joelsoftie

[joelsoftie]

THIS WAS SOOO GOOD and such an important conversation to shed light upon, this writer is so talented i’m in awe of the way they portray carmy and also catch all his mannerisms just right!!!

dare i say…. best writer in the the bear fandom!

Hello! I read you’re glad about any request you get right now and i’ve been getting inspired by your latest stories so here’s my request (if you’re comfortable with it):

Reader and carmy have been ‘together’ you could say for a few months and everything’s been going well, carmy’s been helping reader heal from some things he didn’t even know about (maybe an traumatic ex) but one night she got into her head way too much and is scared carmy’s gonna come home wanting to be intimate bc she’s been feeling off wayyy too much throughout the day and is stressing herself out so much so when carmy comes home totally oblivious, she is so on edge he kinda just wants to greet her and say hi but she almost scurries away from him and is so scared of saying no to him so carmy’s alarmed to say the least and they talk about it and reader is like ? “you didn’t want to-?” and carmy’s all comforting and kind and his heart kinda breaks when he realises how scared she was of him in this situation and he goes on and on about how he’d never wanna pressure her or force her to even kiss him if she didn’t want to etc etc (this kinda stems from personal experiences and the way you write comforting carmy is such a hug for the heart but if this makes you uncomfortable pls ignore me!)

Thank you for your time either way! Appreciate you!

a/n: thank u so so so much for this request, i feel very honored that u would trust me with writing something like this. i completely understand this type of scenario and am no stranger to it myself. as a fellow survivor i'm glad that u trust me with the opportunity to get to write carmy as a comfort character for others who need it. and to anyone reading this who needs help with anything like this 800.656.HOPE (4673) is the number for RAINN an organization that specializes in SA, and my dms r always open if anyone ever needs help locating more resources i am here and always ready to be there for anyone who needs it requests updates: if u requested just know its being worked on, im getting through all of them one by one and feel free to keep sending them in (i do other fandoms too so feel free to ask outside of the bear), thank u all so much content warnings: implied history of SA/abuse

You weren’t really sure what it was exactly about this day in particular. These things always seemed to ebb and flow, some days were good, others were…like today. Maybe it was the branch outside the apartment, that fucking branch, hitting at the window every few seconds at this exact wrong angle, scratching a rhythm that reminded you of a night you didn’t want to remember, sending chills down your spine, all pooling cold in your feet. Maybe it was the hallway light, flickering since the morning, the one that Carmy couldn’t fix until he got home from work, strobing like…No, maybe it was the way the pillows on the bed seemed to just…stare at you. The way that the fog in the bathroom seemed to swallow the room whole when you turned on the water to shower until you couldn’t see anything at all. 

Whatever it was, something about the day left you on edge.

By afternoon, your chest felt tight. Like you’d been holding your breath for too long, or like the air was just being sucked out of the fucking room, or collapsing in on itself completely. 

Your clothes scraped against your skin all wrong, no matter how many times you changed. The collars on every single one of your shirts seemed to rub against your neck the wrong way. 

Every so often you swore you could feel something crawling along your scalp, but when you reached up to feel around, to brush it off, there was nothing there. 

Sometimes you could feel the ghost of…someone. 

You checked the thermostat in Carmy’s apartment three times in an hour. Shivering and overheating all at once somehow. It felt like every single fucking speck of dust in the air, every atom, every particle, was landing on you, clinging, and you wanted it all gone. You wanted it off of you. Now. 

You thought about trying to shower again, rinsing everything off, but the idea of that steam fogging up the bathroom again, the idea of needing to get undressed and then step in the shower, closing your eyes in it even to blink, it just felt so fucking…impossible. 

You thought about cracking the window open to get some fresh air, even if just briefly, even if just through a window, but the snapping of the branch outside kept killing the idea before you could even begin to approach the latch to unlock it and push it open. 

Everything was too loud. Everything was too sharp. None of it made any fucking sense.

Carmy would be home soon. Usually, that thought steadied you, and it’s not like it necessarily didn’t now, he would get home and fix the strobing hallway light, he would get home and keep an eye out for you while you showered, sitting on the ledge of the sink, scrolling through his phone, handing you a towel as you stepped out…Even just the image of him walking through the door, smiling like he only ever smiled for you, was enough to keep the panic where it was now instead of spiraling out of control. But still. Today it was…difficult. Today, it felt different. Something felt…wrong. 

Sometimes when the world felt too much, like this, you liked to reflect back on the good things.

The different things. The good different. 

Like the first time you met Carmy. The first time that smile appeared in the way it did when it was just for you. 

“Your smile is cute,” you teased softly, nervously, laughing across the flicker of a candle at some restaurant in Chicago he had suggested.

You hadn’t expected to actually meet anyone on Hinge, hadn’t expected to use it at all when your friends drunkenly downloaded it on your phone one night and made a profile for you, but somehow you had ended up with Carmy. Waking up the next morning, hungover like never before, friends still at your place after the night before, you opened your phone to a Hinge notification. A comment from Carmy on one of the photos your friends had chosen for you, it had made you smile, and you responded.

Something about him had just seemed to pull you in. He felt…safe. Careful. Nervous, maybe even more nervous than you on that first date. And you trusted that…maybe also because Richie, who you’d known for a few years now, was mutual with him on Instagram and when you’d asked about him, well, Richie wouldn’t just vouch for anyone. Carmy was good people. 

More than good, actually. 

“Well,” he’d said that night, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes down on the tablecloth, “it’s only for you.”

The way he couldn’t meet your eyes to say it, the way you could see a blush tinting his face, the way he fidgeted with his hands as he said it, it all just seemed to seal the deal for you. 

Carmy is great. 

He remembered every birthday. Every holiday. Every anniversary. Every half-birthday. Every half-anniversary. Always showing up with some intricately decorated cake, or the most thoughtful gift you’d ever received, a card with an illustration he’d drawn on the front. 

He was special. This was special. 

This could be the real deal. 

Yet, despite everything, something about today still…felt wrong. 

You sat on the couch, fingers twisting in the hem of your shirt, just avoiding the gaze of your reflection in the mirror. You kept telling yourself the same thing, over and over, like a prayer: Carmy is good. Carmy is safe. Carmy will be here soon, and that’s supposed to mean that you’re okay. Everything is okay. It’s good. This is good, and you deserve good.

But your chest didn’t seem to believe you…your body didn’t seem to believe you. 

You peered out the window watching the headlights of his car pull up to the curb of the street in front of the building, car door shutting, footsteps in the hall. Every sound seemed to be louder than it actually was, every sound jolted you, made your stomach lurch, made your heart skip a beat. By the time you heard the scrape of his key at the lock, you were already tensed, all braced, like you’d been caught doing something wrong…like something wrong was about to happen.

The door swung open, a bag hitting the counter with a dull thud.

“Hey,” Carmy said, soft, voice worn from work and the cold, he motions to the bag he dropped on the counter, “You probably already ate but I uh, I was trying out some new dish stuff, just experimenting, thought you might wanna try it.” 

You should’ve melted at this, you wanted to melt at this, at the sound of his voice, at the gesture, and you usually did. But instead you felt your pulse spike. The room shrinking in around you, the walls caving in, you stood too fast when he walked in, stumbling upwards, nearly falling, and mumbled something along the lines of “Hey, um, I was just-” before retreating toward the hallway like you had somewhere urgent to be. 

Carmy froze mid-step as you walked away, he looked at you, brows pulling tight, confusion quickly flickering into concern.

“Are you- You okay?” he asked, voice steady, careful, calm.

“I’m fine.” It came out sharp, you didn’t mean for it to, but it did. You hated the way it sounded, hated the way you already felt guilt creeping in on you for saying it.

He moved in just slightly, just a little closer, not reaching for you, just shifting toward you slightly like he always did. And still, your body seemed to jolt back before you could think about it, pulling back from him. 

Something in his face seemed to crack, he stopped cold, one hand outstretched, the other bracing the counter like he might fall off-balance if he let go. 

“Did I-?” He shook his head, swallowed hard. “Did I do somethin’? You don’t- Are you sure everything is alright?

The question gutted you, your words tumbling out before you could really seem to stop them. 

“I’m fucking fine, okay? Just fucking drop it.”

And he didn’t flinch. He didn’t retreat from you. He didn’t get angry. He didn’t fire back.

“It doesn’t have to be,” he said softly, simply. 

And he couldn’t imagine saying anything else, he knew this reaction. He knew what it meant. He could recognize it a mile away, and he already had an idea, if not a full picture, of your situation, and he would never dream of getting angry with you for being protective, for having that type of reflex. It just broke his heart for you because…well, neither of you had quite said it yet but he knew it, he loved you. He’s in love with you. 

You opened your mouth, but nothing seemed to come out. 

Carmy shifted his weight against the counter, that hand still bracing the edge like he needed the grounding. His other hand was hovering just slightly, palm open, not reaching for you, but outstretched, waiting, offering. 

“You don’t have to be fine with me, okay?” he went on. “Not ever. Not once.”

The words dug under your ribs, burrowing somewhere deep. Your eyes stung, but you blinked hard, you didn’t want to cry, didn’t want to make him feel worse than he might already feel. 

“You didn’t want-” You cut yourself off. Your voice felt all jagged and weak, like it would just rip off if you pushed it too hard.

His brows drew in tighter, confusion flickering and melting down into pure heartbreak. But not for himself. 

“Want?” he repeated gently, meeting your eyes, like he was just confirming that he’d heard it correctly. 

You bit down on the inside of your cheek so hard that you broke skin, the taste of copper starting to spread. 

“You didn’t want…I mean, when you got home, you didn’t want to…” You still couldn’t quite finish the sentence, but Carmy seemed to understand. He had a way of doing that. Of knowing you, understanding you. Paying attention. 

Carmy’s face fell completely, his shoulders slumped and his mouth parted slightly before he responding.

“Jesus, no,” he whispered, shaking his head immediately, fiercely. “No, no. I don’t- fuck, I mean, I’d never expect that. Never.”

He took a deep and careful breath. “I just- I’m just happy to see you…It’s all I ever want. If I bring food, if I bring whatever home, it’s because I want you to have it, no because I expect…fuckin’ anything after, I don’t want anything, not like that. If I- if we kiss it’s because I want to kiss you, but only if you want that, okay? And if you don’t? Then I don’t. That’s it. It’s that simple.”

He swallowed hard, eyes searching yours. “I don’t ever want you scared of me, I’d rather never- I’d rather never fuckin’ touch you again than ever make you feel like you can’t say no. I don’t want you to take that shit from anyone, okay? Not me, not fuckin’ anyone. Alright? You’re too- You’re…You don’t deserve that shit. Nobody deserves that shit. And I- I just, I love you.” 

The words cracked something open in you, something bruised and fragile, and you wanted to believe him in every way, not just in your mind, but you wanted your body to know, but the fear still gnawed, something deep-rooted, something crawling through your bones, through your bloodstream.

But Carmy didn’t seem phased by this. He didn’t seem to want more, he didn’t push closer, he didn’t rush it. He just stayed where he was steady, waiting, he’d wait all night if he had to, hand there, not to reach for you, but for you to reach out when you needed it. 

“And you-” he inhaled sharply through his nose “-you don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?” you asked, quietly, blinking back tears that kept threatening to spill over.

“That, you don’t have to do that shit, not with me. You can cry. If you want to. If you need to. You can always cry in front of me, I’m not- I’d never do shit to you, I…I’d never want to do anything that doesn’t- that isn’t good for you. If it’s not good for you, it’s not good for us, it’s not good for me, okay?”

You couldn’t respond, your throat seemed to close in on itself, the sob rising before you could bite it back down, and when the tears finally came, all hot and blinding, Carmy didn’t move. He didn’t rush towards you, he just stayed there with you. Solid and steady, like he could hold everything up for you even if it all came crashing down.

It was unbearable, the steadiness of him. The way he stood so close and still, like an anchor dropped into the ocean during a storm. You wanted to run, you wanted to stay. Both urges fought until your chest ached.

His breathing stayed soft and measured, even as you broke in front of him, and you fucking hated it, the sound of yourself, the sobbing you’d trained yourself to hide over the years. But Carmy didn’t look away. He just let you fall apart, patient and present.

Your hands shook at your sides, restless, and then, before you could overthink it, you reached for him. Just a fistful of his shirt, cotton bunching between your fingers as you hugged yourself against him.

Carmy exhaled so sharply that it was almost a gasp. Not because he was startled but because he’d been holding his breath for you, waiting. His hand left the counter, rising slowly, careful, he gave you time to pull away again, but you didn’t, you didn’t want to. Right now, you just wanted him. 

So he let his palm settle against your back, just barely touching, it was featherlight and warm through your shirt. It wasn’t pulling, or pushing, or trapping, it was just there. Just for you.

The second point of contact seemed to undo you, you folded forward completely, forehead pressing against his chest, into the fabric that smelled faintly of smoke and onions and him.

“S’okay,” Carmy whispered against you, his voice raw and breaking. “It’s okay. I got you. That’s it. You don’t have to hold it up anymore, you don’t need to hold it in…I- I got you…Always.” 

You felt yourself shaking against him, Carmy stayed stable. His palm pressing just slightly firmer, rubbing slowly, calming circles, grounding you. Not to urge you or rush you to calm down, not to hush you, or get you to stop, but just to say I’m here, I’m not leaving.

With every shaky breath you managed, he breathed with you. Every crack in your chest he seemed to take into himself.

He could carry it if you’d let him. If you’d have him.

“I got you,” he murmured again, softer, like a promise. “However long it takes, I fuckin’ swear it.”

The steadiness of his chest just under you, the slow beating of his heart, it all sank into you, filling in those hollow places you’d been carrying around all day. You clutched his shirt tighter, willing it to tether you enough to not go spiraling again.

You weren’t sure how long you both stood there, all wrapped up in his warmth, his patience. Everything inside didn’t quiet all at once, but with Carmy’s hand steady on your back, his soft, rhythmic breathing, it didn’t feel so impossible. 

And then, before you could lose your nerve, you heard yourself say it, muffled into his shirt. 

“I love you.”

Carmy went still, his hand freezing up mid-circle. 

His arms closed around you fully, softly and slowly, pulling you into him like it was all he’d ever wanted…and it is. 

His voice seemed to crack a little when he whispered it back, “I love you, too.”

After a while, after your breathing had steadied, you laughed softly against him. 

“Jesus, I’m sorry,” you sniffed, eyes still burning, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to- to take your time, to waste it like this, after work and-”

“No,” he cut you off, the word firm but soft, kind, “you’d never take my time. It’s yours. Doesn’t fuckin’ matter what’s going on, if it’s you, it’s not- it’s not a problem, it’s never a problem…You aren’t…You could never be a waste of my time. Don’t even- don’t even say that shit, you could never be a waste of anyone's time.” 

Your chest ached again, but not because it was breaking apart, it was just from the way he had said it, like it was the most obvious truth in the world. Like he just couldn’t fathom how you’d ever think otherwise. 

You pressed your face harder into his chest, swallowing against the lump in your throat.

“You- you mean that?” you whispered, barely audible.

Carmy’s arms softly tightened around you, his breath still steady and warm at your temple. 

“Of course I fuckin’ mean it,” he said, sure and solid. “I’ll mean it tomorrow, and the day after, and every fucking day after that…I don’t- I don’t know how to do this halfway…Not with you.”

Your chest loosened, fragile but steady, just a little, as if it had just been waiting to make space for him all along. 

You let out a shaky breath that turned into a small, nervous laugh.

“God, Carm, you make it sound so…so fucking simple, so…easy.”

Carmy shook his head gently. “Of course it’s simple. It’s you. That’s it.” 

You swallowed again, pressing yourself just a little closer. 

“I wish…I wish I could feel that. All the time.”

“You will,” he said. “Not all at once, not today maybe, but…I’ll be here, until then, after too, if you’ll have me…Always.”

You closed your eyes, letting his words and presence wash over you, trying to let yourself enjoy it, to let yourself have it. 

After a quiet moment, he whispered it again. “I love you.”

You lifted your face to meet his eyes. “I love you, too.”

And in an instant, the world didn’t just seem to stop. It shattered and rewove itself around just the two of you. Every fear and every fracture, every single fragment of doubt all started to dissolve in the gravity of it all.

You didn’t just feel the love. You were it. You were all of it, infinite, absolute, ineffable. This is love.

[joelsoftie]

i might be tapping back into writing, have never done it on tumblr bc everyone intimidates me here lmao but i’m taking requests for:

• joel miller

• harry styles

• carmy berzatto

• sam winchester

• dean winchester

• tim bradford/chenford

-> you could either send complete requests or simply prompts/thoughts you’d like to elaborate on, i’d be happy to get anything in my inbox :))

[joelsoftie]

another REALLY important topic and beautifully tackled by this talented writer!!! been obsessed with their stories lately 🥹

hello! saw you’re taking requests and i’ve been loving your latest posts so i was wondering if you’d be willing to write this: (tw: sexual harassment/assault) reader used to work at a different kitchen in town that every cook knows is a horrible place and then comes to work for carmy. at first she seems fine to work with and everything’s fine but after a few days/weeks carmy notices her subtle flinches or stiffness whenever he walks past her/behind her etc and how she trembles at times whenever he explains something to her and he wonders if he did something wrong so one night after service he wants to talk and ask what’s wrong and reader basically explains at her old kitchen she used to get harassed by her old chef (and groped whenever he wanted to) (you can expand this part however you like or don’t) so she’s really traumatised but one night her old boss also held her back after service to try and pressure her into sleeping with him bc according to him “he helped her become someone in the food industry so now she owes him” and that’s when she quit, ran, and started working for carmy. basically just a lot of angst and comfort from carmy, him being all mad that she had to go through that and him assuring her that would never be acceptable behaviour in his restaurant etc (sorry this is kinda long, if you don’t feel comfy with this, don’t worry!!) thank you either way <3333 also would like to start anonymous but maybe i can get an emoji? 🧀

a/n: hello, thank u for this request! i know i’ve talked about this before, probably too much, but as i’ve said i’ve worked in this industry for a very long time and i’ve been through the ringer, and this is also another very important topic that i hold close to my heart. i’ve witnessed this exact type of scenario hundreds of times and been at the receiving end more times than i’d like to admit and it’s just so fucking sickening and fucked up and it’s so normalized, so, thank u for bringing this to light with ur request, i hope it can help bring whoever needs it some sort of comfort or closure and if nothing else i hope it helps spread perspective/shines a light on this issue in the industry. anyways, thank u so much again for ur request and i hope its to ur liking! (im in like a bit of an off season right now in my lab work/science so it feels like im unemployed and im used to running 24/7 so its really nice to have new stuff to fill this time completely, i be churning out fics instead of results/papers/grants rn and its refreshing asf) 

wc: 3,432

contains: angst, mention of SA/harassment from former boss

now, chicago

“Behind!” Carmy yells brushing past you in a hurry, you duck your head, pulling your elbows in tight, making yourself as small as possible to let him through without contact.

“Sorry, chef,” you mutter under your breath, resuming dicing onions once he gets through.

“86 on the brisket, chefs!” he shouts.

“Yes, chef!” everyone answers in unison, your own response seeming to come just a fraction later than the others, flinching at the echo of his tone. 

“You good, chef?” Marcus asks, eyebrow raised.

You nod quickly. “Yes, chef. Sorry, chef.”

He gives you a soft smile, laughing lightly. “Nothing to be sorry about, chef, just making sure you’re okay.”

You return his words with a thin smile and quickly drop your gaze back down, blade moving in a steady rhythm, just doing your best to fold yourself back into the noise and motion of the kitchen.

five months earlier, chicago

You bounce your leg up and down, sitting in a chair across from Carmen Berzatto, a desk separating the two of you in the space between.

He’s looking down rifling through a small stack of papers, your résumé presumably among them, sits in his hands.

He hums, continuing to flip through the pages, nodding once or twice. He shifts in his seat every few seconds, just restless enough that you notice. He seems slightly anxious, which brings you a strange sense of comfort, like you aren’t alone in your nerves surrounding this interview.

Of course, you’d heard of Carmen Berzatto before, Best New Chef award at just the age of twenty-one, the James Beard Foundation’s Rising Star award. You’d be lying if you said that you hadn’t watched more than a few interviews he’d done throughout the years. You’ve seen his reviews. You’ve studied his plates. You’ve heard the stories through the grapevine via mutual acquaintances and stagings.

He flips through the papers once more before finally looking up at you. 

“You have a very strong background,” he says. Your pulse picks up. “Honestly, you’re overqualified for a commis chef. So…why apply?”

You swallow hard, mouth suddenly going dry, completely uncertain of exactly how to answer that question because how could you go about answering it? And if you lied, what lie would sound convincing enough?

He clears his throat, tilting his head slightly. “You good, chef?”

“Yes,” you answer too fast. “Sorry.”

He shakes his head slightly. “No need for that, chef. Just a question.”

“Right. Well…I guess, I thought it’d just be a good opportunity, chef.”

“A good opportunity?”

“Yes- I…I thought it’d be a good opportunity to get to work with you specifically, chef.”

He raises an eyebrow. “With me, specifically?”

“Yes, chef.”

“Well,” he says slowly, “I’d say you’re past needing to work under the guidance of anyone, and the pay here will be considerably less than what you were making at your former position, but, if you really are interested-”

“I am, chef.”

“-then, the job is yours. You’re more than qualified.” 

“Really, chef?” The words coming out just a bit more enthusiastic than you had meant for them to.

He raises both his eyebrows at you, the slightest hint of amusement pulling at the corner of his mouth. 

“Yeah, chef. Really.”

You stand, thanking him again, clutching your knife roll like it’s a lifeline…because this job was exactly that, a lifeline. 

“Start tomorrow?” he asks, pushing back from the desk, sticking his hand out to shake yours.

You draw back a bit without thinking, and then stick your hand out to take his, shaking it firmly, just once. 

“Tomorrow’s perfect, chef.”

Carmen moves to the office door first, and you hang back just a step, just enough to make sure that there’s a fair amount of space between the two of you when you follow. In the hallway, a few more cooks pass by, talking and laughing. You shift closer to the wall to let them through, your shoulder nearly brushing one of them as you quickly jerk yourself back to avoid it.

“Syd’ll show you around when you come in,” Carmen says over his shoulder. “You’ll meet the rest of the crew during prep.”

“Yes, chef.”

He nods at you, pulling a pen from behind his ear and scribbling something on the corner of your application. His movements are quick, economical, precise, like he’s already thinking about and moving on to about a dozen other things, but you notice his eyes flick briefly to the way you’re standing. Your weight on the balls of your feet like you might have to move out of someone’s way at any moment.

“Alright, chef,” he says finally, tucking the paper into a manilla folder that he then shoves in between his torso and arm. “See you tomorrow, 2:30 PM.”

You nod once more, tight and quick, and step aside to let him pass by you. 

“Thank you, chef.”

“Don’t mention it, chef.”

now, chicago

Carmen pushes his hair back as five new tickets get clipped to the rail, and about ten more spit out from the printers. The air is thick with heat, sweat, and the scent of char and smoke. Someone shouts for all-day counts, the fry station is hissing, and a pan clatters just a touch louder than you’d have liked against the flat-top.

“Behind!” Sydney’s voice cuts through as she flies past with two plates balanced in her hands. You instinctively step aside for her, too far aside, and your hip bumps into the cold station.

“Hot, hot, hot!” Tina warns, sliding a tray just past your elbow, nearly brushing it. You keep your arms in tight, shoulders angled to make yourself more compact. 

Carmy’s moving between stations, fast and deliberate, calling out corrections, times, instruction. He slides in behind you to reach for the salt and your spine goes rigid before you can help it. 

“Two minutes on the veg, chef,” he says, already moving away from you.

“Yes, chef,” you answer, but it’s weak, quiet. You’re not even sure he heard you.

The kitchen is alive with motion, voices, steel against steel, burning, sizzling, chopping. To anyone else, it’s just a normal service, maybe a touch busier than usual, but to you, it’s the sound of somewhere you’ve been before, somewhere you’ve worked before. Except this time, it’s different, you need to keep reminding yourself of that. This time, it’s not the same. It’s safe.

Still, your hands tremble faintly while you plate. 

three months earlier, chicago

“Christ,” Carmen groans, leaning his back against the brick wall of the alley, lighter flickering to life. He takes a drag of his cigarette like it’s the first real breath of air he’s had all night. “That shit was completely fucked.”

You let out a light laugh, perhaps more nerves than anything else, grinding the toe of your shoe over your cigarette butt until it smears into the pavement.

You’re still not entirely certain of how to interact with him outside the context of the kitchen, of the line, if you’re even supposed to. And if you are, to what regard?

He glances over, mouth twitching slightly into something that’s almost a smile.

“You know, you’re a real quiet one, (y/n).”

You shrug at him, not meeting his eyes. “Just tired, chef.”

“Carmy,” he says suddenly.

You blink a few times before processing exactly what he said and what exactly he had meant by it. “Sorry, chef, what?”

“Carmy’s fine,” he repeats. “Everyone calls me that.”

The name sits warm on your tongue before you even say it. “Alright…Carmy.”

He nods, flicking ash into the shallow metal tray by the door. For a moment, it’s just the two of you and the sound of traffic and voices somewhere down the block.

You want to keep the moment, hold it close not let it slip by, but the thought is tangled up with something else too, something tainting it. Something making the air feel just a little thinner than it is. A different chef, a different alley, a voice using your name in ways that were less than savory.

You shove your hands deep into your pockets. “So, uh, that service sure was, something,” you say, trying to let the conversation slide back into safer territory, something more comfortable.

Carmy smirks faintly, glancing toward the kitchen door. “Yeah. It’s alright though,” he crushes out his cigarette and straightens slightly. “Come on, chef. Let’s clean up.”

You linger for just a minute more after he disappears back into the kitchen, wondering what exactly to do with the moment. You slip back inside deciding to file it away with all of the other things you’re not sure you’re allowed to trust. 

now, chicago

You’re bent over the counter, plating a garnish on a plate just before it goes out, when Carmy steps in behind you to grab a sauce container from the lower shelf. His hand brushes against your lower back, light and unintentional, but your body reacts before your brain can catch up with it.

You jolt back, breath catching, plate clattering, a small, sharp sound escaping from your throat. Not quite a scream, but enough of one that Marcus looks over from pastry.

Carmy freezes up immediately. “Shit- hey, sorry, chef, I really didn’t meant to-”

“No, no,” you cut in quickly, shaking your head, “really, it’s fine, Carm- chef. It’s fine.” 

Marcus’s mouth twitches, like he’s just about to say something, but he just goes back to focusing on his station. 

Carmy doesn’t move right away. He’s still crouched down, hand on the sauce container, eyes fixed on you for just a split second too long. Not sharp, not angry, just assessing, watching.

Then he straightens, stepping back from you, giving you more space than the line really allows for. “All day on the trout, two minutes,” he calls out, voice steady but just a touch quieter than previously.

“Yes, chef,” you answer, forcing your focus back to the plate, trying to clean up the edges from when you had accidentally tipped it a bit before. 

Even though the plate had gone out already, even though Carmy had already moved on two stations over, even though Marcus had sent out five desserts since, you can still feel the heat prickling up your neck. You try to keep your head down the rest of the night, shrinking even further in on yourself if possible.

Every time Carmy passes after that, he’s careful, announcing himself earlier, keeping his hands well clear, even when it means awkwardly leaning around you to reach something, bending in ways that would make a contortionist cringe. 

You keep your head low, still, finishing tickets, pretending that it’s just another busy night in the kitchen, that nothing is wrong, that the kitchen is just a kitchen. But you catch him glancing your way in between calls, like he’s just filing away the whole thing for later.

And by the time the final ticket goes out, when the final plates leave the pass, you know he’s going to ask.

The kitchen is stripped down to its bones, stations wiped, pots and pans cleaned and polished until they looked new, knives rolled, containers labeled for tomorrow and put away neatly, the hum of the walk-in filling the space where shouting used to be just hours before. Most of the crew has already trickled out into the alley or home. 

You’re drying your cutting board when Carmy’s voice comes from the doorway.

“Got a minute?”

You turn to face him, he’s leaning up against the frame, arms crossed, expression nearly unreadable.

“Uh, yeah, chef.”

“In the office, okay?”

You nod, swallowing, and wringing your hands, you follow him into the office. The walls feel like they’re closing in by the minute with the door half-way shut. He moves behind the desk but doesn’t sit, bracing his palms just on the edge of it like he’s struggling to hold himself up and in place.

“I don’t mean to intrude,” he says, eyes on the desk, “but, can I ask what happened earlier? Because, it wasn’t my intention to- to do anything, or like to make you uncomfortable, and I would never try to, I have a lot of respect for you, chef, and-”

“On the line?” you cut him off.

He nods, visibly swallowing. “Yes, chef.”

You force a small shrug, eyes darting to the wall behind him, then the stack of envelopes on the corner of his desk, then your shoes, anywhere but him, really. “It’s nothing, chef, really, you just- just startled me, is all.” 

“It didn’t look like nothing.” His voice is calm, but there’s something tight in it. Something knowing. It makes your stomach drop and your palms start to sweat. 

You wet your lips, pulse thudding in your ears. “It was just…reflex, chef.” 

“Reflex?”

The question hangs in the air between the two of you for a second. You twist your hands together, nails digging hard into your palms until it stings too much to continue. 

“My last place,” you say finally, your voice low enough that you almost hope he won’t catch it. But of course he does, Carmy always seems to catch everything, to pay attention to everything…at least when it’s you. 

His brows pull together, but he stays quiet, waiting, giving you the space to speak.

“The chef there…” You swallow hard, eyes darting around the room, heat crawling up the back of your neck, a chill simultaneously shooting down your spine. “He’d…He’d touch me, sometimes…However he wanted. Sometimes in front of people, sometimes alone…And- and if I pushed back, if I- if I said anything it’s like- it’s like my shifts got worse, or- or he’d-” Your throat closes up for a second, tears pricking at your eyes. “...he’d…well, it- it doesn’t matter, chef-”

“It does,” Carmy says quietly, looking up just briefly at you. “It does matter, chef.”

You nod, feeling a tear slip out onto your cheek. You wipe it away with the back of your hand before continuing. 

“You asked me why I took this job- why I wanted this job,” you start, eyes still shifting around the room, hands shaking slightly, “Well, my last night there, after service, he- he said I ‘owed him’ for where I’d gotten. He- he tried to make me…” You shake your head, unable to finish. But Carmy nods, and you can tell by the sharp look in his eyes, that he knows exactly where that sentence was going. 

“That’s when I quit,” you continue, “Didn’t even put in a two week notice, didn’t even say goodbye to anyone, I just- just walked out. Like a coward.”

Carmy’s hands curl into fists against the desk, his jaw tensing and untensing. His gaze flicks to the floor like it’s the only thing keeping him from blowing a hole right through the wall.

“You’re-” He stops, exhales sharply through his nose. “You’re no coward. That’s bravery. You’re brave, chef.” He pauses again, wiping at his face with the back of his hand and inhaling sharply like he’s just trying to stay calm and keep it together.

“That’s- that’s not fucking okay, not in my kitchen, not anywhere,” he says.

You nod, blinking hard, unable to stop the oncoming tears brimming in your waterline.

“If anyone here ever makes you feel like that, and I mean anyone, Richie, a vendor, doesn’t fucking matter who, anyone at all -you come to me. Immediately. I’ll handle it. Even- even if it’s me, you go to Natalie then, you go to Syd, whoever you’re most comfortable with, and expect no retaliation. You are a great chef, deserving of respect and deserving of an equally great and respectable kitchen.”

