bedroom door is still closed, but she’ll surely be up for school soon. 

You head downstairs and round the corner to find Joel in his pyjamas at the stove with his back to the doorway, moving around the kitchen like he’s taking the job of cooking breakfast way too seriously. 

The kitchen is a little warmer, golden and smells of butter heating gently in a pan. Sunlight spills through the window in angled, honey-coloured rays, spread across the countertops and dishes that have already started to accumulate by the sink. 

He doesn’t seem to have heard you come down the stairs. He only realises you’re there when you mumble “morning” from the doorway, your voice still sandpapery with sleep. He turns fast enough to suggest he wasn’t expecting you to be awake just yet.

“Oh. Mornin’.”

You flatten your hair and cross the tiles to him, drawn by the promise of his body heat and the smell of bed still clinging to his skin. He sets the eggs he was holding down on the counter and opens his arms just as you reach him. You press your cheek into the side of his neck, close your eyes and just stay there to breathe him in. His arms encircle you and hold you against him and his mouth presses comforting kisses into the side of your head.

“You alright?” he murmurs quietly. “Sleep okay?”

The answer you give is more of a noise than it is language. It’s a soft, sleepy mhm. You lift your head to find his mouth and kiss him once before returning back to the space between his chest and jaw. He starts to sway you slowly in place and lets you stay there with him until you’re ready to detach, peel yourself away and drop into one of the dining room chairs.

“How d’you like your eggs?” Joel asks, turning back to the pan.

You scrub both hands across your face and yawn before answering. 

“Sunny side up.”

He gets to work, so you just sit back and watch. The level of concentration he’s using for the task is downright adorable, but you do your best to make it seem like you’re not enjoying it more than you should be. He clearly really wants this to go right.

“I’m gonna make a pot of coffee,” he says over his shoulder. “You want some?”

“Nah, I’m grand.”

He turns to look at you fully then at a speed that is almost comical. His face drops because he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing.

“Of course I want coffee,” you say, grinning back at him.

He shakes his head disapprovingly and reaches for the coffee tin on the top shelf near the stove. He rattles it in his hand before pulling the lid open and peering in. “I’m runnin’ a little low.”

It should be no surprise seeing as he’s been making more servings than he normally would since he found out you love coffee as much as he does, but he’s assessing and calculating roughly how many more cups he’ll get out of what’s left.

“Don’t worry about me then,” you say. “Save it. I’ll just have water.”

He gives you a look that he would only reserve for suggestions that he considers thoroughly idiotic. “No, I’m makin’ you some. I keep it for special occasions.”

“Then don’t waste it on me,” you repeat. “It’s a finite resource. Save it for a special occasion.”

But he’s already spooning some out into two separate mugs. “I’d argue today is a special occasion.”

That makes you go quiet. Inside, your chest feels like it’s struggling to contain your heart. There’s no way to hide what’s going on on your face, so you pick at the corner of the napkin lying on the table next to you and let yourself continue to be surprised by this man who has done nothing but surprise you in the last few months.

“If you’re sure,” you say finally.

He carries one of the mugs over and sets it down in front of you. 

“Just means I’ll have to go find more soon,” he says. “And when I do, you’re comin’ with me.”

Your eyes meet across the table for a moment, long enough for the idea to form in your imagination. Riding out together at some point in the future for something as ordinary as coffee seems way more romantic than it probably should.

“Need a hand with anything?”

Joel surveys the kitchen in a quick audit, tallying up what’s left to do. “Uhh, no. S’pretty much all done. Just waitin’ for the bread to toast.”

It’s only a minute later that the toaster pops and you watch him start to assemble everything onto plates. A thought repeats in your mind, how strange it still feels to be sitting in his kitchen. It feels like watching a dream play out in front of you. It’s reality allowing one of your wildest fantasies to seep through just for once. Your fingers have barely closed around it and you already can’t bare the thought of letting it go.

Plates start hitting the table, and that’s apparently all the signal that’s needed to summon Ellie from her bedroom. She barrels down the stairs and stops for a split second in the doorway when her eyes land on you first. You can’t blame her for forgetting you were staying the night. It’s a new visual seeing you sat at Joel’s dining table with sleep still holding you — and it’s still early in the morning. 

She smiles, somewhat delighted with the scene that greets her, and drops into her chair at the head of the table.

“Sup.”

“Morning,” you say. “How’d you sleep?”

“Fine,” she says, picking up her fork and examining the slightly burned toast and eggs on her plate. “What about you two?”

You glance across to Joel, who is finishing dumping dishes into the sink with his back to you. “Really well, actually. We were out like a light. Especially Joel. He was exhausted.”

“Well, just so you know,” Ellie says, lifting her brows as she starts cutting into her eggs. “I didn’t hear a things, so don’t worry.”

The look that Joel gives her from across the kitchen would frighten a heavily armed raider, but as always, Ellie remains totally unfazed and unaffected. “Keep quiet and eat your food.”

“I was talking about snoring.”

You duck your head and bite the inside of your cheek to suppress the chuckle that’s attempting to disrupt the silence left behind.

Joel drops into the seat next to you and starts eating. If the unspoken awkwardness of everyone adjusting to this wasn’t there, this would be rather peaceful and comfortable. It’s the ordinary percussion of a shared meal. Cutlery against ceramic, the crunch of toast… Blissfully plain.

Your eyes are drawn to the kitchen window and a thin cloud moving slowly across the pale sky. With the inhale of a breath, you realise for once in God knows how long, you don’t feel dread. There’s nothing to worry about in the next hour, the next day or even the next week. You’ve taught yourself to not put too much faith into feelings like this because they never last, but maybe this time they will.

“This is nice,” Ellie pipes up after a while.

Both you and Joel look up at her from your plates. Her eyes move between you and she has that same satisfied smirk that make her freckles appear more prominent on her nose and cheeks somehow. 

“What, the eggs?” you ask, glancing over to Joel. “Yeah, they’re actually really good. They turned out perfectly.”

“No, I mean…” She waves her fork in a vague arc to gesture to the three of you arranged around the table in the remarkably simple way that you are. “This.”

She just goes back to eating like it’s nothing. 

Joel’s eyes have already found yours by the time you look back at him and they stay there for a minute. No one else would be able to read what he’s thinking the way you can. He’s having the same realisation you did moments ago. He’s watching something he imagined, hoped for, becoming real right in front of him. 

In some ways, maybe Ellie is reaching that same conclusion too. In one way or another, all three of you have craved safety and belonging and everything under the umbrella of that. And here, at this table, it feels like you may have finally found it.

Outside, the world comes to life for another day. There’s warmth when you curl your hand around your coffee mug, but it’s nothing compared to what’s going on inside of you. 

And right on cue, the dread comes crawling right back, cruel and unwelcome, because now you have something that you can lose.

AN: And there we have it, folks! The final chapter of this act. Thank you so much for reading this far.

I'm going to be taking a few weeks off from posting while I write the next chapters and try to catch up with myself. I have no exact idea how long it'll be for the next chapter, but it'll be a few weeks. Make sure you're following me on my socials as I'll keep everyone updated there! (SuniSid3Up on Twitter and suni.sid3.up on IG).

Some more BTS stuff -- Since I posted chapter 28 last weekend, my dad developed some chest pains and went to get it checked out and it turns out he was on the verge of having a major heart attack and is now preparing to get a quadruple bypass surgery, so things have been a little nuts for me the last few days. His surgery is coming up and I don't know what lies ahead, but writing is helping me stay sane and level to some degree.

Like I said last week, I hate asking for this, but I would love it if you could like, share, kudos, comment on the story as much as you can because it makes all the difference! I hope you go back and re-read your favourite chapters while I'm gone too because it's fun finding all the little details and easter eggs buried in there.

Also can we PLEASE give it up for the incredible artwork for this chapter by my friend Jaymee?! Please go send her lots of love and follow/support her.

Thanks again for all your support and kind words these first 29 chapters. We're like halfway through the story and SO MUCH is yet to come. I'll see you guys soon and please take care. Love you - Suni 💙

[honey-moon-13]

Mirror, mirror on the wall...

.⋆♱ summary: After a long week of work, all Joel wants is to relax in the arms of his sweet little wife. At least until you give him a haul of your new makeup purchases, and one small product stirs up trouble because of its name. .⋆♱ a/n: This idea was born while I was going through my Sephora cart… So, yeah, that’s my excuse! By the way, I can’t believe I’ve already reached 238 followers... I’m gonna cry. This one is for my baby @pattwtf <𝟑 .ᐟ .⋆♱ warnings: Smut at the very end, Obsessive! Joel (kinda…?), Soft Dom/Sub Elements, Makeup Kink, Mirror Sex, Repeated Orgasm Denial, Spanking, Pussy Slapping, Hand on Throat, Unprotected Sex, Creampie… And a lot of love! First time writing a complete sex scene btw (I'm scared) .⋆♱ wc: 15.230 k

Friday had a way of loosening men up in all the worst ways.

By noon, the air smelled like cut lumber, diesel, sweat, and sawdust, the kind of smell that clung to skin long after the day was over. Hammers rang out in uneven bursts, a nail gun snapped somewhere near the back, and country music crackled low from a radio somebody had balanced on an upside down bucket by the porch steps.

Joel stood near the stack of framing lumber with a pencil tucked behind one ear and a tape measure hanging from his belt, scanning over the plans in his hand with the kind of focus that made most men think twice before interrupting him.

“Hey, I’m just sayin’,” one of the younger guys called from the far side of the site, loud enough for half the crew to hear. “If I’m takin’ her somewhere expensive, least she can do is not make me sit in the damn car for forty-five minutes waitin’ on her.”

A couple of snorts of laughter answered him.

Joel didn’t look up right away. He kept his eyes on the plans, jaw set, trying to decide whether the floor joists were gonna be a bigger problem than the mouths on his crew.

“She ain’t even late in a normal way,” another guy said, dragging a gloved hand across his forehead. “Nah, it’s always some little emergency. ‘Babe, I gotta redo my eyeliner.’ ‘Babe, I don’t like my hair.’” He pitched his voice higher in a cruel imitation. “I’m starvin’ by the time we leave the house.”

That got more laughter.

Tommy, who was up on the temporary decking checking measurements, sighed loud enough for Joel to hear. “Here we go.”

Joel still didn’t say anything.

He should have. He knew that. He knew the shape of this kind of conversation and exactly where it usually went. But sometimes, if you cut in too early, it only encourages idiots to perform for each other. Men like that got louder when they thought they had an audience.

“Mine puts on lipstick to go buy milk,” another one said. “Milk. From the damn grocery store. I told her, sweetheart, the dairy aisle is gonna fall in love with you.”

The laugh that followed was uglier than the last one.

Joel’s eyes lifted.

He knew these boys. That was the thing. Boys, most of them. Old enough to swing a hammer, young enough to still mistake being dismissive for being funny. He’d worked with all kinds over the years: good workers, lazy workers, drunks, hotheads, quiet ones, fools. The loudest were usually the least sure of themselves. Had to fill the air with something before anybody noticed there wasn’t much beneath it.

Still, that didn’t mean he had to listen to it.

“Hell,” the first one went on, encouraged now, “I don’t even get it. They complain they ain’t got enough time, then they spend two damn hours in the bathroom paintin’ themselves like they’re headed to some red carpet thing.”

Joel folded the plans once.

Another voice chimed in. “And then you gotta tell ’em they look pretty like you ain’t been lookin’ at the same face for three years.”

Tommy winced and muttered, “Jesus Christ.”

That was enough.

Joel started walking before he even fully decided to. He stopped a few feet from the group gathered around the sawhorses—three of the younger subcontractors and one laborer with more confidence than sense—and looked at each of them in turn.

Nobody spoke.

Joel nodded once. “Y’all done?”

The guy in the baseball cap gave a half shrug, half grin that died fast under Joel’s stare. “We’re just talkin’, man.”

Joel’s face didn’t change. “Ain’t what I asked.”

Silence.

He slipped the folded plans under one arm. “I said, are y’all done.”

“Yeah,” one of them muttered.

Joel took another step closer. “Then maybe y’all can get back to work and quit runnin’ your mouths long enough to remember I’m payin’ you to build a house, not stand around bitchin’ about women who apparently still choose to go home with you.”

Tommy turned away, rubbing a hand over his mouth to hide a grin.

One of the younger guys, John maybe, ducked his head. “We were kiddin’.”

Joel fixed him with a look. “That so?”

“Yes, sir.”

Joel hated being called sir. Normally he’d say so. Right now he let it stand.

He hooked his thumbs through his belt and looked between them. “Tell me somethin’. You got a woman at home who takes time gettin’ ready to go out with you, and your first thought is to complain?”

Nobody answered.

“That woman picked out a dress, did her hair, stood in front of a mirror decidin’ she wanted to look nice, and you somehow made that an inconvenience to you.” His voice stayed level, but the disappointment in it landed harder than if he’d shouted. “That what we’re doin’ now?”

The laborer with the red bandana shifted on his feet. “Didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”

Joel’s eyes cut to him. “That’s usually when a man oughta think a little harder about what’s comin’ outta his mouth.”

Tommy climbed down from the decking, landing beside them with a thud. He didn’t interrupt. Didn’t need to. He knew Joel well enough to hear the line in his voice that meant this wasn’t just irritation anymore.

Joel went on, “You wanna know what I hear?” He tapped two fingers against the rolled plans. “I hear a bunch of fools complainin’ that somebody gives enough of a damn to wanna look good standin’ next to ’em.”

That got their attention.

One of them tried to laugh it off. “It ain’t that deep, Joel.”

Joel turned his head slowly. “No?”

“No, I just mean—”

“I know what you mean.” He took a breath through his nose. “You mean you’re too young and too selfish to understand that not everything a woman does is for your convenience.”

The site has gone quiet now.

Even the men who hadn’t been part of the conversation were listening, pretending not to.

Joel looked down at the open toolbox on the sawhorse, then back at them. “Some of you got girlfriends. Some of you got wives. And near as I can tell, not one of you sounds near grateful enough for the women keepin’ your lives stitched together when you go home actin’ like this.”

Nobody met his eyes.

“Maybe she takes too long in the bathroom,” Joel said. “Maybe she changes clothes three times before dinner because she wants to feel pretty. That ain’t foolishness. That ain’t vanity. That’s her wantin’ to feel good in her own skin, and if your reaction to that is to stand around mockin’ her with other men, then you’re a bigger idiot than I thought.”

Caleb swallowed. “We weren’t mockin’ them.”

Joel gave him a look so dry it bordered on pity. “Son, if you’re gonna lie, at least do it convincingly.”

Tommy barked a laugh and turned it into a cough.

A few of the older workers smirked into their sleeves.

Joel kept going, because now that he’d started, he knew exactly what was bothering him. It wasn’t just the words. It was the casualness of them. The way men could take something tender and make it small just because they didn’t know how to hold it properly.

“My wife,” he said, and that alone changed the air, made everybody listen closer, “can take as long as she damn well pleases gettin’ ready for anything she wants. Grocery store. Dinner. A walk down the block. I don’t care if she’s puttin’ on lipstick to sit in the livin’ room and watch television. If it matters to her, it matters. End of story.”

That landed.

Because when Joel spoke about you didn’t sound like a man making a point for the sake of winning. He sounded like a man stating a universal truth.

The laborer scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, but women don’t do all that for us anyway.”

Joel’s brow lifted. “Well, congratulations. That’s the first smart thing anybody’s said in five minutes.”

A few snickers broke the tension.

Joel didn’t smile. “No, they don’t do it all for you. That’s exactly the point. Maybe she does some of it for herself. Maybe it’s fun. Maybe it makes her feel confident. Maybe it’s the one damn thing in a day that’s just hers. And maybe instead of complainin’, you oughta learn enough respect to keep your mouth shut and tell her she looks beautiful.”

The man in the cap looked down at his boots. “Alright.”

Joel’s expression hardened. “That ‘alright’ better means somethin’.”

“It does.”

“Good.” He glanced between all of them. “Now pick up your tools and get back to work. We’re behind, and I’ve had about enough of hearin’ how burdensome it is that women continue to exist as full human beings.”

That actually got a real laugh, even from a couple of the guilty ones, though they had the decency to look embarrassed about it.

Joel let the silence sit a beat longer, then pointed at the framing on the east wall. “John, if you’ve got enough energy to complain, you’ve got enough to finish bracin’ that corner.”

“Yes, sir.”

Joel’s stare sharpened.

Caleb sighed. “Yes, Joel.”

“Better.”

The group broke apart at last, muttering to each other in lower voices now, heads down, hands moving quicker than before. Tommy stepped up beside Joel and watched them scatter back into usefulness.

For a second neither brother said anything.

Then Tommy glanced at him. “You feel better?”

Joel bent to grab the level off the sawhorse. “Not especially.”

Tommy’s mouth twitched. “You know they’re all scared of you now.”

“They oughta be scared of bein’ stupid in public.”

Tommy laughed under his breath. “That speech about your wife?” He nudged Joel with an elbow. “Bit dramatic.”

Joel shot him a look. “Wasn’t dramatic.”

“No?” Tommy grinned.

Joel set the level against the brace and adjusted it with one hand. “You got somethin’ useful to do, or you plannin’ on botherin’ me the rest of the afternoon?”

Tommy leaned against a stud, folding his arms. “I am doin’ somethin’ useful. I’m watchin’ you pretend that wasn’t personal.”

Joel didn’t bother looking at him. “Go measure somethin’.”

Tommy ignored that completely. “You thought about her, didn’t you?”

Joel checked the bubble on the level, shifted the brace half an inch. “I’m workin’.”

Tommy rocked back on his heels, pleased with himself now. “So when those idiots were yappin’ about women takin’ forever in the bathroom, you were thinkin’ about her sittin’ at the mirror?”

Joel let out a quiet breath and straightened. He should’ve known better than to engage. Tommy had the kind of nosiness only a younger brother could get away with, half affection and half appetite for trouble.

Joel grabbed the drill. “Tommy.”

His brother laughed. “Alright, alright.”

But he didn’t move away yet, and after a moment he said, softer this time, “You know, you were right.”

Joel glanced up and Tommy shrugged one shoulder. 

Joel shook his head, but there was no real heat in it now. “You’re annoyin’.”

“Runs in the family.”

Joel drove the screw in with more force than necessary. “Go to hell.”

Tommy laughed and pushed off the wall at last. “Can’t. I work for my brother.”

Joel watched him go, then looked back out across the site.

Work picked up again in the wake of the interruption. The radio came back into focus. Men shouted measurements, wood scraped against wood, someone swore after dropping a box of nails. The day moved on the way it always did, one task into the next, one hour bleeding into another until the sun shifted.

But Tommy was right.

Of course he’d thought about you.

He had the moment those boys started talking.

He could picture you too easily.

Standing in the bathroom in one of his old shirts, hair pinned back, leaning close to the mirror with that concentrated little crease between your brows. Sitting at your vanity—your vanity, the one he’d built with his own hands after seeing your face fall when the one you wanted sold out before he could order it—surrounded by brushes and powders and little bottles that all looked nearly identical to him and yet somehow never were. Looking over your shoulder to ask him which earring. Holding up two lipsticks and asking if one looked too dark. Smiling when he got the answer wrong but tried anyway.

He never mocked any of it. Never would.

Half the time he didn’t understand what half those products were for, but that had never seemed like a reason to dismiss them. They mattered because they were yours. Because they brought something bright into your face. Because he had learned, over the course of loving you, that attention was a kind of devotion all its own.

That was the part those boys didn’t get.

Loving somebody meant noticing. It meant learning the shape of their rituals, even the ones that didn’t belong to you. It meant understanding that intimacy wasn’t just the big things like the hospital visits, funerals, marriage vows, bad nights or worse mornings.

Sometimes it was remembering the exact height she liked a table because she tended to hunch if it sat too low. Sometimes it was sanding the edge of a drawer three extra times so it wouldn’t catch on her dress. Sometimes it was building something beautiful out of wood and patience because she had looked disappointed for all of two seconds and that had been enough to undo him.

Joel drove another screw into place and exhaled slowly.

He hadn’t meant to build the vanity quite as elaborate as he did.

At first, he’d only intended to make something simple. Clean lines, sturdy legs, decent storage. Then he’d remembered the way your face had lit up describing the one you’d wanted, the little details you liked, the mirror shape, the drawers, the finish. By the end of it, he’d spent nearly three weeks in the garage after work, pretending he wasn’t enjoying himself every time you wandered in and tried to peek beneath the tarp he kept throwing over it.

When he finally brought it inside, you’d looked at him like he’d hung the moon in the bedroom with his bare hands.

That expression had stayed with him. It still did.

“Joel!”

He turned at the shout.

One of the crew was waving him over near the back of the house. Something about the window framing looked off. He tucked the level under his arm and headed that way, slipping back into the rhythm of the job because there was always another problem to solve, another correction to make, another young man to stop from ruining good lumber with bad math.

The afternoon wore down by inches, the light changed and the heat eased. By the time they started packing up, Joel’s shirt was stuck to his back, his shoulders ached, and there was sawdust worked so deep into the lines of his hands it would take a brush to get it out.

He signed off on the delivery order for Monday, checked the lock on the storage trailer, and made sure the site was squared away before anybody left. Tommy came up beside him with a clipboard tucked under one arm and a half finished bottle of water in the other.

Tommy studied him for a moment. “You tell her about this?”

Joel frowned. “About what.”

“The little feminist awakening you had in front of the crew.”

Joel shot him a flat look. “That what you’re callin’ it?”

Tommy grinned. “I’m callin’ it funny as hell. And yeah. You should tell her. She’ll eat that up.”

Joel shook his head and started toward his truck. Tommy followed for a few steps before peeling off toward his own, still smiling to himself like he’d been handed some private joke he planned on keeping.

Joel climbed into the driver’s seat, shut the door, and let the quiet settle around him for a second. He dropped his head back against the seat and closed his eyes just long enough to feel the day in his bones. Then he started the engine and pulled out onto the road.

The drive home wasn’t long, but it was long enough for his thoughts to drift where they usually did at the end of the week.

To you.

Maybe you’d be on the couch with a blanket over your legs and an episode of the Gilmore Girls half watched because you’d been waiting for the sound of his truck.

God, he could picture it so clearly it almost made his chest ache.

He thought, not for the first time that day, that the men back on that site had no idea how lucky they were if there was somebody waiting for them at all. They have no idea what a privilege it was to be known that intimately by another person. To have your favorite plate set out before you asked. To be greeted by the sound of their voice from the next room.

Joel flexed one hand on the steering wheel.

He thought of you in front of a mirror again.

Of your careful hands. Your patience. The little pleasure you took in things most men would dismiss because they had never learned how to look properly. He thought of how easy it was, in a world this ugly, to sneer at softness just because you didn’t know what to do with it.

He also thought, with a private heaviness he never quite voiced, of how much of your life lived in those little rituals. The tender ordinary things. The things he catalogued without meaning to. The products lined up on the vanity. The order you used them in. The brushes you reached for first. The colors you favored when you were happy, or when you were quiet, or when you wanted him to notice.

Joel always noticed.

And somewhere deep beneath that noticing lived the old anxiety he carried like a second spine, the one that made him prepare for loss even in the middle of joy. It came uninvited, as it always did, whispering its ugly what ifs into the back of his mind. What if one day you were too tired. What if one day your hands hurt. What if one day life turned cruel in some new and inventive way and you couldn’t do these things for yourself anymore.

He hated those thoughts. Hated the shape of them. Hated that fear had taught his mind to brace for impact even when nothing was wrong.

But still he learned.

The names of things. The purpose of things. The order of them. Not because he expected praise for it, and not because he ever intended to say any of this aloud. Only because if the world ever tried to take some small comfort from you, Joel wanted his hands ready, wanted to know enough to step in gently and give it back.

His throat tightened a little, and he swallowed it down.

By the time he turned onto your street, the sun was lower, the sky softening into streaks of amber and pale blue. Home came into view steady and familiar, porch light not yet on, the windows warm with the first signs of evening.

Joel eased the truck into the driveway and killed the engine.

For a second he stayed where he was, one hand still on the wheel, looking at the house like he did every now and then when the day had been long enough to make him feel the full weight of what waited inside it.

His true home.

Then he got out, shut the truck door, and headed for the front porch with sawdust on his boots, tiredness in his shoulders, and the faintest trace of a smile pulling at one corner of his mouth for no reason other than the simple fact that he was almost home.

You.

He pushed the front door open with one hand, already loosening up a little at the simple fact of stepping inside, and was met at once by warmth, soft lamplight, and the unmistakable smell of something good waiting in the kitchen. Then, Joel set his keys in the bowl by the door and shrugged out of his jacket.

“Honey?” he called, voice carrying low through the quiet.

“In here!”

Something in your tone made him pause.

A kind of carefully held excitement you were trying, and failing, to disguise as casual. Joel’s mouth pulled almost into a smile before he even saw you. He followed your voice into the kitchen and found you standing near the stove.

There you are, he thought, with that immediate, quiet hit of relief he never quite got used to.

You turned when he appeared in the doorway, and your face lit in a way that still undid him a little, no matter how many times he came home to it. “Hi.”

Joel leaned one shoulder against the frame for a second, just looking at you. “Hi, baby.”

He heard the roughness in his own voice and saw the way your eyes softened at it.

You crossed to him without hesitation, and he opened an arm automatically, catching you against him with all the ease of a long habit. Your hands slid around his middle carefully, as though you knew exactly where the day tended to settle in him, and his palm spread over your back. He bent to kiss the top of your head first, breathing you in, then your temple, then finally your mouth, the kind of kiss that means that he was finally at home now, and home meant you.

“You smell good,” you murmured against his mouth.

Joel huffed a tired laugh. “Smell like sawdust.”

“But it's sexy,” you said, pulling back just enough to look at him.

That did make him smile. His thumb brushed once at your waist. “That so?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

He let his gaze move over your face, lingering a beat too long because something about you felt gently charged tonight.“You been waitin’ on me?”

You widened your eyes with exaggerated innocence. “Maybe.”

Joel studied you. “That look usually means you’re hidin’ somethin’.”

You gasped softly. “I’m offended.”

“No, you ain’t.”

You tried not to grin and failed. Joel watched the smile break across your face and had the strange, familiar thought that if he died tomorrow, this would be the shape of heaven in his head. You in the kitchen, looking pleased with yourself. The light warm on your skin. The house quiet around you both. Something cooking. The weekend beginning at the edges of the room like a blessing neither of you had earned but both of you needed.

He brushed his knuckles along your cheek. “What’s for dinner?”

Your whole expression brightened. “Sit down and I’ll show you.”

That got a low chuckle out of him. “Bossy.”

“Just tonight.”

“That’d be a first.”

You swatted lightly at his arm, laughing, and he caught your wrist before you could move away, tugging you in just enough to kiss you once more, this time with a little more intent, enough to make your breath catch and your fingers curl against his shirt. Then he let you go before either of you leaned too far into it, because there was still dinner on the stove and because he knew that if he stood there kissing you too long after a week like this one, he might never make it to the table.

He washed up at the sink while you moved around the kitchen putting the last things together, and Joel watched you in the window reflection while the water ran over his hands. You kept glancing at him like you had something else to say. Something you were sitting on. He knew you well enough to spot the tells now; the little smile you bit back for no reason, the extra care you took with the plates, the way your body seemed almost too still whenever you were trying not to blurt something out too soon.

“You gonna tell me what’s got you lookin’ like that?” he asked, drying his hands on the dish towel.

You set a plate down. “Like what?”

“Like you’re about two seconds from spoilin’ your own surprise.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Joel pulled out his chair and sat, eyes never leaving you. “Baby.”

You laughed, soft and guilty, and finally brought the plates over. “Fine. Maybe I’m just happy it’s Friday.”

He accepted that with a slight tilt of his head, though they both knew that wasn’t all of it. “That much, I believe.”

Joel took the first bite of the tender meat you've cooked for him and closed his eyes for half a second before he meant to.

You noticed, of course.

“That good?” you asked, trying not to sound too pleased.

He opened his eyes and looked at you over the table. “You fishin’?”

“Yes.”

Joel leaned back slightly in his chair, chewing, making a deliberate show of considering it. “Might be the best thing I’ve eaten all week.”