You give him a small nod. “Okay, chef.”

He shakes his head. “Carmy. It’s Carmy.”

You glance up at him, slightly startled. 

“You don’t owe me shit, and you don’t owe him shit, and you don’t owe anyone shit,” he says. “You just work the way you wanna work. That’s it.”

It’s not much, but the knot in your chest loosens up, just enough to take the first real breath you’ve taken in a kitchen in a long time.

Carmy watches you for a moment, like he’s making sure of it, that you’re really breathing, really steady. Then he nods once, and reaches for his pack of cigarettes on the desk, probably more out of habit than need.

“What was his name?” he asks.

You hesitate. “You don’t have to-”

“I’m not asking so I can think about it. I’m asking so I can make sure I never hear it on any article alongside any kind of praise, never hear it from another chef’s mouth unless it has the word, creep, asshole, or motherfucker, attached. Ever.” 

The word ever lands like the edge of a knife, precise, clean, certain.

You swallow hard before telling him.

Carmy doesn’t write it down, he doesn’t repeat it back, but you can see him file it away in his mind.

“Okay,” he says, voice low but resolute. “Then it’s done.” 

You almost want to ask him what exactly that means, but the tight set of his jaw tells you that there’s no point, the decision’s already been made, and whatever that decision is, is career ending. 

three weeks later, chicago

It’s a few weeks later when you hear that name again. Not from Carmy, he never brings it up, but from one of the vendors on a delivery run.

“Yeah, uh…kind of a strange thing,” the guy says, leaning on a crate of produce like it’s middle school and he’s the gossip of the cafeteria. “You ever hear of-” he says the name, casual as anything, “-head chef? Anyway, heard he was supposed to stage at Remy’s for a bit, but they suddenly uh- ‘lost his résumé’.”

The air in your lungs stutters for just a second. “Huh.”

The vendor shrugs, seemingly completely oblivious to the pit opening up in your chest. “Weird, right? Happened at two other places, too, guess the guy’s reputation, uh, seems to precede him, and whatever it is, it ain’t good.”

You glance toward the kitchen, toward Carmy at the pass, head down, calling out orders, like he’s been doing all day. He doesn’t look your way, doesn’t so much as flick his eyes toward you.

But you remember the way he’d said ‘Then it’s done.’

And you know.

You know exactly what this is.

It’s just about past midnight when the kitchen finally empties, completely scrubbed down, the last bus tub stacked, and the rest of the crew cleared out. You’re wiping the counter by the dish pit when you hear the low clinking of bottles coming from the walk-in.

Carmy steps out, his hair damp from the mop steam, sleeves shoved up to his elbows, eyes heavy. He looks like he’s running on empty.

You clear your throat and approach him before you can overthink it too much. 

“Hey, Carmy.”

He glances up at you. “Yeah, chef?”

“I, uh…” You grip the rag in your hands so tight that it might rip. “I heard about him. That he’s…not getting work, and I just-” Your voice catches in your throat for a second. “I wanted to say thank you.”

His brows furrow like you’ve just told him that you’re sorry for something that wasn’t your fault…again.

“Don’t,” he says, simply. “Don’t thank me for taking out the trash.”

“It’s not nothing,” you insist, softer now. “You really didn’t have to-”

“I did.”

The words are immediate, absolutely no hesitation to them. He leans up against a counter, eyes locked on yours like he’s making sure that you believe it, that it really sinks in. 

“It’s bare minimum. You deserved better than that then, and you deserve better now. You deserve to know he’s gone.” 

You swallow, feeling the heat creep up the back of your neck. “...Still. Thank you, Carmy.”

For a moment, his mouth twitches slightly, like he might smile, but instead he just nods at you once and pushes away from the counter.

“Get some sleep, chef, I’ll finish up here. Big day tomorrow.”

And then he’s gone. Leaving you with the faint smell of cigarettes, steel cleaner, and whatever cologne he wears, threaded through with the quiet certainty in his voice of when he said it was done. 

It’s a different kind of mark to carry, one that doesn’t ache, one that doesn’t bruise, or scar. One you almost want to keep.

Because after tonight, you know you’ll forget the other man’s name long before you forget his.

[joelsoftie]

this was such a beautiful read and also equally important to shed a light on! abuse in that industry is just way too normalised nowadays and efforts need to be made to change those ways! softie carmy has my heart as well 🥹 always trying to change

hii! i really like your writing and how you portray carmy so i was wondering if you’d write something along the lines of this: reader and carmy have been seeing each other for a few weeks and she was at the bear recently after it re opened but saw the way carmy can become so loud and almost aggressive with others and that really frightened her so she starts to overthink how he’d be at home with her and starts to only walk on eggshells around him to avoid aggravating him bc she’s almost scared of him…. carmy starts to notice and wants to find out what’s going on and she gets scared of his reaction so she panics and carmy breaks a little when he realises she’s scared of him physically and mentally…. angsty af but if you’re uncomfortable with this pls ignore me!! either way thanks for your time!!! <33

a/n: hello hello hello!! thank u so much for ur request, im super excited to keep receiving them, and i hope this is to ur liking!! :) also this was cool to get bc i work(ed) in the fine dining industry for a long time as a mixologist and sommelier and the normalization of this type of aggression in the industry is so damaging and normalized so im happy to get to touch upon the damage/impact it has on people in and outside of work. the detail about a head chef throwing a plate at someone is also true lmao, it was me, i got a plate thrown at me, and no i did not quit tl/dr hope we can break this cycle of abuse in the industry one day. thank u so so so much again! 

contains: angst, toxic kitchen culture

“Table for two?” Richie asks, eyes down looking at a screen behind the host stand, two menus in hand, before finally looking up, his eyes meeting yours. 

“Oh shit-” he says, a grin appearing on his face, “(y/n), you’re here.”

“I am,” you say, grinning back at him.

“Carm’s gonna be thrilled to see you here tonight- does he know you’re coming?”

You shake your head. “No, no, it’s a surprise. I was able to get off work last minute.” 

He nods.

“Well, let me get you a table, and then uh-,” he thinks for a moment before continuing, “you want me to send him out, or do you wanna come back and surprise him?”

“Are you sure it’d be alright if I come back? I mean, I’d love to, I’d be really excited to, I’ve never seen him like, in action before, y’know?”

“Well,” Richie starts before pausing for a moment, “It’s certainly a sight to be seen.”

You laugh. “I’m sure it is.”

Richie gives you a tight smile before guiding you to a table, exchanging some light conversation about your days on your way over and being seated. You thank him, and he disappears into the back.

A few minutes pass and you watch the hustle of the dining room, the careful rush of the front of house staff as they move between tables, and try to ignore the low hum of nerves which sit heavy in your chest. You were excited to see Carmy tonight, and you were just hoping that he would also be just as excited to see you tonight.

The restaurant is humming and alive with chatter and laughter, the soft clinking of silverware. It’s beautiful and everything looks just how Carmy had described it would be, warm lighting, the smell of herbs drifting through the air. 

You sip your water letting five minutes pass, and then ten.

Someone drops off some drink off the seasonal menu at your table and you thank them softly before taking a sip. Ginger, chai, something like brown sugar and cinnamon lining the rim, it’s delicious. 

About two minutes later Richie reappears at your table, nodding at you. “Alright, (y/n), you ready to see where the magic happens?”

You grin at him, and nod, excitement fluttering in your chest as your rise from your seat and follow him through the maze of tables, past a server station, and toward the double doors to the kitchen. As they swing open, the sound and heat hits you like a tidal wave.

Carmen is standing at the expo line, a hand running through his hair.

“No! Behind! Corner! You said it too fucking late, chef!”

“If you can’t plate it clean, don’t fucking plate it!”

“Fak, you’re on expo, not break, lock the fuck in!”

Somewhere a pan clatters to the ground and Carmen throws a Sharpie at a wall, it bounces off and falls to the floor. 

“Fuck!” 

Your heart catches mid-beat, an inhale sticking in your chest like it’s caught between your ribs. The sound, the volume, the force of his voice, it’s not like anything you’ve ever heard from Carmy before. It wasn’t the man you’ve shared mornings with, tangled in sheets and sunlight, the one who gets flustered just from you kissing him on the cheek, no, this Carmy standing in front of you is not the one you know. 

This was not your boyfriend of six months. 

You don’t actually realize that you’ve stopped dead in your tracks until Richie lightly bumps into you from behind. 

He glances over your shoulder, then quickly back at you.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath. “You alright?”

You nod, maybe just a bit too quickly, lips parting, but no sound comes out. Your mouth feels dry. 

Richie studies your face, and he sees it. The way your eyes are wide, the way your hands tremble slightly at your sides. He opens his mouth like he might say something, but Carmy turns around and notices him standing there, his brows furrowing, and then you. His face falls.

Carmy’s voice softens, visibly, audibly. 

The second his eyes land on you, it’s like a switch flips.

“(y/n)?”

He takes a few steps toward you, brows drawing together. 

“What- what are you doing here? I thought you had work?”

“I got off early,” you say, and your voice feels too small in this space. “I wanted to- I wanted to surprise you…” 

He’s close now, not quite touching you, but near enough that the scent of him, smoke, thyme, heat, wraps around you like a blanket, and he smiles. Just for a moment.

“Shit,” he says, running another hand through his hair. “That’s a…that’s a really fucking good surprise.”

You give him a weak smile back, the edges of it faltering. You give him a light kiss, but all you can hear is the echo of his voice from just moments ago.

“If you can’t plate it clean, don’t fucking plate it!”

“Lock the fuck in!”

The way he threw that Sharpie.

He notices the way that your arms cross over your stomach, the way that you take a half step back without thinking. 

His expression falls.

“You okay, baby?” he asks.

You nod, but it’s a lie.

You don’t want it to be a lie, but it is.

His gaze lingers on your, and you know that Carmy can see straight through you. You used to love that about him, that he could just seem to read you without you needing to say a thing. But right now, you ate it.

“I didn’t um- I didn’t mean to interrupt,” you say quickly, glancing past him to the line where cooks are still scrambling, heads down, too afraid or too focused, or both.

“Oh- you didn’t,” he says. “Fuck, no, I’m- I’m really glad you came. I just- uh…”

He scratches the back of his neck, breath ragged.  “It gets loud back here. It’s…it’s a lot. You okay?”

You nod again. You’re going to run out of fake nods soon.

He steps forward again, instinctively reaching for your hand, but you flinch.

It’s microscopic, barely perceptible.

But he notices, his hand hovers for just a beat before falling back at his side.

Silence wraps around both of you, thick and pressing, despite the volume of the kitchen.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, voice barely audible.

Carmy shakes his head. “No- no, really, don’t be. I’m uh- I’m glad you came.”

A voice from the line calls to him with a sharp “Heard, Chef?” from behind him, and you catch just a flicker of frustration ripple through his face before he brings his attention back to you.

“So, I’ll uh- I’ll send out some food to you, made special, with love,” he gives you a small smile, which you return, “And then uh, I’ll be out as soon as we close. Wait for me?” he asks, and it’s quiet, like he doesn’t want anyone else to hear him.

You nod. “Yeah, I’ll wait.”

He lets out a breath and gives you a gentle kiss on your forehead before turning back to the kitchen, shouting out instructions again while you slip back into the dining room.

You sit at your table for the rest of the night, barely touching your food, your stomach too twisted in knots to really eat. Richie and Natalie visit you intermittently to check in on you, Natalie sits with you for a bit and you chat about life, and the weather, new TV shows you’ve been watching, and promise to do something together soon. 

You try to listen to the hum of the restaurant, the soft music playing in the background, the murmur conversations, to distract yourself with the comfort of being in a place that Carmy built with his own two hands, but it’s hard not to flinch every time a plate clatters just a little too loud or every time that you think you might be able to faintly hear his voice rising above the noise through the kitchen doors.

And when the night ends, when the lights dim and the crowds all finally filter out, and the kitchen falls quiet, he finds you at your table.

His apron is slung over his shoulder, his curls are messy and his face is flushed from the heat of the night.

He looks at you with tired eyes, and a soft smile.

“You ready?” he asks.

You nod. 

Your apartment smells like the peppermint candle that you lit about an hour ago just trying to calm yourself down.

Carmy’s bag is at the door, his hoodie is draped over the back of the living room chair, his voice coming softly from the bathroom as he mumbles something to himself, washing his face, brushing his teeth like he always does when he sleeps over.

Like he has for the last few weeks.

Like everything is normal.

And you know that it is, technically, everything is.

This is probably how it always is, how he always is, every night, before he comes home to you.

But it still feels different tonight.

Because tonight? You saw it.

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, phone in hand, screen dim, just pretending to scroll. The room is quiet except for the faint hum of the bathroom fan and the occasional creak of the floorboards when Carmy shifts his weight in the bathroom.

You keep replaying it in your head.

The sound of his voice.

The sharpness of it.

The way everyone in the kitchen just snapped to attention, like they all knew better than to hesitate.

You’d never actually seen anyone afraid of Carmy before, you didn’t even think it was possible.

But tonight? You saw it, and now, it’s all you can feel.

The bathroom light flicks off, and you lock your phone, placing it face down on the nightstand. He walks out, barefoot, shitless, his hair is damp and curling at the ends, a little messy.

It’s all so familiar, almost comforting. 

The scent of his shampoo and steam from the shower curls into your bedroom. 

He looks at you with a gentle look in his eyes. 

“You wanna put something on?” he asks, motioning to the laptop in his other hand. “Something dumb, maybe? How about that trash daring show you like?”

You nod, smiling weakly. “Sounds good, Carmy.”

He sits down next to you on the bed, the mattress dipping just slightly beneath his weight. His thigh brushes against yours, just barely, but it’s enough to make your shoulders stiffen.

You don’t mean to, it’s instinct.

But it’s enough, enough for him to notice. Enough for him to feel it. 

Carmy doesn’t say anything to you right away, he just opens the laptop, pulling up Netflix, and clicks play. The familiar music starts up, some ridiculous stock music sounding tune that mimics almost exactly the dialogue being said by some contestant, bright and unserious, and he adjusts the screen, settling back against the headboard next to you.

You stay sitting upright, legs crossed, arms folded tight over your chest.

The light from the laptop dances across both of your faces, but neither of you are really watching.

He turns his head just slightly toward you, and you can feel the weight of his gaze on you before he even speak.s

“You’re really quiet,” he murmurs.

You nod. “Sorry- just tired.”

It’s a lie. 

He sets the laptop down on the nightstand and turns the volume off, the room instantly falling into a deeper kind of stillness, it makes you tense. 

“Can we talk?”

Your stomach ties into knots, but you nod again. 

He draws one leg up, facing you more directly, his voice is soft, but strained.

“I know what you saw tonight scared you.”

You say nothing, eyes fixed on a wrinkle in the comforter.

“I’ve been doing this for so long I just-,” he continue, hesitating for a moment, “-I don’t even realize how I sound sometimes, I guess. I- I get this like, this tunnel vision. I stop thinking about how I come off, and fuck, it’s- it’s not an excuse, I know, but it’s the truth.”

You still can’t meet his eyes.

“I never wanted you to see that, that part of me,” he says. “Not because I was hiding it, I mean, fuck, I never want to hide anything from you. I just…I guess I hoped it wouldn’t matter, that you’d know that it just…it isn’t me.”

Your voice is quiet when it finally comes. “But it- it is you, isn’t it?”

You can see his face actively fall, can almost hear his stomach drop.

He looks down at his hands, flexing his fingers slowly.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

There’s a long pause before you continue.

“I’ve just…never seen you that angry before. I didn’t think you could be. Not like that.”

He swallows hard.

“I don’t want you to think I’d be like that with you, ever, okay, I’d never-”

“I know,” you say quickly, too quickly. You glance up at him. “I know you wouldn’t, but it’s not- it’s not really about that, Carmy. It’s not about knowing, it’s about feeling. And tonight? I guess…I felt scared, and now I just…I don’t know how to stop.”

He can feel his heart shatter in his chest.

He breathes in sharply, and you can feel yourself tense up and pull back from him, just slightly. 

That single movement, your body pulling back, even just a little, it feels like a fucking knife to his heart. 

It doesn’t matter that you don’t mean it, it doesn’t matter that it’s maybe not even permanent. Because it still happened.

And Carmy felt it like it was the loudest thing in the room.

He sits perfectly still for a moment, like he’s afraid that any sort of movement he makes might just make it worse.

Then, slowly, he exhales. It’s long and quiet, like he’s trying to breathe out all of the pain in his chest.

“Fuck,” he says under his breath, his voice cracking. “I really…I really messed this up, didn’t I?”

You shake your head. “You didn’t-” but your voice falters, and you stop. You try again. “Carmy- I…I promise you it’s not that simple.”

He nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I know…I know, I’m sorry.”

The silence stretches between you again.

“I just…,” Carmy starts again, his words fragile, “I didn’t think about what it would mean. You seeing that side of all of it- I just…I guess, I’ve been doing it for so long, I forgot that it’s not…not normal.”

You let out a soft, unsteady breath. “It’s not.”

He lets your words linger in the air for a moment.

It’s not.

“I know,” he says again, but this time quieter, heavier. “I know it’s not. But for a long time, I really- I really did…I mean, I thought it was.”

You glance at him, not entirely certain of where he might be going with this, but you nod at him with a soft smile, as if to say ‘go on, I’m listening’.

He presses forward, taking a deep breath.

“When I started out,” he says, slowly, like he’s peeling back the layers of an onion, “I was just trying to survive, you know? First few kitchens I worked in…man, they were- they were just fucking brutal. Guys screaming in your fucking face over a half-second mistake, pans thrown across the line, just, fucked up shit being screamed, thrown around, everywhere…I watched a guy throw an entire plate at someone’s head once because the garnish was wrong.” He huffs a bitter, humorless laugh, shaking his head, and your heart aches for him. “And no one even fucking flinched. Like that was just…that was just Tuesday, or some shit.”

Your breath catches a little, and you instinctively wrap your arms around yourself.

Carmy notices. He’s quiet for a moment before continuing.

“I hate it at first, just fucking, hated it. I told myself I’d never turn into that, never- never be like that. But you keep your head down, learn to move fast, not talk back, say ‘yes, chef,’ and just- just learn to fucking take it. And then eventually, you start believing that it’s just part of the job. That being treated like…like shit is just the- the cost of wanting to be good, the best.”

You nod slowly. “Because they told you if you can’t take it then you- then you don’t belong there…”

His eyes lift to meet yours. “Exactly.”

“And I guess…I guess I thought,” he says, voice lower now, “that I could just bring the good parts of all that back here. To The Bear. You know, like, the work ethic. The precision, the pride, all that bullshit…But I didn’t realize how much of the bad came with it. How much of it had already just…fucking, poisoned everything.” 

You nod again, your voice soft. “Like muscle memory.”

“Yeah,” he runs a hand through his hair. “It’s like…I hear myself shouting, and I know I sound like the guys who used to make me feel like- feel like I was just fucking shit, you know? Like just- just fucking worthless…But in the moment? I’m just trying to keep the place running. And it doesn’t really feel like it’s- like it’s that when you’re the one doing it…It just feels like…survival.”

You shift a little, not away, just settling in closer, still cautious.

“I think about the people who trained me,” he continues. “People I looked up to, and I realize now they…they were all just passing down shit that was done to them. It’s like this whole fucking industry is just one giant fucked-up game of telephone. Like, screaming turns into normal, normal turns into silence, and silence just turns into- into ‘yes, chef’.”

He laughs again, but there’s no humor in it.

“I’m so fucking…I’m just so fucking tired of it. Of thinking that if I just yell louder, or move faster, or push harder, everything will just- just fall into place, but it…it doesn’t. It just makes everyone afraid. And now…” He looks at you. “Now I’ve made you afraid.”

There’s a very long pause, then your voice comes, gentle but firm.

“I think you’re right. That you brought the good parts back with you…But you also brought the ghosts…”

Carmy nods, slowly.

“I want to let them go,” he whispers. “I just…don’t know how to.”

You look at him, and something inside you softens, you can see how much he really means it. How much he hates what he’s become, or maybe what he’s realizing he already was.

“You don’t have to know exactly how,” you say, just above a whisper. “But you have to try. You have to want to be different. Even when it’s hard. Even when no one else is.”

His eyes glisten, and he nods again.

“I do,” he says. “I really really do…I want to be different. For you. For me. For the people in that kitchen- the people…the people that I love.”

You feel yourself go rigid for a moment, you’d been seeing each other for a while now, but you haven’t said that to each other yet. You knew you felt it. You were pretty sure he felt it too, but it just hadn’t been said yet. 

You turn to look at him.

“Love?”

He blinks, like he didn’t even realize he’d said it until the word was out.

“Shit,” he says, his voice small. “I- yeah. Yeah, I- fuck.” He exhales, rubbing the heel of his palm against his brow. “I didn’t mean to just- to drop that on your like this, I just…”

He looks over at you, searching for something in your face, maybe a sign that you’re going to leave, shut it down, break it off.

But you don’t.

You’re still.

“I…I love you too, Carmy.” 

Carmy goes still, like the words just completely stop him in place.

You can see how much it takes for him to stay there, to not run from the weight of everything that he’s feeling. He’s not used to this part. The softness, the staying…the understanding. 

“I love you,” he says, voice shaking. “I don’t want to fuck this up.”

“I know,” you whisper. “But you might, and I might, and that’s just…that’s just a part of it.”

He nods, slowly, you reach for his hand, and close it around his.

“But, I trust you,” you say, “and that…that’s enough. I love you, and I trust that.” 

Carmy doesn’t respond right away, just holds your hand like it’s the first solid thing he’s touched in his life.

His thumb brushes against the back of your fingers.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he murmurs.

You smile, small and soft. “It’s not about deserving, it’s about deciding, making an active choice. To choose to do better. To choose each other…And I choose you.”

He exhales, slow and shaky, like he’s been holding it in for years.

“Then…Then I’m gonna keep choosing you, too,” he says. “Every damn day, I choose you.”

You lean in, letting your forehead press against his, your fingers laced together between you, with the comfort of knowing that whatever Carmy chooses that you know he will always take the effort to make sure that it’s the right choice. 

The crash echoes through the kitchen, ceramic on the tile, sharp and sudden.

A plate.

You look up from your book which you had been reading on the bench by the lockers, just waiting for Carmy’s shift to end so you could go out together afterwards.

For a moment, everyone freezes, and all eyes seem to flick to Carmy.

And Carmy…just breathes. 

His eyes look down to the shards on the ground, then back up, searching the kitchen.

“Everyone good?” he asks, his voice is even, firm, just loud enough to be heard. “Not cuts?”

A murmur of “yes, chefs”.

“Cool, let’s clean it up then, keep moving.”

And just like that, the spell breaks, the line keeps rolling.

Behind him, everyone exchanges looks, subtle, but there’s something in it.

Relief…Respect.

Carmy makes his way over to you, puts his hand on your shoulder.

You look up to him. “Oh my god, ew, Carmy, stop, you’re gonna get your grease on me!”

He laughs, a genuine grin on his face, and it’s for you.

“Sorry, plan to be out in an hour, you good until then?” he asks, still smiling down at you.

You nod, putting your hand over his on your shoulder.

He presses his lips to your forehead before turning and walking back toward the kitchen. 

“Alright, chefs, good job tonight so far, only an hour til close, let’s get this done!” 

“Yes chef!” 

You turn back to your book, the rhythm of the kitchen behind you, and smile, because this time, it doesn’t sound like chaos. It just sounds like Carmy.

[joelsoftie]

literally sobbing so hard, this was PURE COMFORT!!! need me a man like joel fr

hiiii! i have a request for joel miller but if you’re uncomfy with it pls just ignore me!!

basically joel and reader have been together for a few months now in jackson and one evening joel comes home from work around town and reader has been anxious all day and overthinking that joel’s gonna wanna be intimate bc she absolutely doesn’t want to but she’d be willing to do something for him so he doesn’t get mad (she’s traumatised from past men) and maybe he notices her anxiety right when he comes home and asks and reader kinda just starts crying and is scared he’s gonna leave her if she doesn’t comply bc she’s used to that behaviour and joel goes all protective mode and reassures her all sweetly that he’d never do that, that she’s safe with him and that he doesn’t want her to force her to do anything ever etc etc

if that’s weird pls don’t mind me!! either way thank you 🥹

You Don’t Have to

PAIRING: Joel Miller x reader

WORD COUNT: 848| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist | Pedro Pascal Masterlist II

Joel Miller Masterlist

You’d been wound up tight since noon.

It started as a whisper in the back of your mind,just a little hum of nervousness when you looked at the clock and remembered Joel would be home around six. But then came the thoughts. The doubts. The spiral.

You love him. God, you love him. But still, your body tenses when you think of him pressing up behind you. You’ve been intimate a few times, and Joel has never hurt you. Never rushed. Never demanded. But the fear doesn’t care about logic. About what’s real.

It just remembers the way others had taken what they wanted and left you shaking.

So now, as the sun begins to set and your hands tremble while washing a dish you didn’t even eat from, you try to convince yourself you’re fine. That maybe if he wants to tonight, you’ll just get through it. Just… make it happen fast.

He’ll be tired. He won’t notice how stiff you are. Right?

The door creaks open behind you.

You flinch.

“Hey, darlin’,” Joel says softly. You can hear the smile in his voice.

You shut off the sink, grip the counter, and take a breath before turning. “Hey.”

Joel’s brow furrows almost immediately when he sees you. “You okay?”

You nod too fast. “Yeah, just tired. How was your day?”

He steps closer, slow and cautious like he’s already sensing something’s off. “Long. Fixed up the perimeter with Tommy. Could use a shower, then maybe we can,” he pauses, eyes flicking to yours, voice gentling even more. “What is it?”

“I’m fine,” you repeat, voice tight. You try to smile. You don’t succeed.

Joel frowns now. “You’re not.”

And when he walks toward you again, you shrink back half an inch before you can stop yourself.

It’s that little movement that breaks something.

You press a hand over your mouth. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, but the tears are already coming. “I’m so sorry.”

“Woah, hey.” Joel’s voice drops low and steady, like honey smoothing over cracked stone. “C’mere.”

You can’t move. You shake your head, shoulders curling in.

“I don’t,” your voice breaks. “I’m scared you’re gonna be mad at me.”

Joel’s whole face falls. “What? Mad about what, baby?”

You cover your eyes. “If I don’t… do anything. If I say no. I just,I thought if you came home and wanted to and I didn’t want to, you’d leave. Or get mad. Or shut down.”

It all pours out of you. Shaking hands. Hot cheeks. A crumbling wall you didn’t know you were still holding up.

Joel’s already wrapping you up in his arms. One hand on your back, the other cradling your head like you’re glass he’s terrified of cracking.

“Hey. Hey, shh. Sweetheart. Look at me.”

You can’t, not yet. You sob into his chest.

He doesn’t rush you.

“Listen to me real close now,” he murmurs into your hair. “You don’t ever,ever,have to do anything you don’t want to do. Not with me. Not with anybody. And especially not just ‘cause you’re scared I’ll be mad.”

You sniffle. “But what if,what if you do want to, and I,don’t? What if that makes me a bad partner?”

Joel pulls back just enough to cup your face in his big, calloused hand. His eyes are so gentle it hurts.

“You being honest with me? Telling me what you feel? That makes you the best kind of partner,” he says. “I don’t want your body if your heart ain’t safe in it. I want you. All of you. That includes your no’s, your fears, your off-days.”

Your lip wobbles again.

“I won’t lie,” he goes on softly. “Of course I like bein’ close to you. But I’d rather hold you for a thousand nights than touch you once if it means you’re hurting. You hear me?”

You nod against his hand. “I just get scared. I know you’re not them. I do. But sometimes my body forgets.”

His jaw ticks.

“I get that,” he says. “More than you know.”

And something in his tone,his haunted gaze,makes you realize maybe he’s not just talking about you. Maybe Joel’s known that fear. That betrayal.

He leans his forehead to yours.

“You’re safe with me. Always.”

A shiver runs through you,not from fear, but from the way his voice wraps around your broken parts like warmth.

Joel pulls you into a slow, grounding hug. You melt into it.

After a long beat, you whisper, “You’re really not mad?”

“Not even a little bit,” he says. “Only thing I’m mad about is that someone made you think you had to earn love like that.”

You exhale, your muscles beginning to finally loosen. “Can we just lie down? Just,sleep?”

“Hell yeah,” he murmurs. “C’mon, baby.”

He guides you to bed, doesn’t even change out of his jeans before pulling you against his chest under the covers. One arm under your head, the other splayed over your ribs, his thumb drawing lazy lines against your side.

“You’re safe,” he whispers again.

And for the first time all day,you believe him.

[joelsoftie]

knight in shining armor

pairing: carmy berzatto x reader

summary: you knew carmy would do anything for you in theory. when your abusive ex-boyfriend shows up at the bear, you learn carmy has zero hesitations when it comes to protecting you.

word count: 2k

warnings: mentions of abusive ex, violence (very minor and not graphic)

“God, I cannot wait to finally go home.” You groaned to Sydney as you cleaned down your station for the night. It had been an especially rough night at the Bear. “Tell me about it,” she responded, laughing to herself.

Carmy walked by the two of you, catching your attention. “I mean, nevermind, I love it here so much. Please, don’t fire me.” You teased sarcastically, glancing over at Carmy.

His lips curved upwards. He tried to hide the way that your sense of humor always brought a smile to his face. But he wasn’t as discreet as he thought he was.

“Don’t worry. This place couldn’t run without you.” Carmy joked. Sydney glanced between the both of you, noticing the pink tint on Carmy’s cheeks. She had to fight the urge to tell you both to get a room.

“Hey guys, Fak left early. Can one of you guys run this check out to table 13?” Richie called out. You quickly nodded and set down your towel. “Sure, Richie. I can do it.” You volunteered, taking it out of Richie’s hand.

You walked out to the one table with guests left: three men sitting in a corner booth. You heard them all deeply chuckling, fully focused on their conversation.

“Thank you for dining with us tonight. I just wanted to drop this off—” you started to say but froze when your eyes landed on one of the men.

It was your ex-boyfriend Anthony, well not just your ex-boyfriend, your abusive ex-boyfriend.

You felt a shiver run down your spine. His cold dark eyes stared back at you, leaving you with a sense of powerlessness.

The check fell out of your hands and clattered onto the table, hitting the silverware. Your only instinct was to run to safety.

Carmy was your safety. He was the only one you’d ever told about Anthony. He was the only thought in your head. You spun on your heel and headed back towards the kitchen.

You felt like the room was spinning around you. Your hands started shaking. You felt unsteady on your feet, like the ground could be ripped out from under you at any moment.

You stumbled into the kitchen, your anxiety clouding the noise in the room. You saw Carmy and Sydney having a conversation and laughing, but you couldn’t hear any of the words, only mumbles.

You ran to Carmy’s side. He turned to face you with a smile, about to explain whatever he and Sydney were talking about, but he noticed the panic in your eyes.

You breathlessly mumbled the word “Anthony,” hoping it was enough to jog his memory. Carmy furrowed his eyebrows at you, wondering if he’d misheard you.

It’d been years since you told Carmy about Anthony, so the name was far back in his memory.

The kitchen doors slammed open, smacking against the walls. Pots clattered onto the floor, falling off a shelf near the door. You jumped backwards, your heart starting to race.

Anthony stomped into the kitchen, and you could see the recognition in Carmy’s eyes.

Carmy grabbed your wrist and tugged you behind him. You cowered behind Carmy, not able to look at Anthony.

“Get the fuck out of here. I want you out of my fucking restaurant, you piece of shit.” Carmy yelled, snapping his fingers and pointing towards the door.

Sydney walked up next to Carmy, confused by all the chaos. “Yo, what the fuck is going on?” Sydney asked, looking at Carmy for an answer. Sydney’s gaze bounced between the rugged man standing in the doorway and Carmy’s death grip on your hand.

The pit in your stomach felt like it was going to swallow you whole. You kept your eyes focused on the floor, trying to convince yourself it was just a nightmare.

“Get this fuckhead out of here. Nobody lets him in ever again, you hear me? Where the fuck is Richie? Richie?!?” Carmy yelled, as the majority of the staff came walking into the kitchen from the locker room.

The silence of the room rang in your ears. Marcus jogged up next to you and Carmy. He’d immediately recognized the panic in your face and rushed to help.

Anthony lurched forward, attempting to grab your hand away from Carmy.

Carmy used his free hand to slap him away. “You don’t get to fucking touch her. You will leave her the fuck alone.” Carmy screamed. His face was bright red, his jaw clenched. Carmy was a fiercely loyal guy, but it was to an even higher degree when it was you.

It was only then that Anthony spoke. His words ran through your chest, making all your muscles feel tight. “You really have this little fucker whipped for you. Little manipulative bitch at it again.” Anthony yelled. His words seemed to hang in the air.

You got up the courage to look over Carmy’s shoulder, and you saw Anthony staring back at you.

Then, he turned his attention to Carmy. “Hey, short stuff, unless you’re her little boyfriend, I suggest you stay out of this conversation. It’s frankly none of your business.” He spoke, and Carmy’s grip on your wrist tightened.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go talk.” Anthony said, holding his hand out to you.

Carmy moved his hand to the small of your back and nudged you to stand behind Sydney. She wrapped her arm around your back, holding you close to her as Carmy stepped towards Anthony.

“Listen up, you bastard. She’s not going anywhere with you, and if I ever see you within a block of my restaurant again, I’ll kick your ass.” Carmy threatened.

You realized what he was doing. He was doing everything in his power to keep Anthony’s attention off of you.

It didn’t work. Anthony ignored Carmy and continued staring at you. “You got yourself a little boy toy here? He acts like your fucking protector and savior, and in return, what? You let him fuck you every now and then? Trust me, dickhead, the sex isn’t that good. You can find better. Nobody needs a little slut like her.” Anthony scoffed down at Carmy.

Anthony smirked, when he saw Carmy clench his jaw.

Before you could even process what Anthony said, Carmy punched him in the face, and Anthony fell back against the wall.

Richie finally emerged from the back door after Tina had gone to get him. “I wouldn’t recommend that.” Richie said, pulling the gun out of his waistband before Anthony could jump towards Carmy.

Richie wouldn’t use it, but Anthony didn’t know that.

“Get the fuck out of my restaurant.” Carmy snapped as Anthony ran towards the front door and his friends ran after him.

Carmy spun on his heel and pulled you into his arms. He cradled your body, comfortingly running his hands up and down your back. “It’s okay. It’s okay. He’s gone.” He whispered in your ear.

The room was silent as everyone processed what’d just happened.

“Richie, can you give us a ride back to my place? She can stay on my couch tonight.” Carmy asked softly.

Richie quickly nodded and grabbed his car keys as you both followed him to the car.

Carmy sat in the backseat with you, keeping your hand tightly in his. He was the best friend you’d ever had. He cared about you more than he could explain, which was partially due to his unconfessed feelings.

You didn’t utter a single word on the drive to Carmy’s apartment. Carmy quickly thanked Richie for the ride as he brought you upstairs. He was very aware of the glossy look in your eyes. He recognized and understood the trauma response better than anyone.

He held the front door open for you, keeping his hand protectively on the small of your back. “You want me to start the shower for you?” He asked you softly. You gave him a weak nod and followed him through his bedroom.

You waited silently as he set out a towel and everything you needed. “I’ll order some dinner while you take a shower, okay? Let me know if you need anything.” He said, giving your shoulder a soft squeeze.

You stayed in the shower extra long, letting the hot water run over you. You’d felt grimy since Anthony looked at you, so you hoped you could wash off the feeling.

You finally got out of the shower and dried yourself. You slipped your bra and underwear back on and caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror.

You don’t know what about it set you off. Maybe it was the defeated look in your eyes staring back at you. You felt like you were in the past again. You’d spent so many hours staring in the mirror at bruises Anthony had left on you. All the memories you’d forced into a box were spilling out.

You sunk down to the floor, cradling your legs in your chest. The tears poured out of you, and your whole body shook.

Carmy glanced down at his phone, realizing it’d been a while since he heard the water turn off. He cautiously walked over to the bathroom and softly hit his knuckles against the wooden door. “You doing okay?” He mumbled through the door.

You tried to respond but no words would come out. Your muscles stayed rigid, no matter how much you wanted to stand and open the door.

Carmy opened the door a crack, making sure you were okay.

He saw you curled up on the floor with splotchy cheeks and watery eyes. He felt his heart break. He quickly rushed towards you and picked you up bridal style off the ground.

You normally would have been self-conscious of Carmy seeing you in your underwear, but you were so detached that you almost didn’t notice.

Carmy’s eyes didn’t linger anywhere that wasn’t your eyes. He set you down on the side of his bed, and then quickly grabbed some clothes out of his dresser.

He lifted your hands up in the air and slipped one of his sweatshirts over your head. He grabbed the matching pair of sweatpants and slid your feet through the leg holes.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, as he helped you stand, so he could pull the sweatpants up to your waist and tie the strings.

You stayed completely still, still clinging to him. He wrapped his arms protectively around your waist. “You hungry?” He whispered. You simply shook your head.

“C’mere,” he said, guiding to his bed where he pulled back the covers for you to climb in. He crawled in to sit next to you. He turned on the tv and put on one of your comfort shows.

You leaned over, resting your head on his shoulder. He smiled down at you, running his fingers through your hair.

He didn’t know what to say. There was nothing he could say to fix this.

“Carmy?” You said, your voice coming out weak and fragile.

“Yeah, honey? What’s wrong?” He asked. He’d never called you a pet name before, but it just slipped out. “What if he comes back?” You croaked, your voice cracking.

He pressed a kiss against your temple. “He won’t come back, but if he did, I would keep you safe again. I promise, okay?” He assured you. He waited for you to respond and saw you fighting back tears.

“You risked your life for me. I don’t know how to thank you.” You mumbled, unable to meet his gaze.

He quickly shook his head, dismissing it. “You don’t need to thank me. I'd do anything for you.” He said.

Carmy was in disbelief that he’d actually been able to admit that after all these years. You paused and looked up at him, picking your head up off his shoulder.

You softly placed your hand on his face, cupping his cheek. His eyes glanced down at your lips.

You were worried he’d hear how fast your heart was beating as you leaned in and pressed your lips against his. He kissed you back gently, with a delicateness you’d never seen from him.

He rested his hand on your hip. You felt weightless when his lips were on yours.

You both pulled away slowly. You searched his eyes for any sign of regret. All you saw was the giant smile on his face. “I’ve been waiting a long time to do that.” He said, pressing a kiss to your temple.

taglist: @laurakirsten0502 @miraclesoflove @nathaliabakes @millipop18 @lillyssh-tposts @shyinadarkplace @vanteguccir @missroro @guacam011y @sw33t-cupid @ice-dtae @leyannrae @sia2raw @nyx2021 @just-a-littlebit-of-everything @shyconversationalbookworm @shadowhuntyi @visenyaverse @ruzannetheseahorse @superdeath @wandaswifeyforlifey @spookyqueen @mcuswhore @princess-evans-addict @n3ssm0nique @peakascum @cjand10 @namsey1987 @supernaturalstilinski @stephv213 @warriormirkwood @one-sweet-gubler @narliesstuff @bibissparkles @stupiidfrogs @navs-bhat @marvelcasey05 @velyssaraptor @amanda08319 @mattsfavbigtitties @the-sylver-dragon @0-n-1-x @princesssunderworld @khxna

Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist for all my fics or for a specific character/fandom!!

[joelsoftie]

can we get their first intense argument after they’re official. like they’ve had little spats here and there but nothing crazy but now they’re really upset with one another and she flinches while they’re arguing, obviously carmy would never hurt her but we’ve seen on the show he can get real angry and that just triggers her

Warnings: Arguing, descriptions of a previous abusive relationship (not with Carmy), angsty ending (for now…)

The Bear and The Bean universe

You had flinched.

He had thrown his hands up in frustration and on the other side of the room you had flinched.

The two of you had been arguing over a stupid thing that he couldn’t even remember anymore, he had thrown his hands up in frustration, and on the other side of the room you had flinched.

You had flinched because of him. You had thought that he was going to hit you.

That tiny gesture from you doused his anger quicker than water on a flame, replacing it with concern for you and guilt that you had even briefly thought that he would hurt you. Eyebrows pinched together, he stepped towards you, seeking to comfort you; his heart plummeted when you stepped backwards on instinct.

You were crying now, choked staccato sobs that you were trying to get under control as you stared at the ground, arms curled around yourself like armour. He wanted so badly to wrap you in his arms, to wipe away your tears, but that wasn’t what you needed from him then. Even in his fear and panic, he knew that you weren’t really there with him in that moment.

You were miles and years away, in your old apartment, with your old boyfriend, the one who taught you to flinch.

Keeping his distance, his hands held up in surrender, Carmy tried to bring you back to the present.

“Baby, please, I- fuck, I wasn’t going to, I’d never- I’m so sorry-”

“Get out.”

Your voice was tiny, terrified. He could see you shaking and his arms ached with the need to hold you, to make it all better.

“Baby-”

You couldn’t even look at him, your hands in fists at your sides.

“I need you to get out.”

He wasn’t sure when he had begun to cry too but his eyes stung with tears. Desperate to do the right thing, he nodded.

“Okay. Okay, I’ll do that. Just…just please call me so we can talk? I…I want to fix this, baby.”

You managed to nod and he clung to the gesture like a lifeline, a hope in hell that this would work out.

“Thank you. Thank you.” Desperate to prove to you that you were safe with him, that you were always safe with him, he rummaged in the pocket of his jeans. “Look, I’ll…I’ll leave my key right here, okay? You call me when you want and I’ll pick up and we can talk.”

You didn’t acknowledge that he had spoken, still as a statue in the middle of the living room. He knew that there was nothing more that he could do in that moment, that he had to leave and trust that you would call when you were ready.

As soon as the apartment door clicked shut behind him, your sobs echoed through the wood.

[joelsoftie]

the constant hate wave against pedro right now is really pissing me off and what people have been saying about him is downright ridiculous and disgusting. this man has been nothing but kind, thoughtful and respectful with ANYONE that’s ever been near him and i’m so sick of the “pedro is a p*do” narrative bc it’s so fucking wrong and also diminishes the rising amount of actual predators in the industry. people nowadays can’t grasp the concept of women actually feeling safe and comfortable around a man without thinking there’s gotta be something wrong when every single woman that’s ever been in contact with pedro has stated again and again that they have felt the absolute safest with him and always praised him to be a perfect man. pedro would never ever touch anyone (let alone a woman) if he knew they didn’t want it or felt unsafe. i’m so sick of people comparing him to diddy or whoever else just to jump on the hate train and get a few likes. not to mention all this touching between pedro and vanessa right now is literally PR for fantastic 4 but men can’t grasp the concept of consensual touching bc it doesn’t fit their own fucked up narrative.

[joelsoftie]

another beautiful chapter of my fav series, so so happy to have it back!! EVERYONE GO READ it’s so gut wrenching but also beautifully written it’s a masterpiece 🥹💖

✨Saving What Was Lost Part 9: Stay✨

Pre-Outbreak! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist

A/N: I’ve been a little busy the past few months focusing on my book, but I’m excited I finally had time to write a little for this series 🩵 I love these two so much, and I hope you enjoy! We’re getting into Joel’s angst in this chapter.

Chapter Summary: You get a glimpse into Joel’s past and realize he might be just as broken as you.

Rating: 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 5.5k

Tags: Grief, flashbacks, soft! Joel, grieving Joel, angst, feelings, fluff, dual POV, age gap (reader late 20’s, Joel late 40’s), slow burn

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

  January’s cold, with light snowflakes glistening on the ground outside. But today, it’s warm inside. The fire pops, shrouding the room in a blanket of heat, while the trees howl outside the windows. 

   It’s Friday. Nothing’s on Joel’s schedule. Not even Tommy’s blowing up his phone. It’s just peaceful, a bit silent, draped in muted tranquility. But also, there’s something in the air, tingling along your arm like electricity. Something new. Something untouched. Something… warm. 

   “C’mere. Wanna show you something,” Joel says from across the way, leaning against the fireplace. He’s all warm, like usual. A small smile curled across his lips. Brown eyes slipping over you. A green flannel pulled across his cords of muscle. Greying locks all tousled from his hands. It makes you almost breathless. 

   You tilt your head and lay the book flat on the couch, your eyes brimming with curiosity. “What is it?”

   “A surprise,” he says, flashing you a white smile across the room. 

   Pressing your lips together, you frown, but only a little. “You know I don’t like—”

   He interjects and looks at you, softening his crinkling eyes. “You trust me?”

   There’s that question again. The one that makes your stomach flip. Makes you somersault all the way to his glittering brown eyes. 

   You swallow and nod slowly. “Yes.”

   Tugging on a grin, he tilts his head and starts walking toward the long hallway. “C’mon, then. Got something you might like.”

   Slowly, you trail after him, keeping a faint distance, but also following right on his heels like a cat, tiptoeing over solid wooden floors and flitting by framed photos. 

   He stops at the end of the hall, right in front of his office. The one he keeps shut all the time. Two solid mahogany doors polished and dusted, with golden doorknobs and invisible signs that must say to keep the door closed. But there he is, pushing them wide open, allowing you to step through into his space.

   “Well, here we are,” he says as you pass through the doors, your eyes wide at the scene.

   “This is… Wow. This is your office?” you ask, your jaw dropped as you map out his large office. 

   “Mhm,” he chuckles. “Figured you might wanna look through the bookshelves in here. Almost forget about them sometimes.”

   Your eyes trail over the dark wood of the walls, framed pictures of lakes and deer in thick forests hanging high above. There’s a large mahogany desk in the back corner that’s littered with papers, an open laptop, ink pens, and a pair of glasses. A small reading area sits tucked away in the right hand side of the room, a couple pillows pressed against the clear window that overlooks the side of the house—trees and acres of land to map out Joel’s space. But what gets you the most are the large, expensive bookcases that line the back walls. All filled with various types. Some full of color, some old with a light coat of dust on the pages, some brand new with a film of shine. 

   It’s incredible. This is exactly somewhere you’d hang out. Maybe when Joel’s up late working a case. You could just curl up in the corner by the window seat, watch over the top of a book while he smooths his face with his hand, peels his eyes open with the sip of his black coffee. You think you’d like that. Staying up with him, keeping him company. Maybe he wouldn’t be so stressed then. Maybe he could finally just relax for a bit. 

   “These are all yours?” you ask as you trail your hand over the colorful spines, astounded at the texts he has sitting here, waiting to be read.

   “All mine.” There’s a smile you hear in his light tone. It makes tingles run down your arms.

   “Joel… this is incredible,” you breathe as you pull out a book on the history of Ireland, fingers brushing against the pristine pages of dark green land.

   “Quite the collection, yeah?” he asks, amused as he slides in next to you, dragging his fingers over the polished shelves.

   “Yeah…”

   “Well, it’s yours now, too.”

   Your mouth drops open as you snap your head to the side, almost dropping the book in surprise. “What did you say?”

   He smiles, a saccharine expression framing his brown eyes. “Pick anything you like, sweetheart. They’re as much yours as they are mine.”

   “Joel…”

   Brushing it off, he tilts his head to the side, encouraging you to venture in his office. “Well, go on, sweetheart. They’re waitin’ for you.”

   They’re waiting for you. He means the books, but it almost sounds like he’s waiting too, for you.

   Swallowing, you pad across the room, eagerly slipping books from the shelves, till you have a stack against your chest. Joel chuckles when he turns and sees you carrying the large load. His eyes are all sparkling and soft, just like they always are when he looks at you. You can’t help but to smile back at him and blush. Has he always made you feel this warm? You guess he has. Even from that first night he saved you, he’s always been so fucking soft for you, you think. 

   When you turn, you still at the edge of his desk when a glint of a smile catches your eye. Setting the books on the edge, you tiptoe over to the shiny glass and pick up a picture that’s framed in a golden hue. The glass spotless, like he wipes it of dust every hour of each day. 

   You ghost your fingers over the untainted glass and swallow as your eyes peel over the picture. There’s Joel. A few years younger, wearing a soft white T-shirt and blue jeans, standing in front of a planetarium sign. He’s all smiles, his eyes glowing, hair all tousled. And there’s a little girl standing next to him, holding up a hand with one arm wrapped around his back. She’s got short brown hair tied up halfway, hazel eyes that favor mostly green, freckles dusted across her nose, and a rock and roll T-shirt donned against black shorts. 

   “Who’s this?” 

   Joel turns his head, his eyes falling to the picture you’re holding like it’s fragile and delicate. “Oh. That’s umm, Ellie,” he says carefully as he pads up beside you, his eyes flicking to the picture that’s in your hands. 

   “Is she yours?” you ask cautiously. 

   “She… was mine.” He takes the picture from your grasp and runs his thumb along the outer glass, tracing her face like she was the most important light in his life, besides Sarah.

   “Was?” You tilt your head and look up to find his eyes glistening with held back tears. 

   “Was…” he whispers faintly, like he’s afraid to speak it into existence. 

   You continue staring at him, waiting for something to happen. Waiting for the pin to drop. But you think it might’ve already hit the floor. 

   His mouth forms into a tight line as he speaks. “I found her in a shipping container when I was on a job. She was all alone and scared. Twelve-years-old. Only three years younger than Sarah. Found out she was in foster care, and I jus’ didn’t have the heart to take her back to that. So, I adopted her.”

   You move a little closer and lean into the mahogany desk, right where he’s at, still staring into the glass like it’ll come to life. 

   “God, that girl was a troublemaker,” he chuckles, shaking his tousled hair out. “Always getting into stuff, always so fascinated by everything. Couldn’t get that girl to be still for a second.” 

   “Sounds like you were fond of her,” you smile as your eyes flick up to his. 

   He glances over at you and nods. “Yeah. She got on my nerves, but I really loved that girl.” 

   I really loved that girl. The words stick to your skin like summer sweat. You blink up at him and wait. Waiting for you’re not sure what. For him to continue explaining, you guess.

   His attention falls back on the picture frame. “She was always so excited for college. Paleontology. That’s what she wanted to do. Couldn’t get that girl to stop talkin’ ‘bout dinosaurs for even a second. She was so eager to get back to campus, even though it was the middle of Christmas break. Crazy girl.” He laughs under his breath, shakes his head again at the memory. 

   Curling your fingers against the edge of the desk, you reach for more. “What happened to her?”

   He tenses at the question. His lips press together, and he clenches his jaw. Then, he whispers, quietly. “She died.” 

   The air pierces in a deafening silence, almost like the trees froze outside and the world stopped spinning. Oxygen ceases to exist for a second in your lungs as you gasp for air. 

   She died.

   “She… oh, Joel.” You stumble over words, almost afraid to say anything. 

   He shifts his weight and leans deeper against the desk, like he’s trying to melt into nonexistence. Just so he won’t have to talk about it. “A few days after Christmas. She was so eager to get back to campus. Even though it was dark outside. She couldn’t wait till the mornin’. Said she had to get back to an important project. But I told her to wait ‘cause it was freezin’ out. And it was drizzling rain, a little sleet building on her car.” 

   You blink, trying to gather everything he just said to you. “She left?”

   He nods. “I tried to pry the keys from her hand. Told her if it was so urgent to let me drive, but she refused. Said she was fine, and I’d jus’ slow her down. So I let her go, jus’ like that…”

   There’s a dark cloud hanging over his greying locks, a deep melancholy feeling burrowing into your chest. And there’s static around the room, depleting Joel’s oxygen, making his brain ache with a migraine between his blurry eyes. You want to reach and take it from him, replace the pain with something good, but all you can seem to do is just stand there, hoping someone can come and save him. 

   “What happened?” you ask, cautious as the void blooms in his dark eyes. 

   He opens his mouth once and snaps it shut, swallows something down and pushes the drawbridge open again, before he shuts down. “A truck lost control on the slick road,” he states, looking down at the picture in his hand, thumb grazing over her smiling face. “There was ice, and he was going too fast. And he… he hit Ellie and knocked her car off the side of the road.” He stops a beat, swallows a tear and continues with shaky hands. “The fire department gave me a call, and I raced there as fast as I could. Almost lost control myself, but nothing seemed to matter in the moment. I jus’ had to get to her, to know she was okay. But by the time I got there, she was just… gone.”

   The last word makes your ears ring, makes you want to pull him into your arms to soothe the pain, but you don’t move. You just freeze, aching to say something that’ll make him feel better, but what can you say? 

   “Joel…” you plead, desperate to crawl into his lap and hug him tight. But again, you do nothing. You’re just here, existing next to his space. Invisible strings that should be cut and pulled apart. 

   “She was just starting out. Still had a lifetime ahead of her. If I would’ve pushed harder for her to stay, would’ve taken the keys from her hand and drove her myself then maybe… maybe she’d be here. Maybe I would’ve taken her place. Maybe… I’d still have my little girl.” His voice cracks at the end of the sentence, a desperate cry to get his little girl back, but she’s gone. And he sounds so broken, so angry, yet pawing for some relief to his ache. You want to give him that, if only you knew how.

   Slowly looking up, you carefully reach out and brush the side of your knuckles against his wrist, where his watch sits idle. “It’s not your fault,” you say, trying to soothe the ache away.

   “It feels like my fault,” he growls a little, hanging his head a little lower as his bottom lip trembles. “Some days are so fuckin’ hard to get through. Some days I can’t stand to look in the mirror because all I see is that shattered glass on her broken windshield. All I see is my Ellie staring back at me with glassy eyes. And it… it… fuckin’ hurts.” He cracks as a tear slips free, landing on the glass of that perfect picture of his whole world in his hands.

   Another minute goes by, and his eyes are all coated in a thick shine as tears gather and spill one by one, pressing on his heartstrings with each drop that lands on the glass. 

   You need to do something. What, you’re not sure. But you think maybe if he had someone to hold then maybe it’d sting a bit less. Maybe, just maybe, you could take his gloomy day and turn it into spots of sunlight. 

   Blinking again, you slowly turn your body around and stop when your legs are pressed against his knees. He’s still lost in the past, trying to hold on to Ellie, but she’s slipped from his grasp. And before the picture falls from his open hand, you catch it and set it back down on the desk, waiting for him to look up. 

   “Joel?” you say, calling his name softly, but he doesn’t look up, doesn’t even move. So you try a new tactic. One that will take a little courage to muster up. 

   Slowly, hesitantly, you wrap your fingers around the soft material of his blue flannel and take a step closer, till you’re right in his space. 

   He swallows another tear and blinks up, his eyes all misty with tears, dark brown and coated in sorrow. And he just stares at you, like you’re some kind of saving grace. Like maybe you could steal his hurt and lock it away in a safe, somewhere he couldn’t find it again. 

   You just stand there, breathing each other’s air, locking eyes until you’re brave enough to move again. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even stutter once you take one step closer, till you’re almost chest to chest with him. And with one more look at his molten eyes, you’re falling. 

   You wrap your arms around his back and lean into him, smelling his woodsy scent, molding yourself to his broad body as your fingers grasp at his flannel. He sits there for a minute, his arms locked at his sides, like he can’t believe what’s happening. And then slowly but surely, he’s folding his arms around you like a blanket and pulling you in, till he’s wrapped himself completely in you and blended his pain into the seams of your sweater. 

   “I’m right here, Joel. I’m here. It’s okay. Just let it out,” you whisper against his warm chest. “You stole some of my pain, now I’m going to steal some of yours.”

   Joel buries himself in you. Resting his chin on the crown of your head, he lets the tears fall, but you never minded the rain, so you let him pour himself all over you.

   “I miss her all the fuckin’ time,” he whimpers out, like someone just staked him in the heart. “And sometimes it feels like she’s still here, waiting for me to take her to her favorite dinosaur museum, but she’s gone…” 

   You feel the pain knotted in your chest, like you just took a bullet in his place. And maybe you would. If you could keep the silver from piercing his skin, you would.

   “I know,” you coo, trying your best to quell the sorrow. “It’s okay, Joel. I’m here now.” 

   He grips you tighter and hauls you against him, like a brick wall that won’t crumble. Human touch makes you shiver, but Joel keeps the chill from your bones. He’s always just so… warm. He’s a safe space and now, you’re his.

   “Jus’ don’t… don’t leave, okay?” he begs as another tear slips down his lashes. “Jus’ stay.”

   Stay. The word presses on your heartstrings, somersaults through your stomach. You want to stay. And even though part of you misses Washington, Washington doesn’t have Joel. Joel is where you belong, you think. So maybe you will stay.

   You squeeze him tighter and nuzzle your nose into his winter scent. “I’m not going anywhere. Promise.”

   His lips brush over the top of your head, just the slightest so he can whisper, “I don’t want to lose you, too.”

   And it’s in that moment that you shatter, like all the million parts of you when you were taken. But he puts the pieces back together one by one.

   “You won’t…” you whisper back as you close your ears and sink against him. 

   You stay like that. For seconds, minutes, maybe an hour. But you lose track of time because time doesn’t exist right now. There’s just you and Joel, and you don’t plan on letting go anytime soon. Not unless he does. 

   Stay. His words ricochet off the walls, till they blend into everything around you like paint. 

   Stay…. 

—

   It’s after eleven now. The rest of the house is asleep. Lights dim, floors creaking as you chew on your bottom lip. You’re standing outside his closed bedroom door in your pajamas—pink silk shorts and a cotton T-shirt as you hug your arms across your body. You debate turning back around, slipping under the safety of your own covers, but you’re torn. 

   After Joel told you about Ellie, he barely said a word the rest of the night. Dinner was eaten in silence, only the clinking of silverware against glass cut through the white noise. And then there was the static of the tv, his far-off gaze glued to the screen, even if he wasn’t really paying attention. He said he was tired about nine and retired to his room, leaving you alone in the living room with the weight of his sadness swimming through the air. 

   You stared at your reflection for a solid ten minutes before you got the nerve to crack the door open. Paced circles around your room till you were able to pad across the floorboards outside your room. And now, you’re here, standing in front of his bedroom, waiting for something to happen. 

   Leaving him alone in the state he’s in isn’t an option. You saw how wrecked he was when he dragged his feet up the steps, saw how worn the wrinkles around his misty eyes were. And when you went to bed, all you could feel were his arms latching around you like a teddy bear, hanging on for dear life. 

   He needs you, you think. And even though you’re scared to death of taking a step into his room, you need to try. For him, you’ll try anything. 

   Taking a deep breath, you swallow down some courage and lift your hand, till you’re leaving small knocks across his solid door. Slowly, you crack it open and call his name through the darkness. “Joel?” 

   You hear him toss in his sheets, until he’s sitting up and rubbing his eyes of sleep. “Sweetheart?” he asks as he reaches for the lamp at the side of his bed. “What’s wrong?” 

   Chewing your bottom lip, you take a hesitant step inside and leave the door cracked, slowly making your way into the middle of his room. “Nothing’s wrong,” you say, shaking your head. 

   Nothing’s wrong, but you need him, just like he needs you. 

   He blinks at you, body lax but also stiff, like he might jump up at any second. “Did you have another nightmare?” he asks as the lamp shines next to him.

   “No,” you say quietly, shaking your head. 

   He tilts his head and does a once-over, trying to figure out why you’re standing here. “Then why did you—”

   You interject and let the words slip. “Can I stay with you?”

   He blinks again, his eyes wider than they were seconds ago, like he doesn’t understand the muffling of your words. “Can you…”

   “Stay with you,” you repeat, so he’s sure he heard you right. 

   He parts his lips and breathes, just staring for a beat. Then, he nods as he curls his lips into an easy smile. “‘Course you can stay, sweetheart.” 

   “Okay…” You quietly pad across the carpet, your heart beating out of your chest as you take a steady breath and blow it out through your nose. Your heart’s thundering as you carefully slip against the cool sheets, your hand resting on the soft brown comforter. 

   You can feel Joel staring at you from over your shoulder, can feel the heat his body blankets in the vicinity. And while you’re scared for more, for this—sleeping in his bed—it’s not like this is the first time you’ve been in his arms. 

   Joel doesn’t move as you slide beneath the sheets, careful to stay on the left side of the bed while he stays on his side. And when you finally settle, he flips off the lamp and sinks back into the mattress once the room is filled with darkness. Only the moonlight spills through the window, making starry patterns on the pristine walls. 

   You hear him breathing, like you are. Slow breaths with pounding hooves across your chest. There’s an ache tugging at your core. A slip of something pulling you closer. Like the way your hand automatically grazes the back of his—skin hot like the blazing sun rays. 

   Slowly, you turn your head toward him and find him staring back at you, dark eyes that seem so soft, yet filled with turmoil from the afternoon. And you want to soothe him, want to make him feel better. Like maybe you could hug away the aftermath of Ellie’s absence in his life. 

   With a few words of encouragement to yourself and muted affirmations that you can do this, you roll onto your side and crawl over to him, till you’re blanketed on top of him with your body. 

   Sighing, Joel weaves a hand through your hair and strokes lightly down your back while his other arm wraps around you. “Sweetheart,” he coos into the shell of your ear. You melt into the raspy sound of his voice and look up, till you’re face to face with those syrupy brown eyes. 

   “Joel?”

   “Hmm?” he hums, seeming to be enraptured by your eyes.

   “You remember that day in the truck that you told me I didn’t have to be alone?”

   “Yeah, I remember.“ He tilts his head to the side and asks, “How come?”

   Swallowing, you take a deep breath and quietly say, “Well, you don’t have to be alone either.”

  He stares at you a beat—mouth parted and eyes so soft that you could melt into them. And they’re all coated in held back tears, all starry just for you. “C’mere, sweet girl.” Joel tugs you against his chest and wraps his arms tight around you, like he may never let go. You hope he doesn’t. His lips brush lightly over the crown of your head, and you revel in the feel of it, of the hunger that stirs in your chest to be needed. 

   He needs you. 

   And with that Southern drawl of his, he whispers the words you’ve been waiting to hear. “You’re exactly what I needed…”

   You sink into the feel of his white T-shirt and thread your fingers around him as you nuzzle your nose into the crook of his neck, inhaling his woodsy scent that encompasses you. 

   “I needed you, too,” you whisper. And as he hugs you tighter, you drift off into a blissful sleep, wrapped in Joel like a cocoon. 

   Maybe you’ve always needed him, just like he needs you…

—

   Sunlight filters through the window as you blink your eyes open, rubbing the sleep away while a yawn falls from your lips. You take a second to fully open your eyes, to register you’re in Joel’s bed, still curled into the side of his warm body. 

   Smiling to yourself, you see he’s still fast asleep. His chest rises and falls in cadence as slow breaths pass his lips. He looks so beautiful sleeping. Messy curls against his pillow, eyelids fluttering like he’s dreaming, his arm still tucked snugly around your hip. And it feels right. This feels right. Even if you’re scared of getting close to someone after the trauma you’ve endured, you think you’d like to stay right here, tucked into Joel’s side. 