You laughed, and the sound of it loosened something in him he hadn’t realized was still tight.

That was the thing about Friday nights with you. The workweek wore him down and you gathered him back together. Not all at once. Just piece by piece. A hot meal. Your voice across the table. Your foot brushing his under it. The look on your face when he reached for a second helping like he hadn’t spent the whole drive home pretending he wasn’t hungry.

He told you a little about work. Not too much. Just enough for you to follow the shape of his day. A delivery that came late. A measurement that had to be redone because somebody hadn’t listened the first time. Tommy nearly stepping backward off the decking because he’d turned around too fast while arguing with one of the electricians.

You laughed at that. “Was he hurt?”

“No.”

“Then I can laugh.”

“You already were.”

“I know.”

Joel watched you talk, watched your hands move when you got animated, watched the way you leaned in when you were interested in something he’d said as though there might still be new things to learn about him after all this time. It made something warm and almost painful spread low in his chest. He’d never been very good at making speeches about love. But if anybody had asked him where most of his peace lived, he would’ve had to point right here. To this table. To your voice. To your company at the end of the day.

At some point your foot slid against his calf beneath the table and stayed there.

Joel’s eyes flicked up.

You were smiling down at your plate, pretending not to notice what you’d done.

His mouth twitched. “You bein’ sweet, or are you up to somethin’?”

You looked up, all innocence again. “Can’t it be both?”

He held your gaze for a beat, then reached for his glass. “That answer concerns me.”

“It should.”

He laughed under his breath.

When the plates were nearly empty you rose to clear the table but when Joel started to stand with you out of instinct, you pointed at him.

“Sit.”

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I mean it. You worked all day. Sit there.”

Joel settled back slowly, one brow raised. “You order me around awfully easy for somebody this small.”

You gathered up the dishes with a smile. “And yet you listen.”

“Sometimes.”

“Most times.”

He gave you a dry look. “Don’t push it.”

You disappeared into the kitchen with the plates, and he sat there listening to the music of you moving around… water running, cabinets opening, cutlery clinking softly against ceramic. Domestics sounds. He loved them with a ferocity he kept mostly to himself.

When you came back, you weren’t empty handed.

Joel’s eyes dropped to the plate you set in front of him, and he went still for half a second.

Not just any pie. Apple pie. His favorite. Still slightly warm, the crust golden, the scent of cinnamon and butter rising up before it had even properly touched the table.

You folded back into your seat trying and failing to look casual. “There’s ice cream too, if you want it.”

Joel looked from the plate to you. “You made pie?”

Your expression softened. “I did.”

“For me.”

The corners of your mouth lifted. “Well, I don’t know many people who get this emotional about apple pie, so yes. For you.”

Something in his face must have shifted, because your own expression gentled further.

Joel glanced back down at the dessert and let out a quiet breath through his nose, almost a laugh, almost not. “Christ.”

“What?”

He looked at you again. “Nothin’.” His voice came out lower than before. “Just… thank you, baby.”

You leaned your chin into your hand. “You’re welcome.”

He took a bite, closed his eyes and opened them again. “That’s real good.”

Your smile went luminous. “Yeah?”

“Mm.” Another bite. “Dangerously good.”

You watched him with such open fondness it made him shake his head a little and look back at the plate, because being adored that plainly still makes him blush some days. 

“There’s more,” you said after a moment, like you couldn’t possibly hold it in any longer.

Joel looked up, chewing slowly. “More pie?”

You laughed. “No. Although yes, there’s more pie. But that’s not what I meant.”

He set his fork down. “Alright. Go on.”

Your eyes brightened immediately. “I restocked everything.”

He frowned mildly, trying to follow. “Everything.”

“For the weekend.” You started counting off on your fingers. “Coffee. The good kind you like.”

Joel felt an involuntary little stab of gratitude so strong it was almost ridiculous. “You got coffee.”

“I got coffee,” you confirmed. “And beer.”

His brow lifted. “Beer too, huh?”

“And your barbecue chips. And the pretzels you pretend you don’t like that much but somehow always eat. And those peanuts Tommy keeps stealing every time he comes over.”

Joel stared at you for a second, then leaned back in his chair with a quiet exhale, one hand coming up to scrub over his beard. “You’ve been busy.”

Your face softened into something tender. “I wanted you to have a nice weekend.”

There it was again, that precise, deadly thing you did to him without even trying. You said simple sentences that landed somewhere deep because they carried more than the words themselves. I wanted you to have a nice weekend. As if his comfort was something worth planning for. As if the shape of his rest mattered enough for you to think ahead about coffee and snacks and the exact beer he reached for first.

Joel looked at you for a long moment. Then he said, quieter, “C’mere.”

You got up at once and crossed the space between you, and he drew you gently between his knees, one hand settling at your hip while the other curved around the back of your thigh. He tipped his head back to look at you properly. Your hair had fallen forward a little, your expression open and sweet and expectant, and the simple sight of you there, taking such obvious pleasure in taking care of him, nearly undid him.

“You didn’t have to do all that,” he said.

“I know.”

His thumb rubbed once over the fabric at your side. “Then why’d you?”

You looked at him like the answer was the easiest thing in the world. “Because I love you.”

Joel’s throat moved.

He knew better than most men how dangerous those words could be when spoken carelessly. How people used them as decoration. As habit. As currency. But you never did. When you said them, you meant them all the way through.

He rested his forehead briefly against your stomach and let the quiet sit. Then he leaned back enough to press a kiss there through your shirt, right above your navel, and felt the little shiver that ran through you.

“You keep this up,” he murmured, “I’m gonna start thinkin’ again that you’re after somethin’.”

You smiled down at him, fingers slipping into his hair. “Maybe I just missed you.”

That, too, he believed.

Joel turned his face and pressed another kiss to the heel of your palm before letting you go. “Alright,” he said, clearing his throat a little as you stepped back. “Now I’m definitely suspicious.”

You laughed, gathered the pie plate, and turned away before he could see too much of whatever was passing over your face. Joel watched you go, watched the sway of your body as you moved around the kitchen, watched the little lightness in you that had only grown since he came through the door.

He knew now with certainty that you had something planned, he just didn’t yet know what shape it would take.

Once everything was cleaned up and the kitchen restored to order, the evening softened around the two of you. Joel checked the locks out of habit, turned off the extra lights, and came back to find you already collecting his towel from the linen closet before he could ask for it. He took it from your hands with a low, amused noise.

“Baby, I can get my own towel.”

“I know you can.”

“Then why am I bein’ supervised?”

You stepped closer and smoothed a hand over the front of his work shirt, over the dust and wrinkles and the tiredness still hanging off him. “Because you’ve had a long week.”

Joel looked down at you. “And?”

“And because I like taking care of you.”

His expression shifted into something softer, more serious. “I know you do.”

You held his gaze for a moment too long, and once again that same curious charge moved through the room. Not enough to name yet. Just enough to feel.

Joel tipped your chin up with two fingers and kissed you slowly, until your body leaned into his and the hem of his shirt bunched a little in your fists. When he pulled back, he lingered close enough that your breath still crossed his mouth.

“I’m gonna shower,” he said.

You nodded. “Okay.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly. “You say that like you’re plannin’ somethin’ while I’m gone.”

You widened your eyes. “Maybe I’m just going to… fold laundry.”

Joel let out a short laugh. “That lie was insultin’.”

“Go shower, Miller.”

The way you said it, bossy and faintly pleased with yourself, made him shake his head as he turned toward the hallway. “Yes, ma’am.”

He heard your little triumphant laugh behind him all the way to the bathroom.

The shower was hot enough to ache pleasantly over his sore body. Joel stood under it longer than usual, one hand braced on the tile, letting the day rinse off him in layers. The dust fell away first, then sweat, then whatever lingering irritation had stayed with him from the workplace. By the time he stepped out, the mirror had fogged over, and the house beyond the bathroom door had gone quiet in that particular evening way that meant you were no longer puttering around downstairs.

He dried off, wrapped the towel low around his waist, and dragged one hand through his damp hair before stepping into the bedroom.

And stopped.

You were waiting for him.

Not in bed, not curled up under the covers with a Jane Austen book or half asleep with the lamp on. You were seated at the bedroom vanity with your back mostly to the door, posture straight, legs crossed at the ankle, like you’d been there long enough to settle into the moment. The vanity itself caught the warm glow from the bedside lamp making you look almost ethereal. He looked at the whole scene at once and felt something inside him go very still.

You’d changed into a nightgown while he was in the shower, your hair arranged just so, your expression reflected in the mirror as you looked at him through it with a smile too small to be innocent.

Joel stayed by the bathroom door for a second, towel slung low, water still cooling on his shoulders. “There it is.”

You turned slightly in the chair. “There what is?”

“The surprise.”

You tried to look confused. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He huffed a laugh, already moving toward the bed. “Sure you don’t.”

Joel sat down at the edge of the mattress, elbows resting loosely on his knees for a second as he took you in. Then his gaze dropped to the box in your lap—black and white stripes, tissue paper peeking out the top—and his mouth twitched.

“Sephora,” he said.

Your face brightened at once. “I went today.”

“I can see that.”

“You said I should get myself something nice.”

“I did.”

“And I listened.”

That made him smile properly now. “I’m learnin’ that can be dangerous.”

You angled the box toward yourself protectively. “No take backs now, Miller.”

“Ain’t askin’ for any.”

He leaned back slightly, one hand braced on the bedspread, and watched as your fingers slipped beneath the tissue paper with excitement. He recognized that look on you too. The one that made you seem younger and softer all at once.

You glanced at him over your shoulder. “Do you want to see?”

Joel’s eyes moved from your face to the box and back again. “Baby, you know I got no earthly clue what half that stuff is.”

“I know,” you said sweetly. “That’s why I’m going to explain it to you.”

He laughed under his breath and settled in, already knowing he was done for. “Alright, then.”

And because it was you asking, because it mattered to you, because he loved the sound of your voice when you got excited about something, Joel gave you his full attention.You shifted in the chair until you were facing him a little more fully, one leg tucking beneath you, the Sephora box still balanced carefully in your lap like something precious. Joel stayed where he was at the edge of the bed, damp hair curling slightly at the ends, towel slung low around his waist, watching you with attention.

You dipped a hand into the box and pulled out the first item. “Okay. We’re starting easy.”

Joel’s mouth twitched. “That suggests we ain’t stayin’ easy.”

“We are not.”

He nodded once, resigned already. “Go on, then.”

You held up a sleek bottle. “This is primer.”

Joel frowned faintly. “Primer.”

“Yes.”

He leaned forward slightly, forearms braced on his thighs. “Like paint.”

You stared at him for a beat, then sighed. “I knew you were going to say that.”

“Well, it’s called primer.”

“It is not a paint primer.”

Joel tipped his head. “How do I know that?”

“Because this one costs thirty eight dollars and if I ever put it on a wall, you’d have me committed.”

That earned a low laugh out of him.

He reached for the bottle, and you handed it over. Joel turned it in his hand, studying the label with the seriousness of a man trying very hard not to look like he was reading another language. “So what’s it do?”

“It goes on before makeup.”

“Hence the name.”

You squinted at him. “You can either be respectful during my presentation, or I can pack everything up and go to bed.”

“Presentation?” he repeated, eyes warm now. “Baby, are you givin’ me a seminar?”

“Yes.” You folded your arms. “And if you’re lucky there’ll be a practical demonstration.”

Joel’s gaze flickered over your face for half a second, before he handed the bottle back. “Now that sounds promisin’.”

You ignored the way your stomach fluttered and went on. “Primer makes everything sit better on the skin. It helps smooth things out, helps makeup last longer, and sometimes it gives you a certain finish.”

He blinked. “A finish.”

“Yes. Glowy. Matte. Blurring. Hydrating.”

Joel was quiet for a second. “That all different from just… face?”

You laughed. “Yes, Joel, that is different from just face.”

He gave a solemn nod. “Alright. Good to know.”

You placed the primer on the vanity and reached into the box again. “Next: concealer.”

Joel watched the little tube appear in your hand. “Lemme guess. Covers somethin’.”

You pointed at him. “See? This is good. You’re learning.”

He leaned back a little, smug enough to annoy you. “I ain’t dumb, darlin’.”

“I didn’t say you were dumb.”

“Your tone did.”

“My tone is educational.”

“That so?”

“Yes.”

Joel’s smile deepened, but he let you continue.

“Concealer can be for dark circles, redness, blemishes, whatever.”

His brow furrowed almost immediately. “You don’t have any of those things on your pretty face, baby.”

You stared at him, then softened a little despite yourself. “That’s sweet, but that’s not the point.”

He looked genuinely unconvinced. “Seems like the point exactly.”

“No.” You set the concealer down with a small huff. “The point is not fixing some horrible flaw. It’s just… enhancement. Evening things out. Playing around. Feeling put together.”

Joel nodded slowly, eyes still on your face. “Alright.”

You narrowed yours. “You still look like you disagree.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “I can disagree privately.”

“You are not disagreeing privately. Your whole face is disagreeing.”

A laugh escaped him then. “You know my face too well.”

“I do.”

That landed softly between you.

Joel’s gaze stayed on you and you had the strange feeling that he was not just watching you talk… he was memorizing you. The way your fingers handled each item. The way your voice changed when you were explaining something you liked. The way you lit up when he listened properly.

He did listen properly. That was the thing.

You cleared your throat and reached for the next item before the moment got too soft to bear. “Okay. This one is blush.”

Joel nodded. “I know blush.”

“Oh?”

He gestured vaguely toward his own cheekbones. “Pink.”

You blinked at him. “That is both offensively simple and, unfortunately, correct.”

He looked pleased with himself.

You held up a compact and opened it, letting him see the soft rosy color inside. “Blush goes on the cheeks. Sometimes a little on the nose too. Depends on the look.”

“The look,” he repeated.

“Yes.”

“You got multiple looks?”

You gave him a flat stare. “Joel.”

“What? I’m askin’ questions.”

“Of course I have multiple looks.”

He held up both hands in surrender. “Alright, alright.”

You turned slightly toward the mirror and tapped your cheek. “Blush can make you look healthy, fresh, sweet, sunkissed, romantic—”

Joel interrupted. “Sweet.”

You glanced back. “Yes.”

He tilted his head. “You already look sweet.”

Your expression betrayed you then, a little smile creeping in despite your best efforts. “You can’t just say things like that in the middle of my explanation.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m trying to be serious.”

Joel looked at you for a beat, taking in your face, your excitement, the slight pink that had risen in your cheeks before you’d even put any actual blush on. “That may be the problem right there, baby.”

You laughed softly and reached into the box again. “Fine. No more compliments until the end.”

“That doesn't sound natural.”

“It’s a rule now.”

“Seems harsh.”

“You’ll survive.”

He considered that. “Debatable.”

You had to look away for a second because the sight of him sitting there barely dressed, all broad shoulders and damp hair and sleepy amusement, making himself the world’s most attentive audience for a makeup breakdown, was almost too lovely to process in one go.

You pulled out a small palette next.

Joel squinted. “That one looks expensive.”

Your face changed instantly. “It was a little expensive.”

“A little.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

He extended a hand. “Lemme see.”

You passed it over carefully, and Joel turned the compact in his fingers. The palette was heavier than he expected, the case clicking softly when he opened it. Inside were shades of brown, gold, rose, and deep muted plum, each one arranged so prettily it almost did make sense that you’d looked delighted pulling it out of the bag earlier.

He studied it in silence for a moment.

Then, very seriously: “These are all nearly the same color.”

Your mouth fell open. “Joel!”

“What?”

“They are not.”

He looked at the palette again, then back at you. “Baby, I’m lookin’ at seven versions of brown.”

You snatched it from him with exaggerated offense. “This is taupe. This is a soft rose. This is bronze. This is a champagne shimmer. This one is mauve.”

Joel blinked slowly. “That last one was definitely still brown.”

“It was not.”

“Looked brown from here.”

“You are impossible.”

He grinned then. “Maybe. But I’m listenin’.”

You held the palette protectively against your chest. “Eyeshadow,” you informed him, in the tone of someone recovering from a great insult, “is what you put on your eyelids.”

“I gathered.”

“It can change the whole mood of a look.”

He raised a brow. “Can it?”

“Yes. Soft. Smoky. Dramatic. Fresh. Sultry.”

Joel’s expression altered at that last word, barely. “Sultry, huh?”

You pretended not to notice. “Yes.”

“And you’re sayin’ that like it’s a normal thing to tell me while sittin’ there lookin’ like that.”

“Like what?”

He looked you over once, slowly enough to make your pulse jump, then brought his eyes back to your face. “Like you know exactly what you’re doin’.”

The silence that followed lasted a beat too long.

Then you cleared your throat again. “Anyway. Moving on.”

Joel let out a quiet laugh but didn’t argue.

You pulled out a fluffy brush, and his brow furrowed. “That one for paint too?”

You gasped. “Joel!”

“I’m kiddin’.”

“No, you’re not. You think all of this is construction supplies in disguise.”

He looked at the brush. “You gotta admit there’s some overlap.”

“There is absolutely no overlap.”

“That primer still sounds suspicious.”

You shook your head, smiling helplessly now. “This is an eyeshadow brush.”

He gave the brush a dubious look. “Seems too soft to do much.”

“It’s not supposed to do much. It’s supposed to blend.”

“Blend what?”

“The eyeshadow.”

Joel leaned back and rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Alright, hold on. So first you put color on your eyelid.”

“Yes.”

“Then you use another tool to sort of… smear it around.”

“It is not smearing. It is blending.”

He nodded gravely. “My mistake.”

You pointed the brush at him. “Mock me again and I’ll use this against you.”

Joel looked at the brush, then at you. “Sweetheart, I am not afraid of a tiny fluffy weapon.”

You fought a smile and lost badly. “You should be.”

“What, you gonna do my makeup in my sleep?”

That image hit you so suddenly and vividly that you nearly laughed. “Honestly? You’d look gorgeous.”

“Would I?”

“Yes. Maybe a nice neutral eye to enhance your hazel eyes or something soft and romantic with berry tones.”

Joel gave you a long look. “You flirtin’ with me or threatenin’ me?”

“Bit of both.”

“Mm.”

His voice dropped on that little hum in a way you very deliberately chose not to think about too hard.

Instead, you kept digging through the box and grabbed a lipstick. “Okay. This one you know.”

Joel’s gaze landed on the tube and warmed immediately with recognition. “Now that one I know.”

You looked pleased. “You do?”

“Yeah.” He pointed lazily. “That’s similar to the color you wear when we go out somewhere nice.”

You paused.

Then slowly: “What?”

Joel shrugged, like this was obvious. “The darker one.”

You blinked at him. “You know this shade?”

“Could pick it out in a lineup.”

You stared.

His expression shifted, a little wary now. “What?”

“Joel.”

“What.”

You turned fully toward him on the stool, lipstick in hand. “Are you telling me you can identify my lipstick shades?”

He frowned as if the question itself were strange. “Some of ’em.”

“Some of them?”

“Well, not by all the names,” he said. “Those names are ridiculous.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What do you mean, ridiculous?”

He held out a hand, and when you passed him the tube he read the label aloud with a face like he was being personally offended by it. “‘Rosewood Whisper.’” He looked up. “That’s not a lipstick shade. That’s some fancy car freshener scent.”

You laughed so hard you had to grab the edge of the vanity.

Joel kept going, encouraged now. “Y’all never just call somethin’ red. No. It’s ‘midnight garnet seduction’ or ‘velvet sin’ or ‘spiced fig dream.’ Sounds like a fancy cocktail menu.”

You were laughing openly now, shoulders shaking.

He pointed the lipstick at you. “And I’m right.”

“You are a menace.”

“I’m observant.”

“That is not the word I would’ve used.”

Joel smiled and handed it back. “It’s the one I’m usin’.”

You twisted the lipstick up and held it near your mouth. “So which one is this, then?”

He squinted. “That’s not the darker dinner one.”

“No.”

“And it’s not the peachy one you wear with that cream sweater.”

Your eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

Joel blinked once. “What.”

“You know the peachy one?”

He shifted slightly on the bed, suddenly looking like a man who had stumbled into revealing more than intended. “Baby, I got eyes.”

“No, no. That’s not just eyes. That’s data collection.”

A reluctant smile pulled at his mouth. “You say that like it’s criminal.”

“It is deeply suspicious.”

Joel looked down, then back up at you. “You want me not to notice?”

It got you in the chest a little.

Your voice softened without permission. “No.”

He nodded once. “Then I'll keep noticing.”

You looked at him for a moment, then turned back toward the mirror before he could see too much on your face. “Well,” you said, trying for lightness and getting only halfway there, “for the record, this one is newer.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And it’s not for every day.”

Joel watched your reflection. “Special occasion?”

You glanced at him in the mirror. “Maybe.”

His eyes held yours there for one quiet second before you broke the look and set the lipstick down.

You reached for another item. “Okay, next: highlighter.”

Joel exhaled. “That one also sounds like office supplies.”

“It does not.”

“It absolutely does.”

“It makes the high points of the face catch the light.”

He nodded slowly. “Now that, I understand.”

You blinked. “Really?”

“Sure.” He pointed gently toward you. “Bit on the cheekbone. Maybe here.” He gestured near the inner corners of his own eyes with shocking accuracy. “Makes things brighter.”

You stared at him, deadpan.

Joel’s mouth twitched. “Why’re you lookin’ at me like that?”

“How do you know that?”

He shifted one shoulder. “Seen you do it.”

“When?”

His expression was almost offended now. “What d’you mean, when?”

You let out a breathy laugh. “No, I just—I don’t know. I didn’t realize you were paying that much attention.”

Joel went quiet.

Then he said as a matter of fact, “I pay attention to you all the time.”

The words settled over the room.

There was no vanity in the way he said it. He sounded like a man stating something as ordinary and unremarkable as the weather, when to you it felt like being handed his heart in the simplest possible form.

You swallowed. “I know.”

His gaze lingered on your reflection. “Do you?”

The question was gentle enough to hurt.

You looked down at the highlighter in your hand, then set it beside the rest. “Yeah,” you said softly. “I do.”

Joel didn’t answer right away. He just watched you, something tender moving beneath the calm of his face, and then the moment loosened because he cleared his throat and tipped his chin toward the clutter spreading over the vanity.

“So how much of that did you buy?”

You laughed, grateful for the release. “Rude.”

“I’m serious.”

“You told me to treat myself.”

“I did not expect to finance a full cosmetic expansion.”

“Expansion,” you repeated, grinning. 

“Looks expensive enough to be one.”

You picked up two little containers. “These were mini sizes.”

Joel narrowed his eyes. “That means they’re small.”

“Yes.”

“Not cheap.”

You sighed. “No.”

He nodded like a man whose suspicions had been confirmed. “Thought so.”

You held up another gloss tube. “This one was on sale.”

He gave you a long look.

“It was!”

“That phrase’s dangerous in your mouth.”

“It’s not dangerous.”

“Darlin, every time you say somethin’ was on sale, somehow three bags appear.”

You put a hand to your chest. “I can’t believe you’d stereotype me like this in my own bedroom.”

Joel laughed and the sound of it curled around you like a warm blanket.

He rubbed his hand over his beard and nodded toward the products. “Alright. So what else we got.”

You brightened immediately and began lining them up in order like you were preparing to teach a masterclass. “Skincare.”

Joel made a face.

You caught it instantly. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t say nothin’.”

“Your face said enough.”

He leaned back on one arm. “How many steps?”

You looked away. “That depends.”

Joel groaned quietly. “Baby.”

“It depends on the night.”

“That means too many.”

“It does not mean too many.”

“How many.”

You started counting under your breath. “Cleanser. Serum. Moisturizer. Eye cream if I feel like it. Sometimes an exfoliant, but not every night, obviously. And then if my skin is dry, maybe—”

Joel held up a hand. “I blacked out halfway through that.”

You laughed. “No, you didn’t.”

“Felt like I did.”

“Skincare is important.”

He gave you a skeptical look. “You’re twenty seven, not ninety.”

“That has nothing to do with it.”

He watched you for a second, then asked with suspicious sincerity, “Is that why there are so many tiny bottles in the bathroom that all look exactly the same?”

You gasped. “They do not look exactly the same.”

“They absolutely do.”

“That one has niacinamide.”

He stared.

You lifted another. “This one has hyaluronic acid.”

He kept staring.

You held up a third. “And this one is peptides.”

Joel blinked once, then slowly dragged a hand down his face. “You just cast a spell at me.”

You burst out laughing.

“I’m serious,” he said, though he was smiling too now. “That sounded illegal… like drugs and that stuff.”

“It’s not illegal, it’s skincare.”

“Same difference.”

You shook your head, still smiling, and then your fingers dipped back into the box one more time.

Joel watched your expression change before the product even cleared the tissue paper.

His brows lifted. “What’s that look for?”

You bit back a grin. “Nothing.”

“Sweetheart.”

You looked over your shoulder at him with eyes far too innocent. “This one’s just… funny.”

Joel straightened a little. “Funny how?”

You held the tube in your hand but didn’t show him yet.

He narrowed his gaze. “Why’re you hidin’ it?”

“Because you’re going to be immature.”

Joel actually looked offended. “I am never immature.”

You stared at him.

He waited.

Then one corner of your mouth lifted. “That was embarrassing for both of us.”

A laugh escaped him. “Alright, fine. Little bit.”

“Little bit,” you echoed, unconvinced.

You turned the tube in your fingers, smiling to yourself now, and Joel could already tell from the expression on your face that whatever came next was going to amuse you entirely too much.

He shifted closer to the edge of the bed without even meaning to, curiosity plain on his face now. “C’mon, then. Lemme see.”

You looked at him, still grinning. “Promise you’ll behave?”

Joel met your eyes. “No.”

That made you laugh again and you lifted the last item slowly, ready to show him the thing you already knew was going to make him lose it.You held it up between two fingers with a grin you were making absolutely no effort to hide now, the little metallic pink tube catching the warm bedroom light as you turned it toward him.

Joel squinted at the label.

Then he went very still.

His eyes moved across the words once. Twice.

And then, exactly as predicted, he barked out a laugh so sudden and unguarded it startled even him.

You pointed at him immediately. “Don’t.”

That only made it worse.

Joel bent forward, one hand over his mouth now, shoulders shaking as the laugh hit him again, deeper this time, rough and helpless and impossible to stop. He looked up at you with tears of amusement practically threatening in the corners of his eyes and repeated, disbelieving, “Better Than Sex?”

You stared at him, trying very hard to look stern and getting nowhere. “Joel.”

“Baby.” He shook his head and laughed again. “No. I’m sorry. I know I’m supposed to be respectful, I do, but that is the dumbest damn name I ever heard in my life.”

“It is not dumb.”

“It is ridiculous.”

“It’s marketing!”

“Marketing by a thirteen year old boy, maybe.”

You slapped a hand over your mouth to stop your own smile and failed miserably. “You said you were going to behave.”

“I very specifically did not promise that.”

“That doesn’t mean you get to be mean.”

Joel sat up a little straighter, still grinning, and held out a hand. “Lemme see it.”

You hesitated just long enough to make a point, then passed it over. He took the tube carefully, turning it in his fingers like maybe the name would somehow become less absurd if he looked at it from another angle but it did not.

He read it aloud again, slower, like he was trying to understand how a real company with a real boardroom and real adult employees had come to this decision. “‘Better Than Sex.’” He looked up at you. “There was nobody in that office brave enough to stop this?”

You laughed despite yourself. “Apparently not.”

Joel stared down at the tube. “Who approved that?”

“People smarter than us, probably.”

“No, ma’am.” He handed it back with quiet authority. “Ain’t no smart person names a mascara after sex.”

You took it from him, smiling now. “That’s because you don’t understand branding.”

He leaned back on the bed again, one hand braced behind him, expression dry. “Then explain it to me.”

You drew in a dramatic breath and straightened in the chair like you were about to defend a thesis. “Alright. The point is not that the mascara is literally better than sex.”

Joel immediately cut in. “Well, that’s disappointin’, because that is very much what they printed on the tube.”

You glared at him. “Would you let me finish?”

He made a little go ahead gesture with his fingers, though the smile was still pulling at one corner of his mouth.

“The point,” you repeated, “is that it promises drama.”

Joel’s expression remained skeptical. “Drama.”