   You outline the curves of his face with the trace of your fingers, mapping every wrinkle and tilt of his mouth like they’re stars lining the night skies. When you lightly dance over his salt-and-pepper scruff, he rolls a little to the left side and falls back into stillness, letting you scratch along his jawline. 

   You could brush along his lips with yours. That’s how close he is. Close enough to taste. You almost want to graze your lips across his, but you don’t. Instead, you take one more good look at him bleached in sunlight and slip out of his arms, careful not to wake him. After he’s had so many restless nights, you just want to let him sleep. He needs it. 

   Suddenly, you get this bright idea in your head to do something nice for him. You’re sure he’d love to wake up to a fresh cup of coffee and some pancakes. He’s been doing most of that lately, so now it’s your turn to show him how much you appreciate him. This is something you think he’ll love. 

   Slipping one of his blue flannels on, you tiptoe out of his room and hurry to your bathroom. When you flip on the light, you run the brush through your hair, scrub your face clean, and take the toothbrush across your teeth. When you think you’re good enough, you grab your phone and make your way down the hallway, to the kitchen. 

   Once you’ve flipped the kitchen lights on and pulled back the curtains, you get to work. With an old 80’s pop song on, you bop your way through starting the coffee and turn on the stove as you mix batter and blueberries together. You talk yourself through mixing the ingredients and accidentally get a little flour on your cheek, but you brush it off because you’re having fun. For once in your life, you’re learning to enjoy little bits of your morning routine. Even if you’re still learning step by step how to do life again, you think Joel’s teaching you, with his hand in yours. And Tess, she’s helping you swim your way through therapy. You think maybe, just maybe, this is all working as it should. 

—

   Joel rolls on his back and throws his arms over his head, stretching as he rubs his tired eyes awake. Sunlight fills the room in a bright glow, but when he turns his head to the left, he sees empty sheets. There’s just an imprint of you still curled to his side. 

   He sighs and falls to his back again, ghosting his hand over the slept-in sheets where your body laid just minutes ago. There’s an ache in his chest, something like maybe he misses you. But also, he feels so full because he had you wrapped in his arms all night long. You took the sting away, pulled on his heartstrings just enough for him to see the sun again. 

   You did that. You showed him the light. He saw it in the way you looked at him—all doe-eyed while you nuzzled against his chest. You saw him for what he is—a lonely wolf that lost one of his own. But now, he thinks you might’ve filled that hole. The one he’s had speared open since Ellie died. But now, you’re giving him something to hold onto. You’ve given him hope…

   With a low groan, he hauls himself up and makes his way toward the door, dragging his feet with a smile on his face. “Now, where did you go?” he asks himself, chuckling when he slips through the door and sees that your room is empty. 

   A clink of pots from the kitchen makes him turn his head toward the staircase. And when he hears soft humming coming from that direction, he can’t help the smile that pulls across his lips. 

   Found you. 

   Slipping into a stool unnoticed, he leans against the kitchen island and watches you flit around the kitchen like a dancer. Sunlight coats your skin in a golden hue. Your hair bounces with every step as you pour powdered sugar into a bowl. Your head bops to the beat of an old pop hit as you grab for a spoon, whisking eggs together in a bowl. 

   Joel can’t help but to feel a warmth burning in his chest, heating his cheeks when he watches you glide like a fairy through the kitchen. You’re absolutely breathtaking, he thinks. The most free he’s ever seen you. And he likes this. Likes seeing you so alive after months of nightmares he couldn’t quite tame. But look at you now, spreading your wings, taking a leap of faith across lakes of water, all while wearing his flannel. He kinda likes that. Seeing you wear his clothes. Makes him feel like he’s got a crush, and maybe he does. 

   When the song ends and another begins, he clears his throat and watches you about drop the bowl you’re holding. Your eyes go wide, and you gasp. “Oh, Joel! I didn’t know you were there.” 

   He chuckles under his breath and shakes his head. “Figured I’d just watch you for a minute. You seemed in your element.” 

   You set the mixing bowl on the edge of the counter and smile shyly his way, pulling on the flannel that’s wrapped around your body. “Could’ve said something,” you say, shyly fluttering your pretty eyelashes up at him. 

   “Good morning, sweetheart,” he smiles, watching you play absentmindedly with some fringe at the bottom of your sleeper shorts. 

   “Morning,” you say with a small smile across your pink lips. Lips that look like morning dew. “You sleep okay?”

   He nods. “Best sleep I’ve had in a long time.” 

   There you go, smiling again, brightening up his morning yet again. “Here, I made you some coffee,” you say as you pour in the black liquid in a white mug, letting the steam billow through the air. You slide it over to him, till it’s safe in his hands. 

   The side of his mouth twitches into a smirk as his eyes slide over you. “Was nice of you to do that.”

   “Hope you like it,” you smile.

   “You made it, so ‘course I’ll like it.” He tips the mug up and takes a generous sip, letting the warm liquid saturate his taste buds. “Mmm. Yeah. Jus’ how I like it,” he murmurs as he takes another gulp. 

   “Glad you like it,” you giggle.

   He chuckles as he notices the flour on your cheek, how it sticks out. And just before he decides to brush it away, he taps his finger to his own cheek. “You’ve got a little flour right—”

   “Oh!” You frantically wipe it off with the palm of your hand and instantly blush. He thinks you’re fucking adorable all rosy-cheeked and embarrassed. “Must’ve got carried away with the cooking.” 

   Another laugh and he’s running a hand through his messy locks. “Must’ve,” he smiles. 

   There’s a moment between the two of you. Something hanging in the air that isn’t heavy, doesn’t have any weight to it. But it shines like the sun, blooms through his nervous system. He thinks he’s fallen in love. 

   You turn back around and flip some fluffy pancakes onto a plate and bring him some, including a bottle of syrup and a spoonful of butter.

   His eyes flick over your beautiful form, taking you in like you’re a breath of fresh air. Like you’re a garden full of roses. “You know, you keep stealing my flannels and I’ll have to buy more.”

   You turn around and smirk up at him, a brow raised, eyes bright. “You want it back?” 

   He chuckles, shakes his head at you. “No. Keep it. Looks good on you.” 

   And it does. His clothes always look good on you.

   You tuck a lock behind your ear and blush, smiling sweetly as you blink up at him. “Thanks.” 

   “You’re welcome, sweetheart,” he smiles. And when you turn back around, he doesn’t focus on the pancakes or fresh cup of coffee in front of him. He keeps his eyes on the woman he’s falling head over heels for. A woman he saved, who also ended up saving himself.

   If I’m the moon, she must be the sun that coated me in light, he thinks to himself. 

Tag List: @clawdee @jellybeanxc @lotusbxtch @thebeldroramscal @laurrrra

@whxtedreams @sawymredfox @sanarsi @mountainsandmayhem @bitchytimetravelqueen

@southernbe @katinasweeney @pixelspunk @amyispxnk @mysterious-moonstruck-musings

@christinamadsen @aurorawritestoescape @evolnoomym @littlevenicebitch69 @alltheirdamn

@inept-the-magnificent @maried01 @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @fandomdaydreamer @elliaze

@callmecath1 @kulekehe @yorkshirewench @untamedheart81

@tateypots @stylesispunk @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @mellymbee @pascalsbae

@locaparapedrito @ladyofmidlo72 @readingiskeepingmegoing @copperhalfcent @axshadows

@here-briefly @cozylittlepigeon @pastawench @keylimebeag @joelsoftie

@romanarose @captainredspade @megangovier @bishtrouille @almodovarispunk

@papipascaaaal @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler @bambisweethearts @puddles221b

@valkyreally @northennlights

[joelsoftie]

omg you should do a pedro or joel! talking their gf through their first time!! (maybe munch or fingering?)

Take your time

Pairing: jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader Summary: You have your first time with Joel in Jackson. He’s gentle, patient, and tender, guiding you with love, care, and quiet reassurance every step of the way. Warnings: established relationship, soft!Joel, age gap (reader is in her late 20's while Joel is in his late 50's), explicit smut (18+), oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, p in v sex, reader's first time, Joel being extra careful

Jackson at night was a hush, a breath the town held in. The snow had been falling since early afternoon, and now the thick white blanket outside glowed faintly blue beneath the light of the moon. Streetlamps flickered behind frosted glass, casting pale halos over rooftops. The usual chatter of people settling into their cabins had quieted hours ago, leaving only the occasional groan of old wood contracting in the cold and the faint rustle of wind curling along the eaves.

Inside Joel’s house, the warmth clung to your skin.

The fire in the hearth crackled low and steady, casting flickering gold over the floorboards and painting Joel’s profile in soft shadow where he sat beside you on the couch. His presence was a gravity you’d learned to orbit easily—his thigh pressed lightly to yours, one arm resting along the back of the couch behind your shoulders, the other cradling a worn mug of tea.

The air smelled of pine and cedar smoke, your shared blanket draped across your lap, your legs tucked under you as you leaned slightly toward him. The silence between you wasn’t awkward or forced—it never had been. Joel had a way of filling the room just by existing, the quiet thrum of his breath, the occasional low hum in his throat when he thought about something for too long.

You loved him like that. Still. Steady. A man who never demanded your voice but always listened when it came.

His fingers brushed the side of your arm through the sleeve of your sweater—just a casual drag of knuckles at first, then a light trail of fingertips when you didn’t pull away. You leaned into it, just a little, and Joel shifted to accommodate you. The hand along the couch slipped down to cup your shoulder, his thumb drawing soft circles over the thick fabric.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he said finally, voice deep and a little rough with the weight of the day. He tilted his head just enough to meet your eyes, his gaze warm and brown and so damn patient it made your throat tighten.

“I’m just thinking,” you murmured, fingers fiddling with a loose thread on the blanket.

Joel didn’t press. He never did. He waited—always gave you room to speak when you were ready.

You swallowed. “About us.”

At that, his eyes sharpened slightly, but his grip on you didn’t change. He stayed open, steady, solid beside you. A harbor.

“I’ve been thinking,” you continued slowly, “about how I’ve never… I’ve never been with anyone before.”

Joel blinked once, twice. His brow knit faintly, but he didn’t look surprised. If anything, there was something incredibly tender in the way he looked at you then—no pity, just a deep, quiet softness like his heart had heard something sacred.

“I know we’ve taken things slow,” you went on, voice a little quieter now. “And I’ve appreciated that, so much. But lately I’ve been thinking… I want to. With you.”

Joel’s lips parted, and for a moment, he said nothing. Then he placed the mug carefully on the side table, the clink of ceramic loud in the hush of the room. He shifted, body turning more fully toward you, hand still cupping your shoulder like you were something fragile and precious.

“Darlin’,” he said gently, his thumb still stroking, “you sure?”

“I am,” you whispered, looking up at him with everything inside you laid bare. “I want it to be with you. I’ve never trusted anyone the way I trust you.”

Joel’s breath left him like a weight dropped from his chest. He leaned in, pressed his forehead to yours. His hand came up to cradle your cheek, fingers splayed warm along your jaw, his thumb catching the corner of your mouth.

“You’re somethin’ else,” he said softly, voice thick with emotion. “You know that?”

You smiled, shy and small and real. “You make me feel safe.”

“I want this to be good for you,” he murmured. “Not just good—beautiful. You deserve that.”

“It already is,” you said, and it was true. Just saying the words aloud to him, watching the way his face softened, how his body leaned in like he was trying to shield you even from the air—it already felt beautiful.

Joel’s lips found yours, slow and sweet, and the kiss deepened gradually, the kind of unhurried closeness that made your chest ache. There was no rush in him—there never was. He kissed you like you had time. Like there was nothing outside this room, nothing beyond this moment. His hand stayed on your face, anchoring you, and his other slid gently to your hip, not pulling, not coaxing—just holding.

When he pulled back, he pressed one more kiss to your forehead. “You tell me everything, alright? What you want, what you don’t. You change your mind at any time, we stop. No shame, no questions. Just you and me.”

“Okay,” you breathed, heart hammering against your ribs in a rhythm you couldn’t control. “I trust you.”

A small, rueful smile curled the edge of his mouth. “You got no idea how much that means.”

He looked at you for a long moment, searching your eyes, his thumb still brushing your cheek. Then he pulled back slightly, standing slowly and holding out his hand to you.

“You wanna go upstairs?” he asked gently, like you could still say no.

But you nodded, placing your hand in his. His palm was rough, warm, fingers thick and calloused, but his grip was delicate, reverent. He helped you to your feet, then paused—just long enough to search your face one last time before leaning in for one more kiss, lips brushing yours like a promise.

You followed him down the hallway, fingers still locked with his.

And as he pushed open the door to the bedroom—warm and dim with soft lamplight—Joel turned back to you and said, “I got you, baby. Every step.”

And you believed him.

——

The bedroom was warm in that safe, tucked-away way that made your shoulders fall from your ears the moment the door clicked shut behind you. The lamps on either side of the bed cast a honeyed glow over the wood floors and the thick comforter, the shadows they left behind soft and forgiving.

Joel didn’t let go of your hand.

He turned toward you slowly, his expression quiet but unreadable for a moment as his eyes searched your face again. Like he was checking for even the faintest hesitation before he made another move.

“I’m okay,” you whispered, the words barely leaving your lips. “I promise.”

Joel nodded once, then leaned in to kiss you again. A little deeper this time. A little slower. His hands cupped either side of your face, and the warmth of them made your eyes flutter closed, like his touch alone could anchor you in place. He kissed you with so much patience it almost hurt—no urgency, just the steady weight of his mouth against yours, lips brushing and parting and pressing until you had to breathe through your nose just to keep from falling apart already.

When his hands slipped from your face down to your hips, it wasn’t to rush you—it was just to hold you. He wrapped his arms loosely around your waist, tugging you close, letting your chest press gently to his. Your hands curled in the fabric of his flannel shirt, gripping more for grounding than anything else. His body was solid and familiar, the smell of cedar and leather and Joel so completely overwhelming you didn’t realize how fast your heart was beating until he gently pulled back to speak.

“You’re shakin’ a little,” he murmured, voice barely louder than the wind outside the window.

You nodded. “I’m not scared. Just… nervous.”

Joel’s hands skimmed up your back, thumbs drawing slow circles through your sweater. “You ain’t gotta prove anything to me, baby. Not a damn thing.”

“I know,” you said, and you meant it. “I want to.”

That earned you a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, then another under your jaw. You felt his lips curve slightly there, like he was smiling into your skin.

“Alright,” he said gently. “Then let me take care of you.”

You didn’t speak—just nodded, a small tremble running through your body when his hands came to the hem of your sweater. He paused, waiting again.

“Can I?” he asked softly.

“Yeah,” you breathed.

He lifted it slowly, giving you time to adjust as he pulled it over your head. The air on your bare skin made you shiver again, but Joel’s gaze was warm and reverent, not greedy. His eyes lingered on your chest for a moment, then flicked back to your face.

“Goddamn,” he whispered. “You’re beautiful.”

You looked down, self-conscious, but he caught your chin gently between his fingers and tilted your face up again.

“Hey. Don’t do that. Not with me,” he said softly, brushing his thumb over your lower lip. “Ain’t a single thing about you I don’t want to see.”

Your cheeks burned, but you didn’t look away. He leaned in again, kissed you slow and deep, and you let your hands roam a little—over the curve of his shoulders, the shape of his chest beneath his shirt. When he guided you toward the bed, it was with that same tenderness, his hands never leaving your skin as you sat down on the edge.

Joel kneeled in front of you.

It surprised you a little—watching this man, strong and quiet and so often guarded, lower himself to his knees like it was the most natural thing in the world. He looked up at you with nothing but calm patience, his hands sliding gently along your thighs.

“You comfortable?” he asked, his voice thick and low now, rougher around the edges.

“Yes,” you whispered.

He leaned forward, lips brushing along your stomach just above the waistline of your leggings. He kissed there slowly, deliberately, before glancing up at you again. His hands toyed with the waistband, fingers curling into the fabric.

“I’m gonna take these off, alright? You stop me if it’s too much.”

You nodded, and he began to slide them down with almost painful care. Every inch he revealed, he touched. Not in a lewd way—just to soothe, to ground. His hands were steady and warm against your hips, your thighs, your calves, until the fabric was gone and you were left in just your underwear.

Joel’s breath caught just slightly as he took you in.

“You’re perfect, darlin’,” he murmured. “Just like this.”

You swallowed hard. “I’ve never… been touched like this.”

Joel leaned in, kissed the inside of your thigh, then moved higher, slow and unhurried. “Then let me show you how it should feel.”

When his fingers brushed the fabric of your underwear, your breath hitched—but not in fear. Just anticipation. He watched your face, reading every little twitch and breath and shift. Then he pressed a soft kiss over the centre of you, even through the fabric, and your thighs instinctively tightened.

“Easy,” he murmured, hands stroking up your hips. “It’s alright. Just breathe.”

He kissed you again there, then hooked his fingers in your underwear.

“Gonna take these off now, sweetheart. You still good?”

You nodded, but your voice came out soft and shaky. “Yeah.”

He slid them down slowly, and when you were fully bare, Joel leaned in and kissed your hip, your stomach, the inside of your knee. And then, finally, he settled between your legs, his hands gently coaxing them open as his breath ghosted over your bare skin.

“Gonna start real slow,” he said, lips barely brushing your folds. “Let me know if anything feels too much.”

You could barely form words, just a breathless “Okay.”

And then his tongue was on you—soft, slow, deliberate. Not overwhelming, not frantic. Just steady pressure, slow laps, like he was savoring every reaction you gave him. His hands held your thighs open, but not forcefully—just enough to keep you grounded as his mouth explored you with reverent care.

Your breath stuttered. “Joel—”

“That’s it,” he murmured into you, voice like gravel wrapped in honey. “Let me hear you, baby. You’re doin’ so good.”

One of his hands moved, his fingers brushing your entrance as his mouth continued its gentle rhythm.

“Can I?” he asked again. “Just one finger. Slow.”

“Yes,” you gasped, voice breaking. “Please.”

The first slide of him inside you made you tremble—but not from pain. His finger was thick and slow, curling just slightly as he moved, and his mouth never left you. The sensation was overwhelming in the best way, heat building in your belly as your hips began to move without you meaning to.

Joel noticed.

“That’s it, darlin’. Just like that,” he said, kissing your clit before sliding another finger in alongside the first. “You’re doin’ so good for me. So fuckin’ sweet.”

You didn’t know when your hand found his hair, but your fingers tangled there, grounding yourself in him as the pleasure built and built, soft and heavy like the snow falling outside the window.

And when he pulled back to look at you, lips shining, eyes dark and warm, he said, “You ready for more, baby? Or do you wanna stay right here with me like this a little longer?”

You couldn’t think straight. Could barely breathe. But your heart said yes—to everything.

“Yes,” you whispered. “I want you.”

Joel smiled softly, then leaned up to kiss you.

“You already got me,” he said.

——

Joel kissed you like it was the first time all over again—slow and grounding, like you might float away if he didn’t keep you tethered. His lips were warm and damp from being between your legs, and the taste of yourself on his tongue made your cheeks burn, but not with shame. He was still kneeling between your thighs, his big hands wrapped around your hips, holding you like something delicate and precious.

“I want you,” you whispered again. This time, your voice didn’t shake.

Joel’s eyes searched yours, one hand rising to brush the hair back from your face. His thumb lingered on your cheekbone.

“You sure?” he asked, even now, even still.

You nodded, more certain than you had ever been. “I want you, Joel.”

That slow, breathless smile crossed his face again, the one you only ever saw when he let his walls down for you. He leaned in to kiss your jaw, your neck, the hollow of your throat, and then—finally—he stood. He moved with that steady, quiet confidence you loved, reaching for the buttons on his shirt, watching your face the entire time like he was making sure you stayed with him.

You did. You couldn’t look away.

He peeled the flannel from his shoulders first, revealing the soft grey undershirt beneath, stretched slightly across his chest and arms. Then that came off too, revealing the thick muscles of his torso, the faint scattering of hair across his chest, the old scars you’d only ever touched over clothes.

You sat up slowly and reached for him without thinking, your hands brushing the trail of hair over his stomach, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your palms. He let out a quiet breath, eyes fluttering shut as you touched him.

“You don’t have to be nervous, baby,” he said, so low it was barely a whisper. “You feel so damn good.”

“I’m not nervous anymore,” you admitted. “I just want to remember this.”

He swallowed hard, then leaned down, kissing you again, deeper this time, letting it linger as he undid his belt. The soft sound of it sliding free made your pulse jump, but not from fear. You were warm everywhere, all over, and every movement he made just added fuel to that steady, slow-burning heat.

When he stripped off his jeans and boxers, your breath caught.

He was thick, flushed dark with arousal, and your stomach flipped with nerves again—but Joel was watching you with so much patience, so much care, that it quieted every fear.

“We’ll go real slow,” he promised, his hand cupping your cheek. “I’ll stop the second you say. You don’t gotta worry about a thing.”

You nodded, and he leaned in to kiss you again before gently nudging you back against the pillows. His weight over you didn’t feel heavy—it felt safe. Like you were surrounded on every side by warmth and Joel and the kind of closeness you hadn’t even realized you’d been missing until now.

He kissed down your neck again, his hand running slowly along your side. He murmured to you as he went, soft things that felt like sunlight in your chest.

“So beautiful… never seen anything like you, baby…”

His hand moved lower, between your thighs again, and he brushed his fingers over your entrance, groaning softly at how wet you still were.

“You’re ready,” he murmured, more to himself than you. “Christ, you’re so ready for me.”

You gasped when he lined himself up, but he didn’t push in yet. Just kissed your cheek, your lips, brushing your hair from your face with shaking fingers.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he said softly, and you did. “There you go.”

He kissed you again—deep and long—then started to push in, just barely.

The stretch was intense. Not painful, not really. But your body had never known this before, and your breath caught in your throat. Joel felt it immediately—he stilled, pressed his forehead to yours.

“Easy, baby. Just let me in slow,” he whispered. “You’re doin’ so good.”

He only moved when your body relaxed again, when you shifted your hips to meet him, when your hands gripped his shoulders not to stop him, but to hold him closer.

Bit by bit, he eased inside, careful and steady, watching your face the whole time like his life depended on it.

“That’s it… that’s it, darlin’,” he murmured when he was halfway in. “You’re takin’ me so good.”

You whimpered at the stretch, but there was no fear now. Only pressure and heat and the overwhelming sense of him, so deep and full inside you that it almost made your eyes sting.

“Almost there,” he breathed, brushing his lips over yours. “Just a little more.”

And then he was fully inside, hips flush with yours, not moving. His breath stuttered out as he held himself above you, eyes shut tight like he was overwhelmed too.

“Jesus,” he whispered. “You feel like heaven.”

You didn’t know what to say—you just kissed him. Clung to him. Wrapped your arms around his back as he started to move, just barely.

It was slow. Gentle. His hips rolled in and out of you like the tide, never too fast, never too much. He kissed you through every shift, held you close, whispered your name like a prayer.

And it was good—so much better than you had expected. The burn faded into something sweeter, something warmer, something that built steadily in your belly with each slow thrust.

“Does it feel okay?” he asked, voice thick and wrecked. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

“It’s perfect,” you breathed. “Joel… you’re perfect.”

His rhythm faltered just a little at that, and then he kissed you harder—messier, more urgent—but still gentle.

You felt your body start to tremble again, the pressure in your belly coiling tight, and he must’ve felt it too because he shifted slightly, just enough to angle his hips, just enough to hit a spot inside you that made your breath catch.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Right there, huh? I got you, baby. Just let it happen.”

You came quietly, but hard—your body tensing around him, back arching, tears slipping free without warning. He kissed them away, murmuring praises, never stopping until you were gasping into his mouth.

Joel followed not long after, hips stuttering, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he buried his face in your neck. You felt the warmth of him inside you, the soft press of his lips at your shoulder, the weight of his body as he held you close and safe and still.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of your breathing. Tangled limbs. The scent of sex and skin and Joel.

Then he pulled back just enough to see your face, brushing a hand over your cheek.

“You okay?” he asked again, voice hoarse. “You still alright?”

You nodded, tears still clinging to your lashes, but smiling now. “I’ve never felt anything like that.”

He smiled too, a little shaky, and leaned down to kiss you one last time.

“Me neither,” he whispered.

Then he wrapped his arms around you, pulling the blanket over your naked bodies, and tucked your head beneath his chin as you both drifted into a quiet, peaceful silence.

And for the first time, you felt whole.

[joelsoftie]

happy 50th birthday to the only man ever 💜

[joelsoftie]

joel is just a misunderstood softie inside 🥲

[SUMMARY: Joel has a dangerous reputation in the QZ, so when you run into him you are afraid of him until he shows you another side to him.]

“I ain’t gonna hurt you” he tried his best to convince you but fear took over you.

Angst

Of course you were late today. Never had you been so past curfew to get back to your apartment but here you were dodging all the security cameras on your walk back. It was silent and it was dark, looking over your shoulder repeatedly you made sure no one appeared from behind. The only way to cut away from the cameras was through an alley you always tried to avoid but you knew there was no choice now. Looking behind you so much you didn’t pay attention to what was ahead until you ran into it. Whatever it was, it almost knocked the wind right out of you knocking you a couple steps back.

“Shit-“ you whispered before looking up and seeing the figure of a man.

It had to be FEDRA, your heart sunk until the man took a step forward and that’s when his identity was revealed.

It was worse than FEDRA.

It was Joel Miller.

“I’m-I’m-“ you struggled to find words as he looked behind you checking around the area.

“The hell you doin’ comin’ through here?” His eyes turned back to you, you couldn’t find your voice. He observed you from head to toe, eager for a response but you couldn’t speak. You heard many stories about Joel Miller and none made you feel comfortable with running into him in a dark alley. Without thinking you quickly turned attempting to run away but before you could make it out the alley Joel caught you making you scream. His arms around your waist as he picked you up pulling you back into the alley.

“No!” You kicked trying your hardest to wiggle out of his grasp.

“Stop it, they’re gonna hear you dammit” he got you right back to where you were and roughly turned you around to him.

“Don’t do that again” he warned as your heart raced.

“You with anyone?” You could feel yourself begin to shake anxiously, you slowly shook your head just as you heard another noise from behind you.

“Shit” he whispered.

“We gotta move” he unexpectedly grabbed your arm pulling you towards the wall.

“Wait!” You whispered as he practically dragged you making you twist your ankle, you almost let out a scream. Quickly he backed up against the wall and pulled you against him covering your mouth. A muffled scream could be heard as he tightened his hand on you.

“Don’t make a sound” He whispered as you whimpered. He looked down the alley as you held in your cries. He waited until he no longer heard anyone near before looking back down at you and released his hand from your mouth realizing you were in pain. You winced looking down at your foot, attempting to balance yourself on one while placing your hand on the wall.

“Shit” he muttered to himself. Quickly he crouched down to take a look but the second he reached for your foot you pulled away.

“No!”

“Let me take a look” he could see the hesitation in your eyes, you didn’t know what to do. Slowly you lifted your foot towards him and allowed him to gently take hold of it. Feeling it out he gave it a slight squeeze before you gasped.

“It ain’t broken, probably just a sprain”

“I just want to get home” you whispered trying to hold in your cries.

Joel looked behind him before he stood up, his hands on his hips as if he was trying to figure something out.

“This whole area is locked down-“

“What do you mean locked down?”

“Can’t get in or out, I’m surprised you made it this way” he responded.

“Where do you stay?” He asked.

“The other side” you responded softly still leaning on the wall.

“Well you won’t be able to get anywhere any time soon” he turned back to you.

“Gonna have to go my route“

“Your route? N-no, I can’t go with you”

“You got any other ideas?”

You sighed in frustration looking down at your foot, Joel was right, there was no way you’d make it back home like this. He already felt it was his fault that you hurt your ankle and he knew he wouldn’t have felt right leaving you out here wounded on your own.

“Just until day light” he explained. Silently you shook your head stubbornly, you were not about to set yourself up and be alone inside somewhere with this man with all the things you have heard about him.

“Look woman, I’m just trynna help you” he walked towards you, stopping inches away. It almost felt as if he was closing you in the corner. You didn’t say a word, you could feel your heart racing as he looked down at you.

“You either take my help-“ he leaned towards you as he spoke making you flinch. Joel instantly stopped talking noticing your reaction. You froze unsure of what exactly was going through his mind in that moment..until he spoke.

“You think I’m gonna hurt you?” He asked furrowing his brows. Swallowing nervously you looked away. Joel didn’t know you, but to see a woman so afraid to simply even look at him was something that didn’t sit well with him.

Suddenly you were both distracted by the sound of walkie talkies close by. Joel looked over his shoulder before quickly turning back to you.

“We need to leave. Now” he unexpectedly positioned himself to lift you in his arms making you jump.

“What are you doing?!” You whispered pushing your hands into his chest to keep him away but he only pulled you closer.

“Trust me, would you rather they take you?” he spoke low as the sounds of walkie talkies grew louder. You knew you truly had no other option, quickly you nodded and let Joel take you in his arms.

Joel moved quickly, rushing into a door as you tightly held onto him. Running down a hall he ran up two flights before stopping at a door and pushing it open. Looking over with your arms still wrapped around his neck, you noticed he had carried you into an apartment. Slowly he lay you on the couch before turning to lock the door shut.

“This is your place?” You whispered. Joel nodded walking past you and took a glimpse out the window before closing the curtain. Walking back in your direction he lit a candle beside you as you sat anxiously.

“Let me take a better look at your foot” he sat on the coffee table in front of you. Looking around uncomfortably you attempted to push yourself up to have some kind of control over yourself. Joel began to take off your shoe until you pulled it away.

“No, don’t-“

“I’m just gonna look” he assured you. Giving in you allowed him to gently take off your shoe until you realized you no longer had your weapon hooked to your pants. It must’ve fallen outside when you ran into him. That’s when you noticed a wooden pole on the edge of the couch. Of course you didn’t trust this man, what would be the harm in having some kind of protection? Although you should’ve known better, you couldn’t get anything past Joel Miller.

With a raise of his brow he looked up towards your hand then back to you.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you” your foot still in his hands you slowly let go of the wooden pole. He could see the fear you felt, he knew the stories you must’ve heard about him. Stories he never cared to defend until he found himself in the presence of a woman terrified of him.

“What were you doin’ out alone?” He asked moving his eyes back to your foot.

“I always travel alone”

“Past curfew?” His questions only irritating you, what the hell did he care?

“I got caught up”

Joel silently looked up at you pressing his lips together.

“Lucky you didn’t come across someone else” he spoke low.

“Your foot will be fine, just try to stay off it. Keep it elevated” he slowly stood up and propped your foot on a cushion on top of the coffee table.

“Stay off it? I can’t-“

“Unless you want it to get worse, I suggest you do as I say” he proceeded to take off his jacket as he walked away into the kitchen. You hadn’t noticed but he could see you from where he was, he watched as you looked around the room almost in a panic. You wanted to leave.

Joel silently stepped back into the living room, so silent you never even realized.

“I know you heard things of me” his words catching your attention.

“Most of them are true” he acknowledged, you swallowed nervously as he spoke.

“But I’m not gonna hurt you and you’re just gonna have to take my word for it ” like nothing he walked back into the kitchen and proceeded to put something together for the both of you to eat.

After a few minutes Joel walked back into the living room with two bowls of food. Hesitantly you took the bowl and watched as he sat on the recliner across from you and ate. His eyes darting back and forth between his food and you, you could tell he wanted to know more.

“You don’t stay with anyone?” He asked curiously.

“No” his head slightly tilted as he observed you from head to toe.

“What? C-can’t imagine a girl can survive by herself?” Your voice still slightly shaken as you tried to speak.