“Yes. Big lashes. Volume. Length. Impact.” You held the tube up between you both like a piece of courtroom evidence. “It’s not subtle. It wants attention.”

He looked from the mascara to you. “So the mascara is flirtin’.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I hate that you made that sound logical.”

Joel’s mouth twitched. “Ain’t wrong.”

You rolled your eyes and unscrewed the tube, pulling the wand out with a soft wet click. “Look.”

He leaned forward instinctively, curious despite himself now, watching as you angled the wand so he could see the brush.

Joel frowned. “That’s it?”

You looked at him. “What do you mean, that’s it?”

“It’s just a little spiky stick.”

“It is not a spiky stick.”

He pointed. “That’s absolutely a spiky stick.”

“It’s a mascara wand.”

Joel nodded once, solemn again. “That’s what I said.”

You shook your head, smiling in spite of yourself, and turned toward the mirror. “You are impossible to educate.”

“Yet you persist.”

“Because I’m committed.”

“To what, exactly.”

“Improving you.”

Joel’s low laugh followed you into the mirror. “Good luck with that.”

You angled closer to the glass and lifted the wand to your lashes. “Okay. So mascara darkens them, lengthens them, thickens them—ideally.”

“‘Ideally’ don’t sound confident.”

“Because some mascaras clump.”

Joel frowned. “Clump.”

“Yes.”

“That bad?”

“It can be.”

He was quiet for a second. “How many problems y’all got in that industry?”

You laughed under your breath. “More than you could possibly understand.”

He watched your reflection carefully as you started applying the mascara with slow, practiced movements, the brush catching at the roots and pulling upward. Joel had seen you do this before, of course. More than once. But there was something different about being invited into it this closely, being talked through the steps like he belonged there in the middle of the ritual instead of merely passing by the doorway while it happened.

He found himself following every little motion.The steadiness of your hand. The slight concentration in your face. The way your eyes widened a touch as the lashes separated and darkened.

“Waterproof,” you reminded him, glancing at him through the mirror.

Joel nodded. “That part I understand.”

“Do you.”

“Sure. Means it won’t run if it gets wet.”

“Exactly.”

He folded one arm across his chest. “Good for rain.”

You smiled. “Yes.”

“Cryin’.”

“Yes.”

“Humid weather.”

“Yes.”

Joel considered that, then squinted at the tube as if he could extract more information from sheer suspicion. “And that’s it?”

You took your time with the other eye, far too aware now of the way he was watching. “Not exactly.”

His voice changed a little. “No?”

You kept your gaze on the mirror because looking at him directly would’ve been too much too soon. “No.”

Joel waited.

He had that patience when he wanted to. He could make silence feel like a gentle and guiding hand at the small of your back. You felt him watching as clearly as if he’d touched you, and it made your skin go warm in places you were trying very hard not to think about yet.

You cleared your throat softly. “It also says it holds up against sweat.”

Joel made a small thoughtful sound. “Alright.”

“And…” You adjusted the wand, pretending great interest in the angle of your lashes. “Other… things.”

Joel didn’t move right away, didn’t speak either. The quiet between you lengthened until it had weight, and when he finally did say something, his voice came out rougher than before.

“What kind of things.”

You looked at him in the mirror then.

There was the answer.

You turned back to the mirror and gave your lashes one more slow coat. “Fluids.”

Joel let out a breath through his nose that might have been a laugh if it hadn’t sounded so much like restraint. “Darlin'.”

“What?” you asked, all false innocence.

He looked at the back of your shoulder, then up to your eyes in the mirror again. “You know exactly what.”

You capped the mascara with careful fingers, buying yourself a second. “I’m explaining the product.”

“That's what this is.”

“Yes.”

He nodded once, but his eyes stayed on you. “Seems awfully selective.”

You smiled faintly. “It’s an important feature.”

“Is it now.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

Joel leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, gaze intent enough to make the room feel smaller. “So let me get this straight. Some genius came up with a mascara named ‘Better Than Sex,’ and then another genius decided to advertise that it survives…” His eyes moved over your face, dipped to your mouth, then back up. “Fluids.”

You swallowed, trying not to show it. “That seems to be the implication.”

He sat with that for a second. Then, very dryly, “That may be the most committed sales pitch I’ve heard all year.”

You laughed, but it came out weaker than before.

Joel watched you set the tube down on the vanity, watched the way your fingers lingered on it for a fraction too long. “And you bought this because…”

“Because it had good reviews.”

“Mm.”

“And because it’s supposed to make lashes look dramatic.”

His gaze flicked up to the mirror again. “Mission accomplished.”

Your breath caught a little at how simply he said it.

You looked at yourself then, partly to avoid looking at him. The mascara had done what it always promised to do: your lashes looked darker, longer, fuller, framing your eyes in a way that made your whole face read differently. Less soft. Less sleepy. Sharper somehow. More deliberate. Your eyes looked bigger, yes, but definitely not innocent.

You turned on the stool, one hand settling in your lap. “Well?”

Joel didn’t answer immediately.

He just looked.

His gaze moved slowly over your face, taking in what had changed. The lashes now casting longer shadows against your skin. But he was not just looking at the makeup. He was looking at you inside it. At the way you wore it. At the confidence that had crept quietly into your posture because you knew you looked good and you wanted him to know you knew.

It made his heat tighten behind his ribs.

“You’re pretty,” he said at last.

You made a face immediately. “Joel.”

“What.”

“That is not a serious review.”

His mouth twitched. “Didn’t say it was.”

“I’m asking about the mascara.”

“Mm.” His eyes stayed on yours. “And I’m answerin’ honestly.”

You tried not to smile and failed. “Be specific.”

Joel let out a quiet breath, like he was indulging you, but there was no impatience in him. Only attention. “Alright.”

He stood then.

Joel crossed the small distance between the bed and the vanity until he stood just behind your chair, close enough that the warmth of him slid over your bare shoulders before he even touched you. In the mirror you watched him lift one hand and rest it lightly on the top edge of the vanity, caging you in without quite meaning to. His other hand came to your jaw, fingers rough and warm as they tilted your face very slightly toward the light.

Now you could barely breathe.

Joel studied your reflection and yours alone, his eyes narrowed in concentration as if he were trying to get this right. “They do look longer.”

His thumb brushed once, barely there, near your chin. “Darker, too.”

You kept still.

His gaze lingered. “Makes your eyes look…” He trailed off.

You looked up at him in the mirror. “Look what?”

Joel’s eyes met yours there. For one suspended second he seemed to debate with himself. Then he gave in, just a little.

“Like trouble,” he said quietly.

Your heart stumbled.

He looked down at you then and whatever he saw on your face must have reached him, because something in his expression softened even as the heat stayed.

You tried for lightness. “That’s not very technical.”

Joel’s mouth curved. “You want technical?”

“Yes.”

He leaned down just enough that his voice brushed near your ear. “Alright, then. They make it hard to look anywhere else.”

You exhaled shakily.

He stayed there a moment, close enough that your whole body had gone aware of him in pieces. The smell of soap from his shower. The quiet scrape of his thumb when it moved once more against your skin.

Then, because you needed the thread picked back up before it snapped entirely, you looked at the mascara on the table and said, with a little too much brightness, “And it’s waterproof.”

Joel laughed softly, the sound low in your ear. “You already sold me on that part, darlin’.”

You swallowed. “Did I?”

“Yeah.”

He straightened just enough to look at you again in the mirror, one hand still resting beside you on the vanity. “Only thing I’m still unclear on—”

You turned your head slightly. “What’s that?”

His eyes dropped to your mouth, then lifted again, maddeningly calm. “Whether all that advertising’s true.”

The words landed between you dangerously.

You stared at him.

Then his hand slipped from your jaw, slow enough to feel deliberate, and he stepped back just one pace, enough to give you air without really undoing what he’d started.

His voice, when it came, was gentler. “Though I should probably mention”—his eyes moved over your face once more—“you didn’t need it.”

Your expression softened despite yourself. “Need what?”

“Any of it.” He nodded toward the products scattered over the vanity. “The primer, the blush, the dramatic flirtin’ mascara with the terrible name.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “You’re beautiful without all that.”

You looked down for a second, smiling helplessly. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s true.”

“I know.” You glanced back up at him. “But that’s not the point.”

Joel nodded slowly. “No. I know it ain’t.”

There it was again. The understanding, the quiet way he met you where you actually were instead of simplifying you.

His gaze moved to the mascara one last time, then back to your eyes, still darkened and dangerous in the vanity light. “Still,” he murmured, voice gone rough at the edges again, “I gotta admit.”

You waited.

Joel’s eyes held yours.

“It does look real good on you.”

You looked at him through the mirror.

He looked back.

And then his gaze drifted over the products scattered across the vanity and he said, low and thoughtful, “Seems a shame, though.”

Your brows lifted. “What does?”

“All that effort.” His eyes came back to your face, to the lashes you’d darkened on purpose, to the mouth that had been trying not to smile for the last thirty seconds. “All that makeup.”

You turned a little more in the chair. “What about it?”

Joel’s mouth twitched faintly. “Gonna go to waste.”

You stared at him for half a beat, then let out a tiny laugh. “Waste?”

He gave one slow nod, like this was the most reasonable point in the world.

“How exactly is it going to waste?”

Joel shifted his weight, one hand catching the knot of the towel at his hip for the briefest second before falling away again. The motion was absentminded, but your eyes dropped there anyway, and when they lifted back to his face he had already noticed.

That did not help.

His voice dipped lower. “Well, darlin’… unless I’ve badly misunderstood the shape of this evening, I figured we’d be goin’ to bed before too long.”

The words themselves were almost innocent.

Almost.

You felt the silence that followed settle over the room, and for one suspended second you didn’t answer.

Joel noticed that too.

His eyes narrowed just slightly as he watched your face, watched the way your fingers tightened in your lap, watched the little shift in your breathing. He knew that look by now. Knew the exact moment a thought took hold in you and turned from playful to dangerous. It was always there first, in your eyes. That glint. That pause. That split second where he could practically see the idea forming before you ever said a word.

And judging by the way his chest rose on a slow inhale, he knew this one was going to be trouble. The kind of trouble he never once tried very hard to avoid.

“You’re awfully quiet,” he murmured.

You stood from the vanity slowly, turning fully to face him now. The height difference between you always felt more pronounced when he was like this, with his eyes fixed on you with that patient, dangerous attention that never rushed and never missed a thing.

You stepped closer.

Joel’s gaze dropped briefly to your mouth, then lifted again.

“How do you mean, waste?” you asked softly.

His expression shifted, something amused and warmer than amused flickering through it. “Darlin'.”

“No, tell me.” You tilted your head just slightly. “Because from where I’m standing, nothing’s being wasted.”

Joel let out a quiet breath through his nose, almost a laugh, except there was too much heat in it now to really be one. “That so?”

“That so.”

You could see him trying to read you, trying to decide whether this was still teasing or whether the ground had shifted under his feet without him noticing.

Then his eyes moved over your face again, slower this time, taking in the lashes, the mouth, the expression you were making no attempt to soften.

When he spoke, his voice had gone gravel deep. “Baby.”

That one word should not have felt like a hand sliding over bare skin. And yet you took the last half step in, close enough now to feel the heat coming off him, close enough that if you lifted your hand it would land on the center of his chest. The towel sat careless and unfair around his waist, his hair still damp, his whole body loose with the kind of comfort that only existed in private, in the quiet safety of home, in the hour when the rest of the world stopped mattering and there was only this room and this man and the way he was looking at you now.

You smiled teasingly.

“It’s not going to waste,” you said.

Joel held very still.

“No?”

You shook your head once, eyes never leaving his. “No.”

He swallowed.

That was it. Just a tiny movement in his throat, but you caught it, and the satisfaction of being able to do that to him with so little nearly made you bolder than you already were.

Joel’s hands remained at his sides, though you could tell by the tension in them that it cost him something now. “Alright,” he said carefully. “Then I’m listenin’.”

You let your gaze flick down his chest and back up, deliberately mirroring the way he’d looked at you before. “I’ve been thinking about this mascara all day.”

That got his attention in full.

“All day,” he repeated.

You nodded.

Joel’s mouth curved, but it was thin now, held back by effort. “Should I be worried?”

“Probably.”

He laughed once under his breath, but the sound came out uneven. “You say that awful casually.”

You took another inch of space, enough that the edge of your nightgown nearly brushed the towel at his hip. Joel didn’t move away. If anything, he seemed to brace without meaning to, like his whole body had recognized the shift before his mind could catch up.

And still you made him wait.

“I’ve been waiting,” you said, voice softening, “to see if it’s actually as good as it claims.”

Joel stared at you.

His eyes searched yours, and when he spoke, his voice was so low it barely seemed to cross the space between you. “Baby…”

You smiled wider.

“So no,” you said gently. “Nothing’s going to waste.”

He exhaled slowly, chest rising under the warm lamplight, and there it was again, that look. That exact look. The one you knew got under his skin every single time. Part disbelief, part desire, part the dawning realization that he was no longer in control of the direction this night was taking and that, worse, he did not want to be.

Your fingers lifted at last, just enough to rest lightly against his chest.

Joel’s eyes dropped to the touch.

Then back to your face.

And you gave him the line like a gift.

“I’ve been waiting all day,” you said softly, “to test with my husband whether this mascara really holds up to everything it promises.”

Joel went completely still.

His jaw tightened just slightly. His hand flexed once at his side. His eyes dragged over your face as though he were seeing you and the trouble in you with punishing new clarity.

Then he laughed, just once.

And when he looked at you again, whatever amusement had been there before had burned down into something darker.

“Jesus,” he muttered, almost to himself.

Joel’s hand came up then, rough fingers finding your waist with slow intention, like he was giving himself one last chance to be careful and already knew it was too late. 

“Baby,” he said, and this time it sounded like a warning aimed at both of you.

His hand tightened slightly at your waist, thumb pressing in just enough to ground himself, or maybe to make sure you were real and not something his tired brain had invented after a long week and a hot shower and too much time thinking about you.

You tilted your head, lashes dark and deliberate, exactly like you’d intended. “What?”

Joel let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh, except there was no real humor left in it now. Just pure heat turned into desperate need. “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?”

You smiled. “That’s not very reassuring, you know.”

“Ain’t meant to be.”

His eyes dropped to your mouth, lingered there just a second too long, then dragged back up like it cost him something. 

He shifted his weight slightly, like he was bracing for something he’d already decided not to stop.

“Say that again,” he murmured.

Your breath caught. “What part?”

“All of it.”

You held his gaze, fully aware now of how close you were, how little space there was left to hide behind anything safe. “I said,” you began softly, fingers still resting against his chest, “that I don’t think anything’s going to waste.”

Joel’s jaw tightened.

“And,” you continued, quieter now, stepping just a fraction closer, “that I’ve been waiting all day…”

His hand slid from your waist to your hip, like he was mapping out the line of you again just to be sure.

“…to test it with my husband,” you finished.

The silence that followed was thick.

His control was still there, you could see it in the tension of his shoulders, in the way his grip hadn’t tightened too much, in the way he was still choosing every movement instead of letting instinct take over completely.

But it was slipping.

And you could feel that too.

Your hand moved slightly against his chest again—just enough to tempting him—and that was all it took.

Joel closed his eyes for half a second, like he was giving himself one last moment of control.

Then he opened them again.

And whatever had been holding him back was gone.

“Alright,” he said, voice low and dangerous in that quiet way that meant he was done pretending this wasn’t happening. “You wanna test it?”

Your pulse jumped.

He leaned in just enough that his breath brushed warm against your cheek, close enough to make your thoughts scatter without even touching you yet.

“Let’s see how well it holds up,” he murmured.

That was the moment everything tipped.

His thumb dragged slowly along the curve of your hip. “All day, huh? Thinkin’ about me ruinin’ it?”

“Every hour.”

A low, dangerous sound rumbled out of his chest. He spun you around so fast your breath caught, pressing your front against the vanity edge until the cool wood bit into your hips. The mirror reflected everything: your flushed face, the new mascara, Joel towering behind you like a man who’d just been handed permission to lose control.

“Look at yourself,” he ordered, voice right against your ear. One big hand slid up your sternum, fingers spreading wide over your throat, not squeezing, not yet, just resting there like a heavy reminder. “You’re gonna watch every second while I fuck that pretty makeup right off you.”

Your eyes met his in the glass. His were dark, pupils blown, jaw tight with restraint he was already losing.

“Yes, Joel.”

He hummed approval, free hand shoving the towel away. It dropped to the floor with a soft thud. His cock was already hard, thick, flushed dark at the tip and curving up against your clothed ass. He dragged it slowly between your cheeks, teasing, letting you feel exactly how much he meant every word.

“Gonna start slow,” he murmured, mouth brushing the shell of your ear. “Deep. So you feel every inch stretchin’ that tight little pussy while you keep those eyes on the mirror. Then I’m gonna fuck you stupid. And every single time you’re about to come…” His fingers flexed around your throat. “I stop. You’re not comin’ till that mascara’s runnin’ down your cheeks like you’ve been cryin’ for me. Understand?”

You whimpered, nodding frantically. “Yes—please—”

He kicked your feet apart wider, one hand still collared around your throat, the other sliding down to pull your panties aside. No patience left for taking them off. The blunt head of his cock nudged at your entrance, already slick from how long you’d been teasing each other.

“Eyes on the mirror, darlin’,” he growled. “Don’t you fuckin’ look away.”

Then he pushed in. One long, slow, relentless inch at a time until he was buried to the hilt and your mouth fell open on a broken moan. The stretch burned so good your lashes fluttered, but you kept your eyes open, locked on the reflection like he’d commanded.

“Fuck,” Joel breathed, forehead dropping to your shoulder for a second. “So goddamn tight. Always so perfect for me.” He rolled his hips once, grinding deep, letting you feel him throb inside you. “Look how pretty you look takin’ me. Those lashes still all nice and dark… for now.”

He started moving then. Slow, deep drags that pulled almost all the way out before sliding back into your dripping cunt. Every thrust dragged against that spot inside you that made your toes curl. His hand stayed firm around your throat, thumb stroking the side like he was petting you while he ruined you.

“That’s it, baby. Watch yourself get fucked.” His voice was pure filth now. “See how your tits bounce every time I bottom out? See how your mouth opens like you can’t even breathe right? That’s my cock doin’ that to you.”

You moaned, the sound loud in the quiet bedroom. Your hands gripped the edge of the vanity so hard your knuckles went white. The mirror showed everything: the way your eyes were already glassy, the faint sheen of sweat starting on your collarbones, Joel’s broad body behind you, muscles flexing with every controlled thrust.

“Gonna take my time,” he rasped. “Gonna fuck you so deep you forget your own name before I even let you come.” He snapped his hips a little harder on the next thrust, making your breath hitch. “But not yet. Not till I say.”

He kept the pace torturously slow for what felt like forever. Long, rolling strokes that had you whimpering and pushing back against him, chasing more. Every time your moans pitched higher, every time your walls started fluttering around him, Joel would still completely, buried deep, and just hold you there.

“Not yet, baby, not a chance,” he murmured against your neck, biting down lightly. “Feel that? Feel how full you are? That’s where you belong, baby. Stuffed full of my cock while you watch yourself fall apart.”

“Joel—please—”

“Please what?” He flexed inside you, grinding slow circles. “Use your words. Tell me what you want while you’re lookin’ me in the eyes.”

“I need to come,” you gasped, voice shaking. “Please let me come—”

His hand tightened just enough around your throat to make your pulse jump. “No, sweetheart,” He pulled out almost completely, then sank back in so deep your knees buckled. “Not till those lashes are ruined. I want black streaks down your pretty cheeks. I want you lookin’ like you’ve been cryin’ and chockin’ on my dick.”

He started fucking you harder then, still controlled, but deeper, faster, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room. Your mascara was already starting to smudge at the corners from the tears of frustration gathering in your eyes.

“Look at that,” he groaned, eyes locked on the mirror. “Already runnin’. My pretty little wife’s mascara can’t even handle a little foreplay. What’s it gonna do when I really start wreckin’ you, huh?”

He picked up the pace, hips snapping forward harder, the hand on your throat keeping you upright and forced to watch. Every thrust jolted you forward against the vanity. Your lashes were definitely smearing now, faint black tracks forming under your eyes.

“Fuck, baby, you’re squeezin’ me so tight,” he growled. “Pussy’s greedy tonight. You love to watch while I ruin you, don’t you?”

“Yes—yes, Joel—”

He reached around with his free hand and found your clit, giving it a light, stinging little tap with two fingers. You cried out, hips jerking.

“Uh-uh,” he scolded, tapping again, harder this time. “No comin’. Not yet.” Another sharp little slap right over your swollen clit. “This pretty pussy’s gonna wait till I’ve got black tears runnin’ down your face.”

Joel kept fucking you hard and deep, hips snapping forward with that relentless rhythm that had the vanity creaking under your hands. He leaned in close again to whisper in your ear.

“Who’s the most beautiful woman in the world, baby?”

You laughed. A broken, desperate sound that turned into a moan halfway through because he chose that exact second to grind against your spongy spot. Joel’s hand cracked down on your ass in a sharp, stinging spank that made you jolt forward. He didn’t miss a beat, cock still buried to the hilt.

“I asked you a question,” he growled. Another hard thrust. Another spank, this one right on the same ass cheek, making your skin bloom hot. “Who’s the most beautiful woman in the world?”

Your voice came out wrecked and breathless.

“Me—fuck, Joel— it’s me.”

He was grinning in the mirror. He rewarded you with a deep, punishing stroke that made your eyes roll back.

“That’s right,” he rasped, spanking you again. “My beautiful girl. Say it again while I fuck you.”

“It’s me,” you sobbed, voice cracking as an orgasm threatened to rip through you. “I’m the most beautiful woman in the world.”

Joel groaned low in his chest, hips snapping harder.

“Damn right you are,” he muttered almost tenderly while he kept pounding into you. “And don’t you ever fuckin’ forget it.”

He fucked you like that for what felt like hours with hard, deep thrusts interspersed with those cruel little clit slaps every time you got too close. Your mascara was a mess now, dark smudges under your eyes, streaks starting to run down your cheeks every time a tear slipped free.

“Goddamn,” Joel muttered, voice wrecked. “Look at you. So fuckin’ pretty when you cry for me.” He slammed in harder, grinding against your spongy spot again. “Almost there, baby. Almost got you lookin’ exactly how I want.”

Your legs were shaking. You were babbling —please, Joel, please, I can’t, I need— but he just kept going, relentless, edging you right to the brink and then stopping or slapping your clit until the orgasm retreated.

One final hard thrust and he stilled again, buried to the hilt, hand flexing around your throat.

“Look at yourself,” he ordered, voice rough. “Look how ruined you are.”

In the mirror your reflection was wrecked: You were shaking, tears spilling faster, mascara dripping off your chin onto the vanity. Joel looked feral behind you with his hair damp with sweat.

“That’s it,” he growled. “That’s the face I wanted. Now you can come, baby. Come all over my cock while I watch those tears run.”

He didn’t give you time to answer. He fucked you with brutal, perfect strokes that hit exactly where you needed every single time. His hand left your throat only to slide down and rub tight, fast circles over your clit, no more teasing, no more denial.

“Come on, baby. Let go. Soak my dick while I ruin the rest of that mascara.”

The orgasm crashed into you like a freight train. You screamed his name, walls clamping down around him, body shaking so hard he had to hold you up. Black tears spilled freely down your cheeks now, mascara running in messy streaks all the way to your jaw.

“Fuck—yes—that’s my girl,” Joel groaned, voice breaking. “Look at you. So fuckin’ beautiful when you fall apart for me.”

He fucked you through it, hips stuttering, chasing his own release. “Gonna fill you up, baby.”

One more thrust and he buried himself to the hilt, coming with a low, guttural moan, cock pulsing hot inside you. He kept grinding through it, milking every last drop while you trembled and cried in his arms.

For a long moment the only sound was both of you panting, the mirror fogged slightly at the edges from heat and breath.

Joel stayed inside you, arms wrapped around your middle now, gentler. He pressed a slow, open mouthed kiss to the side of your neck, then another to your tear streaked cheek.

“Jesus Christ, baby,” he murmured, voice soft and wrecked. “You look like a goddamn dream.”

He reached over to the vanity without pulling out, grabbed the pack of makeup remover wipes you always kept there, and tugged one free with his teeth. Then, still buried deep inside you, he turned you in his arms, lifted you clean off the floor, and carried you the few steps to the bed.

He sat down on the edge, keeping you straddling his lap, cock still snug and warm inside you. Your legs wrapped around his waist automatically. He cradled the back of your head with one hand and brought the wipe to your face with the other.

“Hold still, darlin’,” he said gently, voice full of that quiet affection that always undid you. “Let me clean my pretty girl up.”

He wiped your cheeks with slow, careful movements, thumb brushing tenderly under your eyes as the black streaks disappeared. Every few seconds he’d lean in and kiss you with soft, lingering kisses on your lips, your forehead, the tip of your nose.

“That mascara didn’t stand a chance, did it?” he teased between kisses, a crooked smile on his face. “Promised it was better than sex… and here you are with black rivers down your face after one round with your husband.”

You laughed, watery and breathless, and he kissed the sound right off your lips.

“Shh, I got you,” he whispered, wiping the last smudge away. “All clean now. My beautiful girl.”

He tossed the wipe aside and wrapped both arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest. His cock twitched inside you, still half hard, like he wasn’t quite ready to leave yet.

“Love you,” he murmured against your hair, voice low and reverent. “Love you so fuckin’ much it hurts sometimes.”

You buried your face in his neck and smiled against his skin.

“Love you more.”

Joel huffed a soft laugh, hand stroking slow circles up and down your back.

“Nah, baby. Not possible.”

He stayed like that for a long time, still inside you, holding you close, kissing your temple every few seconds while the bedroom lamp cast a warm glow over both of you. The vanity mirror behind you reflected the two of you tangled together.

“Next time you buy somethin’ similar to ‘Better Than Sex,’” he murmured, lips brushing your ear, “I’m makin’ you wear it so I can prove it wrong all over again.”

You laughed into his neck, and he tightened his arms around you, heart beating steady against yours.

“Deal?” he asked, smiling.

“Deal,” you whispered.

⋆♱ Beautiful dividers from @saradika-graphics and @thecutestgrotto

[gothcsz]

Wandering Hands | Javier Peña x Black Latina F!Reader | ~1.2k wc | Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: Javi can't keep his hands off you during a dinner with some friends.

Tags: public fingering, pussy pronouns, javi being a menace at dinner, lil bit dirty talk, no use of y/n, reader is a woman of color yet everyone is encouraged to read, any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i missed any other tags pls let me know okay, thanks!

A/N: i got this prompt in my ask and i had to do something with it, obvi, because i think we're all obsessed with javi's hands right? mmm, so big and strong and i def need to feel them all over my body STAT! enjoy this lil bit of filth my pretties 🖤

“Stop,” you mutter under your breath, carrying just enough weight for him to hear.

It doesn’t matter, though—Javier never listens when it comes to this. His hand is already settled high on your thigh, large and warm, his fingers teasingly close to the damp heat of your panties.

The pad of his thumb drags lazily over your stockings, grazing the delicate lace edge, making your pulse race.

He doesn’t bother responding—of course he doesn’t. That maddening smirk spreads across his face instead, the dimple in his cheek deepening as he nods at something the man across the table is saying.

His expression is cool, composed, even charming. The contrast to what he’s doing beneath the table has your head spinning.

You shift subtly, attempting to press your knees together, but he’s quicker, his fingers digging in just enough to warn you.

A sharp press of blunt nails against the softness of your thigh nearly makes you gasp. “Don’t,” he murmurs, leaning in just enough for his breath to brush against your ear before he picks up his drink and takes a leisurely sip. “Keep them open.”

“Now’s not the time, Javi,” you hiss, your voice strained as you try to keep your composure.

Around you, laughter and idle chatter fill the air, everyone engrossed in their own conversations. No one suspects a thing, yet the way his fingers start to press firmly along your inner thigh makes it harder to focus.

Ignoring your weak protests, he slides two fingers over the damp seam of your panties, applying just enough pressure to make you suck in a sharp breath.

His touch is deliberate, slow strokes that rub against your aching pussy in a way that has your thighs trembling.