“Course I can. Just shouldn’t be that way” he stared off into space lost in thought before continuing to eat his food. A sound by the window made you jump, he quickly stood up signaling with his hand for you to stay sitting down as he moved to the edge of the window to take a peak. Someone was caught after curfew, you both could hear the man screaming for help. Joel closed the curtain and turned around to see you attempting to get on your feet.

“The hell are you doin’?” He rushed to you as you balanced yourself on one foot.

“Don’t! Don’t come near me!” You hopped back on one foot not wanting him to touch you.

“Didn’t I just say to stay off your foot?”

“I can’t stay here” you looked around you hoping for something you could use as a weapon.

“I know what you’re gonna do, I know what you’ve done to others-“ you cried out. Joel stood still as you panicked, you had nowhere to go.

“I ain’t gonna hurt you” he tried his best to convince you but fear took over you. He attempted to move another step closer making you hop a step back, you grabbed a book you saw beside you and threw it at him, anything you could use to keep him away.

“No! Please!”

“Listen to me” his expression and tone rather demanding although he didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to.

“I know you’re scared-“ you began to cry knowing you didn’t have a way out.

“but ya ain’t gonna have much luck goin’ out there. You’re better off in here” you knew he was right. How the hell did you think you could pull off walking back to your home on one foot. You didn’t want to give in but truthfully, there was no other option.

“Sit down” his lips tightened.

“B-back away..” he lifted his hands up showing mercy and took a step back.

Slowly and nervously you grabbed onto the wall and walked toward the touch, hopping on one foot you lost your balance but Joel rushed towards you and caught you with his hands on your hips. You gasped grabbing onto him, keeping yourself balanced on him.

“You alright?” You could see the clear concern in his deep eyes. So much for keeping your distance from him, here he was keeping you on you balanced with his large hands. You didn’t say a word and proceeded to let him help you sit down.

“Why….why are you so insistent on helping me, what do you care about my foot?”

You finally asked.

Joel rubbed his chin as he stood up and turned away heading to the kitchen.

“Had I not pulled you so hard, your foot would be fine” he turned towards the counter, facing you.

“So this is to ease your guilt” you responded.

“I ain’t gonna be responsible for a young woman not making it back home safely.” Joel grabbed his bottle of whiskey and quickly took a chug. The moment he put it down he realized the way you stared at the bottle in his hands and realized what other things you could be thinking. You were already afraid of him, of course seeing him drink heavy liquor wasn’t a help. You noticed by the way he looked at you that he caught on quickly and put the bottle away without saying a word of it. Looking away you placed your attention back to your foot, he noticed you wince as you reached over and gently brushed your hand over it.

“You in pain?”

“Not too bad” you responded softly. Your nerves still eating at you, you tried to remain calm.

“Should get some rest, I can bring you to the bed. I’ll stay on the couch-“

“Oh no, I’m not taking the bed. It’s fine, I’m comfortable here” you could tell by the look on his face he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“Fine” you sighed. He proceeded to walk up to you as you looked at him confused.

“What-“ he stopped in his tracks not trying to freak you out again.

“I’m just gonna take you to the bed, that’s all. Don’t need you fallin’ over”

“Right” you whispered with a nod. Joel crouched to your level, placing your arm around his neck he proceeded to pick you up and carry you to his bed.

Once he sat you down, you watched as he slowly bought your legs up on the bed. It was strange seeing how gentle he could be, with all the things you’ve ever heard of Joel Miller, this sight wasn’t one you expected.

“That alright?” He looked up at you still crouching over you as he pulled a blanket over your legs. He noticed how you stared at him, your look distracting him.

“I’m sorry about your foot” his sudden apology caught you off guard, you could tell he wanted to say more as you looked up at him silently.

“Nothins’ gonna happen to ya here, ya hear me?” What were you to say?

“What do you think I’m thinking?” your question causing him to look at you slightly puzzled.

“You’re…afraid of me” he finally responded. Afraid you were, but part of you also couldn’t help but wonder how a man as dangerous as him could be so gentle to a woman he didn’t even know.

“It’s just…the Joel Miller that I’ve heard of…it doesn’t seem like the one who would gently lay me on his bed and make sure I was comfortable…that’s all” awkwardly you looked away as he stared down at you, his brows furrowed. Joel didn’t know how to take your comment, it had been a significantly long time since he’s allowed anyone close to him, he didn’t trust a soul.

“Get some rest” was all he could say before he left you alone..

Tags: @moonpascal @katmoonz @picketniffler @stcrrjoon @itsamandi @starry-eyes-love @theoraekenslover @psychoenergy @joeldjarin @heartpatch @baronessvonglitter @guelyury @mynameistokyo @harriedandharassed @locaparapedrito @untamedheart81 @rosaliedepp @illyanam1011 @hopefulatrocity @tikikiki @thewritermj @l0veang3l @manuymesut @katiemarieeee @unknownomgg @secretcheesecakenacho @missladym1981 @xmaykeca @dendulinka6 @wintersquirrel @malfoycassimalfoy @scorpio-echo @orcasoul @mysteryhexgirl @locaparapedrito @alloftheimagines @mystickittytaco

@justajoelsreader @ashleyfilm

[joelsoftie]

💗🎉💗CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR MILESTONE!💗🎉💗

I’m so happy for you! I found you through Closer, and I couldn’t be happier about it. You’re an amazing writer and such a lovely person!

I’m wondering… what about one of these?🌹the prompt number 1. I love your writing and I cannot stop myself from asking. Perhaps with Joel, or Frankie, or Pero…I’m not picky, I’ll be happy with whatever the inspiration leads you.

Alsooooo… Is it too much if I add a little bit of 💌? I’m curious about your writing process. How do you do it? Is it linear, or do you jump around, and later “paste it”?

wym, you're so sweet and i love sharing this space with you my friend 😘 thank you for sending in this prompt and allowing me to do something special with it. thanks for your patience as i have been painstakingly slow with making my way through this backlog of requests! i'll answer your thoughtful writing question at the very bottom of the post after the one shot, if that's alright!

axel and ember — joel x f!reader

request: "overwhelmed, but happy crying during sex". sent in as part of my 5k celebration! i decided to use this one for something very personal to me. as someone who has dealt with vaginismus, this was challenging to write the last few days but it felt like the right direction for me to go in with this prompt. in no way does this describe the experience every person with vaginismus has (nor 100% true to mine), and it is a lot of hard work to help your body and mind learn to work with the sexual obstacles that come with it. i simplified things for the purpose of this story but still found it really gratifying to write so much from personal experience and feelings that i have dealt with. i highly encourage anyone who has not heard of vaginismus to do a little research as it's something that many, many women deal with in silence or is ignored as much of women's sexual health is. happy reading 💓

wc: 2.9k

warnings: 18+ MDNI, reader has vaginismus, unprotected piv

“Maybe… maybe it just doesn’t fit.”

You’d said the words, exasperated after trying for the third time that week.

“I don’t think that’s how that works, darlin’,” Joel teases the words playfully, his hair hanging down into his face as he holds himself perched above you. His smile brusquely fades when he sees that you’re genuinely upset. Some days, it hadn’t been that big of a deal, you’d been able to shrug off the frustration. Today, however, you felt frayed and emotional, pissed off that your body couldn’t just behave like a normal body should. It’s infuriating, living in a body that won’t cooperate with your mind, seeing others do with ease what you never could. What you could only have as a fantasy. 

“Hey, it’s alright.” He leans down, kissing you softly before moving from where he’d been stationed on top of you to lay at your side.

Another dream of finally having sex with your boyfriend tonight slipped away in an instant. 

“What if I try the dilators again?” you ask desperately, meeting Joel’s gaze. His warm eyes look back at yours with empathy, and he shrugs.

“If y’want. But maybe you should jus’ rest. We already had our fun, yeah?”

He’d gotten you off, you’d gotten him off. Fingers and tongues and mouths, which admittedly were great, but you craved to know what more of him felt like, more than just the one, sometimes two fingers you could handle without soon wincing in discomfort.

You wanted him inside of you, wanted your bodies joined in the way that you were so cruelly being denied by the universe.

“N-no, you’re right. It was fun.” You flash him a somewhat forced smile, grateful for his patience and love when he wraps his arms around you. Joel had been such a constant with you, so wonderful, and that only made it hurt more that you couldn’t give him this. He’d never pressured you, never made you feel at fault these last five months you’d been dating. In some ways, it had brought you closer, not being able to rush into sex, but it didn’t mean that he’d stick around forever if it meant he couldn’t get the one thing you know men always want.

“We’re gonna get it one of these days,” he reassures you, stroking your hair. “You’re workin’ hard at your sessions and here at home. Don’t tell you enough that I think it’s great, seein’ you tryin’ all of that. But don’t do it for me, okay? Do it ‘cause it’s what you want.”

You stare at him for a moment, dumbfounded. You were of course doing all of this work for yourself, so that you could freely enjoy something that should come so naturally to your body. Yet you knew that deep down the pressure was mounting, wanting to give Joel the sexual satisfaction you assumed he craved, something that your hands and mouth couldn’t give him. It was putting up a block between you and your sexuality, making each interaction that much more strained and distressing. You’re surprised Joel caught on to all of that when you’d been trying to put on a brave face for him. 

“I - I know,” you concede with a sigh. “I’m afraid sometimes. That I’ll never be enough without this piece of me.”

Joel’s deep set brow furrows further, looking hurt - for you or for himself, you can’t quite tell. His lips set into a firm line before they part, readying to speak. “I think you’re pretty damn amazing the way that y’are. I want that for us, ‘course I do. But I’d rather jus’ have you, whatever, however you are.”

“You would?” you ask sentimentally, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. You laugh slightly, wiping under your eyes, knowing your question is ridiculous but still needing that extra validation that he’s sure. That he’s okay continuing to try this with you, even if it never results in anything. 

“Yes, silly. Why do you think I’ve kept you around all this time?” 

“‘Cause I find us all the good TV shows to watch?”

He laughs, his burly chest shaking with it. “Quit bein’ a pest, I’m tryin’ to be serious with you,” he quips back, trying and failing to hold back his chuckle.

“I know. I know what you’re saying, Joel. I -“ You swallow, your face falling, pulled back into the seriousness of the moment. “I appreciate you. So, so much.” You reach and wrap your arms tightly around him. You relish in the feeling of being close to him, your naked bodies melding together, the heater-like quality of Joel always comforting to you. 

“You’re all the good in this relationship, baby.”

“Who’s being a pest now?” You flick his chest, sending the both of you into a fit of laughter again, giddy at the late hour and the tax of this evening leaving you emotionally spent.

The voice deep inside your mind taunts you as you slowly listen to Joel falling asleep next to you, his breath falling to a rhythmic pattern interlaced with tiny, endearing snores. You hold back tears that come in the dark, feeling so small and alone in this moment, knowing that despite his reassurances, he could never truly understand how this feels for you.

The next few weeks go by with much of the same - you’re busy with life, work, friends, and going to your physical therapy sessions. It was awkward at first all those months ago, laying there bare underneath the sheet while a woman practically had half her hand inside of you, but you got used to it, even started to look forward to hearing about her life and her kids. 

You and Joel try a few more times to no avail, your body once seeming to have a breakthrough before promptly making you inhale sharply in pain, shaking your head dejectedly. 

You try to let it go, let all of it go. Learn that life doesn’t surround this, it simply can’t if you don’t want this pressure, this hole in your heart that you think you need to fill, to eat you alive. This cannot mean that you’re broken, that nobody could want to be with someone born with their factory settings just a little bit off. 

You see it on Joel’s face and in his demeanor, proudly taking note of the change within you. You start to pounce on him every chance you get, fueled by trying to feed this new, insatiable mental freedom you’ve allowed yourself. If you couldn’t have the sex you were dreaming of just yet, you figured that in the meantime you may as well make the sex you are having something new to dream about.

Joel, as predicted, is highly receptive to your new outlook, hands and lips all over you more often than not the second you step through his door to spend the night with him. You find yourself laughing with him when you’re being intimate instead of focusing on that pit in your stomach that worries if this time could finally be the time. You’ve done away with taking it far too seriously to even enjoy when your gracious boyfriend is buried between your legs like it’s his favorite thing. Now, you can appreciate all of it for what it is - a way to connect with Joel, to share something special and fun and sexy together.

You lie in bed with Joel this evening, cackling as you two take turns narrating excerpts from a friend’s most recent read in the romance department that she’d lent you. For inspiration, she’d teased, saying it might help your mind and body become more open to connecting with one another on the topic of sex. You’d taken it with a grain of salt but now it was the evening's top entertainment. You had to admit that she had a point - it did feel nice to read about characters that were so sexually open that anything seemed possible for them.

“The people in these books are unreal,” you manage to get out through your laughter, wiping the stream of tears that coats your cheeks. Joel wipes at the corners of his own eyes, still chuckling.

“Wouldn’t mind givin’ some of these a try one of these days, bet you’d be sexy flipped upside down or whatever the hell they were doin’,” Joel says, propped up on his elbow, his handsome eyes smoldering in your direction. The implication that many of the acts the fictional couple are doing involves things that your body hasn’t been cooperating enough to even go near makes you stiffen for a moment. Maybe a month ago, the comment would have wrecked you, sent you spiraling or feeling self conscious about this perceived insufficiency of yours, but now you let it slide right off your back.

You scrunch your nose at him, letting it fall into a sly smile as he flicks his eyes over you in appreciation. “Shush,” you tease. “We need to find out what happens next to… whatever their names are.” This had all been in good fun, and their names seemed secondary to the juicy details of their sex lives. 

“Axel and Ember.” Joel cuts in, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You deadpan. “Right… Someone has been paying attention.”

“Go on, then…” Joel insists with sass, his hand motioning expectantly to the open book in your lap. You smirk before focusing on the page and continuing where you left off. You two read until both of your eyelids get heavy, the words muttered slower and slower, your bodies buzzing hotly with arousal from the content yet far too tired to do anything to make a move on the other person. 

“Tomorrow,” Joel utters in your ear just as you’re moving into that cozy, floaty, drifting sensation before it all goes black. “Tomorrow I’m gonna Axel your ass into oblivion.”

You’re awoken by a kiss, feather light upon your lips. Your lids flutter open to see Joel, his scruffy beard and unbearably cute bed head up close and personal with you. It’s barely light out, the room bathed in the pale blue glow that comes right before dawn. Your skimpy camisole strap has slid off your shoulder, the entire thing askew and leaving one of your tits bared to him. Joel’s eyes seem to be glued there before flicking back and forth between your now perky nipple and your face. His lips close around it, gently sucking, and you writhe, your body turning towards his.

“You’re so fuckin’ sexy,” he mutters against your hot skin, breath ghosting over your sensitive nipple. You shudder, your skin prickling with anticipation, the space between your thighs desperately empty. Going to bed so unsatisfied seemed to have done a number on the both of you as you’re now acutely aware Joel pressing up against you, his cock already hard and leaking.

“Joel…” you whine, hips bucking towards him.

He dives in, his lips devouring yours, shifting his body to straddle yours, grasping the sides of your face in his hands. His tongue laps into your mouth and you arch your back into the way his hips start to grind into yours, burning desire low in your belly. You’re already so damn wet from his teasing, more than you’ve ever been, built up longing spilling over from last night.

“I… want to try right now,” you finally manage to gasp out as his lips separate from yours for a brief second. He pauses, looking down at you, his heavy lidded eyes sincere as they dance over your features.

“You sure? It’s okay if we jus’ -”

“No. I’m sure,” you tell him. “I feel so good. I want to feel good with you.” Your fingers dig into his bare back, urging him on.

He only nods, his throat bobbing as he swallows. He places gentler kisses on your lips before moving to your neck, then down your body until he reaches the waistband of your sleep shorts. Tugging those down along with your panties, he moves with certainty and care, adoring your soft skin in every place along the way. 

He touches a gentle finger to your slit, so sensitive and swollen now, and you suck in a breath.

“Holy shit. God damn, baby,” he muses with awe, fire burning in his dark eyes.

You chuckle shakily, feeling your cheeks flush as you avert your eyes shyly. “I - I know. I need you.”

“Can practically feel her puslin’,” he growls, licking his lips, desire clouding his mind.

Your cheeks only grow hotter at his dirty words, pulling your lip between your teeth. “Taking a page from Axel’s book, I see,” you tease him breathily.

“Nah. This is all Joel Miller, baby,” he replies just as he uses his whole hand to cup your slick cunt, the both of you groaning quietly. Joel starts to shimmy his briefs down, leaving him completely stripped underneath the covers with you. You wait for him to climb back on top of you, carefully removing your top and taking you in.

“Perfect.” He smiles, and you wrap your legs around his waist, a silent signal that you’re ready. Joel reaches between your bodies, bringing his cock to your cunt, lazily moving it through the folds until he’s coated in your arousal, each stroke making your hips buck, your need climbing to an unbearable level.

“Please…” you whine, feeling the emptiness inside of you, craving that full sensation you’ve been romanticizing time and time again in your mind.

“I got you, baby. No matter what. I’m right here, ‘kay?” You feel him line himself up, trying to manage your expectations as you nod for him, swallowing down your nerves. Even if it doesn’t work this time, it’ll be okay, you’ll be oka -

The tip of his cock pushes past your entrance, and you gasp, eyes going wide. You both pause, staring at each other in an optimistic, full silence, breathing heavily.

You nod again, mouth agape. “More…” you whisper softly, taking a deep breath, trying to relax your body.

Joel smiles, pressing his hips into you the tiniest bit more. He still slides in with ease, the smallest pinch subsiding when he takes a beat, then pushes a little more, repeating the process a few times. You feel the stretch, the slight burn as your body adjusts, your mind racing at the miracle that’s occurring, barely even able to register it right now.

“Oh my god,” you mutter, starting to shake. Joel leans down to kiss you, a comforting move, but it only pushes his cock in another bit, making you gasp softly at the fullness.

To your shock, when he pulls back the sensation begins to near something pleasurable. “Sorry,” he quickly spits out, his concerned stare meeting yours.

“No. It’s good. A-again. Do that again.” You start to smile in earnest, a toothy grin that you can’t help but feel spread across your face. 

“What… this?” he asks coyly, more overt with the thrust inwards as he pulls his lips into yours. He buries his face in your neck, breathing you in and kissing the sensitive skin there. “You’re so wet, so fuckin’ tight, baby. You feel incredible.”

You shudder underneath him, moaning softly as his words travel right to your core, burning with a new kind of eagerness you’ve never felt before. “You feel so good,” you echo back to him as you pant.

Joel starts to move, testing the waters with slow, steady movements. You keep breathing, terrified that any minute the ball will drop or this will have been a dream or some cruel trick your body is playing on you. But the sporadic bursts of discomfort subside with each new roll of Joel’s hips, blooming into something pleasurable and sweet, pulling up from deep inside of you.

Emotion bubbles to the surface before you can even tame it, your eyes brimming with tears when Joel bottoms out inside of you, pulling back and pushing in to the hilt again. It feels good, amazing even, to be so full of him, to celebrate this victory, even if only for today.

“Shit. Sweetheart, you’re okay, right? Are you hurting?” Joel freezes when he sees your watery eyes, every muscle coiled stiffly, his face screwed up in fear.

You shake your head, fighting the urge to sob, but Joel’s faithful, genuine concern puts you over the edge. Tears spill, rolling down your cheeks in profound little streaks, every bit of your frustration and pain and anger from the last half of a year pouring out into this beautiful display of pure joy.

“I swear, I’m happy, I’m happy,” you cry out, immediately cradled in Joel’s arms.

“Good,” Joel breathes out in relief. “You’re happy, I’m the happiest fuckin’ guy in the world.”

His words make the tears flow faster, but you start to laugh amidst it all. “Stop making me cry harder!” you chastise him, hugging him tightly around the neck. 

“Joel…” you say after a long, tender embrace, the two of you soaking it in. His cock still throbs inside of you, reminding you of the pleasure you’d started to chase moments ago, lost to the emotion of the moment.

“Hm?” he asks, pulling his head from where it had been buried in the crook of your to look at you.

“Please fuck me now.”

He grins, the movement lighting up his entire face with a lusty glow before he eagerly crashes his lips with yours again. When you see his eyes again, you swear they’re a shade darker, his cheeks tinged with the color of desire. Low and gravelly, he finally speaks. 

“Grab your god damned vibrator, sweetheart.”

to answer your 💌 my writing process is a little all over the place! i used to write mostly linearly, that was what worked for me and i kind of thought of everything in order. but lately i have been doing a bit more doc hopping when i get stuck. maybe writing a later scene that i have ideas for and feel like it's more fleshed out or going back and polishing older paragraphs and such. i definitely am not a big outliner and plotter, which i'd like to get better about! but mostly everything just lives in my head and gets blobbed onto the doc once i have time to write it, which sometimes leaves things forgotten hehe

(divider by @/saradika-graphics!)

[joelsoftie]

oh my god this was so fucking HOT i cant… and the way joel was written perfectly too, the way he speaks, his mannerisms- I NEED DBF!JOEL NOW

already in love w ur page! i would love to see dads bestfriend joel from you!!

hi! thank u sm!! and ofc coming right up on a very hot and steamy platter 😛

Not Your Daddy

Pairing: Pre-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: You're back from your first year at college. You've changed and Joel is quick to notice.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI, age gap (36/19), swearing, p in v, size kink, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (fem!recieving) no Sarah, alcohol

Celia's note: Heres jus a lil something :) (not proofread sorry) also part 3 of ain't right is coming so so soon I promise!!

Joel Miller and your father were good friends.

When you and your dad moved in next door a little over three years ago, they hit it off quickly. Their tendency to take on random jobs for cash is what bonded them. Also sports.

You were shy then, never able to hold eye contact and always avoiding him whenever he was around.

But thankfully, you've grown into a woman. Your first year at college changed you.

Now, you were back for the summer, eager to sleep in your own bed and spend time with your home-town friends.

But honestly, you were most excited to see Joel.

You wanted him to see how much you've grown. See how mature you've become, how confident.

You always had a little crush on him—mostly because he was the kindest out of all your dad's friends.

You also wanted him to be the one to pop your cherry.

You were a virgin, and kinda always fantasized about Joel being the one to take it from you.

Sure, you’ve done some stuff with guys, but never gone all the way. You were saving that for him.

You knew it wouldn't take long until he made an appearance.

Your dad had offered to host a small get-together to celebrate you being back. He would barbecue in the backyard and hold bets for the basketball game.

It was really just an excuse for him to break out the grill and gamble, but you didn't care. Only because you knew Joel would be there.

You even put on your shortest white sundress and blew out your hair for the occasion.

Your body was buzzing with the idea of seeing him again.

You wondered if he had changed at all.

Your mind started spiraling at the thought.

What if he had changed? What if he was dating someone now? What if he was engaged?

You glanced in the mirror at your nearly perfect reflection and suddenly felt so silly. What if this was all for nothing?

You didn't have long to ponder that thought because the doorbell rings.

You peak out your window and see Joel's truck in the driveway.

Your dad answers the door downstairs, the faint murmur of voices distracting your ears.

The anticipation was gnawing at you like a hungry dog.

After collecting your nerves, you slowly descend the stairs to meet them in the kitchen.

The loud cussing gave away their location. "You've lost your damn mind if you think there's a chance in hell the Privateers of all fucking teams are gonna beat—oh, hey darlin'," Your dad greets you, clearing his throat like he wasn't just cussing out Joel.

His back is to you, but when he turns around, your heart fucking ignites.

He's just as handsome as the day you left. He looks momentarily stunned by you, his eyes flickering all over your figure. God—how was it possible for someone to change so much? You looked more than amazing.

He immediately feels ashamed for basically checking you out in front of your dad, his eyes snapping back up to your face.

"Christ kid, they feedin' you up there at A&M?" He teases before stepping in for a hug.

He even smells the same as he did all those months ago, pine and smoke. You feel relieved.

It seems like the only thing thats different about him is a few gray hairs.

"Hey Joel," you greet with a giddy smile, hugging him back and relishing in his warmth. "How are you?"

Joel is very surprised. He almost doesn't recognize you. You're so much more...more.

"M'alright, aside from the fact that your dad's gonna give me a fuckin' aneurysm one of these days."

You laugh and shake your head. "Fighting about the game tonight?"

"Yeah, this fuckin' asshat thinks the longhorns might lose tonight—messin' up the whole fuckin' mojo," Your dad rambles, his voice beginning to raise before the doorbell rings again. "I'll get that, need to get away from this traitor." He snorts before heading to the door and leaving you both alone.

Joel rolls his eyes before landing his gaze back onto you and your cute little sundress. He crosses his arms over his chest and turns to face you with his body.

"You behavin' up there at school?" He asks light-heartedly, though you find it excruciatingly hard not to reply in some suggestive way.

"Mhm," You hum unconvincingly with a charmingly guilty smile, holding back a laugh.

Joel cocks a brow, pretending to look at you judgmentally. "Lyin’ is a sin, y’know." He huffs, a smile creeping on his lips.

“I’ve been good, just a lotta temptations s’all..” You murmur softly, your body naturally drifting closer to Joel by swaying on your feet.

The tension in the room is palpable.

“Oh yeah?” He tilts his head the tiniest bit to the side, his voice dropping what seemed like several octaves.

In fear of your voice cracking when giving a verbal response, you opt for a nod of your head, but then shrug just to tease him.

He glares at you but then scoffs, shaking his head.

"When'd you become such a little shit-stirrer, huh?" He chides, reaching over to ruffle the top of your hair.

You laugh before pushing his hand away, your fingers lingering on his wrist for longer than it needed to.

His skin is warm, he's almost hot to the touch. You're having a very hard time tearing your eyes away from his face.

All the sudden, your father calls you into the other room.

"Get in here! Max and Ruby wanna hear about your classes." Max and Ruby being your neighbors who had undoubtedly stopped by for the party.

You peer up at Joel, your eyes almost begging him to ask you to stay. But instead, he gestures with his head for you to listen to your dad.

"Go on now," He husks out, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

Reluctantly you leave him behind in the kitchen, your body still whirring with the adrenaline high you got from just talking to him.

***

It was nice seeing everyone that stopped by for the party. You hadn't realized how much you missed your people.

But Joel was making it hard to concentrate on conversation when you guys were playing eye-tag the entire night.

He really couldn't help himself. There was just something so magnetic about you now—it was impossible to tear his eyes away.

He watched you talk to some of your high school friends, then get up to fetch something from the kitchen.

He couldn’t stop his gaze from falling to your ass once you turned around, his cock twitching in his pants because of the way your dress taunts him with its length.

He clears his throat.

Fuck was he thinking.

This was you he was ogling for christ sake. His best friends daughter.

These thoughts were not allowed. He needed to shut this down.

But the night goes on anyway, people getting more drunk and rowdy with each passing second.

Especially your father, who was currently in a screaming match with his work buddy about the game. They're all crowded around the small box tv in the kitchen, intently watching the tiny screen.

You're watching them from afar, amused by your father and the absurdity of it all.

"Ah fuck, we're outta ice," your dad groans, lifting up the empty bowl in annoyance. "Alright, one of you sons of bitches needs'ta make an ice run, m'not missing this game."

Joel groans out, dragging his hand down his jaw. "We're obviously gonna win—the team's up 46. Make the damn run yourself." He berates your father, who in turn just shakes his head and waves a dismissive hand at Joel.

"Every time I don't watch the game to completion, we fuckin' lose. M'staying riiiight here."

"Fuckin' superstitious bastard." Joel groans from under his breath, picking up his truck keys from the counter. "You want some more beer while I'm out? Maybe my liver too? God knows you need a new one, goddamn alcoholic."

You're laughing at them in the corner, finding their banter extremely amusing.

Then, you suddenly realize this might be your chance to spend more alone time with Joel.

You lurch forward, quickly blocking his path. "Can I come with?"

He looks down at you, a barely noticeable smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He's just about to reply to you before your drunk father cuts in.

"Ya, go with him, he can't carry the ice by himself or else his back’ll give out."

Joel turns his head to yell at your dad. "Shut your damn mouth," he barks, then turns back around to face you, placing his hand on your lower back. "'Course sweetheart, c'mon."

The drastic change in his voice when he talks to you versus your father makes your heart flutter.

He guides you outside to his truck, only dropping his arm from your back when he opens the passenger door for you.

Hopping inside, you settle yourself into the worn down bench seat. Your eyes follow him as he rounds the front of the vehicle, swinging open the driver side door and cranking the engine.

His old country music starts blaring from the speakers of the car, accompanied by the loud drum of his engine.

He’s quick to whip out of the driveway, steering with one muscular arm on the wheel.

You want to drool at the sight—you know your other lips most certainly are.

"So, you got a boyfriend up there at school?" He asks after clearing his throat.

He wants to subtly test the waters, whether he knows it now or not.

You smile, the thought of dating any guy besides Joel was laughable.

"Nope. They're all kinda gross."

"Gross? Yeah, well, most guys your age are." He mumbles, thinking back to his late teens, early twenties—Yikes.

"What about you? Got a woman yet?" You ask, following his line of questioning.

Joel scoffs, keeping his eyes trained on the road. “Does it look like I got a woman in my life?”

He looks down at himself for a second to get his point across, making you follow his gaze.

His wrinkly navy shirt had paint stains on it, his jeans were so old, they looked one wash away from disintegrating, and his beard needed a trim.

You try to stifle your giggle by turning your head away. “Yeah, guess not.”

Your mind starts wandering off, imagining what being Joel's woman would look like...having dinner together...sharing a bed...showering together...

God you wanted to be his girl so bad.

You hear yourself speaking before you even know what you’re saying. “Maybe I can help you—y'know, find a woman n’all.”

Joel casts you an assessing glance, cocking his eyebrow.

“Oh yeah? N’how would you do that?”

He doesn’t even mean to sound sexy but the way he talks makes you wanna melt.

“Well, for starters, a haircut might do you some good.” You tease, scooting closer to him on the bench seat to fiddle with the overgrown hair by his neck.

The way your body is turned to face him gives Joel a clear view down the front of your dress, the skin of your breasts making his cock twitch.

“What’re you talkin’ about? My hair looks great.” Joel knows he’s lying, but he just wants to see you laugh.

Which you do. “Yea, maybe to a blind chick.”

“Oh, you got jokes, huh?” Joel chides, using his free hand to come up and playfully tug at your hair.

You erupt in giggles, swatting his hand away while simultaneously trying to tug his hair back.

Eventually, you two stop messing with each other, but you reiterate that you're serious.

"I mean it—it’d be super fun giving you a make-over."

Joel pulls into the gas station and shifts his truck into park.

"You've lost your damn mind if you think I'm gonna let you get anywhere near my head with clippers."

You roll your eyes and giggle, following him out of the vehicle.

"C'monnn, it'll be fun!" You squeal, trailing behind him as he walks into the store, the bell chiming as you both enter.

He pretends to ignore you, walking along the isles to the freezer section.

"I'll be super careful," You muse, snagging a bag of skittles from off one of the shelves before he can notice.

“I promise I won’t fuck up your cut.” You joke, laughing at yourself.

“Hey—watch it.” Joel warns when hearing your profanity, snapping back to look at you, only half-joking.

You roll your eyes—it's ironic coming from him who cusses like a sailor. You brush past him as he opens the freezer, letting your back lean against one of the glass doors, facing him.

"You're not my daddy, y'know. Can't tell me what to do." You purr, a shit-eating grin beginning to form on your perfect face.

Joel feels his blood pressure spike.

You're making this impossible for him and you know it.

His body moves for him before he can stop himself.

After he grabs two ice bags, he closes the freezer and subsequently steps closer to you, popping your personal space bubble.