Arousal pools feverishly in your sex, and you have to bite down on your lip to suppress a whimper.

It’s fucking maddening—too much and not enough all at once. Your horniness is undeniable now, the fabric of your panties clinging to your slick folds. 

The bastard knows exactly what he’s doing, teasing you with each measured motion, dragging his fingers just slightly faster, testing your restraint.

You cough, desperate to cover up the soft sound that escapes you when his thumb presses firmly against your clit, circling with infuriating precision. The woman beside you turns, her brow arching in mild concern. “Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah,” you stammer, your voice hitching as his fingers rub a little harder, threatening to pull you under. “Just... just a scratch.”

Her attention lingers for a moment too long, and Javier seizes the opportunity, dragging his fingers down the soaked fabric, pressing them right against your entrance. The sudden pressure makes your thighs jerk apart involuntarily, and your breath catches.

“Oh,” you choke out, forcing a laugh as you wave a hand dismissively. “Scratch in my throat. I’m fine.”

The fakest smile you’ve ever worn stretches across your lips, and it must be convincing enough because she nods and turns away.

The second she’s distracted, Javier’s hand shifts again, this time slipping under the lace edge of your panties. His bare fingers glide over your wet and sticky cunt, and you bite down hard on your lip to stifle the moan that threatens to escape.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, so low only you can hear, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

The slow, teasing circles he draws against your clit send waves of pleasure rippling through you, leaving you squirming helplessly yet as subtly as you can in your seat, praying no one notices just how thoroughly he’s unraveling you.

Your hand moves to join his beneath the table, fingers trembling as they wrap around his wrist.

The tablecloth mercifully drapes low enough to shield the debauchery unfolding underneath, but the tension in your grip betrays your desperation.

You try to stop him, to regain some semblance of control, but his strength and determination make your effort laughable.

“Javi…” you plead softly, the syllables tinged with both frustration and need.

“What?” he murmurs teasingly, his lips quirking into that devilish grin that makes your knees weak. “I thought you said you could handle it.”

Ah, there it is. The challenge. A reminder of the words you whispered to him in bed just days ago, about wanting to push boundaries, to explore your limits. 

It’s not that you aren’t enjoying it—god knows you crave the way his hands roam your body, whether they’re gripping your ass, teasing your tits, or spreading you open while he fucks you senseless until your mind goes blissfully blank.

No, the problem isn’t him. It’s the setting.

You just don’t want to risk giving the entire room a front-row seat to your undoing.

He, on the other hand, couldn’t give less of a fuck.

“I can,” you reply weakly, though even you don’t believe it, not with the way your voice wavers. “Just… not he—oh.”

“Not here?” he repeats, his voice a low hum, pitched just for you. He plays with the sensitive flesh of your labia, playing with your pussy as if you were in the privacy of your own home. 

The room around you fades into background noise—piano notes mingling with the hum of voices, all of it inconsequential compared to the soft obscene sound of his fingers slick against your arousal.

He gathers it on his fingertips, spreading it over your swollen folds, and you bite down hard on your lip to stifle the moan threatening to escape.

“So fuckin’ wet,” he breathes into your ear, curved nose skimming against your cheek, his voice dripping with satisfaction. The warmth of his breath against your skin sends a shiver racing down your spine. “Gonna be so hard to keep her quiet.”

To anyone watching, it must look like a simple, affectionate moment—him leaning close to murmur something sweet. But there’s nothing innocent about the way his fingers slide lower, teasing your entrance before sinking in.

You can barely breathe, your chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven gasps as he curls his fingers inside you. The stretch is delicious, every movement sending sparks through you.

His thumb finds your clit, pressing against the swollen nub with maddening precision, and you have to grip the edge of the table to keep yourself grounded.

“Baby,” you whimper, your voice so soft it’s almost swallowed by the din of the dining room as you reach up to clutch at his bicep. Your hips move of their own accord, rocking subtly against his hand, seeking more. “I’m close.”

His brown eyes meet yours, dark and glittering with lust. “Entonces dámelo,” (Then give it to me)  he rasps, his voice a low, seductive command.

He curls his fingers just right, dragging them along that perfect spot inside you while his thumb flicks rapidly over your clit.

It’s overwhelming, the buildup sharp and blindingly intense. It crashes over you, leaving you breathless and trembling, eyes watering, as your release erupts like fucking fireworks.

Your pussy clenches around his fingers, your body shuddering with aftershocks as you struggle to keep from crying out.

You bite down on your lip so hard you taste copper, your thighs twitching uncontrollably as you ride out the pleasure.

Javier’s grin is downright sinful as he watches you fall apart. Slowly, he withdraws his fingers, glistening with evidence of your release. “Damn shame I can’t shove these in your mouth right now,” he murmurs, his voice thick with mock regret. “Make you taste what a mess you made.”

He wipes his fingers on your ruined panties, then gives your thigh one final squeeze before resting his hand there possessively.

The smirk on his face as he returns to his conversation is pure arrogance, and you know he’s fully aware of the way your cheeks burn and your body still buzzes in the aftermath.

[sunisid3up]

Chapter 28 - Pairs

Tags Suggested Listening: 'Sweet Heat Lightning' by Gregory Alan Isakov Word Count: 10k

Previously: Worried about Joey after not hearing from him the previous day, Joel visited Jeremiah's to check in on him. Finding him still shaken from Dubois, Joel suggested they spend more time together and rushed to plan a day outside the settlement, raising Ellie’s suspicions in the process. They spent the day at Jackson Lake and had a packed lunch, their first quality time together free from duty. On the way back, Joel asked Joey to report everything to Tommy the next night. Joey was nervous about Tommy now that he knew but agreed.

Summary: Despite his anxiety, Joey keeps his promise and shows up at Tommy’s the next day. However, it’s what happens afterwards that truly changes everything.

June 2, 2024

The dining room at Tommy and Maria’s has its usual pre-dinner mayhem around it. Overlapping voices from the kitchen, the sound of dishes clattering on surfaces, the smell of whatever’s roasting coming out of the oven… Whatever it is, it smells good and has everyone’s tummies pleading to be fed.

Ellie has been yapping about space for the better part of twenty minutes and you and Joel have been doing your best to keep up. Jupiter is her current favourite planet. She can’t quite wrap her head around the fact that over 1,000 Earths could fit inside it because it’s so enormous.

Joel has a whiskey cradled in his palm and his eyes occasionally cross the table to catch yours with a barely-there smirk that he’s been trying to conceal since Ellie started talking. The problem is, you’re doing the same thing, because the two of you are clearly in on something that she isn’t.

It’s mild enough outside that no one bothered to light the fire tonight. The company and the bustle from the kitchen keeps the space toasty enough. Candlelight has done some heavy lifting too, throwing the room into soft amber shadows.

As much as you try to stop it, you can’t suppress the low, persistent unease that’s been sitting in your gut since you made your way here. Tommy knows, and you haven’t really seen him since. Joel insists he’s fine with it, and you want to believe that, but faith doesn’t stop you from tracking him anxiously whenever he comes in from the kitchen to start getting the table ready. It’s like you’re trying to find something in his face that might tell you how this is really going to play out.

If Joel is a little more relaxed about it, you should be too, but you’re not. You have no real reason to think it won’t be fine, but maybe you just want this to work so badly, especially after making the progress you have, that any new potential disturbance is surely going to make you nervous. You care about Joel and Ellie too much. You care about Tommy and Maria too. You care about how you’ve unintentionally slipped into this family and their routine and how they’ve accepted you in it. You can’t afford to lose it now. 

At some point during Ellie’s ramblings about celestial something-or-others, your boot clips Joel’s under the table and you pull it back with an automatic “sorry” before she’s even noticed an interruption. A moment passes, then his boot nudges back into yours and stays there. You glance at him. He’s mid-sip and his lips are doing everything the rest of his face is trying not to. You return your attention to Ellie before it becomes obvious.

“Do you think humans will ever get to go to the moon again?” she asks, pivoting mid-thought the way she normally does and expecting you to keep up.

You and Joel look at each other. He shrugs, handing off the responsibility of the answer to you.

“Do you want my optimistic answer or my realistic answer?”

She thinks about it for maybe two seconds. “Optimistic.”

“Hmm.” You lean back in your seat slightly and flatten the front of your shirt with your palm. “Well, I’d like to imagine that there’s a group of survivors out there somewhere who happen to know how to build a rocket. And I hope you find them one day so they can take you up there to see it for yourself.”

She absorbs it and you exchange a warm, hopeful smile.

“Maybe then we’ll all finally get a bit of peace and quiet around here,” Joel says from across the table.

“Listen here, you,” you quip back, pointing a finger at him. “You leave her alone. She’d be the luckiest girl alive to get that far away from you.”

Ellie’s face lights up with pure, vindicated delight and she sails straight back into the topic of stars and constellations, completely missing the smile that passes between you and Joel in the slipstream of it. A smile that isn’t for anyone but the two of you.

You nudge him under the table again. This time, you let your calf slide up against the side of his leg, slow enough that it couldn’t be mistaken for an accident. You feel him register it through the two layers of denim with a slight change in his posture and his eyes flicking over to you a second later. He does the most unsettling thing possible in return: absolutely nothing. He just stares over the rim of his glass as he takes another sip like it’s a challenge or an invitation. Maybe even both.

It’s pathetic and embarrassing how much it does to you. Your forty-fucking-years old and your ears are gone pink as a result of his solidity and the fact he’s just letting you do it. More than that, he seems to be enjoying the delicious discomfort he’s putting you through.

You’re gnawing down on the end of your thumb, trying to look normal, when Tommy and Maria materialise on either side of the dining table holding plates and orbiting around fast to get food served so they can get to the actual point of the night. No one is more eager to hear about Dubois than Tommy.

Chicken and herbed potatoes are on the menu for everyone else at the table. The smell of thyme draws another loud, hungry groan from your stomach. For you, potatoes and a dense, dark loaf of pressed nuts and grains that Maria sets down with a tentative look.

“Wanted to try something new,” she says. “Give you a bit of variety. Let me know if it’s any good, okay?”

“Sounds great!” you reply, eyeing the patty optimistically. “Trying new things seems to be the theme this week. I tried a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for the first time yesterday.”

Ellie’s ears perk up at that.  She quickly glances over at Joel and then looks away before he notices.

Tommy doesn’t even wait for cutlery to start scraping or napkins to unfold before the questioning starts. “Alright, hit me. What happened out there? What did you two see?”

One of your potatoes on your plate suddenly requires a lot of attention and slicing. Anything to avoid looking directly at Tommy. Joel’s leg remains placed between yours like he’s leaving it there on purpose to help keep you level.

“Journey there took a bit longer than expected,” Joel begins, taking the wheel. “But supplies were easy enough to gather, all things considered. Didn’t get everythin’ on the list, but we took what we could. It’s all been handed off already.”

Tommy glances between the two of you. “So the place wasn’t stripped clean?”

Joel shakes his head. “Pretty much untouched. Looked more abandoned than looted.”

Tommy turns to you directly then. “Joey? How ‘bout you? Anythin’ to report?”

You look up from your plate and the words simply aren’t there. It’s an ordinary, basic question, but your mouth has gone thick and your brain is suddenly useless. Tommy’s attention on you is inexplicably paralysing now that things are different. You hesitate for a second too long, so Joel jumps back in.

“We got ambushed,” Joel says. “On our way out.”

Tommy’s expression closes up and he straightens in his chair. “Settlers?”

“No. Gunman on a roof. Took him out, but then…” His gaze drift back to you. “Another one came up behind and grabbed Joey. They followed us.”

It’s the tone of how he recounts the moment that makes Tommy pause. It’s less like a report and more like he’s reliving how fearful and shaken it left him seeing you that close to death.

“He had a gun to my head,” you say, speaking up finally. “The guy on the roof was a friend of his. We thought that was gonna be it, but then an infected came out of nowhere and tackled him before he could pull the trigger.”

Tommy chews the thought more than the food in his mouth.

“Joel dealt with it while I tried to get my bearings,” you go on. “Then we… we tried to get him to talk. Find out what they wanted, who sent them…” You set your fork down and wipe your mouth with your napkin. “I noticed blood coming through his sleeve, so I rolled it up and saw a fresh bite… But right under that there was some sort of branding burned into his skin… The letter D.”

The air in the dining room changes. Tommy’s elbows find the edge of the table.

“Did he say what it meant?” he asks.

You look across to Joel and wrap your legs around his a little more.

“Joel got it out of him eventually,” you say. “He said it’s the mark of The Disciples.”

“The Disciples?” Tommy repeats, glancing to and from Maria with growing concern. “Who’s The Disciples?”

The nausea that’s been creeping through your body moves up from your stomach and into your throat.

“Probably not a good idea to talk about it right now,” Joel says to his brother, subtly nodding his head in Ellie’s direction to signal. She spoons a carrot into her mouth with an indifference you hope is genuine.

“Ellie,” Tommy says. “You wouldn’t mind steppin’ out for a couple minutes, would you?”

She looks up.

“Tommy.” Maria’s voice has that scolding edge to it. “She’s still eating. It can wait.”

“No, it’s okay.” Ellie’s already sliding her chair back and getting to her feet. “I need to take a piss anyways.”

Right on cue from Joel. “Language.”

She leaves the room and heads for the stairs. The four of you track the sound of her footsteps, the creak of the floorboards overhead and then the bathroom door closing and locking.

Tommy’s focus returns to you now that it’s clear to carry on with the details.

“Some sort of cult from what we could gather.” You subconsciously keep your voice low in case the walls can hear and pass secrets. “He wouldn’t give us any names at first. Said their leader would kill him for it.” You pause. “But Joel made him talk.”

Tommy looks at his older brother, not needing any further elaboration on how he achieved that because he knows all too well. “So… Who is it?”

Joel can tell by how you’ve gone quiet and returned to your plate that you’re not capable of this next part. He turns back to Tommy on your behalf.

“David.”

Another pause, much longer now as the name makes its way around the table.

“David?” Tommy asks, pinching his brows together. “As in… Silver Lake?”

Joel holds his gaze. That’s all the confirmation he needs. Maria’s hand subconsciously moves to her bump.

“Well, that’s impossible,” Tommy says, almost laughing at it. “Right? You found him before you got outta there, right Joey? You said—”

“I know what I said.” It comes out harsher than intended. “He couldn’t have survived, but… he seemed so… sure. He was terrified of what David would do to him. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since.”

Tommy considers that for a moment before forking a bite of chicken into his mouth. “Sounds like just another group of religious loonies if you ask me. Plenty of ‘em out there. Nothin’ we need to worry about.”

“‘Course we need to worry about it,” Joel interjects flatly. “They knew who we were, Tommy. They know we’re here. They’re trackin’ us. These are the same people who put Kai and Archie’s heads on pikes.”

“Silver Lake was overrun with infected by the time you both got out,” Tommy says. “How many of them could possibly be left?”

“They could be recruiting for all we know,” Maria adds quietly. Everyone turns their attention to her. “That’s how these groups sustain themselves and grow. They just need a cause and someone charismatic enough to lead and people will follow if they’re scared or desperate enough.”

Tommy taps the side of his glass. “Well, we still got more bodies and walls than they do, so unless they’ve got their own settlement somewhere nearby that we don’t know about, I like our chances.”

“They’re gonna try pick us off,” Joel says. “They’ll wait for the right time, just like they did to us. They were already targetin’ us for some reason, and now two of their own are dead. They’ve left us alone for months. We need to be prepared for retaliation.”

The toilet flushes upstairs. Four pairs of eyes find the ceiling and the curtain closes on the conversation. Ellie comes thundering back downstairs and drops into her chair, ready to continue eating. She notices the prolonged silence and looks around at everyone.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I didn’t hear a thing.”

—

Maria swats you out of the kitchen after you offer to help clean up. It’s playful at first until she gives that bullish look that always makes you back down. It’s like she finds it mildly offensive, and to an extent, you understand. Even though she could give birth in a matter of weeks, her home is the one place where she still has some sense of control and purpose now that she has almost entirely relieved herself from community duties.

You drift into the living room instead to take yourself out of her way and start moving slowly along the shelves and walls. Even though you’ve been here many times at this point, you’ve never really taken the time to look around properly.

One framed photo stops you in place. 

Joel and Tommy, much younger than they are now. They’re standing in some sort of yard in front of a building with scaffolding visible at the edge of the frame. There’s a large sign you can’t really make out hung in the background.

Tommy’s arm is hooked around his brother’s neck and he has that same grin he usually wears, just considerably less weathered. Joel looks a little less enthusiastic as you’d expect, but he still stands as stoically handsome as he does today. Even then, he was attractive in a way that never asked for attention but he probably received it regardless. Less lines, lighter mien and that marginal curve of his mouth. Beautiful.

“I take it Joel told you.”

Your soul nearly leaves your body. Tommy quietly appears directly behind you.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Tommy.”

He ducks his head and chuckles to himself at the floor.

“My bad.”

Your hand is still clutching your heart as you wait for your pulse to find its way back down. He steps up beside you, both of you looking at the photo now.

“Yeah,” you say. “He told me on the way to Dubois.”

Tommy’s voice drops a little even though you’re the only two in the room. “Well, I don’t want you to feel like you have to avoid me, alright? Nothin’s gonna change between you and me.”

You pull yourself away from the photo now and look at him, unsure how to respond to that.

“I meant what I said to him and the same goes for you,” he adds. “I’m real happy. For both of you.”

You look down at your hands. “We’re still figuring it all out,” you say. “We don’t really know what it is. It’s all very… new.”

His mouth slants at that. “Well, no one here’s gonna rush you.” He pauses, considering how to approach what he wants to say next. “All I’ll say is — he must mean somethin’ to you and you clearly mean somethin’ to him, so I just hope you know what you’re walkin’ into.”

You turn back to him again, eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means what you probably already know it means,” he replies. 

He sees the lack of comprehension in your expression, exhales softly and readjusts to make another stab at it.

“Joel doesn’t do this,” he continues. “He hasn’t for a long time. And he’s—… He’s my brother, and I love him, but he and our whole family come with a lot of… baggage. A lot of it’s not pretty. We’ve all done things to survive that we prefer not to talk about, so things might feel easy now, but I just want you going into this with your eyes open.”

Unbeknownst to him, things have been far from easy, but you think on it before responding. “We’ve all had to do terrible things to survive.”

“Oh, I know that.” He looks at you sideways. “I just like havin’ you around. You belong here. And I’d hate for things to change if it didn’t work out.”

You bite down on your bottom lip. It feels more intense than it did a moment ago. You hadn’t even considered the idea of it going wrong and what the fallout of that would look like.

“Someone like you is good for someone like him,” he goes on. “I can see it, how you act around each other. Just… be patient with him and look out for yourself as much as you do for him. That’s all I’m sayin’.”

His hand finds your shoulder with a firm, grounding squeeze. It feels like an acceptance and a wish of luck at the same time. He nods towards the kitchen.

“Maria set some food aside for Jeremiah. Make sure you take it home with you.”

—

June 3, 2024

Joel blows across the surface of a new sculpture he’s been working on in his hand, sending a small swirl of sawdust into the light. He turns it over, running his thumb along the edge where the dremel has been, checking for any resistance in the grain. There’s a tiny ridge near the base that he’s not happy with. He’s about to go back in on it when there’s a knock at the door.

He sets the piece down and pulls his goggles off before making his way to the hallway.

He finds you standing on his porch with your hands buried in your jacket pockets. The first thing your attention goes to, before you’ve even greeted each other, is the blue flannel tucked into his jeans and the way his sleeves are pushed up with a fine dust of wood shavings clinging to the hairs on his forearms. It’s yet another breathtaking ‘pinch me’ moment where you have to remind yourself that that’s really your man.

“Hey,” you manage.

“Hey.” He’s already stepping aside to let you in. “Everythin’ okay?”

“Yeah, yeah…” You move past him like a breeze into the hallway, picking up on the smell of whatever woodwork he’s doing. “Thought I’d drop by. I wanted to see you.”

He takes a sharp but quiet breath in and pauses for a second at that. It’s small, but it causes a recalibration in him. The fact that you’re not showing up with an agenda or a problem for him to solve, and that you want to be near him just because, seems like another concept he doesn’t know how to process just yet.

He pushes the door closed and watches you drift into the living room in that way you move through his space with curiosity and naturalness. 

“Ellie’s at school?” You say it more like a confirmation than asking a question.

“Yeah. I was workin’ on somethin’ at the bench. She hates the noise of the tools, so…” He stands with his hands on his hips. “I do it when she’s out."

“What are you working on? Can I see?”

A look of being caught-out crosses his face, or like he wasn’t expecting you to show any interest in that. “Uhh… sure.” He nods towards his station at the far end of the room. “S’over there.”

Pale shavings and used tools are scattered across the surface of his workstation. The smell of freshly cut wood and something oily gets stronger as you approach. In the middle of his mess sits a sculpture, roughly six inches tall. It’s some sort of bird. It’s wings are pinned tight against its body and its head is angled forward. It’s posture carries an impression of authority, readiness and intention.

You’re just landing on the thought that it looks familiar when it hits you.

“Is this…”

“An osprey,” Joel says quietly from behind you. “Was gonna be a surprise, but…”

You pick it up and hold it in both hands. The detail is astonishing. It has its individual feathers, a sharp downward hook in its beak and it looks just as alert as its real-life counterpart. Just like the one from the riverbank.

“A surprise? For who?”

“You.” He says it like it doesn’t warrant saying. “Who else would it be for? Been workin’ on it a lil’ while now. Wanted to make somethin’ to mark the patrols, I guess… Commemorate them.” He pauses and looks out at the nearby window like he’s just realising how it sounds out loud. “Stupid.”

It isn’t stupid. It’s quite the opposite, actually. You don’t really have words for what you’re feeling, so you just stand there holding it, wondering if your heart could possibly be about to expand out of your chest because it has nowhere else to go.

You set it back down carefully and turn to find him closer than you registered him being. You’ve already turned to mush for him and your hands run down his forearms until they’re in his. He moves in closer so that there’s no space left between you.

“Thank you,” you say quietly enough that it’s only for him. “It’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever made for me.”

His brown eyes shimmer and his lip curls into a small, proud smile before he leans in. Your own fall shut as his mouth finds its way to yours. His hand cups your jaw just in time before it feels like your head is going to topple off of your shoulders from the sweet surrender of it.

His other hand travels along your waist and stops at something unusually large and cylindrical in your pocket. He breaks away for a moment and looks down.

“What’s that you’ve got?”

A smile forms on your face before you can do anything about it. “Well… I also brought you a gift.” 

You reach into your pocket and produce one of the bottles of lube taken from Dubois. His eyebrows pop with surprise when he recognises what it is. He stares between you and it and you can tell he is clearly trying very hard not to let the grin break across his face.

He fails.

—

Joel’s back hits the inside of his bedroom door and you’re on your knees moments later, filling your mouth with his thickening cock. His jeans are only dragged low enough to free him, bunched at his hips while you press in close with your nose buried into his body hair to take him as deep as possible and test the limit of your throat.

Your vision starts to blur almost immediately. It’s too much and not enough all at once. The salt taste and heavy heat of him has your breath snagging and desperate for more.

When you do ease up, it’s only to set a rhythm with your hand joining in on the fun, working him thoroughly with your mouth. You look up at him through wet lashes. His head tips back against the door for a second before it drops back to watch his length vanish past your lips.

“Fuck, baby… feels so good,” he breathes shakily. His hand gathers a clump of your hair just to hold on to and anchor him.

Baby. 

Hearing it makes you falter for a moment. Something so sweet uttered in the most filthy of circumstances. Not only is it the first time he’s referred to you in that way, but it’s the first time you’ve heard anyone call you that in decades. It shouldn’t hit you as hard as it does, but it does. You want to hear it over and over again until it loses all meaning.

Heat surges through you as he drags you towards the bed and places you down onto the mattress. He follows right away, crawling onto you like he needs his weight on you right now.

His hands roam restlessly as they map out your torso through fabric. He kisses like he’s chasing something out of reach which gets a sound out of you before you can help it. His fingers hook beneath your t-shirt and push it up out of the way, searching and desperate to feel your skin under his. 

When he takes a firm grip of your chest, it’s rough enough to make your breath hitch and a spark run straight through you. But then he moves down to your waist, making you arch up into him as if you could be any closer.

There’s a very brief break that’s long enough just to strip off and discard t-shirts without care before he’s right back on you and pressing you into the bed. 

The taste of his morning coffee still clings to his tongue, cutting through the faint trace of toothpaste. It shouldn’t work together, but it does. It tastes like him. His mouth is greedy and wetter than usual. It’s like restraint isn’t even on the table anymore.

The second he feels the erection springing to life in your jeans, he’s fumbling with the buckle and yanking them down your hips and off in one go, taking your underwear with them. Denim bunches at your ankles before he yanks everything free, leaving you bare beneath him.

He chucks everything to the floor and pauses when he spots something. He grabs hold of your ankle and fingers curl around your foot as he lifts it, his brows scrunching with sudden focus.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“You got a hole in your sock,” he mutters with a low, analytical husk. He turns your foot slightly like it’s something delicate, thumb brushing the skin peeking through before grabbing the other and checking it just as thoroughly. “Jesus… this one too. Are they all like this?”

You huff out a small, embarrassed breath. “Uhh… Yeah, pretty much. Tommy only gave me a few pairs. Working in them so much and washing them so often just ruined them… I keep forgetting to ask for more.”

He grins crookedly, not to mock, just out of fondness. He peels them off and throws them somewhere behind him, then drops back down to press a string of kisses from your neck up to your mouth. “Remind me to give you some before you go. I got plenty.”

The moment passes as quickly as it came. His focus snaps back into place, even more so when his own clothes are removed.

He lays back and lets you climb over him, his hands holding you steady at your hips as you press down. The slow drag of your cock against him makes him squeeze hard at your ass, hard enough that it steals your breath from you for a moment.

You dip down to kiss him and he answers with a quiet, approving hum that vibrates against you. Between your legs, his own cock is already slick and leaving a damp trail where you move against him, desperate for more.

The morning light cuts across him at an angle and warms one side of his face, leaving the other in shadow. It catches his irises and turns them richer somehow. There’s dust drifting lazily between you, visible only because of the light.

He studies you like he’s seeing you clearer now than he ever has, like he’s piecing you together all over again. It makes you pause and feel a little diffident.

“What?” you ask.

He hesitates for a split second.

“Everythin’ about you’s so beautiful, you know that?” he murmurs. It barely makes it past his lips.

It isn’t just the words themselves that hit you in your gut, it’s the way he says them. From him, it feels like an anomaly. You can’t imagine him speaking this way to anyone or holding them the way he’s holding you.

“You too,” you whisper back. A small smile tugs at your mouth which he mirrors softly.

He manoeuvres you onto your back again and starts working his way down your clavicle, chest and the soft part of your stomach with feathery kisses that make your legs curl up of their own accord. Your hands find the side of his head just as he settles between your thighs.

He looks up at you with eyes that are too stupidly sweet for a man built the way he is. A few more kisses to your inner thigh and then he takes your cock into his mouth. He measures the effect it has on you. Your breath trips in your chest and your back lifts off the mattress again. He keeps one hand wrapped firm around the base to hold the head exposed and works his lips over your sensitive ridge.

“You taste so good,” he murmurs against the tip. He’s more assured than he was the first time. He has started to learn your geography and what undoes you.

When he synchronises the pull of his hand with the movement of his mouth like you do for him, the heat builds fast. Faster than you’d like.

“Slow down—” You sit up quickly and cup his head again to ease him off. “Slower… I’m getting close already.”

The smirk he gives you from between your legs hearing that is nothing short of criminal. He obliges to an extent, but he has no plan of lessening the pleasure he now knows how to give you. His lips draw back over the head and he traces them ever so softly across your frenulum in small, torturous strokes. His moustache drags right where it needs to which leaves you twitching and pulsing in his grip.

Those embarrassing, pathetic sounds that he seems to enjoy so much start bubbling up your throat. You press your eyes shut and your head sinks deeper into the pillow but you can sense the grin forming on his face. His free hand snakes up the sheets and takes hold of yours, interlocking your fingers and giving you something to squeeze.

“Fuck, Joel…” you breathe. “That feels so… s-so good.”

He hums with satisfaction against you now. He continues to track the rise and fall of your chest. “Yeah?”

When his mouth migrates lower and starts working your balls, the sensation hits like a livewire. Your whole body seizes and you practically launch upright, grabbing his head again with both hands and letting out some sort of shriek and laugh hybrid. He pulls back and chuckles as he watches the last of your self-consciousness dissolve. You’re in a breathless stupor from the rush and he leaves your heart pounding against your ribs like it’s trying to break free.

He comes back up to all fours and kisses you where you’re sitting. His mouth his still warm and you taste the remnants of yourself on his tongue. When he breaks, he leans his forehead against yours and stays there.

“You ready?”

You hold his face and press needy little kisses on the bridge of his nose. “Yeah.”

With his forehead, he gently pushes and topples you onto your back and then pulls you closer to him like you weigh nothing. He kneels between your elevated legs with less apprehension than last time. 

He picks up the little bottle from Dubois left on the nightstand and squints at the label seeing as he left his glasses downstairs by his workstation. He pumps a few squirts onto his fingertips and as soon as he registers the coolness of it, he instinctively starts to warm it up between them.

He lowers himself down on you then, curling one arm under your neck and the other hand disappearing between your legs. He tucks his face into the hollow of your shoulder and starts placing kisses there like he’s in no rush.

“Think you just need to relax for me, baby,” he mumbles against your skin. Your legs fall open for him and his fingers start circling your entrance carefully while you let his mouth do all the heavy lifting of completely unwinding you.

When the first finger starts to ease, the difference the lube makes is undeniable. It’s clean and easy with barely any resistance. Even that initial stretch passes without any drama or pain.

The second one is in before you know it, but he still keeps the pace slow like he somehow knows not to get too overzealous. He’s taking his time with you and enjoying it just to enjoy it.

He lifts his face from your neck and watches you when your hips start to almost ride his fingers involuntarily and you start to moan with each movement. His eyes are still soft and he bites down on his lip seeing you in this state. “Could listen to you makin’ those noises for me all day.”

Every word has you falling deeper into it, breathing through each pump of his hand and finding the sound of his tender care alone almost has you seeing stars. A cool thread of precum drips onto your stomach, evidence of the complete state of bliss he’s putting you in.

Once he realises you’ve loosened enough, he withdraws his fingers and situates himself back between your legs. He pumps more lube into his palm and coats himself with it before edging forward. His sturdy thighs press against the back of yours and he guides his tip to your hole, circling it slowly and warming you up for what comes next.

“Tell me if it hurts, okay?” He’s looking down at you and taking in the way the red flush has creeped up your neckline. You nod and keep your legs raised for him, waiting to feel that delicious fullness you’ve been carrying around in your memory since the last time.

With his tip in position, he starts to apply pressure. It’s more immediate than you anticipated, but within a few seconds, the head passes through smoothly. His eyes lift to you and then drop again, checking. Always wanting to be careful.

Another inch follows soon after. The stretch is nowhere near as rough as the last time. There’s no sensation of tearing or splitting. Your body seems to remember him.

“How’s that?”

“Good…” A breath. “Keep going.”

Your sole priority is giving yourself over to the rhythm of your lungs and letting every muscle relax. Joel senses it because his free hand finds yours again and laces his fingers through yours, a wordless declaration that he’s there with you.

He pushes a little further but lets the lube do most of it. Then, he holds in place and you feel it. The fullness arrives all at once as the rest of him sinks into you until he’s flush against your body and completely seated. A breath releases from your chest that was seemingly waiting for the right moment.

You both look at each other blankly for a second as if you’re expecting something to happen. 

But nothing does. There’s no pain. Just the warm, stretching pressure of him filling you completely and the mild disbelief in your faces that it went so smoothly. He smiles, almost to himself, and then shifts his hips to settle a little more comfortably while your body continues to accommodate him. A thin sheen of sweat catches the light across your chest from the effort.

“That okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you grin. “Perfect. No pain at all.”

He tests with a few slow thrusts and watches your face shift through them. Even at this pace, shy but involuntary sounds start coming out of you. Feeling the swell of him inside you, his skin hot against yours, his pubes grazing against your balls — it’s genuinely mind-melting.

His arms bracket either side of your head as he picks up the momentum and lowers himself down to press kisses along whatever part of you he can reach. You hook your arms around his neck and pull him even closer to listen to the deep, glorious sounds he makes against your ear. Your fingers curl into the back of his neck and your hairs stand on edge.

“Oh fuck, Joel, just like that…” It comes out helpless. Your face is turned into his temple where sweat has started to dampen his hairline. He answers by working harder, keeping his angle and coaxing more noise from you. His shoulders have gone glossy with sweat within minutes and the room is significantly warmer than it was when you entered earlier.

He pulls out of you carefully a while after and taps your leg. “Turn over.”

You do as you’re told and flip onto all fours. He wastes no time. His hands grip your hips and pull you back greedily to the edge of the bed until he’s stood behind you. He takes two large handfuls of your ass and smacks and squeezes until he’s left an imprint on your skin. 

He lines himself back up and inserts back in. The new angle is a revelation. Your mouth actually waters and you only realise when your cheek lands in a damp patch of drool you just left on his sheets. His girth moving in and out from this position is dizzying in the best way. It consumes you entirely. You grab a fistful of sheets and moan into them as he builds back up and his hips begin to meet yours with an audible slap.

“Take it baby, take it,” he hisses through gritted teeth. Your moans climb to a pitch they haven’t reached before and it’s driving him crazy. “You feel so fuckin’ good.”

When he finally pulls out, he drags his forearm across his forehead and drops onto the bed next to you, spent and trying to catch his breath.

“Here, lay back.” You push him down and start to mount him by swinging your leg over. He goes willingly, looking up at you like he needs to be guided and arranged so he can gather himself. You seat yourself and lean down to kiss him with a hunger that has only grown over the course of the morning.

While his mouth works against yours, you reach between your bodies and position his cock for you to sit back on. He slides into you again but it still manages to steal your breath. The moan exchanges between your mouths.

You find an angle that elevates the sensation even more. It’s not up and down, it’s more of a rolling slide forward and back. His head tips back with a dry groan so you keep milking him with the movement of your hips.

Your own cock has become unbearably hard from the friction and is leaving a silver trail of precum across his stomach. He’s almost fascinated by it, smearing it around his happy trail with his hand.

His hand takes hold of your length again and toys with it at first before it starts to pump in sync with your hips. The combination of it with his cock massaging against your prostate on every grind stacks the pleasure into something you’ve never felt before. The familiar sensation of heat pooling at the base of your spine grows and starts to bring you close to that line.

Without much warning, he powers you onto your back again, reclaiming control with an effortlessness that should scare you. He must be rested enough.

“I think I’m gettin’ close,” he says, his eyes somewhat frantic as they land on yours. “You wanna keep goin’ or you ready to go too?”

“Yeah, yeah… I’m ready,” you pant softly. “I’m close too.”

He exhales and dips down to place a kiss to your forehead, oddly tender given the circumstances but more than welcome. 

“Won’t just be me this time for once,” he smiles.

You smile back, struck by the fact it’s true and you didn’t even notice yet. “Better make it good then.”

He chuckles lowly and continues laying kisses into your neck, jaw and lips to soften you up for the finale. He presses his nose against yours and slides himself back in without needing any help finding the way. Once he’s going again, you lock in and focus. It feels special before it has already happened. It’s almost like the first time all over again. 

You start to tug at yourself and work up to a more frantic pace than before. He’s hitting that spot so good that you can’t help but look down and watch him fuck you senseless and listen to his strained grunts like it’s being fed directly into your nervous system.

“Eyes on me,” he says, commanding your attention back to his face.

He’s close, and you can tell by the way his pitch starts to climb and the urgency creeps in with each new thrust.

And then you feel it.

“Oh fuck.” Your voice splits. “Joel— I’m gonna cum.”

His pupils dilate and darken further, fixated completely on you now. “Yeah? Look at me while you do it.”

Your throat strains and flushes deep red as you start to tip over the edge. A string of broken expletives leave your mouth as you burst across your own stomach with warm, white shots. Almost immediately, you’re seeing stars and your pulse drills in your ears from the intensity of it. Never in your life have you been brought to such a level of ecstasy before.

He doesn’t last another second past watching you climax. A vicious, guttural sound tears out of him and his hips stutter and glitch against you.

“Aw Joey— here it comes! I’m cummin’—” 

He slows and starts to empty himself inside of you in long, shuddering pulses. The warmth of it floods deep into you and the sensation of being filled while your own orgasm still ripples through you produces a high that has your legs quivering. You just see white light behind your eyelids every time you blink and feel his shaft twitching inside as it spurts out the last of it.

It’s a long few minutes before he can even think about moving. He remains buried inside of you, rigidly locked in the oversensitive aftermath, holding you as you quake. A bead of sweat drops from his face to your chest, your fist still glazed with your own release.

Eventually, he drops forward with all his weight, with a broken and exhausted exhale against your neck. His curls are damp against your cheek and the scent of sweat and sex clings to him, and now to you. You hold him steady for a moment, absentmindedly tracing your fingertips across the breadth of his back and listening to his chest start to unknot. His hands tangle in your hair, gripping onto you like he needs it for the comedown.

Then, he lifts his head from where it’s buried against you.

You’re already looking at him and waiting, close enough that your noses graze together. He hovers there, his breath warm against your lips. Instinctively, you reach up to kiss him. Now you’re seeking a different degree of intimacy. You crave his safety, and he gives it to you with patient, attentive kisses in return that don’t stop coming until you’re ready for them to stop.

“Well,” he murmurs. “That was somethin’.”

“Yeah…” A dazed little laugh slips out of you. “So much better than last time.”

His brow raises just a touch. “Really? Didn’t hurt at all?”

“No, not even a little bit. Felt good the whole way through.”

His eyes glimmer with satisfaction like he finally did something right for once. He holds your gaze for a moment before glancing back over his shoulder at the bottle on the nightstand.

“How much of that stuff did you take again?”

The both of you laugh with a careless ease now that the tension has drained out of you. There’s all sorts of chemical reactions going on in your body right now that make you feel more airy and relaxed than you’ve ever felt with him.

“Wanna jump in the shower with me?” he asks softly. “Get ourselves cleaned up… then we can get back into bed for a bit?”

Then you remember. You’ve got the whole afternoon together. No patrol duty, no school shift… Ellie won’t be home until after three. The day opens up just for you two.

“Yeah,” you whisper back. “I’d like that.”

—

Joel tests the water with the back of his hand, adjusting it slightly before letting it flow a bit more. You linger by the sink and start to notice the aqua-blue tiles and sparse clutter left around his en-suite that makes it feel like it’s truly his. He reaches into the hamper, pulls out two clean towels and hooks them neatly on the back of the door.

“Alright,” he says after a second. “Should be okay now. Get in.”

He steps aside and gives you space, guiding you into the cubicle with a light touch at your hip. It’s bigger than it looked from the outside. There’s about enough room for both of you without brushing elbows every other second. He follows you in and slides the door shut. Now it’s just him, falling water and steam rising quick and thick around you.

The heat on your skin is immediate relief. You look down at your body and start to notice marks you didn’t even realise he had made. The scratch of his beard, rough hands and hungry mouth have done a number on you.

Joel tilts his head under the stream and lets the water cascade over his face. He pushes it back through his hair until it darkens. When he lifts his head again, droplets cling to his lashes and roll down the bridge of his nose. You’re completely mesmerised by the size and shape of him.

You don’t realise you’re staring as blatantly as you are until he does.

“Turn around,” he says with shy amusement.

He reaches for a bar of handmade soap and starts to lather it up in his hands. It smells of lavender, just like the way he smelled that night you knocked over.

His hands slide up your shoulders as he starts to massage it into your skin. He takes his time and begins to work down your back. The pressure is just right. It’s soothing enough that your head starts to fall forward.

You hum lowly. “I haven’t had my back rubbed in… God… over twenty years.”

He moves into your hair next, his fingers threading through and working the suds into your scalp. All of this is as new to him as it is to you. This level of connection and shared comfort would once be terrifying for people like you and Joel, but it feels like second nature in this confined space.

When he starts to rinse the soap and body fluids off of you, he stays close enough that his mouth brushes your shoulder. Then the back of your neck and the base of your skull. Absent little kisses that he doesn’t even think about giving, he just gives. Between him and the heat, your knees start to feel a little unsteady with dizziness.

You turn back to him before it gets too much. “Your turn. Turn around.”

A smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth but he turns and faces the tiles without protest. You take the soap this time and lather it up before pressing your palms into the warm skin of his back. He looks and feels even broader like this.

You move slower than he did, mostly because you’re unsure of yourself and want to give him the same feeling he just gave you. You follow down the line of his spine to his waist. When your hand drifts lower to playfully cup and squeeze his butt, he swats at you without looking back.

“Hey, hands off.” 

You can’t help but laugh.

Next, you’re massaging his scalp in small circles with firm pressure. His head dips back towards you after a moment. The tension of however long slipping out of him and flowing down the drain.

You rinse him clean before he then turns back and brings you closer to him.

Another kiss follows. But this one’s different, because it’s the first time you’ve actualised that you are irrevocably and wholly his. 

His hand cups your jaw and his thick thumb brushes against your cheek as he takes in the sight of you. It’s as though he’s coming to the exact same realisation.

Maybe others would speak it out loud and make it known, but for some reason, it’s not necessary with you and Joel. There’s a knowing between you that neither of you can explain. The truth is, even if you did want to speak right now, you wouldn’t be able to. Not when he’s looking at you like this.

Instead, you nuzzle into his chest and press your ear into him, listening to the music of his body and the water hitting your skin, letting it lull you into a state of calm. His chin settles on your head like he’s keeping you there for good. He places a series of kisses on your crown as you rest. If the world allowed it, you would stay here forever. 

It starts to feel like that restless, gnawing search for a reason to survive and a place to belong quiets — if only for a few minutes. And it wasn’t the walls of Jackson that did it, nor the community that sustains it.

It’s him.

—

Hair still damp from the shower, you pad back into his bedroom and drop onto the mattress. Your limbs feel like liquid as you sprawl out across the sheets like a tired puppy. You find him watching you from the foot of the bed with a quietly fond expression.

It occurs to you belatedly that you’re in his space still and now you’re more aware of yourself. “Sorry… Which side is yours?”

“Both of ‘em,” he replies before circling around to the one nearest the door. 

He climbs in next to you with an aged grunt and the mattress sinks under his weight. His arms are around you before you’ve even finished settling down fully. He pulls you flush against his chest and rearranges you against him in a way that doesn’t leave much room for negotiation. Your legs find his under the sheets like they already knew where to go. You can feel your nervous system start to calm in real time.

Minutes pass of just listening to him breathe and feeling his chest inflate and deflate under your cheek.

“I never thought I’d be able to feel this way again,” you say, silently enough that it’s almost to yourself.

“Me neither,” he murmurs into your hair, dwelling on it for all but a second. “Now go to sleep.”

Before you even manage to make a real attempt, he starts to snore softly. You tilt your head up from his chest to look at him. He’s out and defenceless, mouth parted and completely succumbed to his exhaustion. The morning’s exertion and stimulation catches up with him all at once.

You’ve never heard him snore before. Not even in the old farmhouse on the way back from Dubois where he’d slept next to you on a damp mattress. That night was different. That was within unfamiliar walls in unfamiliar territory with one eye open and an ear facing the door just in case. 

He wasn’t able to surrender in the way a person is required to in order to really sleep in that place. Here, with you, he can. And he does.

The realisation of that folds over you like a second duvet. The warmth of his body bleeds into yours and you feel it take over completely. Your eyelids begin to get heavier in increments, blinking slower and slower, each time needing a little more persuasion to open again.

Eventually they stop trying.

—

Waking up in Joel Miller’s bed is different from waking up anywhere else you’ve slept in the last twenty years and you feel it before you’ve even fully surfaced. The afternoon light comes through the curtains with a warm glow. His scent surrounds you: on the pillow, on your skin, in the air itself.

You slide your feet off his legs and stretch out a little before trying to pry yourself away enough to get your arms out and yawn properly. The movement stirs him. His arm reaches over and finds your waist to haul you back against him like he’s not done with you.

A sleepy chuckle comes out of you at the force of it. His chest is hot against your back. His nose finds its way into your curls and you feel the whisper of his breath against your neck.

“What time is it?” he mumbles groggily.

“No idea.” 

Then you spot the old clock on the bedside cabinet on your side. You lean yourself out to check it without him letting go.

“Oh, fuck…”

Without seeing him, you know his eyes just sprung open. “What?”

“It’s almost three. School’s almost done. Ellie’ll be home soon.”

He pushes both palms into his face with a groan and then flings the covers back and swings his legs out over the side of the mattress. He gets to his feet and stretches. The sight of him standing there in just his boxers adds a little cherry on top to the day.

You rise out of the bed too, moving around the room and collecting your clothes from wherever they ended up. “I didn’t realise we were asleep that long.”

“S’what happens when you’re too comfortable, I guess.” He says it to himself as much as to you with a private, self-satisfied smile.

He stoops to pick up something from the floor and then your t-shirt is sailing across the room. You catch it and pull it on.

He has your socks in his hand then and he turns them over once more. “I’ll go throw these in the trash for you,” he says. “Pick yourself out a couple pairs of mine. Second drawer down on the left.” He tips his head towards the chest near the window and heads out into the hallway.

You zip up your jeans and take a sweeping glance at his room. Leaving this so abruptly feels almost cruel considering what it took to make it here, but nothing will take away the fact that this morning happened and it was extraordinary. 

You and Joel Miller. Still strange to think about.

When you stumble over to the chest of drawers and pull open the second one down on the left, instead of finding socks, you find an accumulation of random belongings. Tool parts, one of Ellie’s handmade bracelets that has snapped, a small carving you don’t recognise… You’re about to close it back over and check the other side when a photograph gets your attention.

You pick it up and turn it over.

It’s Joel, but much younger than he is now. Barely recognisable. His arm is around a girl you don’t recognise either. She must be twelve or thirteen years old and is wearing a blue and white striped soccer jersey. She’s holding a trophy with both hands in triumph. He looks down at her with a pride you’ve never seen him wear before. It makes his features softer, but not just from youth. There’s a light in his eye that’s missing today. Her skin and hair is darker, but the architecture of her face is unmistakably similar to his. 

“Find ‘em?”

You jump and spin around.

Joel is in the doorway. You didn’t hear the creak of him on the landing coming back. His eyes goes straight to what you’re holding and it’s like a door slams shut. His face empties and he crosses the room to take the photograph from you in one clean motion before turning away.

You’re left stood there blinking at the speed. It wasn’t rough in any way, but it’s clear he did not want you to see it.

“Who was that?”

He’s eerily quiet. He slides the photograph back into the drawer gently and then eases it closed.

“Sorry,” he says unsteadily. “Meant second from the bottom. Socks’re in here.”

He crouches to open the correct drawer, fishes around in it and comes back up with a large handful of pairs which he places into your hand without eye contact. “Here, take these ones.”

They’re plain and thick. Just as you’d expect from someone like him. 

You look back up at him. “Joel… Who’s the girl? In the picture.”

He meets your gaze then but there isn’t much behind his eyes. They’re dark and still with a touch of fragility sitting behind them. “I can’t. Not today.”

He doesn’t say it in a way that’s frosty or cutting you out in the way he used to. This is something else entirely. It’s as though you’ve accidentally opened up something that hasn’t been opened in a very long time.

You don’t push any further. Some things aren’t yours to coax open, and you care about him enough to know this is one of them. It’s abundantly clear whoever the girl was meant a great deal to him and you were not meant to see that picture, so you leave it there.

“Okay,” you say quietly. “I’m sorry. I found it by accident—”

He shakes his head. “It’s alright. I know.”

He still won’t quite look at you. He stays preoccupied on whatever empty space there is around you, anywhere that isn’t your face. You watch him for a moment longer, noting the rigidness in his limbs, before letting it pass. You lower yourself down onto the corner of his bed and pull your new socks and boots on in complete silence.

“Okay,” you exhale, getting back to your feet slowly. “I, uh… I better get going.”

He nods, his thumb grinding into his opposite palm in slow, anxious rotations. For some reason, he’s quietly berating himself. It’s like he’s pissed that the morning had gone so perfectly and it ended up souring right at the last part.

“Thanks for these,” you say, holding up the handful of socks. “And for… having me over.”

His jaw twitches, but he’s somewhere else entirely. It’s almost frightening watching whatever it is take hold of him so suddenly.

“I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

As soon as you ask the question, your own stomach twists into a knot. What if you won’t see him soon? What if this is the thing that permanently sends him back into himself? What if he avoids you for good so he never has to relive whatever he’s reliving right now?

He breathes out through his nose and then, almost reluctantly, his eyes finally lift to look back at you again.

“C-could you… stop by tomorrow? Again?” he asks. You’ve never heard him sound so vulnerable and unstable. “You don’t have to— we don’t have to do nothin’. I just… wanna have you around.”

The request catches you off-guard entirely. Not because it’s unwelcome. It’s the opposite of unwelcome, in fact. It’s just the last thing you’d expect to hear from him in this very moment.

There’s a slight tremor in him that you could hear in his voice too. He has that glassy, needy look on him like there’s a chance you could possibly refuse.

“Yeah,” you say with almost a whisper. “Of course. I’ll be here.”

A small part of him relaxes at that. He nods once more and swallows something he was holding in his throat. 

You cross the room to him and press a short and undemanding kiss to his cheek, one that doesn’t ask of anything in return. It’s just enough to let him know you’re committing to coming back.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you say, stepping back towards the hallway.

“Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

AN: Oh my god, this one took so long to write and I'm so glad it's out 😮‍💨

I really hope you're enjoying the post-Dubois fluff! We've got one more chapter to go next week before I take a break from posting for a few weeks. Originally, I was guestimating 1-2 weeks, but nothing is set in stone. Could be longer, might not be 🤷🏻‍♂️ But it's a great time to go back and re-read as many chapters as you like before Chapter 30 which is going to be a big one.

I never ask for this or expect it, but if you have been enjoying the story so far, I would greatly appreciate you to share it, like, kudos, comment etc while I'm on my break. It really means the world and I love interacting with you across every platform.

Something huge happens in next week's chapter to round out this act as we prepare for what's next so I can't wait for you to read it. Have a wonderful week ahead and stay happy and healthy my loves. 💙

[isabellaboo2025]

The Circle (complete)

Pairing: Joel x Reader.

Summary: Two years ago you lost your son and Joel lost his daughter. Neither of you are the support group you both attend helps, but here you are.

A/N: 18+only. References to child loss and suicide.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Read on A03

Masterslist

[wordsbeachandtequila]

This was such a beautiful story 🥹 I cried so much and felt so happy at the same time.

The grieving is written so beautifully and their relationship growing through it is so heartwarming 🩵

[isabellaboo2025]

The Circle - Part One

Pairing: Joel x Reader

Summary: Two years ago you lost your son and Joel lost his daughter. Neither of you are sure that the support group you both attend helps - but here you are.

A/N: 18+ only. Story deals with grieving child loss and eventual smut.

Pulling over some of my shorter works from AO3 🥰

Masterlist

****************************************************

The chairs are the same as always. Beige metal folding ones that never sit quite right and wobble when you move.

The coffee still tastes like it’s been filtered through a car engine and you wish you knew why it had to be so awful. Maybe it’s because grief is meant to taste bad - as though any of you need to be reminded of that.

The people are always the same too. A circle of cracked souls, trying to talk through what most days still feels unspeakable.

You’ve been coming here for over a year now, every second Tuesday night. Fourteen months of sitting in this room full of people who get it in the worst possible way. People who have lost children, marriages, jobs and whole lives.

Dear God, you never thought you’d be here.

You don’t say much anymore, just enough to keep from vanishing.

You said your son’s name once - Jamie - right back when you first started coming. You explained that he was twelve years old when he died on a family camping trip. He wandered too close to the river after dinner and the current was faster than it looked. You told them how you ran, how you dove into the water, how you screamed until your throat tore, but the water kept him. Your voice shook as you recalled how it took three days for them to find his body.

Since then, you’ve said little, keeping your contributions short and controlled, as though you’re rationing them for emergencies.

Joel has said even less.

He sits across the circle from you every time, always shows up just after the start and always leaves as soon as the leader, Maggie, brings the meeting to a close. He started coming a few months after you did and, in that time, he’s shared only once.

You remember the flat tone of his voice as he explained how he lost his sixteen year old daughter, Sarah, to a bad ecstasy tablet that had been laced with fentanyl. She’d come home from a party she should never have been at and he’d thought she was just drunk, so he’d put her to bed and, the next morning, found her dead.

Now he just sits quietly.

Sometimes you catch his eyes on you when someone else talks, but he always looks away quickly as though he’s sorry for staring.

You don’t mind, because you know his kind of pain.

It’s the kind that doesn’t need words and always looks for company.

Tonight, the meeting drifts by slowly. There’s a few new faces including a man whose eighteen year old son was killed in a car crash and a woman whose five year old daughter died of leukaemia. Over the months, you’ve found that the stories all blur into one long ache, different shapes of the same wound.

You’ve come to realise that there is no one good, better way to lose a child and all you can do is sip the bad coffee from a Styrofoam cup and wait for it to be over.

When Maggie finally says, “Let’s close here for the night,” you stand automatically, ready to make your escape. You grab your jacket, your keys, and turn toward the door.

But, for once, Joel doesn’t leave.

You pause, watching him sit, hands clasped between his knees, his head bowed. When people start filtering out, he finally stands, slow, like he’s testing the weight of the world again. Then, rather than follow them as he usually does, he walks to the coffee table and pours himself a cup.

For a year, you’ve watched him vanish the second the clock hits eight but, tonight, he stays.

You hover for a second near the door, caught between desperately wanting to leave - to forget that this is part of your life - and something that feels a lot like curiosity.

Before your mind decides on the wisdom of staying longer than necessary, you find yourself next to him, reaching for the coffee pot he’s just discarded.

He glances at you, but doesn’t move away. “Evenin’,” he says finally, voice low and rough.

“Evening,” you echo. You pour a little of the dark liquid into your cup, taste it and make a face. “Still terrible.”

He smirks, barely. “Didn’t come for the taste.”

“Then what did you come for?” The words come out more accusatory than you intend and you feel heat rushing to your face.

He looks at you, properly, for the first time since you ever laid eyes on him and you’re struck by how tired and dark his eyes are. “Guess, tonight, I didn’t feel like drivin’ home just yet.”

“Me neither.”

He takes a sip and grimaces before glancing back to where Maggie is slowly and methodically moving the chairs away. “Still feels wrong, sittin’ in that circle.”

You follow his gaze and nod. “I reckon it’s supposed to.”

“Guess it means it’s workin’.”

You huff a breath that almost sounds like a laugh but isn’t, and nod to Maggie when she looks over. Only you and Joel are left now, given that nobody else usually lingers.

Why would they want to?

Joel leans against the table. “You ever get tired of talkin’ ‘bout it?”

“All the time,” you say. “But I guess not talkin’ feels worse sometimes. At least here, I don’t have to worry what people will think if I mention my dead son.”

He nods like he knows exactly what you mean. “Sarah would’ve hated these meetings. All that sittin’ around and sayin’ nothin’. Can see her now, just rollin’ her eyes.”

“Jamie too. He couldn’t sit still for five minutes so he would have been making faces at everyone, trying to get them to laugh.”

Joel almost smiles. “He sounds like a good kid.”

“He was.”

You stare at the floor.

“He used to say the river made him feel like a superhero. He said that gravity didn’t count in the water.’” The familiar tightness starts in your throat. “Makes me feel a little better sometimes knowing that, maybe, he felt like a superhero at the end. Makes me feel worse sometimes too - in case he was afraid.”

Joel looks down at his cup. “Sarah was scared of water. Couldn’t get her near a pool without cryin’. Get her hikin’ a trail though and she was gone.” He exhales, something almost close to a laugh. “She loved to take risks out there.”

You both go quiet.

Then he asks, softly, like he’s afraid of the answer, “You still think about that day?”

“Always,” you nod.

“Me too.”

“Sorry to interrupt,”’ Maggie says in a hushed tone, “but we need to let them close up now.”