"You're right. M'not your daddy." He husks, looking down at you and your parted lips. Your chests are centimeters away from each other, and you find yourself holding your breath. “Consider yourself lucky.”

The way he’s looking down at you like prey yet speaking so nonchalantly has your brain spinning. There was definitely an underlying threat in his words.

Before you can respond, he’s turned around and walking up to the register, throwing down a 10 dollar bill and telling the cashier to keep the change.

Science can’t explain the drastic acceleration your heart rate just experienced—but you can.

Joel fucking Miller.

He had to be insinuating something, right?

Your face is hot and so is the rest of your body, stumbling to catch up with him as he walks out the store.

He lugs the ice into his trunk like nothing happened, the tension in his muscles catching your eyes.

Yet, he still comes around to the passenger side, opening the door for you.

Now was your chance to get him back.

You lift yourself up in the truck, purposefully climbing into the bench seat in a way that gave Joel a clear view of your ass—as well as your thong that wasn't really covering much.

His hand clamps down so hard on the car handle that it nearly crumbles under his grip.

You hear him clear his throat before the door slams shut next to you, making you jump a bit.

When he passes in the front windshield, he's shaking his head and dragging a hand down his scruffy jaw. You can't help but giggle at his exasperated expression.

His takes longer to get into the car and start things up this time, trying real hard not to meet your instense gaze.

When he refuses to make eye contact, you huff out a breath and rip open your skittles bag.

This catches Joel's attention.

"You pay for that?"

"...sure." You murmur unconvincingly with a shrug, trying not to smile. "Want some?"

He watches as you pop a few in your mouth, holding out the bag for him.

Begrungingly, he grumbles out a 'yeah' and holds out his palm.

***

The party had fizzled out when you guys returned. There were a few stranglers sitting around and chatting, but for the most part, things seemed to be dying down.

So much for the ice.

Your dad and his friends had migrated to the living room and once Joel put the bags away, he joined them.

He sat on the couch with a grunt, his legs immediately settling into the manspreading position.

You tried not to drool but your mouth was definitely salivating. To avoid moaning just at the sight of him, you head upstairs, the old wood boards creaking beneath your feet.

You don't see it, but Joel's got his eyes on you, following you with his gaze till you're out of sight.

He feels guilty thinking about how much he wants to fuck you when he's literally sitting right next to your father, but he can't help himself.

It's a while before you come back down, when you do, theres a razor in one hand, clippers in the other.

"No." Joel instantly says, shaking his head.

"Yes." You squeal, beaming down at him.

"Awh, go on Joel, you been needin' a clean up." Your dad chimes in, smacking his shoulder. His other buddies encourage it until he has no choice than to give in just so everyone would shut up.

"Fine—fine. Y'all gon' get yours, thats for damn sure." Joel grumbles, stomping up the stairs.

You're laughing all the way up, bubbling with excitement.

"Come down and give us the reveal when you're done!" Your dad screams to which you giggle.

You basically shove Joel into your bathroom, pulling in a stool for him to sit on.

"You better know what yer doin'." He grunts, sitting down on the stool and looking at you with weary eyes.

"Anything I do to you would look better than what you have now."

Joel promptly stands back up when hearing your words, trying to walk away, but you grab onto his arm. "I'm kidding, I’m kidding! I promise I'll do a good job."

You press on his shoulders to sit him down again, your throat running dry when you see the way he’s glaring up at you.

He’s not actually angry—just a bit peeved that he doesn’t have enough self control to stop thinking about fucking you against the bathroom sink.

You start working, none the wiser, bringing the electric razor to his jaw.

Your bodies are close, Joel can smell your delicious perfume and it makes him wanna eat you up.

You start to notice how sometimes his eyes will flicker to your chest, before abrupdtly looking away and clearing his throat.

Your boobs did look great in this dress, maybe you should give him a better view...

The devilish thought pops in your brain and you're acting it out before you know it.

You set the razor down and grab the clippers, stepping around to the front of his body. "May I?" You murmur, not even waiting for his answer before straddling his lap.

You sit on his thighs and Joel feels himself straighten like a board.

“Kid—what do you think yer doin’?” He immediately sputters out, his expression stern.

He’s trying so hard not to look down at where your dress had ridden up from straddling him. He can almost see your cunt, for christ sake.

“Nothin’.” You murmur, bringing your shaking hand up to trim the hair on his jaw. You curse at yourself for not even having the wits to keep calm, you just know your flushed fave is giving you away.

“Nothin’, huh?” Joel reiterates, completely unbelieving as his eyes drag down your body slowly.

Then, everything shifts.

There’s something more assertive in Joel’s demeanor that you can’t quite put your finger on, but you know it’s there.

You feel his calloused hand on your thigh, your body erupting in goosebumps when he travels it up dangerously high. Using his other hand, he grips your wrist, pulling it down and away from his face.

“Doesn’t look like nothin’ to me.” His voice is a low murmur.

You’re both locked in eye contact now, hearts beating in sync.

He hears your breath hitch and sees how your eyes are flashing between his gaze and lips. He knows what you’re after—he’s just not sure if he wants to give in yet.

You, on the other hand, are dying of anticipation. He’s not budging, so you’re left to drag your hips up his lap and press down on the bulge in his pants.

"Girl—" He growls out before his hands come up to stop your waist from moving any further. "You don't know what your doin'."

"Do I have to fucking spell it out for you, Joel?" You rush out, dropping the scissors and latching onto his shoulders. You're panting and your face is pink, a needy/irritated expression woven into your features.

He feels your nails digging into his shoulder blades and sees that desperate look in your eyes—he's done for.

"No, I won't make ya do that f'me, sweet heart." He murmurs before abruptly picking you up from under your thighs.

A squeak of surprise leaves your lips at his effortless display of strength. You swallow your nerves after he sets you down on the counter, lodging himself between your legs.

"But I am gon make you say it."

Is he teasing you?

No, his face looks too serious for him to be teasing.

Oh, maybe he just wants clear clarification.

Your heart swells at his consideration.

Sucking in a deep breath, "I want your dick in my vagina." You giggle out, knowing he was probably expecting sexier wording. Joel smirks, crashing his forehead against yours.

"Yeah? S'that what you want?"

You're nodding against him, smiling wide because you just admitted something that you never thought you would.

"N'have you done that before? Y'know, dick in vagina." He copies your candance, but you stop smiling.

Out of all the fucking questions, that was the one that you didn't want to be asked the most.

You had hoped if you came on strong and flirted like you had done it a million times, he would've just assumed you weren't a virgin.

But the bastard always had to be so careful.

You didn't want him to know because you figured it would turn him off—then all you'd become is his best friend’s daughter all over again.

You knew if you lied he would just sniff it out anyway, but you tried nonetheless.

"...Yea. Couple times."

You watch as Joel's face forms into a 'yea right' kind of expression before he sighs out.

"Why'a lyin' to me, kid?"

You groan, throwing your head back and hitting the mirror with the back of your skull.

"Thats why—I don't want you thinking I'm a kid anymore. M'not. I'm grown. I'm grown and I want..your dick in my vagina."

He scoffs, dragging a hand down in jaw in disbelief. "Lyin' ain’t a good way to show me your grown."

He was right. You hated that he was right.

Your face crumbles because you think you just ruined this whole thing. Yet, Joel's hands come up to cup your face, holding them there a moment before they drift down to rest on your neck.

"S'alright, you're alright. M'not mad at'cha." He reassures, making sure you're looking in his eyes before he continues. "M'flattered sweetheart, I really am but-"

"Please don't say some bullshit like you don't think you're the man for this job because trust me when I say this Joel, you're the only guy I've ever wanted to be with."

You gush out, your mouth a leaky faucet. But Joel still looks conflicted.

You figured now would be a good time to bring out the big guns.

"If you won't do it cus I'm a virgin, I'll just have sex with the first guy I see, how about that?"

Joel's eyes darken and his jaw clenches. Now you've just pissed him off. "Don't manipulate me like that." He says sternly, to which you immediately falter in your confidence.

"I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that. I didn't mean it." You shake your head at yourself, biting down on your bottom lip. Joel sighs, leaning back but still keeping himself between your legs.

"Look," you start up again, bringing your hand down to hold his muscular bicep. "I've wanted to do this with you for so long. I really want it to be with you. Even if it's just one time, that's okay. Just need you in some way—Joel."

Your voice tapers off into a whisper because his stare intimidates you.

He exhales through his nose before running a hand through his hair and fixing his back to stand up straighter.

"Alright." He huffs, his face looking like he just surrendered in war.

"Alright?" You repeat, hopes high.

"I'll do it," He removes himself from between your legs and slides his grip down to your thighs. "But not right now."

Your heart drops.

"Why not?" You whine like a kicked puppy.

He brings one hand up to pinch your cheek. "Cus your daddy's down stairs, m'not a fuckin' monster." He grumbles before letting go and starting to walk out, but you grab him.

"Fine, but can we at least.." You hop down off the counter and pull him back, kissing him abruptly.

It starts slowly at first, you're both scoping out the scene, but then you get eager.

A tongue slips into his mouth and he returns the favor, his hands finding themselfs back on your hips.

In no time, he has your back up against the wall while he devours your mouth like a man starved. And just as his hand starts sliding up your dress and he's about to go back on his word, a voice comes from downstairs.

"C'mon down Joel, we wanna see the new cut!"

You groan as Joel slips from you, walking back downstairs while wiping his jaw and adjusting the boner in his pants. *** Now it was a waiting game.

Everyone but your dad's friends had left the party; they were just sitting around, watching TV and drinking beers.

You and Joel can't stop making eye contact from the opposite ends of the room. It was like torture not being able to fuck him immediately.

You're quick to conjure up a plan, though.

"Hey dad," you start, twirling a loose thread from your dress around your finger.

"Ya?"

"Didn't they reopen Chambers, like, two weeks ago?" You ask, trying to keep your voice as inconspicuous as possible.

Chambers was the local bar that your dad and his buddies loved to go to. You were just trying to plant a seed.

"Mm, yea, I reckon they did." He sighs out, eyes glued to the TV.

"S'been awhile since we've been there." One of his friends chime in.

"We should go grab a few drinks—I've missed picking up broads from there.." Another friend says, to which your dad promptly hits his arm because he doesn't like that kind of talk when you're present.

Nevertheless, he casts you a questioning glance. "You gon' be alright if we go?"

You try so hard to mask your instant glee. "Oh yeah, I'll be fine! Y'all go n' have fun."

"Alright punkin," They all stand, gathering up their wallets and keys—everyone except Joel. "You comin'?" Your dad asks him.

You glare at him to make sure he understands what you're trying to do.

Joel inhales through his nose before sighing out with a smile. "M'gonna call it a night, boys."

Thank god.

They all grunt and groan in protest, but eventually everyone filters out of the house.

You stand in the door jam and watch as your dad and his buddies file into the car, Joel standing on the porch to wave them off. Words are exchanged between everyone, mostly cussing, as they make their depature.

You both watch as they leave the culdesac, even waiting until you couldn't hear the car engine in the distance before looking at Joel.

Your breath catches in your throat when he turns around to look at you, folding his arms over his chest.

"Sly work." He murmurs, walking forward and forcing you to walk back into the house.

You're not sure why you're so nervous all the sudden.

Because you were pretending to be bold and experienced before, you had no choice but to mask your nerves. Now, that Joel knows the truth, you feel...vulnerable. But in the best way possible.

He backs you into the house before closing the door behind him, his head hanging to look at the ground.

"I had to get you alone somehow." You murmur with a shrug of your shoulders.

It was the truth.

You hear Joel chuckle and watch as he brings his head up to look at you. He's assessing you.

A beat of silence washes over you both.

"You said you would, Joel." You try to say sternly, although your voice wavers because you're scared he might've changed his mind.

"I know what I said." He steps closer, your torso's centimeters apart.

The eye contact is heavy—it feels like an avail against you. But you love it—love him. You're holding back from jumping his bones right by the front door.

"Good." You practically whisper, slowly taking his large hand in yours. You wait until he interwines your fingers before turning around and guiding him up the stairs.

Every creak under his and your feet sounds deafening in the silence between you both.

His hand is sweating, but so is yours.

When you make it to your bedroom, you walk inside and sit on the edge of your bed, gazing up at him.

"How many women have you slept with?" You hear yourself blurt before you can stop yourself.

His lips tighten into a line before he sits down next to you. Your sides are touching, his hands are resting on his knees.

"A few." He grunts, turning to face you. "Lot of 'em forgettable. But this," he gestures between the two of you. "ain't no comin' back from this, you hear me?"

You nod, your hand slipping over his knee. You're trying to trail it higher up his thigh, but he stops you with his hand.

"Need to make sure you know that before we do this. Don't want you regrettin' it later-"

"I won't." You say curtly, only because you know with complete certaintly that there was no way you'd ever regret this.

Everything is still for a moment, the only sound in the room is the both of your breathing. He's staring at you so hard, just waiting for even a hint of hesitation.

But it never comes.

In one swift movement, Joel's lips are on yours, pushing you back into the mattress and settling on top of you.

It makes you dizzy how effortlessly he's making out with you now.

He slots himself between your thighs and you moan at the feeling.

It's embarrassing how little he had to do in order to get you off.

But it's Joel, for christsake—he could just stand there and you'd probably find a way to orgasm at least twice.

It feels like he's engulfing you entirely; his musuclar arms wrapped around you, tongue down your throat, chests pressed together—pure bliss.

Suddenly and devastatingly, he breaks away for just a moment. "Sit up." He husks, to which you immediately oblige.

He lifts your dress up and off, momentairly stunned by the sight of your bare breasts.

"Christ, you're unreal." He groans before latching his mouth onto one of your nipples, using his hand to grope the other one.

You're a mess of moans, but you manage to speak in between. "Take your clothes off too," you whine, pawing at his shirt.

Joel grumbles, taking his time. He strips his shirt off and your hands are quick to latch onto his belt, fumbling with the leather strap but eventually yanking it out of the loops.

His hands come out to steady yours. "Slow down, no rush." He purrs in his texan drawl, making you shiver.

You groan out in frustration, letting your back fall down against the bed again. "You gonna make me wait all summer?"

"If you keep bein' a brat, then maybe." Joel huffs, yanking you back by the legs so he can pull your thong off. He dangles the stringy piece of fabric by his finger, looking at it assessingly.

"Joel!" You squeal, embarrassed. He effortessly holds you down with one hand against your stomach, not letting you swat it away from him.

"This what you go 'round wearin'?" He teases, grinning sharply.

You shrug, all squrimy, prodding him with your legs. "Would it turn you on if I said I wore them for you?"

You almost don't notice when Joel stuffs your underwear into his back pocket because of how drawn you are to his eyes. He's looking at you like a man starved—you love it.

"You been plottin' on me, is that it?" His voice makes your wet hole clench around nothing. He's teasing, but you also feel like you've just been caught.

You definitely weren't as suave as you thought you were.

"Stop makin' fun of me. " You huff with a flustered face, narrowing your eyes at him.

Joel smirks, finally prying apart your legs and taking a good, long look at your dripping cunt. "Christ almightly..." He groans at the sight of you, his cock straining hard against his jeans. "Pretty lil thing."

Your back arches off the bed when you feel Joel's thumb brush against your folds, tantilizingly slow. "Nice n' wet, atta girl." He muses, spreading your lips apart with his fingers.

You wanted to make a joke about him inspecting you like some doctor, but the words died quickly on your tongue when you felt him stroke your clit.

"Joel," You moan, hips squirming impatiently. "Fuck, I need you,"

"You got me, babygirl," Joel murmurs before lowering his head and devouring your cunt completely.

His tongue laps at you with fever, primarily focusing on your aching clit. The sensation nearly makes you pass out, especially when he pushes a finger inside of your hole.

"Ohmygodohmygodohmygod," You whine, fisting the sheets so hard that your knuckles turn white.

Having someone eat you out and it being actually enjoyable is one thing, but having Joel Miller eat you out and it being amazing, was blowing your mind.

He didn't even take breathers.

Joel was consuming you like he didn't need air. Soon, you feel another finger stretch you open, then another, until Joel has three fingers smoothly pumping in and out of you.

It quickly becomes all too much for your little brain. "Hmph..fuck Joel m'gonna come," You whine, your hips staggering against his mouth.

He doesn't answer you, in fact, Joel just wraps his musclar arms tightly under your thighs, securing you in place. In this position, you were rendered completely immoveable.

He kept you right where he wanted you.

"Waitwait, shit, Joel," His tongue is relentless, drinking you up like he was dying of thirst in the desert. Tears are forming in the lining of your eyes, the stimulation overloading you.

"Fuck!" You cry, coming completely undone beneath him. Your entire body shakes with pleasure as you finish, thighs squeezing the sides of his head.

Joel laps you all the way through it, humming contentedly against your soaked cunt.

When your body goes limp against the bed, thats finally when Joel lifts his lips off you. His entire face down past his nose is drenched in your juices; the sight makes your stomach flutter.

"Holy fucking shit Joel," You whimper, out of breath, chest heaving up and down. "That was amazing."

Joel lands a couple soft warning pats against your cunt, making you flinch and squirm from overstimulation.

"You cuss like a sailor, y'know that?"

"S'hard not to when you're makin' me feel so good." You're mumbling, wiping at the tear streaks on your face with the back of your hand.

"Mm, I know," He hums in that caring tone, crawling on top of you and placing a few chaste kisses on your lips.

It doesn't take long for your libido to rise again, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and eagerly kissing him back.

You bring a hand down to palm at his boner, giggling into the kiss. He groans at the feeling, rutting his hips into your hand. "Fuck me now please," You say breathlessly into his ear, nipping and licking at his neck.

He scoffs at your enthusiasm.

Finally, Joel pulls his pants off, letting his cock spring free and slap against his stomach.

You're enamoured by the sight of it. Long in length, even bigger in girth. You practically start drooling.

"You got a starin' problem too." Joel grumbles, grabbing you by the jaw and tilting your head up so he can kiss you again.

You chuckle into his lips, breaking away for a moment to speak. "I can't help it. It's handsome..you're handsome." You muse, getting a fist around his cock, managing to stroke it a few times before Joel stops you.

You don't have time to think or argue before he turns you over onto your side, situating himself behind you.

He's spooning you, except his left arm is hooked around your chest and his right has your leg lifted up, allowing his cock to slip between your folds.

Once again, he's got you right where he wants you.

"Joel," You bring your hands up to hold onto his forearm, pushing your ass back into him. "Put it in." You all but demand, trying to desperately grind your cunt on him.

He tightens his grasp on your collarbone, pulling you tighter against his chest. "Keep your leg up baby," Joel mutters lowly in your ear, letting go of your leg to guide his cock to your entrance.

His fat tip prods against your willing hole, making you dizzy with need. He runs his fingers along your folds one last time, gathering up your slick and using it to lubricate his cock.

Your heart is beating a million miles per hour. The moment you had been dreaming of for so long was finally here.

Joel, taking your virginity—your prayers were answered.

Slowly, Joel starts inching his way inside, the stretch making you gasp.

It feels fine at first, just a dull ache, but then it hurts—bad.

You squeeze your eyes shut and grit your teeth, trying to push through the pain. However, your body clenches down on the intrusive appendage, causing Joel to groan out.

It feels good for him, but he's been around the block a few times to know what's happening.

"You okay? I need'a stop?" He asks in that raspy voice of his, to which you immediately shake your head.

"Nonono, god no, don't stop. Just—just ram it in." You say foolishly, making Joel scoff.

"No, sweetheart, as much as I want to—bad idea." He brings his hand back down between your legs, rubbing a few slow circles into your clit. "Just relax and open up for me, thaaaats it," He encourages in that tone that lights fires in your core.

The perfect stimulation on the bundle of nerves made you forget all about the pain, letting your hole ease up a bit.

He takes the oppurtunity to keep breaching you deeper, peppering kisses to your neck and back in the process. His fingers stay glued to your clit, and before you know it, he's half way inside.

Your holding onto him so hard that your nails are leaving imprints on his forearm.

But you're so full of him and it's perfect. You can feel every twitch, every notch, every vein; or maybe you're just convincing yourself you can. Either way, mewls and moans are slipping from your lips and feeding Joel's growing ego.

"You feelin' good sweetheart?" He rasps in your ear, thrusting back and forth till he reaches that half way mark. You nod frantically, craning your neck to face him, desperate for a kiss.

He satisfies your wishes, kissing you slowly and passionately, like everything you've ever wanted.

His dick in you, his tongue down your throat, his arms pinning you to him. Fuck.

But you still want more.

In a shocking move, you slam your hips back against him, burying him all the way inside.

Moans fill your little bedroom, both his and yours, and for a moment, a flash of regret hits you like a truck.

He's big, and it fucking hurts.

But once the initial pain subsides, it’s like ecstasy.

"Fuck—girl, what'd ya do that for?" Joel hisses, tensing up because he's trying not to come fast.

"Couldn't wait," you pant, tears spilling out the corners of your eyes. "Please move." You're pleading because being stationary is somehow even more painful. You squirm in Joel's strong grasp, trying to stop the ache between your legs.

He's no match for you.

In a gentle but swift motion, Joel situates himself on top of you, closing your thighs together and putting them on one side of his body—all while still inside of you.

He cages you in with his big strong arms, looking down at your needy expression as he gradually starts rocking his hips into you. You're twisting your torso to remain looking at him, clawing at his biceps with your nails.

"This how you like it?" He huffs out, the sweat evident on his brow. "Deep n' slow?"

You want to respond to him, but it's hard to because every other sound you make is a moan.

He's so deep and never fails to hit the one spot that just makes you melt.

Opting for a non-verbal response, you nod with fever, gyrating your hips to meet his thrusts.

He chuckles, the sound alone makes you wanna come.

His name slips from your lips like a prayer—Joel finds it so cute because when he hits deep, your voice raises in pitch.

But he's no better, he'd been groaning in your ear since the start of it. He really cant help it, your cunt is like a silky, wet vice molded perfectly for his cock.

Joel lifts one of your legs up to his chest, securing his muscular arm around your thigh to keep it there. He continues he's deep thrusts, only this time picking up rhythm. He also brings his other hand down to lazily rub circles in your clit.

Christ.

Your head lolls back and your eyes roll into the back of your head. The stimulation was insanely perfect and all too much at the same time.

Your body wracks with jolts and spasms—your body trying to cope with everything it's feeling. Joel takes notice, a proud and lopsided smile spreading across his face.

"M'gonna cum," You whine, your body writhing against him with each thrust.

Your pussy is clenching down on him with each piston of his hips, Joel is not far behind you.

He rubs your clit in a way that makes you come undone, your back arching up off the bed and your toes curling from pleasure.

At the same time, Joel picks up his pace, only to pull his cock from inside you and pump it a few times before unloading his seed onto your naked torso.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the heavy breathing coming from the both of you. Joel's staring down at your pussy, entraced with the way your hole is constricting around nothing.

Then, he looks at your face. Your eyes are closed, your lips are parted, your chest is heaving up and down. He's admiring you and all your fucked-out glory.

He brings a hand up to your face, wiping off the tear stains with his thumb. "You alright?" He husks out, looking down at you assessingly.

"M'perfect." You coo, slowly opening your eyes and leaning up to kiss him. Joel returns it, loving the way your mouth opens so readily for him.

He'd have to try it out with his dick next time.

"Can we go again?" You murmur into his mouth, your arms wrapping around his shoulders.

Joel scoffs because he thinks you're kidding. You're not. When he realizes this, he shakes his head in disbelief, pushing you down onto the bed by your shoulders.

"Don't worry, we got all summer."

[joelsoftie]

THINGS ARE STARTING TO GET REALLY INTERESTING…. so excited to see where this is going but so nervous too 🥹

✨Saving What Was Lost Part 7: Your Hand In Mine✨

Pre-Outbreak! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist

A/N: Get ready to meet soft, angsty Joel in this chapter. I would like to give him a big hug 🥺

Chapter Summary: Your first day of therapy is a little scary, but Joel helps you through it.

Rating: 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 4.7k

Chapter Tags: Soft! Joel, so much angst, yearning, reader goes to therapy, dual POV, age gap (reader late 20’s, Joel late 40’s), mentions of violence and kidnapping, grief

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

“You nervous?” Joel asks from the driver’s seat, hands locked around the leather steering wheel.

   You nod while your hands fidget with your leggings. “Mmm, a little.” But a little’s a lie. You’re downright terrified. You’ve never been to therapy, never talked about yourself before like that. Well, Joel was the closest. You’ve talked to him, and you’re oddly comfortable with that now. But other than that? You haven’t done this.

   He must see the lie on your worried face and the terror ringing through your wide eyes. Giving you a gentle smile, he turns his focus back to the road ahead that’s shrouded in mist from the December rain. “Don’t be. Tess is great. You’re going to be great, sweetheart. I know it’s scary, but just know you’re taking that first step into the unknown. That first step of healing, and you’re going to do so well. I jus’ know it.”

   He’s always so supportive, so gentle, so easy with you. It makes your heart clench, makes it beat a little more just for him. 

   You take a good look at him. Watch as he cards a hand back through his tousled curls, watch as his green flannel clings to his flexed biceps, watch as that easy smile melts across his plush mouth. He’s just so nice to watch, so easy to keep your eyes trained on. 

   Darting your tongue across your bottom lip, you tilt your head toward him and give him an easy smile. “You’re always so sure about me.”

   “Yeah, guess I am.” He turns his head toward you and gives you a heart-stopping smile. “I guess I see all the potential in those pretty eyes of yours.”

   Your mouth parts, cheeks redden as you repeat that sentence over in your mind. He thinks you have pretty eyes. He’s always so sure of you. 

   Turning back toward the fogged-up passenger window, you lean against the door and smile. A smile that’s bigger than you’ve ever smiled before. You’re completely smitten by the handsome Texas man with big brown eyes. And he’s just continuing to show you how much life is worth living. Telling you how far he thinks you’ll go. But you don’t want to go far in distance. No. You just want to stay right here beside him. You think you’d follow him anywhere.

   When he stops at a red light, you brave another stare at him and smile like your whole heart is right there in his eyes. “Thanks for seeing the potential in me.”

   One side of his mouth curls up into a crooked smile, and his cinnamon-brown eyes sparkle against the windshield. “You’re so welcome, sweetheart.”

   When you catch your breath from melting, you ask, “Sarah said you see Tess, too?”

   He nods as the truck’s engine revs to life again. “She’s right. See her every couple of weeks or so. She’s patient and understanding and she really helps, I think. Helps when the nights get a little too dark for me.”

   The way he says the last sentence, his low voice sounds a little weary like maybe he fights the nights as much as you do. And you don’t miss the flinch in his right eye or the way his hand tightens on the steering wheel. He must get them too. The nightmares that haunt your dreams every few nights. You wish you could just scoop them up, replace them with dreams of ocean tides or snowy mountains filled with deep green trees. You wish you could take away his pain, whatever’s hurting him so deeply. He hides it well—the pain. But sometimes it creeps up on him, and it spills in different shades across his shadows that slip in his brown eyes. That’s something you don’t miss.

   Steady rain pelts against the windows, making the few trees in the distance look like monsters with tangled vines draping low to the ground. You flick your gaze back to Joel in the driver’s seat and another slow smile brushes against your lips. “Thanks again for driving me.”

   “It ain’t no trouble, sweetheart. I’ll drive you till you don’t need me to.”

   Another skipped heartbeat, another butterfly flitting through your stomach. The man is so sweet. 

   Biting your lower lip, you brave a question, mildly testing the waters. “What if I always need you to?” It comes out quiet, but not so quiet that he doesn’t hear you.

   He slows to a halt at a stop sign and turns to face you, eyes sparkling with promises. “Then I’ll be there every single time you need me.”

   “Promise?” 

   Another smile. “Cross my heart.” He folds a hand over his chest, promising once again. 

   You giggle under your breath, your eyes never leaving his. “Well, looks like I can trust you then.”

   “You can always trust me, sweetheart.” And he means it. You can always trust him, and you know that. God, you know that. 

   When the tires start spinning again on the damp pavement and the low sounds of an old Western song plays through the speakers, he clears his throat and speaks. “It’s gonna be a late night for me.”

   You flip your eyes back to him and give him a worried stare. “Do you have to go somewhere?” You already know what that means. He’s got an important job to do. One where he might be gone all night, maybe till morning. 

   He nods subtly. “Got an important run I gotta do with Tommy. So I might not be home till mornin’…” His voice cuts off. He knows you hate it when he’s away so long.

   “Gone the whole night?” Your voice is a meek whisper because you’re afraid what his answer will be. 

   He’s silent a beat. “Afraid so, but hopefully that ain’t the case. But still, even if I am back earlier, it’ll be well after two o’clock in the mornin’.”

   Your stomach churns just thinking about it. When he’s not across the hall when you’re sleeping, when he’s not just mere feet apart from you, it’s like something’s missing. There’s a void in the pit of your stomach, and you can’t seem to unravel that feeling till he’s in your space again. “I hate when you’re gone all night…” Your words falter, they break like your voice shakes.

   “I know, sweetheart. I know.” His right hand drops to the center console, just inches from yours. He seems conflicted, seems like he wants to reach out and graze his calloused skin against yours, but he doesn’t. But he’s trying. He’s still hesitant to touch you because you’re still so unsure of touch. He doesn’t want to scare you, and you know that. He’s just being careful. And maybe you’re still scared of physical touch, but his touch? That warm, gentle, soft graze he sometimes gives you. Well, it feels like sunlight skimming over you. 

   Carefully, you move your fingers in his direction. Just enough where you can feel the heat of his skin. You don’t touch him, not quite. But this is enough. This is your middle ground. “I umm… I worry about you at night when you’re not home. I’m always scared that… that...” You can’t even speak it out loud. You’re scared he won’t come back one night. And you can’t bear the thought of that. 

   His brown eyes soften. “I’ll be alright, sweetheart. I’ll come back. I can promise you that.” You give him a small smile and nod, keeping your fingers right by his just so you can feel the heat cover your own skin. 

   Physical contact is still something you’re struggling with, but you think Joel understands that. And he does. Always so careful around you. Never one to put you in an uncomfortable situation because he does understand your situation. He knows exactly what you’ve been through, and he wouldn’t dare make the wrong move because he doesn’t want to scare you. And you appreciate that. You appreciate him. So this is enough. Right now in this truck—hands centimeters apart, heat gliding over your fingers, a whispered promise that he’s going to take care of you. 

   Yes. This is enough.

 �� After a few more minutes, Joel’s pulling into a little parking lot, right in front of a tiny building with a lit-up white sign that says "Essence of Healing.” Your heart starts beating faster, your breath tightening in your chest as your eyes scan the brightly-lit sign. “Well, here we are. You ready?” He turns off the ignition and pulls the key out, his brown eyes flitting over to you. 

   You swallow once and nod, an array of emotions spinning in your head. “Yeah, I think so,” you breathe out as calmly as you can.

   He gives you an encouraging smile and pushes the door open. “C’mon, then.” You open the passenger door slowly and close it with a bang, your knees shaky, legs wobbly with every step you take toward the door. 

   This is it. You’re actually going to talk to a therapist for the first time in your life. What if you’re not ready, what if you choke, what if you burst out into tears and can’t sputter words from your choked-up throat? These are all valid questions, ones you never really considered, but you’re here. You have to do this. You have to do it for yourself. You owe that much to yourself. You are worth it.