“Sure”, you say, tossing your empty cup in the trash. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she says, more brightly now. “This group is all about making connections.”

“Makes it sound like a support group for folks who don’t know how to date,” Joel murmurs as you head out of the door, and his words draw a laugh - a real one - for the first time in you can’t remember when.

It’s dark outside and the wind is starting to pick up, so much so that you pull your coat tighter around you and shiver violently. In a few steps you’ll be in your car and then home, where you can lock the door and crank up the heating and feel glad it’s another two weeks before you have to sit in that room again.

You can pretend it happened to someone else.

“You wanna walk?” Joel asks suddenly. “Just around the block?”

You blink, caught off guard. “Now?”

He shrugs. “I ain’t really ready to head home yet. But it’s fine, you don’t have to...”

“No,” you say hurriedly, pushing your hands into your pockets. “Why not?”

*******

You fall into step beside him without trying. He’s quiet, heavy-footed, the kind of man you imagine measures every word before uttering it.

After a block, he asks, “You live close?”

”Allandale.”

He nods like he knows it. “Not far. I’m out by Zilker.”

“Great neighbourhood.”

”It has its moments.”

”It’s got a pretty good music scene.”

“Yeah.”

You don’t know why you push, but you do. “You play? Everyone out that way seems to.”

He glances at you, as though trying to weigh up why you’re asking, then exhales gently. “Used to. Not so much these days.”

“What’d you play?”

“Guitar. Me and my brother kinda thought we were gonna be the next big thing at one point.”

“And all the girls love a guitarist?”

He huffs a laugh. “Something like that. It mostly collects dust now, even before Sarah died. Just got too busy with work to keep it up.”

“Jamie played drums,” you say. “Biggest mistake we ever made, buying that kit. The neighbours hated us after that.”

Even as the words leave your mouth you know they’re a lie. Buying your kid a drum kit is hardly the biggest mistake. Not when you let them drown.

Joel smirks, oblivious. “Smart kid. Drummers get a lot of cred too.”

You both cross at the lights as, somewhere in the distance, live music spills from a bar patio. Austin never sleeps it seems, not even for grief.

After a long silence, broken only by the sounds of your footsteps he says, “You still got his stuff?”

It takes you a moment to answer.

“Yeah. His room’s still the same because I can’t bring myself to touch it. His clothes, soccer trophies, soft toys…” A lump forms in your throat and you fight it away. “Everything.”

Joel nods. “Same with Sarah’s. Sometimes I sit on her bed just to remember the sound of her door creakin’ when she used to sneak in thinkin’ I didn’t hear. It feels…” he hesitates, “feels like maybe she’s just out somewhere, y’know? That she’s gonna walk in any minute and ask me what the hell I’m doin’.”

You look at him, at his profile in the dim light. “I get that.”

He glances at you again, quickly, before turning back to focus on the path ahead. “Are you married?”

“I was,” you exhale. “My husband left six months ago. He said he couldn’t breathe in the same house and...” you swallow. “He blames me for what happened.”

You wait for him to ask you to elaborate, like most people would, but he doesn’t. “Yeah, me and Sarah’s mom split long before it happened but, after….I just stopped callin’ and she did too. Guess it was just easier that way.”

You open your mouth to respond, then suddenly realise with a cruel irony where you’ve ended up. It’s a children’s playground filled with slides, swings and a roundabout. Empty now, of course, except for the rustle of leaves and the faint creak of metal.

You both stop, taking it in.

Joel gestures toward a bench positioned just inside the gate. “You wanna sit?”

You want to say no, that being somewhere like this, where you can hear the sounds of kids laughter in your head, is too raw. But, instead, you find yourself nodding, the metal cold through your jeans when you lower yourself down.

Joel sits next to you, elbows on his knees, staring out at the empty swings.

“She would be eighteen in January,” he says.

You don’t say sorry, because everyone usually does and you’ve come to realise that the word doesn’t help. Pity doesn’t help.

“Jamie would’ve been fourteen in August,” you say instead.

Joel nods. “You think about what he’d be like now?”

“All the time. He’d probably be taller than me, louder and even more demanding. He used to get mad when I packed him healthy snacks for lunch.” You smile at the memory, because you’re allowed to have good ones.

Joel chuckles, small and rough. “Sarah used to give me hell about makin’ her breakfast. Said I never made pancakes often enough for her and, when I did, they were never quite right. She was a million times better at that stuff than I was.”

You both laugh, quietly, then the laughter dies down, as though swallowed by guilt, and there’s just the night again.

“You ever get angry at him?” he asks.

You look at your hands, familiar tears pricking the corners of your eyes. “Yeah, more than I want to admit. I know it’s not fair because he was just a kid, but I still… I still yell at him in my head sometimes. For not listening to me, for runnin’ too close to the edge…”

Joel nods. “I yell at Sarah too, out loud sometimes. I get so mad at her for trustin’ people she shouldn’t have, believin’ she was untouchable and for takin’ the damn pill when she knew…” He exhales hard. “Then I hate myself for even thinkin’ it.”

You glance at him. “One thing I’ve learned in the last two years is that guilt doesn’t need logic.”

“No, guess not.”

You sit in silence again, the wind picking up now against the sound of the passing traffic

Joel looks up and you follow his gaze, eyes tracing the faint outline of the stars. “You believe in God?”

You shake your head, because that’s an easy one. “Not anymore. What about you?”

He pauses. “Not since that mornin’ I found her. Never went to church or nothin’ but, guess I used to believe in somethin’. Now…”

“I tried for a while after,” you say. “But it felt like a performance. Like something I had to do. A lot of people told me to seek comfort from it but, I can’t.”

He nods. “Yeah.”

You both sit like that for a while, two ghosts under a streetlight, sharing more then either of you ever has. And then you say it, without even meaning too.

“I thought about ending it. Once.”

Joel doesn’t flinch - somehow you knew he wouldn’t. “Yeah,” he says. “Me too.”

You swallow and blink, hard. “I couldn’t do it though. I kept thinking…Jesus,” you huff a broken laugh. “I kept thinking that nobody at my job would know where to find anything. Pathetic, I know.”

Joel looks at you. “No, it ain’t. You wanna hear pathetic, I didn’t follow through because of my guitar. I figured maybe if I got better at it again, Sarah’d forgive me.”

You don’t ask why he feels he needs forgiveness for something he had no control over, because you understand, and all you can do is try to offer small comfort.

“She doesn’t blame you.”

He shakes his head. “It don’t matter. I still do.”

You’re not sure why you do it, or even what you expect in return, but you turn your hand palm-up between you on the bench. For a second, he looks down, then he places his over it, rough and warm in the cold air.

There are no words, none needed. Just that small human thing you forgot you missed.

When the chill starts to bite harder, you both stand, and hesitate.

Joel glances down the street. “You fancy some decent coffee? There’s a good place I know still open round the corner.”

You pause because it’s late, and because you haven’t given yourself permission to do anything like this in a long time. Then you feel yourself nod. “Coffee that doesn’t taste like sin? Sold.”

He laughs softly, like your agreement surprises him. “Okay then.”

********

The place Joel knows turns out to be a small diner, humming with fluorescent lights and music spilling from a jukebox, loud enough to make an impression, but quiet enough to allow you to still talk. The waitress brings you coffee with a tired smile and, for a fleeting second, you feel guilty for keeping her here.

“So, what do you do for work?” Joel asks, wrapping his hands around his mug when it’s just the two of you again.

“Insurance,” you reply, making a face. “And yes, it’s as dull as it sounds.”

“You sell it?”

“Christ, no, I’m in claims. You know, I hit another car in the parking lot or my house flooded…that kind of thing.” You pause, looking at him over your rim. “What about you?”

“Me and my brother got a contracting business,” he replies. “We build everythin’ - houses, office blocks, hotels…” He pauses and grins sheepishly. “Sorry, sounds like I’m givin’ you the hard sell.”

“Well, my porch could use some work,” you concede.

“Then we’re your guys.” He pauses, looks back down into the depths of his mug. “Sarah used to help us with the billin’ sometimes. Not seriously, I mean we did it all properly, but…she was good with figures. Was gonna give her a part-time job the summer…after.”

His throat bobs, his eyes turn glassy.

“I see her sometimes, when I’m dreamin’. She always looks like she did the last time I saw her, wearin’ those pink pyjamas that she loved the most, even though they were fallin’ apart. She had all these fancy new sets but, somehow, she always ended up back in ‘em. I put her in ‘em that night…” he trails off and looks away.

You nod at the familiarity. “Jamie shows up younger than he was. Maybe…ten? Always wet, always laughing and never willing to let me catch him.” You hesitate, then reach into your jacket pocket and pull your hand out slowly. “I carry this around with me, everywhere I go.”

It’s a small, plastic Spider-Man, a toy Jamie was too old for by the time he died, but one he still loved all the same. Sometimes, when your fingers close around it and you rub gently, it’s as though you’re touching him again.

“I know it’s probably weird, but…”

“I’ve still got one of Sarah’s hair ties hangin’ on my truck mirror,” Joel interrupts with a nod. “I don’t even see it anymore, but I’d know if it was gone.”

You smile because he gets it, and when he smiles back, the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly, before he looks away again. The waitress tops up your mugs and you both whisper your thanks before silence settles once more over the table. It doesn’t feel awkward though. If anything, it feels comfortable.

Joel leans back in his seat and fingers the bottom of the mug, catching a stray slick of liquid. “You ever feel like you’re the only one still grievin’?”

“All the time,” you say, almost relieved that he’s been the one to say it. “Everyone was kind and sympathetic when it happened but, after the funeral, they all got to move on. I just…didn’t.”

His gaze lingers on you a moment. “Maybe movin’ on’s not what we’re meant to do.”

“What then?”

He shrugs. “Maybe it’s just about… movin’. One step at a time, one day at a time. However slow it takes.”

You smile faintly. “You sound like someone who’s been thinking about that for a while.”

He huffs a laugh. “Probably too long. Maybe it’s one of the few things I’ve taken from comin’ to the group.”

“What did make you decide to come?” You ask.

“Who. My sister-in-law, Maria. She thought it might be good for me to meet other people who’ve gone through what I have but…” he shakes his head. “No two people have the same experience, I guess. Nobody has the same story. Even if Sarah had drowned or Jamie had taken a bad pill, you and me…we wouldn’t be the same.”

“No,” you agree quietly, “we wouldn’t.”

“I only keep comin’ to make her happy. Reckon it makes her feel better. Like she can stop worryin’ ‘bout me for one night.”

“You’re close then.”

“S’pose so. As much as family can be.” He looks at you again. “What about you? You got family?”

“Four brothers,” you reply. “They’re all married with kids and both my parents are still alive, so I know I’m lucky…”

“But?”

You meet his gaze and see understanding in it that you’ve never seen in anyone else. “I still feel lonely, even in a big family crowd. Jamie, my husband…they were my family and now they’re both gone. Everyone means well, including me in everything, but it’s not the same.”

“Holidays are the worst.”

“The worst,” you agree. “Thanksgiving, Christmas…each year I tell myself not to go, but then I don’t want everyone else to feel bad. It’s like…” you search for the right analogy. “It’s like I’d rather feel unhappy and uncomfortable by being there and save them worrying if I wasn’t. Does that make sense?”

“Completely,” he nods. “Can’t help feelin’ sometimes like it’s okay to be selfish though. That I could say no, and not feel guilty about it.”

“Guess we’re people pleasers,” you say, and that draws a quiet chuckle and a lingering gaze that holds yours then drops away.

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

“I suppose…”

“How old are you?”

Your lips curve into a smile. “How old do you think I am?”

He studies you carefully, eyes flickering over your face and you can tell he’s weighing his answer carefully.

“I warn you now, this coffee’s still hot.”

He grins and shakes his head. “I wanna say…thirty?”

“Ha!” You bark a laugh. “You just bought yourself another life.”

“Am I way off?”

“Way off.”

“Then you’re…?”

“I’m forty,” you say, gratified by the look of genuine surprise on his face. “Did you really think I was thirty?”

“It was an educated guess,” he shrugs. “How old do you think I am?”

You pretend to peruse him carefully, eyes narrowed. “Forty…two?”

“Close - forty four.” He pauses. “Reason i ask is that, well, me and Sarah’s mom split when she was two so…there were never gonna be any other babies but you…?” He leaves the question trailing - one you’ve been asked a million times before, even when Jamie was still alive.

“We tried, but it just never happened.” You blink. “Someone once said to me that it might have been easier if I’d had other kids. Like losing Jamie would have hurt less or something. I think they meant well - that I’d have someone else to focus on - but, it still stung.”

He doesn’t say anything in response, rather he just nods, like he’s had the same thoughts and feels relieved to have seen them in someone else.

An hour later, you step back outside where the air is cooler now, sharper, and the world feels quieter than it should. The walk back to your respective vehicles is slow, as though neither of you want the evening to end, and you both laugh to realise you’ve inadvertently parked next to one another, his truck dwarfing your sensible sedan.

“You’re brave, you know,” he says as you click your door open. “Most women would have run a mile at the suggestion of a walk in the dark with a strange man.”

“What does it say about me that I didn’t think twice about it?” You reply. “Not sure brave is the right word. Foolhardy, maybe?”

“Well, if I was gonna hurt you, I’d have done it by now.”

“I’m not sure that’s very reassuring,” you chuckle. “You can drive away first so I know you’re not following me.”

“How do I know you won’t follow me?” He asks, head cocked to one side.

“I promise you’re safe. Left all my weapons at home.”

He grins and nods. “Guess I’ll see you in two weeks then.”

“Guess so.”

You don’t offer your number and he doesn’t ask. Besides, this wasn’t a date, or even anything close. It was just two people, who have something terrible in common, offering comfort to one another and receiving it in return.

He climbs into his truck and starts the engine before lowering the window and leaning out toward you. “Next time, I wanna hear about the weirdest claim you’ve ever had to deal with.”

“Okay,” you nod. “Challenge accepted. And I want to know the weirdest thing you’ve ever been asked to build.”

“Done.” He hesitates. “Sure you don’t wanna leave first?”

“No way,” you gesture down the street. “Go.”

He nods and grins again, then guns the engine and pulls away.

You wait a minute, maybe five, just in case he loops back around. In case he really is someone you should be wary of. But the road stays quiet and, eventually, you pull out into the dwindling traffic and head for home, feeling somewhat different inside yourself than you did earlier.

Not better, not happier, just - different.

****************************************************

Part Two

[queenofslowburn]

Act like you mean it

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (no use of n/y)

Summary: Undercover as a couple, you and Javier play your roles a little too well - until blurred lines, close calls, and ten stolen minutes reveal that maybe none of it was ever just an act.

Warnings: +18, MDNI, fake relationship for the plot and porn, fingering, unprotected p in v (the heat of the moment is never a good reason, dont do it), Javier being a menace and kinda possessive with you, kinda "you fell first" trope, too?

A/N: this is the result of a trope survey I did, Javier Peña & fake boyfriend came in third place. If you are interested in the others just follow the link.

wc: 6.8k

My Pedro-Character-Masterlist

To his defense, it had not been his plan.

To yours, it had been the only option left on the table.

Neither of those truths did much to improve the situation you currently found yourself in.

Agent Javier Peña stood at your side, his arm slung around your shoulders with an ease that felt almost practiced, his fingers resting just a fraction too comfortably against your upper arm. The room around you thrummed with low music and layered conversations, a steady hum of laughter and clinking glasses weaving through the dimly lit space. Bodies moved in close proximity, brushing past one another, the air thick with perfume, cologne, and something sharper underneath - money, influence, danger. Exactly the kind of place where deals were made without ever being spoken aloud.

It was a welcome change, in theory. No screeching tires, no adrenaline-spiked chases, no suffocating weight of a vest digging into your ribs while bullets flew. Just observation. Blend in, identify potential connections, take mental notes, and leave. If you played it right, you could even walk out of here with a free drink and no bruises to show for the night.

Simple.

It would have been, at least, if not for the way you had to exist within this space.

As a couple.

Your suggestion. Thrown into the room half-heartedly during briefing, more as a strategic afterthought than anything else. It had made sense - less suspicious, easier access, natural cover in a setting like this. Your supervisor had agreed almost immediately, sealing your fate before you had even fully considered the consequences.

Before you had realized who you would be paired with.

Javier Peña.

Of all people.

Your gaze flickered briefly to him now, watching the way he tipped his glass toward his lips, the faint curl of amusement playing at the corner of his mouth as he reacted to something the man in front of you had just said. He looked entirely at ease, like this - like he belonged here, like this was just another night for him. His thumb shifted slightly where it rested against you, a subtle pull that drew you closer into his side, the motion so fluid it barely registered to anyone watching.

To anyone but you.

Because this - this version of him - did not match the reality you knew.

Reality had looked very different back at the precinct.

Reality had been the way he hadn’t even tried to hide his reaction when the assignment was handed out. The groan, low and unrestrained. The tight clench of his jaw, teeth grinding together as if the mere idea of this partnership was already testing his patience. And then the way he had left the room the second he was dismissed, not sparing you so much as a glance.

If anything, that had been consistent.

Your interactions with him - few as they were - had always followed the same pattern. Brief. Minimal. One-word responses if necessary, silence if not. Not unkind, not openly dismissive… but not welcoming either. As if you occupied a space somewhere just outside of his concern, not worth the effort of forming an actual opinion.

You had been fairly certain, at one point, that he barely registered your existence at all.

Which made this - his arm around you, his body angled toward yours, the occasional brush of his fingers that felt far too deliberate to be accidental - all the more disorienting.

Especially considering his reputation.

Javier Peña didn’t do indifference. Not with women. Quite the opposite, actually. The man flirted like it was second nature, like breathing. You had seen it often enough, the way his attention lingered, the way his voice dipped just slightly when he spoke, the way he knew exactly how to make someone feel like they were the only person in the room.

Just… never with you.

Not that you had cared.

Not really.

You had noticed him, sure. The first time you had crossed paths months ago, something about him had caught your attention - sharp edges wrapped in charm, something restless underneath the surface. It had been enough to make you look twice.

But that was it.

Mostly.

Still, you couldn’t deny that it had… irritated you, just a little, that he seemed to extend that effortless attention to practically every woman in the precinct - except you.

Which was ridiculous.

You didn’t want him to want you.

God, no.

Well.

Maybe - only in the sense that it would have been satisfying to turn him down. To be the one exception. The one person he didn’t get.

Probably.

Either way, it didn’t matter.

Because tonight wasn’t about any of that.

Tonight was about the act you were both playing, about maintaining the illusion well enough to avoid suspicion while you did your job. And that alone required enough focus as it was.

No need to complicate things further with one-sided interest - real or imagined.

“Wouldn’t that be something for our next holiday, cariño?”

The endearment slipped in so smoothly it almost didn’t register - almost. It caught somewhere between your ribs instead, sharp enough to pull you clean out of your thoughts. For a second, you weren’t in the room anymore, weren’t tracking faces or exits or the subtle exchanges happening in the corners of your vision. You were just… there. Aware. Of him.

“Iceland, maybe?” Javier added, his tone easy, conversational, clearly picking up on something the man in front of you had been rambling about. His attention, however, shifted - down to you, expectant of your reaction.

You forced yourself back into the role, smoothing over the brief disruption as if it had never happened. The irritation the pet name had sparked settled somewhere deeper, masked beneath a soft curve of your lips as you met his gaze.

“I think I’d pass on that,” you said lightly, your voice warm in a way that wasn’t entirely meant for the conversation partner anymore. “I prefer somewhere with a bit more sun.” A slight tilt of your head, a subtle emphasis. “You know… something hotter.”

The act. That was all it was.

You knew it. He knew it.

You leaned into it anyway.

The dress you wore clung in all the wrong - or right - places, depending on perspective. Short enough to draw attention, tight enough to hold it. Your hair, left open in loose, unruly waves, brushed against your bare shoulders every time you moved, a deliberate departure from the practicality you usually favored in the field. Even the lipstick - deep, almost sinful red - felt like part of a costume you had stepped into for the night.

You played your part.

Even if Javier Peña had, up until now, given no indication he had noticed.

“Is that so?” the man across from you drawled, his grin stretching just a little too wide as he leaned in closer than necessary. You could practically feel the calculation behind his eyes, the way he assessed, measured, reduced. He was exactly what you had expected - sleazy, self-assured, the kind of man who thought proximity alone was permission.

Unfortunately, Mateo Vasquez was also the contact. Weeks of dead ends had led here, to this moment, to him.

Which meant you couldn’t afford to react the way you wanted to.

Still, before you could respond, Javier’s grip on your shoulder shifted - tightened. Not enough to draw attention, but enough that you felt it, the pressure of his fingers digging in just slightly, anchoring you in place.

Possessive. Unnecessarily so.

And yet, it sent a flicker of something sharp down your spine.

“There’s always room to try something new,” Javier cut in smoothly, his tone laced with an easy confidence that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Whatever you prefer, mi corazón,” you murmured, letting yourself lean into him just a fraction more, playing into the dynamic, into the picture he was painting.

It was a mistake.

At least, your body seemed to think so.

Because the closer you got, the more aware you became - of the heat radiating off him, of the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your arm, of the faint, familiar scent of his cologne. You had noticed it before, in passing. Lingering in a room he had just left, catching on the air when he brushed by you in the precinct without more than a passing glance.

But this - this proximity - was something else entirely.

It settled under your skin, distracting in a way you hadn’t prepared for.

Your breath hitched. And to your utter discomfort you felt something else too. A dampness in your panties that had no right being there.

“Lucky man,” Mateo muttered, his gaze dragging over you in a way that made your stomach tighten. “Where’d you find her?”

The phrasing landed wrong immediately.

Not how did you meet. Not even a half-decent attempt at politeness. Just that. As if you were something picked up, acquired, owned.

For a split second, you considered stepping in, redirecting, salvaging the moment before it tipped too far.

But Javier moved first.

His hand slipped from his pocket with an unhurried ease, coming up to your face - fingers brushing your skin before settling beneath your chin. He tilted your head up just slightly, forcing your gaze to meet his.

“Pure luck, I guess. You’re something else, you know that?” he said, his voice dipping just enough to feel private, despite the company. The smile he gave you was almost unfair - too easy, too warm, too convincing.

For a second, you forgot it wasn’t real.

“Yeah?” you shot back, a grin pulling at your lips as you leaned into the moment, lifting your chin just a touch higher under his touch. “Still not sure how you got this lucky.”

“You know,” Mateo went on, his grin widening as he leaned back just enough to look between the two of you, “there are a few… unused rooms upstairs. Big house like this, always something tucked away.” He let out a low laugh, pleased with himself. “I know the host. I could arrange something for you two tortolitos.”

That was what made both you and Javier actually look at him.

Not the offer itself - no matter how deliberately you tried to shove that implication somewhere far, far out of reach - but the casual way he dropped that connection. Being invited to a place like this was one thing. Moving in circles where you knew the host, where you could casually offer access in a house owned by someone high up in the regional narco structure… that was something else entirely.

“That right?” Javier asked, tone loose, almost disinterested.

Mateo puffed slightly at the question, pride slipping easily into his posture. “Yeah. We go way back,” he said, lifting his glass as if that alone proved it. “Got history.”

“Do you?” you echoed, your voice light as you tipped your head, lashes lowering just enough to soften the edge of your gaze. “And where did you find him?” The words came sweet, almost playful - his phrasing turned neatly back on him.

Javier’s reaction was immediate, a flicker at your side. Not disapproval - no, not quite. Something closer to surprise, threaded with the faintest hint of amusement.

Mateo, however, didn’t take it quite as smoothly.

The irritation flashed across his face for the briefest moment, gone almost as soon as it came, replaced by that same slick grin he seemed to default to.

“Careful,” he muttered, though his tone stayed light. “Sounds like someone still needs to teach you some manners.” His gaze slid back to Javier. “Like I said - room’s there if you want it.” He raised his glass in a lazy half-salute. “But I’ve got a few more friends to see. And who knows…” His eyes flicked to you again, lingering just a second too long. “Maybe I’ll get lucky myself tonight.”

The wink he threw your way made something in your stomach turn.

You held the smile anyway. Just convincing enough.

And the second he turned his back, it dropped.

“Pendejo…” you muttered under your breath, the word slipping out before you could stop it.

Beside you, Javier’s grip loosened slightly - but didn’t disappear. His hand still rested against you, grounding, present in a way that felt… intentional.

“But we got something out of him,” he said, quieter now, his voice losing some of that performative ease. “Thanks to your… act.”

You blinked.

That was more than he had said to you in the last week combined.

“Not exactly difficult,” you shot back, the defensiveness rising before you could check it. “Men like him make it easy.” You pressed your lips together briefly, holding back the rest of what you might have said.

Javier hummed, a small nod accompanying the sound, his fingers shifting against your skin almost distracted. You prayed he did not register the goosebumps it caused.

“Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe you -”

He stopped mid-thought. Something beyond you had caught his attention.

You followed the shift instinctively, watching as his expression tightened, the ease from moments ago replaced with a sharper, serious focus.

“Fuck,” he muttered, barely audible.

Your body reacted before your mind caught up, instinct urging you to turn, to follow his line of sight - but he moved faster. His hand slid from your shoulder, guiding - no, turning - you with a firm urgency that left no room for argument. You stumbled slightly into him, thrown off by the suddenness of it.

“What?” you asked, low. “What is it?”

“It’s not what,” he said through clenched teeth, already moving, already steering you through the crowd. His hand found the small of your back, pressing you forward, the touch controlled but insistent. “It’s who.”

You let him guide you, adjusting your pace to match his as you wove through bodies and voices, away from the center of the party. The shift was subtle enough not to draw attention, but fast enough to matter.

“Cristian Romero.”

The name meant nothing to you.

“Who?” you pressed, glancing back at him as you hit the base of the staircase, your steps quickening as you started up without fully understanding why.

“A nobody,” Javier said, scanning ahead, his focus already shifting beyond the conversation. “Small-time dealer.”

That did not explain the urgency.

“So?” you asked, turning more fully now even as you continued upward, forced into a backward step to keep your eyes on him.

“I had him in a room two weeks ago,” Javier replied, his voice pressed. “Questioned him for hours. Pretty sure he remembers the face of the cop, that had bodyslammed him to the ground.”

He didn’t need to spell it out. It clicked into place all at once.

“Oh, shit…”

“Yeah,” he exhaled, catching up to you in two quick steps. His hand closed around your wrist. “That about covers it.”

At the top of the stairs, the atmosphere shifted. The noise of the party dulled, fewer people lingered here, the space stretching out into dim hallways and half-lit corners. A couple stood pressed together in the shadows, oblivious to anything but each other, their closeness suggesting they were seconds away from crossing a line they wouldn’t walk back from.

Javier didn’t slow.

He guided you past them, deeper into the quieter part of the house, his grip steady, his movements purposeful. The light thinned the further you went, shadows swallowing details until the hallway ahead lay mostly in darkness.

“Javier -”

No answer.

Just movement.

And then - an open door, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it.

He didn’t hesitate.

One sharp pull, and you were inside before you could protest, the shift from dim hallway to near-dark room swallowing you both whole. The door shut behind you with a quiet click, sealing off the noise, the light, the world outside.

Silence settled over the room, broken only by the sound of your breathing and the faint, muffled pulse of music drifting up from the party below.

“What now?” you asked quietly, more to ground yourself than anything else, your mind already running through the options. None of them were particularly appealing. Having your cover blown in a place like this wasn’t just inconvenient - it was dangerous. Walking out now, risking a direct encounter with someone who could recognize Javier, felt like stepping straight into a trap. And yet… staying carried its own risks.

“We wait,” Javier said, his voice low.

He moved through the darkness, crossing to the window and slipping two fingers beneath the curtain just enough to glance outside. The fabric fell back into place almost immediately after. His gaze flicked over you then - quick, assessing - lingering just long enough to make his conclusion obvious.

Climbing out wasn’t an option.

“Party’s still filling up,” he went on, already turning away from the window. “Give it a little time. More people means more cover. Easier to disappear.”

You nodded, even as your pulse refused to settle, thudding a little too fast against your ribs. You told yourself it was the close call, the narrow miss of being recognized. Not the fact that you were suddenly alone with him, shut away from everything else.

You pushed off the door, letting your attention drift through the room instead. Even in the dim light, its purpose - or lack thereof - was obvious. A fireplace dominated one wall, framed by towering bookshelves that stretched up toward the ceiling, filled more for show than use. Two armchairs sat arranged in front of it, positioned just so, as if someone had once imagined quiet evenings here but never quite followed through. Across the room stood a heavy desk, polished to a shine, cluttered with decorative pieces that leaned more toward expensive than tasteful.

A room built to impress. Not to live in.

You pulled a random book from one of the shelves and sank into one of the armchairs, draping yourself across it in a way that felt far more casual than the situation warranted. One arm rested along the side, your legs shifting over the opposite edge as you flipped the book open without really reading.

Javier lingered by the door for a moment longer, listening, before a quiet chuckle slipped from him.

You glanced up over the edge of the book. “What?”

“Just thinking,” he said, pushing off the wall and crossing toward you, “about Mateo’s face if he’d seen us slip up here.”

A small huff escaped you at that, the image coming together easily. “He’d probably think you’re the luckiest man alive.”

You dropped your gaze back to the page, missing the way Javier’s eyes settled on you, lingering just a fraction too long.

“Yeah,” he muttered, quieter now. “Something like that.”

The tone made you look up again, a question already forming - 

But a sharp knock at the door cut it off.

Both of you were on your feet before the second knock landed.

Javier moved before you could think, his hand firm at your side as he pushed you subtly behind him. The shift was instinctive, protective in a way that felt far too natural for a man who, up until tonight, had barely acknowledged your existence. Your own body followed suit just as quickly, your hand drifting toward where your firearm would usually rest at your hip - only to meet nothing but fabric. 

Right. Not tonight.

The handle turned before either of you could adjust and the door opened. One of the evening’s security filled the frame, broad shoulders blocking out what little light spilled in from the hallway. You felt the change in Javier immediately. The subtle shift in his stance, the tension coiling beneath the surface. One wrong move away from action.

“That part of the house is off-limits,” the guard said, his tone flat and final. “I’ll have to ask you to return downstairs.”

Javier took a step forward, already preparing to handle it - but something in the air sharpened, the edge of the situation turning just enough to make your pulse spike.

“We just had -”

So you moved first.

“- we were just looking for somewhere quiet,” you cut in smoothly, slipping your arms around Javier from behind before he could react. The contact was intimate at best - and for the briefest second, you felt him still beneath your touch. 

Your cheek hovered near his shoulder, your body pressing into his back in a way that sold the picture effortlessly.

The guard’s gaze flicked between the two of you.

“That’s not the place for it,” he replied, unimpressed.

You let a soft pout pull at your lips, your fingers drifting idly over the front of Javier’s shirt, toying with a button as if you had nowhere better to be. Then, just enough to push the line - 

“You sure?” you murmured, your voice dipping lower, suggestive without tipping into anything overt. “You can stay... watch, if you want.”

That got a reaction.

From both of them.

The guard’s expression shifted first, something uncertain slipping into his posture. Javier, however stiffened even more - then he recovered faster than you expected.

“Mateo sent us,” he added, stepping into the opening you’d created without missing a beat. “Said we might find a little privacy up here.”

The name landed exactly where it needed to.

The guard hesitated, his attention pulled right back to you as your fingers traced a slow line along the skin just visible beneath Javier’s open collar. You felt the warmth there, the subtle rise and fall of his breathing - felt, too, the way it changed, just slightly, under your touch.

“Could get in trouble for this,” the man muttered, though his voice had lost some of its earlier certainty.

You slipped out from behind Javier then, letting the movement carry you naturally into his space, turning so that you fit against him instead of hiding behind him, hips pressing into him. His arm came up around you - whether by instinct or intention, you couldn’t tell - but it completed the picture.

“Wouldn’t want that,” you said lightly, your gaze lifting to Javier as if he were the only one that mattered. “We’ll find somewhere else.”

“Yeah,” Javier agreed easily, a grin tugging at his mouth as he looked back at the guard. “Wouldn’t want to cause problems.”

He was already starting to guide you toward the door when - 

“Ten minutes.”

The words came quick, almost reluctant.

You both stilled.

The guard glanced down the hallway, then back at you, a faint, conspiratorial smile breaking through. “Been there once,” he added. “Fresh love, I mean.”

You let out a small, delighted sound, the reaction easy to play.

Javier clapped him lightly on the shoulder as he passed. “Knew you’d understand, amigo.”

The man waved it off, already stepping back, pulling the door shut behind him. His footsteps faded down the corridor, leaving you alone again in the dim quiet of the room.

For a second, neither of you moved.

Then reality snapped back in.

You shifted, instinctively trying to step out of Javier’s hold, the awareness of him suddenly too much - too close, too present. Your fingers still tingled faintly from where they had touched his skin, your mind unhelpfully replaying the moment.

You didn’t get far.

His hand caught your wrist, pulling you back before you could fully withdraw. The motion was quick - turning you, pressing you back until you felt the solid surface of the door at your back and him in front of you.

Caging you in.

“The hell was that?” he asked, and the first thing you registered was the edge in his expression - irritation that bordered on anger.

But it didn’t quite match the rest.

His voice came out rougher than usual, breath just slightly uneven, something tight threaded through it that didn’t sit cleanly with anger alone.

“Relax,” you shot back, lifting your chin despite the position he had you in. “It worked, didn’t it?” You tipped your head faintly toward the door. “Bought us time.”

“That’s not -” He cut himself off, exhaling sharply as his free hand dragged over his face, thumb and forefinger pressing briefly at the bridge of his nose. “That’s not what I meant.”

Confusion flickered through your irritation. “Then what… I’m sorry,” you said, the words coming out a little more uneven than you intended. “For… that. Getting that close. It was just part of the act that we...”

You trailed off when he looked at you again.

“Was it?” he asked quietly.

His hand shifted, leaving the door beside your head - only to settle at your neck instead, enough to guide, to tilt your head upward just slightly. The movement sent a sharp awareness through you, your own hand lifting to his chest to hold space that felt increasingly fragile.

“You sure about that, cariño?” he added, softer now, the petname placed deliberately.

Your breath caught.

You were certain he saw it.

The way your pupils widened, the way your body reacted before your mind could catch up.

His grip adjusted, just enough to bring you a fraction closer as he stepped in, closing what little distance remained between you. Heat pressed into you again, familiar now, overwhelming in a different way.

“Just an act?” he murmured, his voice dropping low enough that you felt it more than heard it. “Tell me it didn’t do anything.”

Your thoughts tangled, words catching somewhere on the way out. “I - Javier, we should -”

You lost the rest when he leaned in, close enough that his warm breath brushed along your cheek.

“Tell me,” he continued, quieter still, “you didn’t want him to stay. That you weren’t hoping I’d have to keep playing along.”

Your chest tightened.

He pulled back just enough to look at you again, waiting.

And when your gaze flickered - betraying you for a split second, dropping to his mouth before snapping back up - you felt it. The moment it slipped.

“I can’t…”

“I know…”

The words barely had time to settle before he closed the distance.

Whatever line had existed between you snapped clean the second his mouth found yours, his body pressing into you with an urgency that knocked the air from your lungs. The kiss was all heat and intent, nothing tentative about it - like he had been holding back for far too long and had finally decided he was done with restraint.

You answered him without thinking.

Your lips moved against his just as fiercely, your fingers fisting into the fabric of his shirt as you pulled him closer, grounding yourself in something that felt both overwhelming and undeniable. His hand slid along your side, anchoring you, while his mouth worked over yours with a hunger that should have startled you more than it did.

It didn’t stop the confusion from clawing its way through though.

Your brows drew together, even as you leaned into him, even as your grip tightened. It was too much, too sudden - too far removed from everything you thought you knew about him.

You broke the kiss just long enough to catch your breath, your forehead nearly brushing his. “The - fuck, Javier…”

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t look apologetic, either.

If anything, there was something almost assured in the way he watched you, like he had expected this reaction - and decided it didn’t change a thing.

“How - why…?” The questions tangled together, barely formed before he was kissing you again, cutting them off at their root. Your protest dissolved into a sharp inhale as his mouth moved from yours, trailing along your jaw, down the line of your throat, each brush of his lips pulling your focus further away from whatever point you had been trying to make.

“I thought you hated me,” you managed, the words uneven, slipping out between breaths that didn’t quite steady.

A quiet sound left him - something close to a scoff.

“Hate you?” he murmured against your skin, his breath warm where it followed the path of his mouth. “How the hell would I manage that, cariño?”

His hands moved as he spoke, tracing along your sides, mapping you in a way that made your grip tighten on him in response. You hooked one leg around his instinctively, needing the balance, needing something solid to hold onto, while his crotch pushed into your center.

“You avoid me,” you insisted, though it came out weaker now, less certain. “Barely talk to me -”

He cut you off again, his mouth returning to yours, stealing the rest of the argument before it could fully form.

“Because,” he said between kisses, each word brushing your lips, “you made it damn difficult for me to concentrate at all.”

The shift came fast.

One arm slid around your waist, the other braced beneath your thigh, and before you could fully process it, he lifted you, turning with you in a single motion. The world tilted for a second before you felt the solid edge of the desk beneath you as he set you down.

Something clattered softly as a piece of decoration was nudged aside, but neither of you paid it any attention.

Not when his focus was entirely on you.

“All I wanted,” he said, stepping back just enough to take you in, his gaze dragging over you, “was this.”

There was something raw in it now. Less polished. Less controlled.

“Just you,” he added. 

You let out a breath that sounded almost like a scoff, though it lacked any real bite. “Funny way of showing it.”

Still, you didn’t stop him when he stepped back in, pushing your legs open with his. Didn’t stop him when his hands found you again, when he shifted closer, pressing into you just enough to pull another unsteady exhale from your lips.

“Yeah,” he admitted, voice roughened at the edges. “I’ll give you that.” His hand came up, fingers brushing along your jaw, guiding your attention back to him. “Let me fix that,” he murmured.

You didn’t answer.

You just slid your arms around his neck, pulling him down into you again, your lips meeting his before he could say anything more.

Javier braced himself with one hand against the desk, steadying both you and the precarious edge you were balanced on. The other moved with far less restraint, sliding up along your thigh, gathering the fabric of your dress as it rode higher against your hip. You shifted instinctively, helping him along, your breath catching.

For a moment, he pulled back - just to study you.

“Look at you…” he exhaled, something almost disbelieving threading through his voice. His gaze dragged slowly over your body, taking in every detail like he had been waiting for this exact moment. “We’re not going to need the full ten minutes.”

A breath of laughter slipped between you, light but edged with something sharper. “Shame,” you murmured, your lips curving.

Javier’s focus snapped back to you entirely, his hand moving with quiet certainty to your center, cupping you before hooking into the side of your panties and unceremoniously pulling it aside.

“Guapa…” he murmured, his voice threaded with something almost reverent now as he slid two fingers along your seam, collecting your arousal. “All this… for me.” He grinned against your lips. “If only i had known earlier.” 

You could do nothing but moan softly as he sank two fingers into you, letting your velvet walls pulse around his digits. Instinctively your hips worked against his movements, pushing you further to the edge of the table. 

He watched you - closely. Every shift, every reaction, like he was committing it to memory.

“As much as I’d like to hear you,” he continued, his lips brushing along your jaw before he stilled, catching your gaze, “you’ll have to keep it quiet.” There was no room for argument in the way he said it. “Can you do that for me, cariño?”

You tried to respond, but whatever words you meant to form slipped away, replaced by a sharp intake of breath as your head tipped back, your lips pressing together in an effort to contain the sound threatening to escape, all because he pushed his fingers deeper, knowing exactly what he did to you with that.

His thumb meanwhile started slow circles at your clit and you could swear you had trouble remembering being this fast this close to a climax in your life.

“Dios…” he breathed under his breath, almost to himself. “How I would love to taste you. But again”, without a warning he pulled his fingers from you, leaving you gasping for air, and clenching around nothing, missing his touch dearly already, “clock’s ticking.”

He stepped back just enough to adjust, to free himself from his pants, letting them hang low on his hips. You had barely time to take him in, see him giving his cock a few lazy strokes, before he positioned it against your waiting center.

“Look at me, guapa.” His hand found your neck again, guiding your gaze back to him, making sure you were there with him, as he pushed in slowly, inch by inch.

Your breath caught, the sound barely more than air as you felt him filling you up, the pressure a delightful mix of lust and discomfort.

He stilled for a brief second, like he was grounding himself, like he needed that moment just as much as you did.

Then he moved.

Not rushed - but not slow either. A steady rhythm, controlled but edged with restraint that felt like it could snap at any second. Every thrust sent a shudder through you, the desk beneath you shifting slightly with the impact, something clattering softly to the floor again, forgotten as quickly as it fell.

“You feel…” he started, his voice rougher now. “Perfect.”

Your name might have been there, or maybe just his - something breathed out between you as your arms gave way slightly, your body leaning back against the desk, surrendering to the moment despite everything in your head telling you this was insane.

“Javier…” you exhaled, your voice barely holding together.

He followed with movement, adjusting without breaking rhythm, hooking your legs over his arms so he could fold you and lean over you - the angle sharpening even more as he drove deeper into you. The air left your lungs in a rush as you turned your head, your hand flying up to cover your mouth, stifling the sound that wanted to break free.

“I’m -” you started, but the words barely made it out.

He caught it anyway.

“Hey - ” His tone shifted again. “Look at me.”

His hand moved, guiding your face back toward him, then resting softly over your mouth, forcing the quiet from you. “I want to see what I do to you.”

And he did.

He saw it all. Every flicker, every reaction, every shift of your body beneath him as he pushed you closer to the edge with his thrusts, hips snapping against yours.

The final moments blurred - you muffled against his fingers, eyes rolling back, as you clenched around his cock and the climax took you fully.

The sight of you coming so purely undone, moaning his name between his fingers, let him follow shortly after. In one final thrust, Javier’s hip snapped forward, pushing deep and spilling into you, both your pulsing muscles twitching against the slightest sensation or movement.

The room fell quiet again, the only sound left your uneven breathing, the faint echo of the party below reminding you that the world outside hadn’t stopped.

For a second, it didn’t feel real.

“Fuck, cariño…” Javier’s voice came out rough, low against your skin as he buried his face in the curve of your neck, his breath still uneven. His body hadn’t quite settled yet either, his hips shifting in a slow, absent rhythm like he hadn’t fully come back to himself. The sensation pulled a quiet, lingering response from you, your legs tightening around him almost instinctively as your fingers slid into his hair, threading through the dark strands and holding him there for a second longer.

You exhaled, somewhere between a laugh and a breath you were still trying to steady. “Think we’ve got time for another round?” you murmured, your voice light but edged with something that betrayed you.

He lifted his head, just enough to look at you properly, something amused flickering in his expression. “Yeah?” he muttered, a hint of a smirk pulling at his mouth. “You really asking that?”

There was no real answer to that - only the shared awareness of what had just happened and how easily it could tip right back into it.

Instead, he pulled out slowly, carefully even, helping you sit up properly on the desk. The shift brought the room back into focus - the scattered objects, the quiet, the faint pulse of music below.

You slid off the desk, your legs unsteady for a second before you found your balance again. The fabric of your dress followed your movements as you adjusted it back into place, smoothing it down your thighs like that might somehow erase the evidence of the last minutes. The cum dampening your panties certainly played a good part as a reminder of it.

Javier wasn’t far behind. He straightened himself with the same efficiency he brought to everything else, though there was something less composed about it now as he puled his pants back up.

Before you could step away, his hand found your chin again, tilting your face up just slightly. His thumb brushed over your lower lip.

“Careful,” you murmured, a small grin tugging at your mouth as you reached up, mirroring the gesture, wiping the faint smear of your lipstick from his lips. “Wouldn’t want to get caught because of that.”

He huffed out a quiet breath that might have been a laugh. “Yeah,” he said. “Let’s not push it.”

You stepped back just enough to create space between you. “We should get out of here.”

He nodded once, already moving toward the door.

You followed, acutely aware now of everything - of your body, of him, of the lingering heat that hadn’t quite faded yet. It made your steps feel just slightly off, your movements not as controlled as they usually were.

Javier noticed.

Of course he did.

His hand found yours without hesitation, fingers threading through yours, grounding you as he eased the door open. He checked the hallway first, before pulling you along with him.

The difference ten minutes made was almost staggering.

Where before the party had been busy, now it was packed - bodies pressed together, voices louder, movement tighter. The kind of crowd you could disappear into.

Javier pulled you closer again, guiding your arm around his waist, keeping your joined hands in front of you as he navigated through the mass of people. To anyone watching, it looked natural. 

Only you could feel the tension still coiled beneath it.

You scanned the room as you moved, your focus sharp again despite everything. Faces blurred past, voices blending together - 

And then - 

A flicker.

A man turning.

For half a second, your pulse spiked.

Cristian Romero.

You reacted before you could confirm.

Your hand tightened around Javier’s, pulling him sharply, turning him toward you and into you, your lips meeting his in a kiss that came out of nowhere but landed seamlessly into the role you’d been playing all night.

Javier huffed a quiet laugh against your mouth, the sound warm and amused. “Careful,” he murmured. “I might start thinking this is part of the job now.”

You pulled back just enough to glance over his shoulder, checking again.

Not Romero.

Just someone who looked close enough to set your nerves off.

“All clear,” you breathed, more to yourself than him.

This time, you took the lead.

Your hand slid down to his wrist, tugging him after you as you cut through the last stretch of the crowd, past the entrance, out into the night.

The air hit differently outside, cutting through the haze of heat and noise you had just left behind.

You didn’t stop walking. Not until the sounds of the party dulled behind you, until the cluster of waiting cars and taxis fell out of immediate reach.

“Next time,” you said over your shoulder, a grin slipping back into place as you glanced at him, “maybe we skip the hiding and the countdown.”

Javier caught up easily, falling into step beside you before his arm slipped around you again as he had done so many times tonight. Only difference was that the act could easily end here. It didn't though.

“Don’t know,” he replied, a hint of a smirk in his voice. “Kind of liked the pressure.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, leaning into him, enough to feel the shift in him.

You tilted your head, catching the glint in his eyes under the streetlights, something darker settling there now.

“What do you say...,” you asked, “debrief at my place?”

His grin didn’t falter.

If anything, it deepened.

“Lead the way, guapa.”

My Masterlist

Taglist

@pedrofan @rhapsodicaesthete @dotyoureyez @honestlywork @fig-frog @missladym1981 @inept-the-magnificent @keylimebeag @harriedandharassed @drunkennunicornn @untamedheart81 @armandispunk @zoobabystation @simpingforjoel @lokigonnakmsforbucky @kakiki3 @getitoutofmymindwrites @palelense @suzysface @daniel-bruhhl @speaktothehandpeasants @perpetualharpyresonance @dinonuggiesgogrrrr

[wordsbeachandtequila]

If I worked with Peña I would totally suggest a fake couple undercover every chance I get! You know, for intel obviously 🤭

[sunisid3up]

Chapter 27 - PB&J

Tags Suggested Listening: 'I'm Your Man' by Leonard Cohen Word Count: 7.6k

Previously: Tommy interrupted Joel and Joey’s private kiss and tasked them with a last-minute supply run to Dubois, a town the community hadn’t visited yet. Once alone, Tommy confronted Joel about the kiss, assuring him he just wanted him to be happy. On the supply run, Joel and Joey were ambushed by a group called The Disciples. Joel brutally tortured one of them for information but they had to flee when a horde of infected showed up. Their only discovery is that The Disciples are somehow led by David.

Summary: Joey’s home alone, still shaken from the events in Dubois. He intends to spend the weekend in solitude but a knock on the door disrupts those plans.

June 1, 2024

Saturday morning rolls in like a welcome breeze. You’ve just cleared the last of the dishes and put the kitchen back in order after breakfast. Jeremiah has marched himself back to bed now that he’s been fed and sorted. The only thing left on the agenda for the morning is to brew yourself a fresh cup of tea. The ritual of it alone feels nostalgic, like the last twenty years never happened. As long as there’s teabags in the tin, you’ll always have that connection to home. 

When Tommy tasked you and Joel with the supply run to Dubois, time off duty didn’t seem that impressive of a reward. But now that you have days ahead of no responsibilities other than to relax, it feels like its actually paying off.

Hot steam rises from your mug and it’s just about to reach your lips when there’s a soft knock at the front door. The specific kind of knock that can only belong to one person. 

You set the mug down and march into the hallway, pulling the bolt back and swinging the door open to find Joel standing there with his hands tucked into his pockets acting like he just happened to be passing by. He straightens fractionally when he sees you. It’s as though he wasn’t expecting it to be you answering the door.

“Hey,” you say.

“Hey,” he answers in a quiet voice that matches his knock. His eyes flick over your shoulder and then back. “Is everythin’ okay?”

You frown and follow his line of sight, checking behind you. Strange question to ask. “Yeah. Why?”

He lingers on you for a moment, still scanning for some sort of problem he was preparing to find. “Oh. Uhh… I just… didn’t see you yesterday so… I wanted to make sure you— everythin’ was alright.”

You lean against the doorframe, hang the tea towel you’re holding over your shoulder and try to figure out what this is about. “Everything’s fine. Was I supposed to come find you?”

A visible awkwardness takes over him then, the slightly bowed head, avoiding eye contact… He’s realising whatever reasoning he had in his head to be here sounds different out loud.

“No… no,” he mutters. “Uhh… Just thought maybe you—… maybe you’d’ve stopped by. That’s all.”

Then the penny drops.

The supply run has changed things. You spent two full days in close quarters, slept rough together and survived yet another near-death experience when you were ambushed. He must’ve expected that thread would carry on without a break once you got back. A little over twenty four hours apart and he’s on your doorstep assuming something’s wrong.

The man fucking misses you.

You chew down on the inside of your cheek and try to keep your face neutral. He’s becoming more and more insufferably endearing with every passing day and he’s getting really bad at hiding himself.

“Oh,” you say a little sheepishly. “Sorry. I was just wrecked after we got back. I still feel a little… off, to be honest. I haven’t really left the cabin. Jeremiah had a rough day yesterday too so… thought it’d be best to stay in.”

His posture adjusts subtly, his shoulders decompress like they’ve given up on carrying unnecessary worry. “Wish I’d known,” he says. “I’d’ve stopped by.”

“I know,” you smile. “But I’m fine. Really. Nothing I can’t handle.”

He accepts that with a nod and euthanises whatever else he had been queuing up to say because he’s now fully aware that his concern is starting to look like hovering. There’s no way he’s going to apologise for turning up, though. That much is evident.

“Well...” He clears his throat and his eyes drift away for a half second. “Seein’ as Tommy’s got us off patrols for a while… figured we could… y’know… spend some time together. Properly. If you wanted.”

Properly. 

Nearly every hour you’ve spent in each other’s company has been underwritten by something else or tied to some form of duty. He must have noticed the distinction too. As much as you enjoy riding the route for patrol alongside him and putting yourself in danger for the sake of the settlement, the idea of just being together with no need to be on the defence sounds like a dream.

A grin bypasses your composure and surfaces on your face. The tops of your ears go pink and you’re suddenly more aware of your heartbeat. 

“Just us?” you ask. “As in, like… a date?”

Saying it out loud makes him shift on the spot and dip his head with a crooked, shy smile. At fifty-six years old, in a world that has been largely inhospitable to joy for two decades, the word “date” should sound absurd to someone like Joel Miller. And judging by his face, it does. He seems to find it more funny than mortifying though, which feels like progress.

He pops a shoulder. “Somethin’ like that. Yeah, I guess so. If that’s what you wanna call it.”

You feel your cheeks going embarrassingly rosy. “Alright then. How about this afternoon?”

The speed of it almost makes him stumble. “Uhh… Sure. Did you have somethin’ in mind?”

“Nope,” you say simply, still smiling. “That’s your job. You’re gonna have to surprise me.”

You can pinpoint the exact second the gears behind his eyes start to malfunction. The task, the timeline, the fact he’s been commissioned with less than four hours notice and no idea where to begin. His eyes trace briefly down the street before returning to you with something to offer.

“Meet me at the stables,” he says. “Midday. There’s someplace I wanna take you.”

That alone kindles something in your chest.

You throw a glance up and down the neighbourhood to make sure no one’s about and then step out from the doorway, taking two fistfuls of his jacket collar and pulling him forward into a kiss. He clearly wasn’t ready for it because his hands haven’t even made it out of his pockets by the time he’s in it, but his mouth goes soft against yours in the way that it tends to. 

You hold him there for longer than strictly necessary, partially to make up for those lost twenty four hours, but mostly just because you want to. When you let him go, it takes him a second to come back.

“See you later then.” 

You’re back in the cabin and the door’s closed shut before he’s managed to catch up and reassemble himself. He stands there on the other side of the door, flustered and disorientated, now needing to focus on getting himself organised for midday.

—

Joel is halfway home when he becomes aware of how fast he’s moving. His stride is stretched to the point it’s almost a sprint. His arms work at his sides and his breath has picked up from the pace of it. Anyone that happened to see him would assume he was late to something very important.

Hand the man a faulty pipe or wonky chair and he’d have it fixed before you’ve even finished explaining the problem. Planning a last-minute date is another matter entirely, and one he has had zero practice at.

By the time he’s through the front door, there’s a damp patch forming between his shoulder blades and under his armpits. He takes the stairs two at a time, does a frantic and rather ineffective job at fixing himself up in the bathroom, then grabs his backpack from his room and heads back down to the kitchen.

The plan is straightforward enough: pack a suitable and decent lunch, get to the stables before midday and don’t embarrass himself in the process.

He starts opening and closing cupboards like a maniac, taking things out, reconsidering and putting them back. It goes on for longer than he’d like. Eventually, he arrives on something universally loved and within his own capabilities — peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

He lays out four slices of bread and reaches for a knife in the drawer. It slips out of his hand and cracks against the counter. He picks it up, swears quietly to himself, scoops up some of Elise’s chokecherry jam and drops it again with another sharp clatter. This time, it leaves a dark, sticky smear across the surface.

He stands there for a moment and stares at it, trying to keep a lid on things.

He cleans it up, resets and tries for a third time. This time, he actually gets as far as getting the jam onto the bread, but he’s too rough with the knife and tears a large clump clean out of the centre of the slice.

“Fuck,” he spits, chucking the knife into the sink with way more force than is called for.

The noise disturbance draws Ellie out of her room. She comes rumbling down the stairs and rounds the corner into the kitchen, unsure of what she’s about to walk in on. 

“What’s going on?”

“Nothin’,” Joel grumbles, shoving the ruined piece of bread to the side.

She cranes around him, too nosey for her own good. “Peanut butter and jelly? Why are you making peanut butter and jelly—”

“Mind your business.”

She pulls a face at the back of his head, the same one she does whenever Joel gets a little snappy. “Well, if you don’t wanna tear up the bread like that, try using the back of a spoon instead. That bread’s too soft.”

He glares at her over his shoulder with a look that communicates, among other things, that he did not ask for her advice.

“Joey taught me that trick,” she adds smugly. “Works every time.”

His jaw tightens as he stares at her for another moment, then opens the cutlery drawer and fishes out a spoon.

“Is that other sandwich for me?” she asks.

“No.”

“Then who’s it f—” 

Joel sets down the spoon with a little too much feeling behind it. “Why do you always have so many questions?”

She shrugs, completely unbothered. “Just asking. I already ate something. And I want to know who you’re making a second sandwich for.”

“A friend,” he says plainly before returning to the bread.

She stays put, looking at him with her head at a slight angle when she notices something unusual about him. He feels her staring from the side and looks back at her.

“What?”

Her brows pinch together. “Did you comb your hair?”

At first, he doesn’t know how to respond. He lets the silence hang for a sliver too long. His hand almost reaches to tussle it back to his usual state.

“Uhh—… hair’s just gettin’ a little long,” he says, continuing to coat the bread and praying that’s the end of her interrogation.

He shunts the discarded slice of bread across the counter to her with the spoon. “Here. Eat it. Don’t let it go to waste.”

She approaches eagerly like she’s about to claim a prize but then stops when she gets close enough to him. She leans slightly more and sniffs the air around him, picking up on an unfamiliar woody, spiced scent clouding around him.

“Are you wearing cologne?”

He freezes and turns two shades paler.