   When Joel goes up to the front desk with you, the one covered in green succulents and a calming, trickling desk fountain running the corner, you collect all the paperwork you need to fill out and in exchange give her your photo ID. Joel was kind enough to go with you to get a new one since your old one was lost somewhere in Washington. As for health insurance, Joel was paying out of pocket for you to be seen. But he promised he was working to get you on your own health insurance plan. You still don’t know why he’s being so nice to you, but without him, you’d probably be dead by now…

   After a few minutes of fighting with the paperwork and scribbling out wrong information, you’re about to break out in tears. They’re swelling in the backs of your eyes, making your lips quiver and the words blur on the page.

   “Hey. You’re alright,” Joel coos, taking the pen from your shaky hand. “Let me help.” And you do let him. He fills out the questions you couldn’t answer yourself—his home address, your phone number you still haven’t memorized, emergency contact information, insurance details, even going as far as helping you fill out medical questions you’re having trouble with. 

   As you look up at him all focused and intent on getting your paperwork done, a little spark sizzles in your chest. You study him—eyes glued to the page, jaw flexed as his rapt attention is on each question, tousled curls a little disheveled as he cards his fingers attentively while he thumbs through the pages. You’re a little mesmerized, a little surprised he didn’t just leave you to shovel through the numerous papers. Instead, he chose to stay right by your side, saving you from breaking down from the weight of so many unknowns. 

   You’re scared, a little overwhelmed, a little more nervous than you’d like to be. But with Joel, it seems like you can get through anything. 

   When the paperwork is all completed and he’s back at your side, waiting patiently for them to call you back, you feel a little better—like you can do anything if he’s there next to you. Call him your knight in shining armor, but he truly is. He keeps saving you, and you hope he’ll never stop. 

   The nervous jitters start up again when you glance up at the clock. Five till noon, right when your appointment is supposed to be. Your knee is bouncing up and down in tandem with your flexed fingers against your leggings. Fear trickles down your spine, slides into the deepest parts of your veins. And suddenly, you’re downright terrified. 

   You’re about to get up, run out the door, but Joel senses your worry. He slides the back of his hand against yours, brushing your skin gently, a way to say ‘Hey, I’m right here.’ And when you look up and see those big brown eyes gazing softly down at you, you instantly quiet down inside. Your knee stops bouncing, and you’re left with this overwhelming peace that seems to radiate through every part of your body. Like a quiet forest that soothes your soul, that’s what Joel does to you. He makes everything else around you so still, so quiet. 

   When you’re about to say something to break the trance you’re in, you faintly hear your name being called from the open office door.

   You sit up straight and look toward the door, up at the woman that just called your name. “That’s me,” you call out with a shaky voice. 

   “Ahh. There you are.” She strides up to you and holds her hand out. You slowly take it. She has long light brown hair, strong cheekbones, welcoming hazel eyes, and a smile that instantly soothes you. “I’m Tess, by the way. It’s so good to meet you. This one’s told me a lot about you.” She flicks her eyes to Joel.

   When you take her hand, it’s warm. “It’s nice to meet you, Tess. And of course he has.”

   Joel shakes his head and lets a low chuckle leave his lips. “Guilty as charged.”

   “You got lucky with this one. He’s one of the good ones,” Tess nods as your hands disconnect.

   “He is…” you repeat back, getting lost just for a second in his syrupy brown eyes. He seems to get lost in yours too.

   “You ready?” Tess asks.

   “Oh, uhh. Yeah.” You take a second to push yourself up off the cushioned leather chair, let your legs stop wobbling beneath you. 

   When you’re just about to follow her back, Joel’s low voice serenades your ears. “I’ll be right here waitin’. You’re gonna do great, sweetheart.”

   “Thanks, Joel.” You give him a lasting smile, until Tess beckons you back to her office. 

   “Come on. This way.”

   With one last glance his way, you watch the front office door shut and what awaits you is a long hallway with mint-green wallpaper. Pictures of oceans, fields of wildflowers, and open spaces fill the painted walls. A small white table sits in the middle of the hall with multi-colored flowers hanging over the table that are tucked inside a cream-colored pot. 

   When you make it to the fourth door on the left, Tess nods inside and lets you go first. “Welcome to my office. Hope it’s cozy enough for you.”

   Gasping, you take in her array of rocks and seashells on her back wall. Dozens of colorful shapes and sizes fill the expanse of it. But what really catches your attention is all the little sand dollars spread out by her computer monitor. Her walls are almost the color of sunlight, and she’s got a massive portrait of a west coast beach framed with love behind her desk chair. A white leather couch sits right across from her mahogany desk, and the scent of soothing lavender fills the air. 

   “It’s perfect,” you whisper, amazed by all the decorative details of her office. It’s so inviting and welcoming. It instantly calms you down. 

   “Glad you like it,” she smiles. “Well, have a seat. Get comfortable.” You comply as she gets situated in her chair and pulls up your paperwork. Sifting through it for a minute, she looks up at you with a bright smile lit across her face. “So. This is your first session, is that correct?”

   “Yeah. I… I’ve never done this before,” you answer honestly, a little scared of what she might say, but she only gives you another encouraging smile.

   “Well, you came to the right place then. We’re just going to take this slow, take it one session at a time. Healing is a journey. There’s no one single path to it. We’ll do what works for you, what you’re comfortable with. That sound okay to you?”

   “Mhm,” you nod with your hands clasped tightly in your lap. You’re so fucking nervous, but this is normal, right? Everyone is scared of something they’ve never done before. But this? It seems like all your secrets will surely be unmasked, and that terrifies you. Sharing your past—what happened to you—isn’t going to be easy. Not one bit. 

   “I can see you’re scared, but you don’t have to be. This is a safe space. You can talk to me about anything. It’s all confidential. Nothing you say goes out that door.” 

   Your eyes flit to the closed oak door, and you nod in acknowledgment. “Right… Okay.”

   She scoots back and crosses one leg over her knee, leaving the open papers splayed on her desk. All attention is on you now. “How about we start from the beginning. Before… before you were taken. Maybe start with your childhood?”

   “Oh… I… Well, that’s a lot to tell,” you gulp out nervously. Your childhood trauma is a whole other monster you still haven’t tackled. 

   She smiles. “We’ve got an entire hour today. And if you come back, we’ll have many more sessions to unravel your past.”

   You bite your bottom lip and nod, your nerves getting the best of you, but you push through. “Okay…” You take a deep breath and dive in head first. “Here goes nothing.”

   Four o’clock flashes like an alarm on the oven clock, telling him he’s been gone for hours, but really, it feels like it’s been days. He reaches for the open whiskey bottle and pours the amber liquid over the square ice cubes in the glass. Every drop looks like the trickles of fresh blood that’s stained his flannel permanently. He should’ve fucking known tonight was not the night to wear nice flannels. 

   He scuffs his leather boots against the hardwood floor, dragging his tired legs from the kitchen to the living room, till he’s collapsed in a heap on the leather couch—one hand curled around the cold glass, the other raking down his face excruciatingly slow. 

   He failed. He was too late. Just minutes from being on time. Maybe he could’ve saved her. Saved that innocent little girl from her executioners. But he couldn’t…

   As he closes his eyes, he sees the flash of red covering the dark walls, serenading the lace of her pink dress. Eleven-years-old, just shy of turning twelve, a daughter that’ll never be able to return home to a worried mother and father. 

   He curses under his breath, feels the tears pour like droplets of water down his cheek. She didn’t deserve to die, didn’t deserve to be scared and all alone. He was supposed to save her, was supposed to get her out. That was his mission, and he fucking failed. 

   Three minutes. He was just three fucking minutes shy of saving her life, but he was too late. He misjudged the distance, didn’t realize the captors were early to their destination. He got there right after they smothered her—silencing her terrified screams forever. He can still hear them like shrill sirens blasting through the base of that rundown building. This isn’t the first time he’s been too late, but God. This one hurts like hell because it reminds him of someone he lost along the way. Someone he loved just as much as Sarah.

   And so, he did what he did best. He took them out—all the men that had hurt her. Thankfully, he took backup, including Tommy. He smothered their screams, pushed daggers into their throats, shot them dead in a frenzy of rage while his teeth were clenched and eyes were fogged with held-in tears. When he looked at that poor, lost girl—it nearly took him to his knees. Those eyes. Those same lifeless hazel eyes that still haunt his dreams to this day. They were the same shade as hers… The little girl that forever changed his life. The one that he wishes was still here…

   Ellie… That little girl tonight looked just like his lost daughter—the one he saved all those years ago. But he never fully saved her. Not after… not when he let her go…

   A wave of emotions floods through his chest as he takes another stiff drink of alcohol, letting the whiskey burn through him while visions of hazel eyes and crimson fill his foggy mind. 

   He was too late. He fucked up. He misjudged the minute hand from the second hand. Time slipped away from him. And before he knew it, everything he planned for was lost to the eerie night. Instead, it ended in bloodshed and turmoil. He hates it. Hates when things have to get extremely violet, but what choice did he have? He had to take them out because they stole an innocent life—a life he was supposed to keep safe. 

   He’s so lost in the crimson-stained memories in his mind that he almost misses that small, meek voice of yours. “Joel?” 

   When he opens his eyes, a part of his soul shatters. There you are, a plush blanket wrapped around your shoulders, heartbreaking eyes shining over to him from the staircase. You take in his half-drank glass of whiskey and the dried tears that stain his cheeks. But also, you see the faint crimson that tarnishes his flannel shirt. 

   Blood. There was so much blood… like a liquid pool of death.

   He adjusts his back against the leather cushion and sits up a little straighter, just so he looks less worn down and broken than he already is. You see right through him though. You always do. “Sweetheart, it’s late. Why don’t you…” 

   “Are you… okay?” Your voice whispers across the room, silences the crackling embers in the fireplace. Your voice… it sounds broken too.

   “I, uhh. Jus’ please, go back to sleep.” He tries to push you away, tries to get you to return to your room so he can sulk in peace. He doesn’t want you to see him like this. Doesn’t want you to see just how physically and mentally defeated he actually is. He’s not as strong as you think he is. He’s fragile, grainy sand that gets blown away by the wind. He’s not rock-solid; he’s quicksand.

   You slide into the seat next to him, close enough where your knee could brush against his. “I’m not leaving you.” There’s finality in your tone, still soft but firm on your decision. And there’s those eyes. Those fucking beautiful eyes that could silence all the built-up pain he has piled on his heart.

   You’re so fucking beautiful.

   “Are you hurt?” You ghost your hand across the leather, reaching out just enough where he feels the heat of your skin. It soothes him over just a tad, but nothing can quite wipe away the excruciating weight of agony he’s carrying now.

   “No. I’m jus’… I’m so tired.” He pinches his eyes closed and takes a deep breath, his hand clutching the cool glass of whiskey like it’s his lifeline. “This job weighs on me like solid concrete. Some nights are so fuckin’ hard. Some nights jus’…” He pauses, takes a deep breath in and blows another out. He can’t finish. He’s too tired, too strained from the past few hours, months, years.

   He’s so fucking tired; he just needs some rest, some peace, some symbolism that he knows he’ll get to the finish line. But he’s been so struck down ever since he met that certain hazel-eyed little girl. Ellie. His little girl…

   “What happened tonight?” Your voice comes off as a whisper. Maybe you’re just as scared to hear what he has to say. 

   He taps the edge of his thumb against the solid glass and takes a deep breath. “We uhh… I lost her. Her name… her name was Abigail. Just a little eleven-year-old, and I was supposed to save her, to get her back to her parents. But I… I was too late. I was too fuckin’ late.” There it is. The pen drops, another tear splashes down his stained flannel, and he’s lost to grief again. 

   You pause a beat, but you gasp loud enough for him to hear the horror in your voice. He’s a failure. You must think he’s such a failure. “Joel… I’m so… God. I’m so sorry.” There’s only sorrow in your lilty voice, no anger or resentment that he failed yet another soul. You’re just as sad as him, he thinks.

   “I failed her… I failed everyone…” He shakes his head, sets his mind a little straighter just so he can grit the words out. “Sometimes I feel like none of this is worth it, like I don’t make a difference. Because when this happens, it makes me feel like I’m already six feet underground.”

   “Oh, Joel. No.” He feels it—the couch creak beneath him, the weight of your body sliding over, your hand inching closer to his. “You save so many lives. You make every bit of difference. You change lives.” There’s so much assurance in your voice; you’re trying to soothe him over.

   He snaps his eyes shut and shakes his head, anything to stop the burning sensation in his watery eyes. Maybe if he doesn’t blink then he won’t feel the pain of this gut-wrenching moment. “But I… I couldn’t save her… I couldn’t save…” 

   Ellie…

   With his eyes still shut tight, he feels warmth wrap around his hand, feels the soft caress of your skin. And when he opens his eyes wide, he sees the most beautiful shades of softness gleaming from your pretty eyes. 

   “You saved me. And that… that means everything to me. You saved me. You saved your daughter. You saved so many lives. You are a hero, and don’t you dare think otherwise. Not for one second.” There’s tears licking your lash line, the most sincere look over your pretty face. A desperate plea to get through to him. And in that moment, he believes you for a second. Believes that he is a hero, even when he doesn’t believe it himself.

   His bottom lip trembles as tears gather in his watery eyes. Something hits him deep in the gut. Longing, the fear of losing you, and an all-consuming wave of tender emotions. He sees you. He really sees you. Such a beautiful soul. Such a lovely, amazing woman. To think he almost didn’t go to that auction, almost wasn’t able to save you. What would he do if he never found you? It stings to even think about. Because you… Well, you’re everything all at once. And he’s so fucking soft for you.

   Carefully, softly, he laces his fingers through yours, holds on for dear life, praying you never let go.  

   Don’t let go. Never let go. 

   Your hand is a perfect fit for his. Every line, edge, dip carved specially for his hand to fit in. The weave of your fingers against his, the light brush of your skin, the heat that spirals into complete warmness when your skin slips against his—you were fucking made for him, just as he was for you, he thinks. Because when your bright eyes and soft smile are in his presence, he sees pure sunlight, sees the pure angelic essence you’re bathed in. 

   He was made to find you. This much he knows. And whether you choose to stay or go—he’ll have this moment to hold on to. Because he got you once. Your hand in his. This right here is everything he’s ever needed. It may just be your hand brushing against his, your fingers intertwined together, but it feels like home. You feel like home. 

   So, he lets the soft rain pelt outside against the living room windows, lets the dying fire crackle and pop in the fireplace, and savors the feel of your honey-like soft skin sliding against his. And he stays there for several minutes, maybe an hour, and there’s only silence shrouding the room. But your touch? It screams volumes, makes him feel human again. 

   For a breath of a moment, you’re his. 

   Texas rain was a rare phenomenon. Misty showers only a once in a while type thing. But you? You made it pour, made the flood waters wash clear through Austin. He didn’t see it coming, didn’t expect anything like you. But it sure as hell knocked him clear off his feet when you bathed him in your electric thunderstorms. 

Tag List: @clawdee @jellybeanxc @lotusbxtch @thebeldroramscal @laurrrra

@whxtedreams @sawymredfox @sanarsi @mountainsandmayhem @bitchytimetravelqueen

@southernbe @katinasweeney @pixelspunk @amyispxnk @mysterious-moonstruck-musings

@christinamadsen @aurorawritestoescape @evolnoomym @littlevenicebitch69 @alltheirdamn

@inept-the-magnificent @maried01 @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @fandomdaydreamer @elliaze

@callmecath1 @kulekehe @yorkshirewench @untamedheart81

@tateypots @stylesispunk @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @mellymbee @pascalsbae

@locaparapedrito @ladyofmidlo72 @readingiskeepingmegoing @copperhalfcent @axshadows

@here-briefly @cozylittlepigeon @pastawench @keylimebeag @joelsoftie

@romanarose @captainredspade @megangovier @bishtrouille @almodovarispunk

@papipascaaaal @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler @bambisweethearts @puddles221b

@valkyreally @northennlights

[joelsoftie]

each chapter gets better than the last and i am SOOO excited to keep reading 🥹 joel is truly a dream and sarah was so understanding, i hope they can both bond more in the future and im ready for tess to make her entry, she’ll be so cool!!

✨Saving What Was Lost Part 6: New Introductions with a Cup of Hot Chocolate✨

Pre-Outbreak! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist

A/N: The frequent need to write about these two is always sitting in the back of my mind. The slow burn is burning, friends 🥹 I have so much more left for these two, so this is a little New Year’s present because the writing bug hit me this week. I hope you enjoy 🩷

Chapter Summary: An unexpected guest appears in Joel’s front door, but it’s not just any guest. It’s his daughter Sarah, and he wants you to meet her.

Rating: 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 6.8k

Chapter Tags: Fluff, angst, meeting Sarah, soft! Joel, age gap (reader is late 20’s and Joel is late 40’s), slow burn, mentions of being trafficked, hurt Joel, yearning, so much yearning

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

  November autumn leaves fall from the oak and maple trees outside the view of the floor to ceiling windows, stacking vivid piles of bright orange and dark red colors across the front lawn. Whiffs of pine and cinnamon permeate through the house, creating the perfect atmosphere to read by the crackling fireplace in the living room. 

   That’s what you spend most of your time doing these days. Reading anything and everything you can get your hands on. Joel has hundreds of books scattered around his house, so you don’t have to go far to find something you want. 

   You love the afternoons. Love being in the comfort of a home where you feel warm and relaxed. Where you feel… safe. Yes, safe. Joel does that. Makes you feel like you’re in the presence of a knight in shining armor. You guess that’s what he is to you. Your savior. But mostly, you love afternoons because that means he’s here, and he’s choosing to spend his time with you. 

   The other night when he watched Gone with the Wind with you was the first time you actually had fun in a long, long time. And he made sure you were comfortable and taken care of, made sure you got to bed okay. But the one thing that burns like flickers of embers in your brain is the moment he picked you up and took you upstairs. 

   He was so… careful. Gentle, even. You latched on so tight to him that he had to pry your fingers from his flannel. He tucked you in, that much you remember. But also, you vaguely remember the faint brush of his fingers on your cheek, a lock of hair pushed behind your ear, and whispered words of affirmation. 

   Beautiful. He called you beautiful. Even if you were falling in and out of sleep, you still heard his slow drawl float through your ears, and you’re still blushing from the electric moment. He doesn’t need to know you heard it. You’ll just keep it tucked away in your locket, save it for a rainy day when you can repeat it a thousand times in your mind. Maybe one day he’ll say it again. Or maybe, one day you’ll be strong enough to look him in the eyes and tell him exactly how he makes you feel. Safe, beautiful, whole, seen. 

   Thumbing through the colorful bookcase, you slip a book out and start scanning the back. Just when you start to flip the front page, the click of the front door opens, and then you hear voices. Joel’s and someone you don’t recognize. Pressing the book against your chest to hug away the anxiety that’s building in your system, you pause when in comes Joel with a girl with big doe eyes and long strands of curly dark hair. You take a good, long look, your brain suddenly registering who she is. 

   Sarah. 

   You drop the book from your arms and it goes tumbling to the floor, your mouth parted open in mere shock as you register the situation. 

   Joel steps forward, enough to feel the heat from his body against yours, his arm placed gently around Sarah’s back, pushing her forward to present to you. He clears his throat and smiles. “Have someone I’d like to introduce you to, sweetheart.” He flicks his brown eyes to you and then back to Sarah as she stands gleaming in the sunlight with a bright smile. “This is Sarah, my daughter.” And then he says your name, introducing you the same. 

   You stand there lock-jawed, eyes wide, arms down at your sides, your mouth parched of words as you take her in. Big smile, as kind as her brown eyes. Eyes like Joel’s. She has a light dusting of freckles across her nose, cheeks warm and pink. She looks so kind. Kind like Joel, you think. 

   She says your name brightly and flashes you a genuine smile. “It’s so good to finally meet you! I’ve heard so much.” Before you register what happens, she’s throwing her arms around your back and pulling you in for a tight embrace. 

   Your eyes widen in confusion, mouth hanging open as she squeezes you tighter with your arms still draped to the sides of your body. It’s like you’re a long-distance cousin she hasn’t seen in years, but you’ve never met her in your life. But you think it’s okay because she’s a survivor like you, and you feel like you do know her. Joel’s told you so much. 

   Briefly flicking your eyes up, Joel chuckles under his breath from the foyer and gives you an encouraging smile, his eyes sparkling with glee as he takes in the sight of his sweet daughter pulling you in for a hug. 

   As if he’s encouraging you, you cautiously snake your arms around her back and hug her right back, embracing her like a sister that got lost along the way of the kidnapping. And when you finally breathe in her strawberry scent, you hold her tighter for just a few seconds knowing that she had everything stripped from her years ago too. 

   When you release your arms from her, Joel gives you a small smile and slowly retreats back from the room. “I’ll get out of your hair, let you two talk.” And then he’s disappearing around the corner, leaving you alone with Sarah. 

   “You want to go out on the back porch?” Sarah asks brightly, brown eyes as big as the moon. 

   You give her a shy smile and hesitate because you’ve never actually been out there before. You kind of just locked yourself in the house, afraid to venture far from closed doors and warm air. Afraid to go far because you’re still scared. Scared someone could take you away from Joel again… “Umm, sure. I’ve never really been out there before.”

   “You’ve never been out back?” she asks, shocked, jaw dropping like you just said you’ve never seen colors before.

   You shrug meekly and say, “Kinda keep tucked away in the house.”

   Registering your answer, she closes her lips and nods. “I understand. It’s nice and cozy in here, but come on. You’ll love it.”

   She tugs your wrist and pulls you along with her toward the back glass door, only stopping momentarily to pick up two fleece blankets from a little basket tucked next to the fireplace. Handing you one before she slides the door open, she encourages you forward.

   When you step out onto the wooden back porch, your jaw drops as you take in the beautiful view. Acres upon green acres expand over the horizon. A small pond that glistens in the sunlight sits a couple miles out. A flock of birds soar in the blue sky, only disappearing behind some forming grey clouds in the near distance. And the trees… so many tall, green, large scatters of them expand over the open land. It’s almost like home…

   “Whoa. This is…” You pause, mouth suddenly dry as you join Sarah on the porch swing, eyes still roving across the beautiful view. How did you not know this was out here all this time? 

   “Pretty great, right? Dad owns all this. All the way back behind that line of thick trees.”

   You scan the horizon, but you don’t see an end anywhere in sight. He must own hundreds of acres. 

   Taking a deep breath, you part your lips and smile, pulling the blanket up over your lap to dissipate some of the November chill. “I’ve been kind of a recluse since I’ve been here. I just can’t believe I missed this. It’s beautiful…” And it is. Breathtaking, actually. It kind of takes the ache away, fills you with a little happiness that replaces all the bad things that have happened to you over the past couple of years. 

   “That’s okay,” she smiles encouragingly. “You’re seeing it now.”

   You take another moment to soak it all in. The crisp smell of autumn, the yellow and red tinted leaves that blend in with the deep greens, the open land that’s filled with picturesque views that you swore would never be in Texas. But this? This is as close to home as you’ve felt for a long time. 

   Sarah’s warm voice pulls you back to the present. “Dad’s told me a lot about you.”

   You turn your head, eyes a little weary. He’s told her about you? “Really?” you ask, taken aback.

   “Mhm,” she hums out with a smile plastered on her glossy lips. 

   “Nothing bad I hope,” you breathe out.

   She shakes her head, curls bouncing with the movement. “Oh, no. Only good things. He really likes your company.”

   He likes your company? 

   You smile to yourself, feeling a blush set in on your cheeks as the cool air blows against your skin. He likes your company… “Well, I like his too.” But really, you mean to say you just like him. More than his company. You like being in his space, nuzzling into his soft flannels that smell like him—Pinewoods, mahogany, and a hint of black coffee. You like talking to him, watching his dimples cave into his tanned cheeks when he’s smiling. You just like him. All of him. You like everything about him. Especially how kind and soft he is with you. You like it all. And that scares you a little, but you shouldn’t be because he makes you feel so safe. 

   Yes, safe.

   She pulls her knees up to her chest, hugging them to her pink hoodie, the blanket loosely draped across her shoulders, and then she takes a good look at you, like she’s doing a deep dive into your mind. “How are you doing, really?”

   You let the question simmer, let it bubble inside you as you contemplate exactly what you’ll say. How are you really feeling? Drained, worn down, discarded, hurt. But there’s a chip inside you, one that’s filled with a little warmth, a little healing. A part of you is being stitched back together. One thread at a time. And it’s not because you’re away from that awful house, away from their clawing hands and sharp commands. You think maybe, just maybe, Joel’s healing a teeny tiny part of you. Inside and out. He’s making you whole again. Even in the short amount of time you’ve been here, you think he’s making you brand new. 

   He’s making you feel not so alone. He’s making you feel safe, wanted. He’s giving you wings…

   “I’m hanging in there,” you say quietly, fingers brushing lightly over the fleece blanket. ”Kinda just taking it one day at a time.”

   “It’s been a little over a month now, yeah?” she questions, tilting her head as her brown eyes glisten through the clouds now hanging over the covered porch.

   “Yeah, that’s right,” you nod, eyes wandering back to the big, open field. You could get lost in those sea of trees. Run, disappear forever. But you don’t think you want to anymore. At least, not right now. 

   “How long were you gone for?”

   You fiddle with your bottom lip, wincing at the lost time that’s gone by. “Almost two years. Seems more like ten, if I’m being honest. Time seems to blur together when you’re… Well, when you don’t know if you’ll make it through the night.” 

   A lump forms in the back of your throat, making your eyes a little blurry from the thought of being gone for so long. How had you managed to survive all those days of abuse and torment? How’d you ever get saved by the likes of someone like Joel? Warm, kind, safe. 

   She twirls a strand of her dark curls around her index finger, eyeing you with big sad eyes that make you want to choke out a sob, but you don’t. “I wasn’t gone nearly as long as you. And I can’t imagine what you went through. Two years, that’s… God. I’m so sorry.” Regret fills her eyes, and then she places a hand softly on your shoulder, saying just as much in her touch. 

   “Yeah, I am too,” you say a little dazed as her hand slips away from you, back into her lap.

   You mull over what you’ll say next while your emotions are running rampant. You feel everything all over again. The fear, the blinding pain, the inconsolable ache in your bones that won’t go away. You’ve been scared for so long, so how are you supposed to navigate your way through life again? How are you supposed to go on when the weight of the world rests like cement on your chest?

   Turning your head toward her slowly, you ask something that’s been bothering you. “How do you do it?”

   “Do what?” she questions; her tone gentle and patient.

   “Keep living a normal life,” you whisper, letting your words float across the frigid air, right back to Sarah.

   She shifts in her seat and takes a beat before answering, her voice calm and collected. “I wouldn’t exactly call my life normal. It’s gotten almost to that point, but there’s still days I can hardly get out of bed, nonetheless eat. But my boyfriend, Ryan, helps me when it gets like that. Or I talk to Tess. Have you seen her yet?”

   Tess. That’s right. You forgot about Tess.

   You shake your head. “Not yet.” But you’d really like to.

   “She’s great. She’s really helped. Even my dad sees her sometimes.”

   “Your dad sees her?” you ask, tilting your head slightly.

   She nods. “Yeah, she’s actually helped him a lot too with everything. Especially with his line of work. He really needs someone to lean on on the hard days, you know?”

   You let your mind settle on her words, your thoughts turning back and forth over the endless images of Joel’s sleepless nights. The deep shadows under his chocolate eyes. The restless image of him hunched over a laptop with his fingers lacing frustratedly through his dark locks. The late night runs he has to do periodically. The stressful calls he takes right when he’s about to head to bed. The times he’s not home when it’s three in the morning. The pacing back and forth he does when Tommy’s talking to him about a job. But there’s one thing you don’t ever miss. The pain that flares behind his brown irises, blending in with the inky flecks that remind you of dark chocolate. 

   Something hurt him. Something continues to hurt him, and you don’t even know what that something is.

   Jesus. You don’t even know half of what Joel goes through, but you think he might need someone just as badly as you do. Maybe, just maybe, you can be that something he needs because he’s that to you. He’s your foundation when you had nothing.

   “Your dad, what he does, he’s helped so many girls…” you murmur, your voice caught in your throat as you think about everything he’s done specifically for you. But really, it just takes a toll on you thinking of everyone he has saved. He’s… incredible. 

   She smiles, her cheeks bright from the crisp air. “He’s saved countless lives. And for that, I really couldn’t ask for a better dad.”

   No. She really couldn’t. He is the best dad, and she’s so lucky to have him.

   After a moment of silence passes, she speaks again. “He seems happier lately.”

   Your eyes flick over to hers while your heart does a somersault in your chest. “Really?”

   “Yeah,” she smiles gently. 

   “What makes you say that?” The knot tightens in your stomach, and maybe you’re a little scared of the answer. Was it… was he happier because you were here? No, that couldn’t be possible, could it? 

   “I don’t know,” she laughs, shrugging casually as her hair tumbles past her shoulders. “He just seems lighter, maybe a little brighter. His eyes, they’re a little clearer. I think… I think ever since you came here. Yeah, that’s when I noticed the change.”

   Your eyes widen, lips part in awe. Did she just say… No. You must’ve heard wrong.

   “Me? But I…”

   She stops you mid-sentence and smiles. “He likes your company, like I said. I can tell. He’s never been… Well, he hasn’t been happy in a while. It’s nice to see him smiling for a change.”

   You bite your bottom lip out of habit and curl your fingers into the fleece of the blanket, tossing ideas back and forth in your mind. Maybe he has been smiling more lately. Like on movie night. You’ve never seen him laugh so carefree before. He did seem happier. A little more teasing, maybe even playful in a way. You wanted to see more of that. Carefree Joel is heart stopping.

   “And you think I’m the reason he seems happier?” you laugh, a pang of disbelief flowing through your body. Could you really be the reason he was happier? 

   “I really do,” she confirms with the imprint of a dimple in her cheek, solidifying the question. 

   You’re the reason he’s happier… 

   “Hey, umm. I just wanted to say you can reach out to me anytime. I’m always available if you need a friend,” she smiles, her eyes sincere and warm. “And just know that you’re a survivor. You’re a strong one, and there’s nothing you can’t overcome. Never give up. Keep fighting the long fight. You’ve got this. I believe in you, my dad believes in you, Tommy does too.”

   They believe in you. Joel believes in you. And that in itself means so much to you…

   “Thanks, Sarah. I’m so glad I got to meet you.” A tear forms in the corner of your eye, but you brush it off just as Sarah squeezes your knee in encouragement. 

   Before you can say another word, you hear a shuffling noise by the door. “Hope I didn’t intrude on anything.” Joel slides the glass door open, balancing mugs with two hands and one braced against his flexed arm, making you almost lose your balance at the sight of him. Tall, fitted blue flannel around his muscular arms, slicked back hair with silver streaks glistening even under the cover of a grey cloud. So handsome, so put together, so…

   “Oh, no. Not at all, Dad!” Sarah chimes in, giddy as she reaches for the pink tinted mug in his firm grasp.

   “Thought I’d whip up some hot chocolate for you two. It’s a bit chilly out here. Don’t want ya to catch a cold. Plus, I know how much you like my homemade recipe, Sarah.” He smiles as she takes a big gulp, groaning when she swallows the first taste.

   “Yes! I knew you’d make me your famous hot chocolate. Thanks, Dad. You’re the best.” She throws him a toothy grin and settles back against the swing, kicking her legs carefree while she indulges in the warm hot chocolate, eager for you to try a taste yourself.

   “Here ya go, sweetheart. Reckon you like hot chocolate.” He smiles, reaching his arm out, offering you a warm mug with swirls of steam billowing out the top.