Now he’s really caught. In 2024, cologne is reserved for the most special of occasions. Funerals, weddings, anniversaries, dates… Certainly not for random Saturday afternoon plans with a “friend”. People trade medicine for cologne. The stuff is like liquid gold.

Instead of giving her any sort of response, he just privately curses her sharpness and finishes wrapping up the sandwiches in cloth with rushed concentration so he can get out of the kitchen as fast as possible. He tucks them into his backpack along with two flasks and a couple of other provisions before zipping it up, slinging it over his shoulder and bolting.

“I’ll be back later,” he says. “Do your homework. Tidy your room.”

“Have fun,” she calls after him, taking a bite of her mangled bread with a satisfied smirk plastered on her face.

— 

Joel has Dusty ready and waiting by the time you get to the stables a little after midday. Dusty senses your presence first. Her ears swivel and flutter pleasantly the way they do when you’re near. Joel notices it and follows her attention around to find you crossing the yard in his direction.

His face does something that will take time for you to get used to. It opens like the sun breaking through dark clouds when his eyes land on you. It’s unfathomable that this is the same man who sat across from you at your council hearing four months ago radiating pure hostility.

He reaches up and smoothes over his hair with his gloved hand. 

“Sorry,” you say, a little out of breath. “Traffic.”

He ducks his head into a chuckle.

“You look…” You pause to take him in close up. “handsome.”

He short-circuits behind the eyes. His brain clearly hasn’t been wired to receive compliments, so he starts glancing around shyly like an appropriate response might be spray-painted on one of the stables. 

“Uh— thanks. You too. But… you always do, so… s’not really… anyways—”

His awkwardness is disgustingly charming. All you can do is smile wide.

“I— uhh… was startin’ to think you were standin’ me up,” he says.

“I thought about it,” you tease playfully. “Jeremiah talked me out of it though.”

His expression changes from thinking you were being serious to realising you were joking. He huffs another little laugh and then sets Dusty’s body brush aside. “How is he?”

“Better than yesterday. More like himself this morning. Bit more stable.” You look out in the general direction where his cabin would be. “I just felt terrible when I realised I’d be leaving him on his own all day. He said it was okay, so… But I managed to rope Arron into checking in on him later. That’s why I was a little late.”

“Well,” Joel says. “I’ll try not to keep you to myself for too long. We’ll just be gone a few hours.”

Then, he does a quick scan of the yard to ensure no ranch hands are about, grabs hold of your hand and steers you around the side of the building where the stabled back up against the fence line. It feels like it happens in one fluid motion. One moment you’re by Dusty, the next, your back is up against the wood and he’s on you.

He kisses you warmly, like he’s finally getting back at you for the kiss at Jeremiah’s front door. His hands settle at your waist and anchor you there while he does his thing. His hips press into yours and the breadth of him swallows you up.

Admittedly, you’re still a little rankled with the arrangement of having to sneak around and stay in the shadows to feel safe. It’s a tax that shouldn’t be necessary in the first place. It won’t last forever because it can’t, but for now, it’s just him and just you.

When he eventually pulls away, his breath grazes your face and his eyes have gone soft in that way that drives you insane.

You breathe him in, and when you do, you catch something out of place with it. Something artificial and intense. Not his usual scent. 

“Are you… wearing a fragrance or something? You smell different than normal.”

His cheeks flush pink and a small, reluctant smile follows. “Uhh, yeah. Little bit. Why, how do I normally smell?”

“Like… man. And… outside.”

He grins wide, unable to take his eyes off of your lips as his thumb makes a single slow pass across your cheek, right below the scratch caused by the wall chipping after the Disciple shot at you. “That a bad thing?”

You lean and take another kiss from him, then another. “Definitely not. I’d take that over whatever the hell that is any day. It’s nice though.”

He gets you back immediately by digging his fingers into your sides, making you fold against him laughing and trying to shield yourself. You’re both left grinning when it subsides, and you can’t help but compare and contrast him to the version of himself that would’ve been incapable of this level of openness mere months ago.

“Ready?” he asks, once you’ve both gathered up enough composure to be trusted in public again.

You nod, your cheeks still warm and eyes twinkling at him. It feels like your heart is physically expanding in your chest the more you let him in. There’s only one word to describe how you feel in this very moment: smitten.

—

The sky above Jackson opens out wide as you pass through the gates, pale and washed-out blue. It makes the whole stretch of land feel bigger than it is. The sun is out and bright white overhead, but it doesn’t offer much warmth.

Five minutes down the trail and you’re still having to remind yourself that there’s no checkpoint to reach or report to fill out today. Joel chose a direction and you’re following. The only thing that is expected of you today is being by his side.

Most people would feel the need to fill the pockets of silence that linger between you on the road. You don’t with him. There have been maybe four people in your entire life that have made you feel like you can be quiet in their company without them thinking it’s time wasted. Joel is now one of them.

Instead, you find yourself watching him from a few paces behind. He rides Old Beardy with an effortless authority. His eyes comb the landscape with that systematic quality of his. Your thoughts drift to the way he assessed you from above in his bed. You try to steer your mind away from it before too much heat pools in your gut and it becomes a problem.

“You’re still on the lookout,” you say.

“Yeah.” He doesn’t break focus. “Habit. Can’t be too safe. Not out here.”

He’s not wrong. The Disciples wouldn’t hesitate if they saw an opening. The infected don’t know today is your day off. The world outside the walls doesn’t allow you to ever truly take your guard down. The difference today is that he’s not watching out to protect the settlement, he’s watching out to protect you. 

“Feels weird, doesn’t it?” you say. “Having no duty today. I was nearly going to drop in to the school just to find something to do while the kids were home. But then you knocked.”

He glances back over his shoulder at that, one eyebrow slightly raised and a smile just beginning. “Well then, aren’t you glad I did? You say that like you’d rather be at the school.”

“Of course I’m glad,” you say. “I just hope the surprise is worth the trip.”

He turns back to the road ahead with a quiet laugh moving though him. You find yourself smiling at the back of his head like an idiot, eager to get your hands on him.

“Have you been playin’ that guitar much?” he asks then.

“Yeah, actually.” You smile to yourself. “Usually in the evenings. I’ve played a few songs for Jeremiah. I’m still a little rusty, but it’s some entertainment for him at least. It’s been nice getting back into it.”

He tilts his head back, eyes moving upward to the canopy like he’s trying to construct what that scene looks like in his head. Jeremiah in his armchair, you with the guitar on that same couch he kissed you on, strumming away by the fire. 

“What was that song again? The one Ellie said you were gonna teach her.”

“Take On Me,” you reply. “My all-time favourite song. I promised I’d teach it to her soon actually… I must get on that.”

“I wouldn’t worry for now,” he replies. “She’s gotta get better at chords first. Been tryin’ with her, but she ain’t there yet.”

You glance sideways at him. “She’ll get there. Look how quickly she picked up the bow.” It’s silent for a few seconds. “How long did it take you to learn to play?”

He sits a little taller in his saddle. “Been playin’ since I was a kid. I… always thought I’d be a singer growin’ up.”

That steals your attention. “A singer? You sing?”

“Not well.”

“Huh,” you sigh, nudging closer on Dusty. “Now you have to sing me something.”

“Absolutely not.” He doesn’t even hesitate.

“Why?” It comes out in a half-laugh.

“I’m not singin’ in front of you.”

“Come ooon,” you press. “Just something small. For me?”

“No. Forget it.”

You let it go for a total of five seconds. 

“Maybe I just need to get a few whiskeys into you.”

“There’s not enough whiskey in the world. S’not happenin’.”

You nudge Dusty up even further until you’re level with him. “Mark my words. Before I die, I’ll make you sing for me.”

— 

“Are we almost there?” you groan, massaging your fingertips into the base of your neck where tension has been building for the last hour. “My back is killing me.”

“Uh huh.” He tips his head forward. “There she is.”

The trees fall away on either side. The trail lifts and crests before bringing the surprise into view. Jackson Lake.

It’s vast brilliance takes your breath away instantly and makes you still on Dusty without meaning to. The pale but luminous water extends out far and wide and shimmers like crown glass. Green crowds the banks and beyond it, the mountains stand tall and resilient, their peaks dusted with snow that still hasn’t left. It’s enormous in a way that makes everything else feel small and unimportant. 

Across the water, a row of faded red cabins sit along the far bank beside what appears to be a boathouse with a narrow pier stretching out into the shallows.

It looks like a fucking postcard.

Neither of you speak for a long moment. Joel doesn’t need to. He’s too busy enjoying the view of watching you experience this for the first time from the side.

“How did you find this place?” you ask once your breath comes back.

“Been out here a few times,” he says. “S’pecially lately. Usually when Ellie’s at school and I need someplace quiet to clear my head. Thought you might like it.”

He takes the horses closer to the shore where the ground flattens out, ties them to a post and settles them.

Once again, he’s bringing you into a space that he keeps only for himself. It’s hard not to wonder what brings him here when he’s in need of an escape. Some of it is probably obvious, but the longer you know him, the more you’re starting to understand that Joel’s history is confidential. He’s not an open book by any means, but he’s slowly allowing you to turn the pages to discover new details every day.  

When he returns, he shakes out a red and white blanket over the most suitable patch of grass and places his backpack in the middle to anchor it down. The pair of you lower yourselves with mutually aged grunts. Your boots are off and you’re leaning back on your hands to take the pressure off your spine within seconds. The breeze moves over your socks, soothing your sore, overly warm feet. The sun casts down across your skin and the sound of distant birdsong fills the air.

Joel has barely looked out at the lake since you arrived. He’s still too transfixed watching you take it in and the way you’re squinting into the sunshine and how it highlights the subtle sheen of sweat along your hairline from the journey.

“So,” he says. “Whatcha think? Like it?”

You give a soft hum of agreement first, unable to pull your eyes away yet. “Sometimes I forget places like this still exist out here. Outside the walls.” You turn to him then, meeting his gaze. “It’s beautiful.”

There’s no hiding the satisfaction on his face. There must be something significant about seeing you sat here admiring a place where his mind has castigated him.

He reaches into his backpack and starts laying things out between where you lay. Two cloth-wrapped bundles, a couple of apples and some napkins.

“What’s all this?” 

“Lunch,” he says. “Peanut butter and jelly.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles lowly. “You really think I’d take you all the way out here and not feed you?”

“No, it’s just—” You watch him set an unwrapped sandwich out in front of you on it’s cloth. “I’ve never had peanut butter and jelly before.”

He pauses unwrapping his own. “What d’you mean you’ve never had it? It’s PB&J.”

“It’s not really something we had in Ireland,” you explain, picking it up and examining it curiously. “Even when I moved here before the outbreak, I just never got around to trying it.”

He takes a large bite of his own and chews like he was eager to eat. “Well, go on then. Try it. Lemme see.”

You look at it one more time before committing. It’s not something you’d call beautiful. The colour clash is rather unappealing and the mix of textures is questionable at best. And yet, despite the aesthetics, the fact he made it for you makes it special.

You take that first bite.

The softness of Elise’s bread hits you, then the salt of the peanut butter clings to the roof of your mouth. Finally, the sweetness of the jam pulls it all together and makes it a masterpiece.

“Lord almighty,” you manage around your mouthful. “That’s fucking delicious.”

His expressions softens even further somehow.

You tear off a corner of it with your fingers and hold it out for him. He looks at it tentatively before leaning to take it in his mouth. Unplanned, you smear a blob of jam on his nose, leaving him frozen in place and both of you tittering like teenagers. 

“Hold on,” you say. “Come here.”

You stretch over his way and shamelessly suck the jam off the tip of his nose, leave it with a single kiss and retract back.

“I did bring napkins, y’know…” he grimaces playfully, wiping the trace of you off with the back of his hand.

“Can’t let Elise’s jam go to waste.”

The sandwiches are done when he dips into his backpack again and pulls out one of the maroon coloured flasks and hands it to you. “Brought you some coffee too.”

That’s what does it. A small breath comes out of you. You take the flask and stare at it. To him, this is just a thrown-together picnic he had virtually no time to prepare for. For you, it’s proof that something you stopped believing in still exists when people put in the effort.

On the shore below, the lake moves with a slow, serene rhythm. Your heartbeat eventually matches the pace without trying and suddenly it’s really obvious why he would travel all the way out here.

Over thirty minutes of sharing stories from being on the road go by in a blink and suddenly your hands are wrapped around your flask and your nose hovers over the steam, chasing the heat with every sip.

Joel notices when he looks over. “You gettin’ cold?”

“A little bit,” you reply, looking up at the sky like someone’s to blame for turning the temperature down.

“Why didn’t you say?” He’s already clearing the clutter from the space between you. “Get on over here.” He opens an arm out like it’s an invitation you can’t refuse.

You shimmy across on the blanket into his side and his arm draws you in close. Now you can both just gaze out at the pale water and watch it wash in and out against the banks.

Joel reaches down and takes one of your hands and turns it over in his as if he’s examining it for something. His skin is coarse and calloused where yours is soft, but there’s an indisputable warmth from him that seeps into you. His thumb moves gently across your palm, tracing idle circles before his fingers fold over yours.

“Jesus, your hands are really cold,” he mutters.

He lifts it to his mouth and presses brief kisses to your fingertips. His breath follows, hot against your skin as he exhales over them. Then he closes your hand back in his again and holds it like he’s determined to keep the heat in.

“I think we needed this,” you say after a moment goes by. “After the last few days.”

He makes a low sound of agreement deep in his chest. He looks down at the top of your head resting against him. “Thought that might’ve been the reason you stayed away yesterday.”

You tilt your head up slightly to look at him. “What do you mean?”

“What happened before we got out of Dubois…” His eyes glaze over for a second. “Thought maybe I scared you off… or you felt different about me now.”

There it is. The real reason he was on Jeremiah’s doorstep this morning.

“No,” you say, resting your head back down. “I don’t feel different. I think I just forgot what it’s actually like out there. Having a place to call home again — a real home… Having people I care about. Having people that care about me. I think I was starting to let myself get a bit too soft. Dubois just reminded me you can’t be soft. Not anymore.”

“You sure that’s all it was?” His mouth remains close enough to your hair that you feel his words as much as you hear them. “I don’t want you to think I’m a bad guy.”

You shake your head. “I don’t. But does it still feel that way for you? Do you still feel it? Does it all still feel wrong? Having to go to these lengths.”

He looks off into the distance now, the breeze lifting a few strands of his hair. “Yeah,” he murmurs eventually. “But we did what we had to do.”

That brings you some relief. Maybe subconsciously you feared that the brutality came and went a little too easily with him, even the type of brutality that was necessary to keep you both alive. 

“I just kept seeing it on the ride back to that farmhouse,” you say. “His face. The blood. I kept replaying it over and over all night. But I understand it.”

His expression loosens then like he was bracing for a different reaction.

“I’m still scared though.” You stare out at the water. “Of The Disciples. About what that guy said. They know where we are. What if he wasn’t just crazy? What if David is still out there? What if he’s coming for Ellie—”

“Stop,” Joel says firmly. “David’s gone. We’ve been through this.”

“But what if—”

“Joey.” 

It’s not unkind, but the tone in his voice makes you lift your head again. He meets your eyes and holds them.

“Today’s not for that. Today’s just for us. Nothin’s gonna happen to you or Ellie. Not while I’m here.”

His unreserved adamance makes you go quiet so you can only listen.

“I don’t want you to be like me,” he says. His thumb starting to run along the back of your hand again. “I want you to be soft. It’s better for Ellie, havin’ someone like you around. You can give her things I can’t. You’re strong in ways I’ll never be. And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep it that way.”

It’s less of a promise and more like a declaration of intent. And you have no choice but to believe he’ll see it through. The next breath you let out takes some of the worry with it.

You reach up and slide your hand to the back of his skull and let your fingers thread into his hair. You’re drawing him down, but he’s already moving into you without resistance. His lips are warm against yours, giving more than they take and alleviating the last of the tension in you.

He sets your flask aside and guides you down onto the blanket carefully until you’re flat against it. His body follows and presses you into the grass, grounding you there beneath him.

Sunlight dapples with calm flickers on the surface of the lake behind him and the breeze picks up for a minute, but the broadness of him absorbs it before it has a chance to reach you.

His hand travels over your sternum before slipping beneath your flannel searching for contact and your heat. That first touch of his skin against yours near your waist pulls a small jolt and gasp from you. He remains focused on seeking out your little sounds like they’re your own language he’s still learning.

Your arms stay draped around his neck, keeping him there while the rough slide of denim on denim makes your chest flush red with arousal. Your legs snake together like they belong and his hand travels further up until he’s got a hold of your breast. The smell of his skin, the lingering taste of lunch, the way he takes his time with you… it pulls you apart where you lie until you’re a puddle.

When he finally lifts away, you’re left chasing your own breath. The world around you has gone slightly blurry now. He’s the only thing you can see with edges.

He props himself on one elbow and stays close enough that he blocks out the sun still. He studies the smoothed out lines around your eyes, the movement of your throat, the way your bottom lip disappears behind your teeth as you look back up at him. He brushes a stray curl from your forehead with the back of his fingers. 

A barely visible smile blooms in his expression. It’s as though he keeps expecting you to stop being real and is persistently surprised every time he realises you still are.

—

The day is already ceding by the time you’re on the road back home. The sun hangs lower in the sky and the late-afternoon chill starts to make itself even more known. Clouds of flies hum in clusters around the nearby trees, floating like a set of breathing lungs.

Joel rides beside you, eyes still scanning ahead but quietly pleased with what he’s left behind at the lake.

“I’m headin’ to Tommy’s tomorrow night for dinner,” he says after a stretch of silence. “Gonna fill him in on Dubois.”

You glance over at him. “Oh yeah? Thought you would’ve done that already.”

“Made more sense to wait ’til Sunday dinner. Have everyone there.”

You nod and focus back on the road then. Any sort of treks outside of the settlement, particularly ones that venture into new territories, are always reported back in-person. That’s just how Tommy likes it. 

“Hm, good luck with that one,” you say. “Don’t forget to mention all of the wonderful things you can buy down at The Pleasure Chest.”

Joel shifts uncomfortably in the saddle then, and not because of the joke, but because of the implication behind it. “You not comin’ along?”

It’s something you weren’t necessarily expecting him to question. You think on it for a second before replying.

“I don’t know… Might be best if I don’t. I thought maybe we should give it a bit of time before we start… y’know… being around Tommy together. Give him a chance to get used to the idea of it.”

That makes him pause in a way he never has before. It’s unclear whether he’s genuinely considering it or feeling some sort of guilt that his own fears have bled into how you think through these things too.

“No,” he murmurs eventually, shaking his head and looking back out in front of him. “I don’t want us to do that. We went to Dubois together so we go tomorrow together.”

A lump forms in your throat. Maybe he’s running on the high the day brought with it or maybe he’s truly changing. Even though some part of you is genuinely anxious about being around Tommy and allowing him to see you in this new light, it’s still peculiar to hear Joel push for it. Tommy’s a good friend to you and he was clear he had no issue with it, but the circumstances in which he found out still puts you on edge.

“You sure?” you ask quietly.

Based on the faraway look in his eyes, it’s evident he’s going through the exact same thought process you did and questions it one last time. Being sat around a table with you and his family should be the same as it has always been, but it won’t be this time. It could all feel a little to exposing. But Joel gave you his word. He said he was going to make this work.

After a moment, he sniffs and exhales when he lands on a decision. His posture straightens and he nods.

“Yeah.”

—

The ranch hands are long gone by the time you make it back. Lamplight pools in the stable corners and the horses start to settle into their evening with pleased huffs and the occasional flick of a hoof in hay. The two of you work through the routine of untacking and brushing down Dusty and Old Beardy and getting caught up in the comfortable domesticity of it.

When you straighten up and turn around, he’s already finished and leaning in the doorway with his hands tucked into his pockets, watching you patiently in a way he doesn’t bother trying to conceal.

You rinse your hands in the basin and towel them dry before joining him at the entrance. “Ready to go?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he takes your hand and pulls you back out into the cooling evening air and around to the back where the lamplight doesn’t reach. He places you against the wood and surveys every detail of your face before closing in and trapping your body against the planks with his. His mouth finds yours in the dark. He always starts soft. Moving your head with his, following the give and pull of it.

Not even a minute goes by before he’s migrating below your jaw and into your neck. He knows exactly where to go now. He’s learned your favourite spots and how to undo you without mercy. When you start vocalising what it’s doing to you, he just gets more laser-focused on drawing more sounds out of you. One hand cups your face, the other holds you by your waist. His knee slots between your thighs and when he starts to feel you squirm helplessly against him, it just makes him worse. He’s hell-bent.

Then you feel it against your hip. 

Firm and insistent through the denim, his cock presses into you. The moans have gotten to him. His hips roll carefully into you and his own breath starts to shift into a different register.

Your hand moves down and over the front of his jeans without deliberation, feeling the taut strain of him trying to break through. Within seconds, your other hand has his him unbuckled and unbuttoned. Your hand dives into his boxers and pulls his cock free. It’s warm and heavy in your palm and already slick at the tip.

The cool hits him and he pulls a sharp breath through his nose.

He groans into your mouth when start with long, purposeful pulls of his shaft. He breaks the kiss to look down briefly, as if just to confirm what’s happening, and then his lips are back on you. 

Lubricated with his own fluid, you add a slight twist of the wrist to your motions, and when you do, the kiss slows to a stop. His mouth stays pressed to yours but he goes still. Small, fractured breaths jet out every other second and his eyes remain shut. His brow furrows like he’s desperately trying to keep hold of his composure.

His forehead drops to your shoulder and his palms land flat against the stable wall on either side of your head. The sounds he makes against your neck are rough and untamed. You don’t let up. The pace builds into fuller strokes as the minutes pass. Eventually, his weight starts to increase against you and his hips pitch forward like he’s chasing the end.

“Are you getting close?” you murmur against his temple.

He nods, his head becoming even heavier on your shoulder. “Yeah… Keep goin’… Don’t stop…”

Now you’re determined. You work harder, maintaining your grip but allowing enough of a slip to move smoothly. “Yeah, that’s it…”

“Aw, fuck— Joey…” He makes a quiet, strangled sound and his palms ball into fists. “I’m gonna cum—”

His mouth slams back over yours to inhale you as he tips over the edge, spurting warmth through your fingers in hard pulses and spilling into the grass below. You slow gradually, easing him through orgasm and lightening your grip at the tip, wringing out the last of it until he’s jolting against you in oversensitive aftershocks. The shaking subsides slowly and his breath finds its way back.

Lazy kisses scatter across your neck and then up your jaw, his mouth not quite following a particular direction, just pressing wherever it lands while his cock twitches back to softness in your hand.

When he pulls back to look at you again, there’s very little left in him. Just traces of relief and longing. Nothing needs to be said. The dark holds the moment and the intimacy of it still carries the newness of this underneath. 

“I’ll get you a towel,” you say at last.

You slip around the corner and return a moment later. He cleans up in silence, buttons himself back up and sighs, his eyes not calming until they find yours again.

He leans against the wood now, reaching low for your hand and leading you back into his space. He settles his hands on your hips and keeps you there, observing your face like he discovers something new about it every time.

“Let me walk you home."

—

As you make your way back through the settlement, your instinct is to keep a sizeable distance between you. The cold is making that hard to adhere to though. The temperature has dropped enough that you’re hunched over with your hands buried in your pockets and trying not to brush up too close to Joel. 

The streets are oddly quiet for a Saturday evening. The Bison should have people coming and going by now or neighbours should be making their way between houses for weekend plans. Instead, there’s almost no one around. There’s just the quiet electrical hum of the streetlights overhead and the crunch of your boots on the gravel below. The cold snap must’ve convinced people that staying in was the better option.

Once you’ve moved through Main Street and are closer to the residential areas, you do a quick sweep in front and behind before slipping your hand into his. Straight away, you feel him freeze and almost pull away. He looks down at your joined hands and then also performs a quick scan of the surroundings.

“What’re you doin’?” he asks under his breath.

“My hands are cold,” you reply. A long moment of silence passes. “Is that okay?”

He exhales softly through his nose. “Yeah, just— we gotta be careful.”

“No one’s around. It’s fine.”

His hand stays loose in yours rather than closing tight around it, so you can’t even fully enjoy the warmth of him without feeling like you’ve caused him to be on alert again. Sure, it’s risky to show a public display of affection like this, especially for him. But after the day you’ve just shared together, it has left you embarrassingly needy and craving his closeness even more.

His hand slips from yours when you reach Jeremiah’s tiny front gate. He pushes it open with a soft screech and walks you the rest of the way up to his door where the small porch light barely reaches his face.

He takes you in one last time, checks the perimeter and then leans in and kisses you. It’s soft, but way too brief for your liking. He pulls back before you’re ready for it to be over and you almost follow his lips without realising.

A look passes between you that doesn’t need explaining. This is what it’s going to be for a while. Exhilarating highs behind closed doors and then the dull crash of checking over shoulders and standing apart when others are around. This isn’t what you want and he knows that. Switching between different versions of yourself to shield him from shame takes a toll even though you’re willing to pay it if it means you get to be his.

The apology lingers permanently in his eyes and you’re learning to get used to it. If you tell yourself this is only temporary enough times, maybe the sting will go away. 

“Thanks for today,” you say quietly. “I really enjoyed it.”

The smile he gives is just with his mouth, but it’s genuine. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

Frustratingly, it only makes you need him more hearing his voice so quiet and delicate. 

“Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

Once you’re inside, you close the door gently behind you and press your forehead against it. You stand there in the quiet of Jeremiah’s hallway and listen until his footsteps reach the end of the garden path, the front gate screeches shut and the sound of him is gone entirely. 

AN: 🫠 Oh to have Joel Miller show up on your doorstep all needy and missing you...

I really hope you enjoyed Joely on a date <3 I love planting little easter eggs in this story by the way, iykyk!

Some BTS updates... When I started posting TTGWM back in December, I had twelve chapters backlogged to give myself plenty of stuff in the bank just in case I had a busy week or was not at home to post. Five months later, and I now have 2 chapters left in my bank ☠️ Life has been busier than expected and I've also spent a lot of time further developing later parts of the story which has naturally eaten into actual writing time. I really want to keep this a weekly thing, so in order to do that, I will very likely be taking a week or two (maybe more, I'll keep everyone updated on my socials) to just top up the bank a little bit and focus on just writing. It might seem like I'm taking a "break", but I assure you, I will be tippy tapping furiously on this keyboard because there's so much coming and I want to dedicate sufficient time to it while also not becoming irregular with posting. It works out nicely, because chapter 29 (which is where this pause is going to start) is the end of this current act. Chapter 30 is where we reintroduce some chaos, so enjoy the fluff while it lasts 😈 I guess Chapter 29 is the end of TTGWM S1 if it were a HBO show.

[wordsbeachandtequila]

Some fluffy fluff for my favorite boys 🥰

[hanahleah]

Gifted Kid Burnout

Fic Masterlist (completed)

ao3 | more GKB

Summary: After weeks of working overtime, between looming deadlines and a dreaded annual performance review something just had to give. The AC gave out first. You weren’t far behind.

Can the repairman fix it? Will you let him?

(you’re an overachiever burning out in a corporate job and he’s just a guy who’s fixing your AC—until he’s not)

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Warnings/tags: 18+, no outbreak AU, reader is a neurotic corporate girlie, corporate jargon and corporate burnout, mentions of depression and medication, age gap but nothing crazy (29 and 42), light sub/dom dynamics, soft dom!Joel, smut, but also fluff, angst, and a happy ending

1 Home Office

2 Key Performance Indicators

3 Circle Back

4 One-on-One

5 Touching Base

6 Hands-on Approach

7 Keynote Speaker

8 Reward Process

9 Work-life Balance

10 Scope Creep

11 Risk Exposure

12 Out-of-office

13 Future-Ready

14 Joint Venture

more GKB - one shots:

Overachiever (smut and fluff)

summary: you want to give Joel a birthday gift he won't forget, but desperate to prove you can, you almost hurt yourself in the process. Joel has to remind you of some ground rules.

Soft Launch (angst and fluff)

summary: Joel Miller comes as a package deal and the other half of it is not convinced you can stay over.

[wordsbeachandtequila]

The slow burn I was looking for! That was such a great read, I love these two together 🥹🩵