   “Yes.” You extend your arm, palm open with an invitation. And when he slides the cup into your hand, his calloused fingers brush against yours, causing goosebumps to rise on your shivering skin. You gasp, feeling how warm and welcoming his hand feels against yours, but it’s only there a second, the next he’s whisking his arm back to his side. You already miss it—his hand sliding against yours implicitly. 

   Physical contact is not in your book of things that make you feel good anymore. But with Joel? It feels more than right. It feels… perfect. Like his hand was made to brush against yours. Or maybe it was made so he could intertwine his fingers with yours, thread them together like your stitched-up heart. You think you’d like that. One day. And maybe he would too.

   “Put some extra whipped cream and marshmallows in jus’ for you. Know how much you like everything extra sweet.” He gives you a gut-wrenching smile. One that could bring you to your knees. Especially once that dimple forms on the middle of his cheek. 

   God. What did you ever do to be worthy of looking at that angelic face? Carved to perfection, tanned, smooth like his tousled curls. And his eyes. Big pools of warmth that instantly make my insides all fuzzy and warm. 

   “Thanks, Joel. You didn’t have to go through all that extra trouble though,” you smile bashfully, still trying to get a grip on this reality.

   “‘Course I did. You’re worth the extra mile.”

   Your mouth parts at the words. You’re worth the extra mile. Sarah giggles under her breath, but she keeps to herself. But you can’t help but notice her eyes keep roaming from Joel and then back to you. She must see it. See just how much we affect each other. Just one look and you’re melted butter. It just takes one glance from those big brown eyes until you’re nothing but dust in the wind. 

   “Dad makes the best hot chocolate!” She brags, taking another sip of her steaming hot chocolate. “Don’t for a second let him tell you it’s nothing special.”

   But it is special. Every single particle of him is special. How’d you ever get so lucky to be sitting here on his porch, drinking his hot chocolate that he made specially just for you? 

   “You know,” he drawls. “Thanksgiving’s next Thursday.”

   Thanksgiving? How had you forgotten it was Thanksgiving? To be fair, you weren’t really in the mindset to think about holidays. You overlooked Halloween already, what used to be your favorite. 

   “Already?” you laugh uneasily, afraid he’ll be upset you forgot.

   “Sure is,” he chuckles back, but he gives you an encouraging smile, saying you’re just fine. 

   “Dad makes the best cherry pie you’ve ever tasted! I’m so excited,” Sarah squeals excitedly beside you. “Well, I guess everything he makes is the best, but this is to die for!” 

   “Oh?” you ask while Joel nods shyly. “What about blueberry pie?”

   He tilts his head and looks at you a beat before he says, “I can make that, but only if you help me.”

   “You want me to… help you?” you gawk, mouth parted in surprise. You’re not a cook, never really been one in the first place. Do you even remember how to do anything? 

   No… you really don’t.

   He nods as he takes a sip of his warm coffee, brown eyes locked on yours. “Can’t do it without you. Take it or leave it, sweetheart.”

   He’s not making this easy, is he? 

   “Okay,” you break after a beat. “You’ll just have to guide me. I’m not the best at baking.”

   “Well, I’ll jus’ have to teach ya then,” he smirks, sending a wink your way and making you blush all over again.

   “Perfect,” Sarah giggles, like she knows something we don’t. But she’s been watching us like a hawk; silently tapping her talons and sharpening her ears. Maybe she sees the chemistry swirling between us like the smoky fog hovering over the glassy lake. If she does, the only thing that gives her away is her sneaky smile and bright eyes flicking between us.   

   He shakes his head and chuckles under his breath while he leans against the wooden porch fence. One elbow propped lazily up on the edge, his other hand flexed around his royal-blue coffee mug. You follow the map of lines on his forehead, memorizing every crevice, every wrinkle like the constellations in the sky. 

   He catches you staring, which makes you look down, a deep blush burning in your cheeks. But when you look back up, he’s still watching you. Almost like he’s memorizing your face just the same. 

   Soft. His eyes are so soft. Warm, big, his brown irises full of promises of something. It makes your breathing hitch, makes you a little off center. But yet, he keeps watching like he can’t quite believe you’re there, sitting right in front of him too. 

   And it stays just like that until Sarah starts up the conversation again. But he still doesn’t take his eyes off you. It’s almost like he’s just as mesmerized as he makes you feel. 

   There’s a spark, a lapse in time where fireworks go off somewhere in the far distance. You can almost hear the sizzling and booms as they light in the sky. But instead, you hear Joel’s name whooshing around your mind, lighting you up a variety of colors. He painted you a multitude of shades and brought life back in your eyes when all you could see was black and white before. 

   You’ve never seen such pretty shades of brown before until you looked up and saw his eyes. You think he lit you up the very moment you became his that night he saved you…

   “Joel?” you call, a few minutes later when the only sound is the faint rustle of leaves in the distance.

   He turns his head toward you, coffee cup snug in his big hand. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

   You hesitate a second, looking from Sarah and then back to Joel. Yes. You think it’s time. “I think… I think I’m ready to talk to Tess.”

   His brown eyes light up like Christmas lights, a soft smile splaying across his lips which nearly takes your breath away. And the way he’s looking at you? All soft and warm. Well, you think you’ve just fallen all over. “Why don’t you give her a call this week? I’m sure she’d be happy to get you in soon. In fact, I’ll drive you to your appointment. Whenever you’re ready, you can count on me.”

   You can count on me. He’s so reliable, so sweet, so genuinely caring. It makes a smile crack over your lips, makes another wave of warmth rush through your chest, filling you up with sunshine and the hot chocolate he made for you. With extra sugar, you can’t forget that part. 

   When Sarah congratulates you on taking that step forward, Joel can’t help but to smile even bigger and brighter. He even goes so far as mouthing the words “I’m so proud of you” to you through the air. Even though you didn’t hear them, you swear you can taste them as they simmer through the chilly air, along with his thick Southern drawl. 

   And just like that, you’re falling through cloudless skies, crashing down to earth. But you don’t have to be afraid anymore of dying because he’ll be right there waiting to catch you. 

   Later, when Sarah’s gone for the night, you’re wrapped up in your favorite fluffy blanket, knees tucked up underneath you while you silently read under the bright lamp. The fireplace crackles in the corner, making for the perfect night to read in the living room. But this is kind of a ritual now, a normal routine you’ve slipped comfortably into. 

   And then there’s Joel—the man who completes these relaxing nights. He’s here. Right where you need him. He’s perched on the leather couch, his guitar between his legs, gently taking a rag and dusting off the smooth wood, carefully cleaning each string with rapt attention. It’s a little distracting you think—watching his hands slide over the instrument, oh-so-carefully polishing and refining something that seems like it means the world to him. 

   To be honest, this is the first time he’s actually taken the acoustic guitar out of the reading room. He’s never really talked about it before. Which means, it’s something he hides deep inside his chest, careful not to show emotion when he glides over the colorful moth that’s etched in the wood. You think it means a great deal to him, whatever it symbolizes. 

   Putting the book down on your lap, you sit up straighter and muster enough courage to call his name. “Joel?”

   He looks up, his brown eyes crinkling in the corners when he focuses on you. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

   “I, umm. I was wondering…” You bite your bottom lip, suddenly nervous as he zeroes in on you, waiting for your question. You muster up enough courage to ask, but you don’t want to overstep. “Would you… Do you think you could play me something?”

   His jaw ticks, his lips quiver as he muddles over your big ask. There’s a glimmer in his eye, a faint recognition of something hiding deep behind those brown pools. Uncertainty, maybe. Or was it just sadness? 

   Grazing the tip of his thumb up one of the strings, he sighs. “Haven’t played in quite some time, sweetheart.” His deep drawl is filled with anguish, and the last thing you want to do is make him sad. 

   Taking back your ask, you whisk it back in. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… You don’t have to…”

   He stops you before you can finish your stammering. “S’alright, sweetheart. You didn’t do anything.” But it feels like you did. After a beat, he huffs out a breath. “I’ll, uhh. I’ll try, sweetheart. For you, I’ll try.”

   Those words mean more to you than he knows. He’ll try for you. That’s all you can ask for. Putting him in a vulnerable position, and he still wants to try? You don’t think you could be more smitten. 

   He straightens his back, mulls a little more over what he’s doing, then he’s placing the guitar carefully over his lap, adjusting his arms as he cradles the instrument like it’s the most fragile things he’s ever touched. 

   You fall silent and watch the way his thick fingers flex, eyebrows thread together, eyes close, lips slowly part. It almost feels like he’s keeping something down—something that’s hurting him, cutting him deep, bleeding him dry. You wish you could sew the wound up, wipe away his invisible scars that only show beneath the surface. You want to take his pain away like he takes yours. 

   After a silent fist fight in his mind, he slowly places his fingers gently on the taut strings and oh-so-carefully begins to play a steady, melancholy tune. You can feel the weary emotion he wears on his face, can see the hurt lined in his weathered stare, can feel the debilitating pain he wears on his slouched shoulders, can even hear the grieving through the deliberate cords he strums. 

   You feel the backs of your eyes burn with held-back tears the longer you watch Joel wear his heart on his flanneled sleeve. And as the melancholy tune carries throughout the stifling room, you feel every single emotion he’s ever poured out into that guitar. That special, one-of-a-kind, gem of a guitar. Whatever it means to him, you see it so clearly now, even if you don’t really know what’s got him so torn up. Was it the moth etched to perfection in the wood, or was it the person that gave him that guitar. Or, had he lost someone, too?

   When he plays the last note, his jaw goes slack, and he lays the guitar flat on his lap, his thumb slowly tracing the edge of the little moth. Tears well in his big brown eyes, but he doesn’t dare let one fall. He holds them back, like the strong man he is. But strong men are allowed to break too. And right now, you’re fighting every single particle in your body not to tiptoe over and fall into his arms. 

   Joel deserves that. Someone to take his pain away, lock their arms around his neck and promise him that he’ll be okay. Just like he promised you…

   He looks up slowly, steadily, his head still hanging low, but his eyes meet yours for a brief second. It almost kills you to see those big, sappy brown eyes lathered in such sadness. Makes you want to just rush into his arms and never let go. 

   Who hurt Joel? That’s what you want to know. Who tore his heart from his chest and ripped it in two? 

   You slowly peel yourself off the couch, leaving your book open, laying face down in the blanket. You silently tiptoe over to him, careful not to disturb his sulking, keeping your eyes glued to the way he’s brushing the pads of his fingers against the scarred strings. He’s got his heart spilled all over them like black ink. 

   Carefully, you slide in next to him, fully aware you’re about to play Russian roulette in the next few seconds. “That was beautiful. The song you played,” you whisper out, afraid you’ll shatter his glass box that’s cased around him. 

   He shifts against the leather, dragging his thumb smoothly across the polished wood. A sad smile crosses his lips, but it doesn’t meet his darkened eyes. “I uhh… I wrote that for someone. Someone who meant a lot to me…” The pain in his strained voice is etched in his clenched jaw, his palms a little shaky as he speaks. 

   You almost reach your hand out for his, but you think better of it. Someone did hurt him. Or maybe, he lost them… “Joel, that’s… that’s…” You can’t even finish your sentence without your own voice cracking. What could you say to that? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

   He rasps out a sigh and slumps his broad shoulders a bit more, one hand dragging over his silvery scruff, all the way across his mouth. And his eyes. Still glistening with held-in tears. 

   Oh, Joel… 

   “Do you want to talk about it?” you ask bravely, clenching your fingers as the words leave your lips. 

   Sniffling, he murmurs, “Not tonight. Not right, at least.” 

   You let his words simmer, let them soak into your sweater until you feel it’s safe to respond again. Shifting just a little closer, you brush your fingers just inches away from his hand, enough to where he might be able to feel the warmth coming from your palm. “Joel?”

   “Hm?” he hums, his deep bravado echoing around the room. 

   Your fingers dance closer, just enough to lick flames from your skin. If you were brave enough, you’d thread your fingers through his until he let you take away some of his held-in pain. “You know you can always talk to me, right? About anything.”

   He lets out a breath and slowly looks up at you. His eyes are hazy, a little cloudy with the fog from his watery eyes. It makes pain flood inside your chest. You freeze when he brushes his knuckles gently down your cheek, a light touch that means he appreciates you when words surely fail him in this moment. And then there’s the way he’s looking at you, like you’re the center of his gravity, making a tear leak from the corner of your eye. But of course, he wipes it away before you can blink. 

   “Thank you, sweet girl,” he smiles, letting his thumb trace your jawline before he snaps his hand back to his side. And there you go, wishing his warm palm was still lingering across your skin. 

   The way he touches you—it’s not sexual. Not in the least bit. It’s warm, filled with so much care and attention. Just like the special recipes he conjures up in the kitchen. It’s filled with extra care. And God, how he cares for you. Just like you care for him…

   He stares at you for a beat, crystallized brown flecks dancing across your vision, soaking you up like you want to do with his pain. He tilts the guitar against the leather couch and lets his palm drag down it, eyes flicking back and forth from it to you repeatedly. He looks like he wants to tell you something. Maybe the reason he’s hurting?

   Please, Joel. Give me your pain. 

   Once he’s settled his mind, he blinks a couple times and looks at you with hurt-filled eyes. He focuses on a strand of your hair, lets his fingers fall over the silky surface while you hold your breath from the contact. And he fixates on it while his mouth twitches to let the words he really wants to set free out. “The reason I haven’t played in so long is because… Because I…”

   You hold your breath, waiting for that something to come tumbling from his lips like an old wound he just won’t let go of. But before he can finish, his phone starts ringing off the hook, deflecting him from the one secret he was about to share with you. The one thing you might’ve been able to remotely help him with. 

   Pulling his phone free from the front pocket of his denim jeans, he sighs, carding his free hand through his slicked-back curls. You get the faint view of Tommy’s name scrolled across the screen which means it’s probably going to be another late night for Joel. He deserves a break. He works too hard, pushes himself past his limits most nights. He deserves someone to stop the madness for just one single night. 

   Could you stop it? Press pause on the world for just one night? Just long enough for him to get a decent night’s rest. The dark circles beneath his tired eyes never go unnoticed. He’s got so much weight on his shoulders, so much baggage to pull around. Would he let you take some of that weight off, just for one night? 

   Groaning, he pushes off the edge of the couch and stands, his thumb hovering over the answer button. “I’ve gotta take this,” he mumbles heavily, dragging all his pent-up frustration and pain right back on his shoulders. But before he clicks the button and walks away, you recklessly reach your arm out and wrap your fingers around his wrist, pulling the thick flannel just enough to get his attention. 

   Stay, Joel. Don’t go. That’s what you really want to tell him, but you’ve said enough through your rampant movements.

   Looking down at your closed hand around his wrist, he lets the phone keep ringing, just stares into your eyes while his big, wide brown irises cross with yours. There’s a hesitation there, a moment in time where everything just stops. It’s just you and him for the second, the flickering embers that crackle like pop rocks in the flames of the fireplace. 

   Parting his lips in awe, eyes crinkling slightly at the corners, tears pooling in the backs of his irises, you think he might crack right on the spot. But the world begins to spin again, bringing you back to the present where his phone continues to ring and ring and ring repeatedly. 

   Don’t answer it, Joel. Let it go to voicemail. Stay. Stay with me. But the disappointment bubbles up inside you the moment he clicks the green button to life, letting Tommy’s voice slip through the end of the receiver. “Yeah?” His voice cracks, strains as he swipes at his teary eyes. It makes you crack just the same.

   Just when you let a puff of air leave your lips, he fills the empty space by just a smidge. Slowly, carefully, he reaches over and cups the back of your head affectionately, letting his fingers linger in your hair, tangling for just a second as he fights to pull away. He’s talking on the phone, nodding his head and repeating what Tommy says, but his wide eyes are tethered to yours in a wave of emotions tossing through his beautiful brown eyes. He’s said enough in that touch, even as he pulls away. He’s saying thank you, that he appreciates you being here, that he revels in the way you’re trying. He’s trying to let his walls down too. Just enough to let you creep in and slip into the parts he keeps tucked away, afraid to show just how vulnerable he is too.

   Taking one more good look at you, he snaps his hand back inside his pocket and disappears around the corner, leaving you alone with the flickering fireplace and solid guitar next to the now empty couch. 

   You close your eyes and let your head fall back into the cushions, tucking your knees against your chest as you blow out a heavy breath. You were this close to getting a glimpse into his mind. And now? You didn’t know if you’d get that chance again.

   Joel… He barely touched you, barely grazed his fingers across your skin. But that last touch? The way he ran his hand down your hair and cupped the back of your head? That was everything all at once. He was everything. Gentle, kind, and so very soft. 

   You don’t know how long you stay there, but it’s long enough that you’ve faded off to sleep. Long enough that you feel him slip his strong arms around your body and carry you back to bed in the early morning hours of dawn. This time you don’t fight the need to sleep; you just curl into his chest for those few short, blissful seconds, breathing in his woodsy scent until he tucks you safely into bed. And you don’t miss that same brush of knuckles across your cheek before darkness takes a hold of your body. The last thing you remember is hearing his soothing Southern drawl whisper sweet nothings through the air.

Tag List: @clawdee @jellybeanxc @lotusbxtch @thebeldroramscal @laurrrra

@whxtedreams @sawymredfox @sanarsi @mountainsandmayhem @bitchytimetravelqueen

@southernbe @katinasweeney @pixelspunk @amyispxnk @mysterious-moonstruck-musings

@christinamadsen @aurorawritestoescape @evolnoomym @littlevenicebitch69 @alltheirdamn

@inept-the-magnificent @maried01 @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @fandomdaydreamer @elliaze

@callmecath1 @kulekehe @yorkshirewench @untamedheart81

@tateypots @stylesispunk @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @mellymbee @pascalsbae

@locaparapedrito @ladyofmidlo72 @readingiskeepingmegoing @copperhalfcent @axshadows

@here-briefly @cozylittlepigeon @pastawench @keylimebeag @joelsoftie

@romanarose @captainredspade @megangovier @bishtrouille @almodovarispunk

@papipascaaaal @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler @bambisweethearts @puddles221b

@valkyreally @northennlights

[joelsoftie]

THIS WAS SOO ADORABLE IM SO EXCITED TO READ MORE OF THEM ❤️‍🩹

✨Saving What Was Lost Part 5: Friday Night In✨

Pre-Outbreak! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist

A/N: I love this story so so much, and this chapter was the best to write 🥹 Joel is so soft for reader 😭 I can’t wait to bring you more of their slow burn journey 🩷

Chapter Summary: It’s just a misty November Friday night in, but Joel’s spending it with you as a movie night.

Rating: 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 5.3k

Chapter Tags: Soft! Joel, protective! Joel, a little angst, lots of fluff and yearning, slow burn, Joel and reader have a movie night, lots of feelings, dual POVs, age gap (reader is late 20’s, Joel is in his late 40’s)

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

 It’s just a casual Friday evening in Austin, one where you’re curled up on the couch and Joel’s on the opposite one adjacent to you. It’s become kind of a normal thing, maybe even something you’re comfortable with. Except this time you’re not reading a book, and he doesn’t have a newspaper or his phone in front of him. This time, the flat screen tv is flickering to life in front of you while the fire crackles and pops in the living room. This time, it’s a movie night. Something that he suggested to you first.

   “Why don’t you pick something out? Whatever you like.” He pushes the sleek black remote toward you on the coffee table, and you reach out and take it carefully.

   You slowly thumb through the movie channels, taking your time to read over and assess each title that comes up on the glow of the screen. Some are brand new, ones you’ve never heard of, but a lot of them are movies you’ve seen once upon a time ago. 

   You’ve been wondering what kinds of movies Joel’s into. He’s not usually the type to sit down and watch something. Not that you’ve seen, anyway. Sure, you’ve seen him click through the news a few times, maybe to see the weather report, but you’ve never seen him really sit down to indulge in any sort of show or movie. You wonder if he’s ever been into that. 

   You love movies. Movie nights used to be your favorite thing in the world. It used to be your safe place amongst the chaos at home. A place where you could hide and disappear into the screen for a few hours to escape the noise. You wonder if Joel ever does that when his job gets rough. He needs his own escapes too from the horrors he sees from his line of work. You wonder what brings Joel Miller peace. You have a feeling it used to be his guitar. The one he never plays anymore…

   Going back up the list, you pause when you see Gone with the Wind. That was always one of your favorites. One you’d keep going back to. You’d play it so many times that the DVD player eventually quit reading the scratched-up disk. It’s been such a long time since you got to watch it. So, so long.

   “You wanna watch that one?” Joel asks from the other leather couch. 

   You tap your thumb against the edge of the remote, nervously looking at him as if he’ll walk right out of the room if you say yes. It’s a romantic movie. Joel won’t want to watch that, would he?

   “Yes, if that’s okay with you. You can tell me if you don’t want to.” You flick your eyes back to him, watching as he leans back against the leather, one leg thrown over his knee, big arms crossed over his chest, pulling at the red flannel he has on. But he’s not frowning, he’s smiling. 

   ��Sweetheart, I told you I’d let you pick. We can watch whatever you want. If you wanna watch Gone with the Wind, then that’s what we’ll watch. I meant it when I said whatever you want.” His kind brown eyes say the same. Whatever you want.

   You pull the wool blanket over your lap and click on the title, hovering over the play button as Rhett and Scarlett appear on the main menu. You glance back over to Joel and ask him once more, “You sure?”

   “Positive,” he answers automatically.

   “Okay then, Gone with the Wind it is.” As you tap on the start button, the movie comes to life instantly, playing back that old theme song that’s been ingrained in your brain all these years. A little spark of joy ignites in your mind. It’s like you’re back in your old bedroom, having a movie night with just yourself. Except now you have Joel.

   “Ya know, this isn’t my first time watchin’ this.”

   Your head snaps in his direction at his response. “You’ve watched this before?”

   “Once or twice,” he chuckles.

   “Twice?” you gawk, mouth open as if he just said pink was his favorite color.

   “What?” he laughs. “A guy can’t watch romance movies?”

   “Oh, no. Of course they can. I just didn’t pin you as a romantic movie type.”

   He shrugs and smiles. “Well, guess there’s still some things you don’t know about me, sweetheart.”

   “Guess you’re right.” Your eyes fall back on the colorful screen as the opening scene takes place. But you can’t quite shake what he just said. 

   After a few minutes of silence, except for the crackle of the fireplace and the voices on the screen, you say something a bit out of character. “I’d like to know.”

   “Hmm?” 

   You clear your throat and faintly turn your head toward him, afraid if you look him dead in the eyes you’ll chicken out. “I umm… I’d like to get to know you more, I mean.”

   He gives you an easy smile, one that tugs at the corners of his lips and makes his eyes sparkle. It makes your heart stop for a second. “That can be arranged, angel.”

   Angel. There’s that nickname again. One that sends your heart soaring out the window. 

   You turn back to the tv and readjust your position, pulling your knees against your chest and biting down on your lower lip to keep your smile at bay. God, you hope you’re not blushing. You’re definitely blushing. 

   You’re not just falling for Joel Miller. You’re crashing and colliding into the unknown. Forget airbags, they’d be no use to you now. He’s… perfect. 

   As Scarlett flashes across the screen, Joel scoots to the edge of the couch, grabbing your attention. “You want some popcorn?”

   “Only if you put extra butter on it for me.” 

   He chuckles a breathy laugh and shakes his head. “How’d I know you were gonna ask for that?”

   Shrugging your shoulders innocently, a shy smile curls across your lips. “Guess you just read me well.”

   He ticks his jaw and stares at you a second, a look like he is reading you. You don’t know why, but it makes butterflies flit through the pit of your stomach. “That I do. And ‘course, extra buttery popcorn comin’ right up for you, sweetheart. Let me go get it started.” He exits the room, taking his woodsy scent with him. 

   You fiddle with your bottom lip, focusing back on the colorful scenes on the screen, but all you’re really thinking about is how Joel is in the other room, making popcorn for the two of you. Going as far as getting you extra butter. But he’s always like that. Always going that extra mile to make sure you’re comfortable and taken care of. 

   He’s an acts of service kind of man. You see that now. Not just with you but with everyone. Even with all the girls he’s saved or his daughter or just someone he cares about. And that in itself tells you enough. He’s kind and caring, more so than you ever expected him to be. And somehow, he still surprises you every day.

   He slips back into the living room, two full glasses of water in hand, and then he’s setting one down on the coffee table in front of you. “Here ya go, sweetheart. Figured you’d need some water.”

   You reach out to take a swig and give him a smile after you swallow. “Like I said. Always think of everything, don’t you?” He only chuckles and takes a sip from his own glass, and then he’s sitting against the back of the couch, just waiting for the popcorn to be done cooking.

   A moment of silence slips across the room, only the low murmurs of voices floating through the speakers. You have this inkling in your chest to tell him something personal, something from your childhood. So, you do. “I used to love Friday nights. I’d always run home after school to watch reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. And then I’d stay up way too late watching old black and white romance movies. Sometimes I’d stay up the entire night and then pass out for half the day Saturday.”

   He rakes a hand over his dark scruff, eyes falling back on you as he chuckles. “Buffy the Vampire Slayer, huh? Sarah used to beg me to buy her the DVDs.”

   “Well, she’s got good taste.”

   He stretches his arms behind his head, adjusting his position on the leather. One leg crossed over the other, completely at ease in his own house. “Wasn’t half bad a show, actually.”

   “It was the best,” you confirm.

   He takes a good look at you, stretching his smile wider as one of his hands laces through his tousled locks. “So, you really like movies then?”

   “Mmm. I guess you could call it a safe haven. At least, it was for me.” You pause for a minute, watch his eyebrows knit as he registers the pain behind your eyes. “Mom and dad used to fight a lot. Sometimes all day long. So I kinda fell into a habit of locking myself in the bedroom with the tv turned up loud enough where I couldn’t hear them. It was either that or stay at a friend’s house.”

   He watches you carefully, his jaw twitching while he thinks before he speaks. “M’sorry ‘bout your parents, sweetheart.”

   You brush it off like it’s nothing. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago.”

   “I’m also sorry for how you lost them,” he says slowly, like he’s watching you walk across a frozen lake that might open up and swallow you whole.

   Your eyes drop to the leather couch, fingers flexing around the warm wool blanket. If you don’t hold on to something, you might just fall through that icy lake that’s now cracking beneath you. “I lost them way before they died. Like I said, I’m used to being alone. Or I was…” You fight to hold in the tears. Instead of letting them go, you swallow them down and act like they were never there in the first place.

   Joel’s soft drawl makes you pull your eyes back up to him. And when you look into those caramel pools, you feel a sob get lodged in your throat. “Doesn’t add up to much, but you’ve got me now. Ya know, if you need me. You’re not alone anymore,” he murmurs quietly. You fear you’ll always need him now.

   You force out a smile, giving him the best one you can conjure up when you feel like you’re in pieces. “And that means the world to me, Joel.” He smiles in response and lets his gaze shift back to the movie that’s playing across the flat screen.

   Your imagination starts to tick in your mind, thoughts of Joel’s family suddenly flashing like a scene through the wires in your brain. Are his parents still around?

   Darting your tongue across your bottom lip, you look back over his way and ask what’s on your mind. “Do you still see your parents?”

   His fingers flex around the leather as he cautiously looks up at you. “My dad moved up to Colorado to start a tree farm a few years ago. I see him when I can, but it’s not often. Not like when he used to live here. He calls a lot, so we do talk frequently. But it’s been a few months since I’ve seen him. And my mom…” He pauses for a beat, and you don’t miss that sparkle of a held back tear shimmer in his eye against the muted lighting. “She… she died of cancer right before Sarah was born.”

   The room is suddenly heavier as you digest the information, letting it hit you right in the heart where it hurts most. “Joel… I’m so sorry. That must’ve been an awful thing to go through.” 

   He nods slowly with heavy eyes. “It was. I really could’ve used her help with Sarah ‘cause her… Well, Sarah’s mom walked out on us about a month after Sarah was born.”

   Your eyes blow wide, and there’s nothing you can say to take that kind of pain away. You’re stunned in place. How could anyone ever leave him? 

   Shifting in your seat, you give him your most sincere, apologetic look you can muster up. “Oh, that’s… Joel. I don’t even know what to say.”

   He gives you a sad smile and shakes his head like he’s fine, but he’s not fine. You can see it deep in his brown eyes. “S’okay. You don’t gotta say anything. Happened a long time ago. And she never wanted to be a mother, so I should’ve known she’d do that. Still hurt like hell, but I was more torn apart for Sarah ‘cause she never got to have a mother, and she deserved one. She deserved a good mother.”

   And Joel deserved someone that loved him right…

   You pause and then whisper across the room, “If it’s any consolation, I think she has the best dad.”

   “Best dad, huh?” he chuckles out with his head cocked in question. The little sparkle in his brown eyes makes your heart stop for a beat. 

   You nod in agreement. “The very best. Even though I haven’t met Sarah, I know you love her very much. And from what you tell me, I know she loves you more than life itself.” 

   A warm smile cracks over his lips. “She is my world, and I do love her more than anything. Guess she’s kinda kept me in one piece all these years. Her and Tommy...”

   “She’s lucky then. Not everyone gets a loving father or just family in general.” Your eyes fall to the ground, locking on a tiny scratch that could have easily been missed by the naked eye. You just stare until your mind blurs together, until you forget exactly how badly your heart still hurts from your childhood. 

   Joel’s low timbre shakes you from past memories. Memories you don’t want to relive. “Sweetheart, I—” The faint beeping from the microwave interrupts his sentence, and you don’t dare let him finish. 

   “The popcorn’s done,” you breathe out, finally having the nerve to look up into those concerned pools of honey.

   “Right…” He looks at you for a beat like he wants to say something else, but he leaves it alone, and then he pushes himself up with a grunt. “Be right back.” He disappears into the other room, leaving you alone with the flickering tv screen and the lit sandalwood candle in the middle of the coffee table. 

   You get lost in the scene, silently laughing at all the men trying to win Scarlett’s affection. You feel a little lighter, a little less sad than you were mere seconds ago. The cozy wool blanket seems to help ease it away.

   It doesn’t take long to see Joel’s large figure reemerge in the living room. Butter and salt permeate through the air, feeding your hunger for a delicious movie snack. His large hand brushes past your knees and then he sets the bucket of fresh popcorn right in front of the coffee table for you. “Here ya go, sweetheart. Extra butter, jus’ like you like it.”

   You flash a smile his way. “Thanks, Joel.” He gives you a nod as he falls back into the leather of the couch, getting comfortable with a glass of iced water and the comfort of the television.

   Falling into a comfortable silence, you can’t help but keep a smile on your face as the movie plays on. This is actually the most relaxed since you’ve been here. It feels like a normal Friday night. No kidnappings, no auctions, no fears of being taken at any second. It’s just still and peaceful and warm. Like Joel’s big chocolate eyes. 

   As the movie goes on, you sneak a peek over at Joel, watching as he enjoys the film. His knees are spread wide, one hand perched on his thigh, the other resting comfortably on his cheek. He’s got a soft smile curved on his mouth, his eyes almost starry-like as pictures flick across the gold flecks in his eyes. He looks… happy, relaxed, like he’s enjoying this. 

   You get lost in the way his easy laugh floats across the room, get a bit dizzy as he laces his fingers through his salt-and-pepper locks. You’d like to do that one day, maybe. Run your fingers through his curls, let them sink and tangle around the dark strands. You’d like to try your luck when you’re brave enough. You guess you haven’t noticed before, or maybe you were too traumatized by fear. But right now, under the soft lighting of the living room, you realize he’s so beautiful. Inside and out. He’s perfect. 

   Joel breaks his contact from the tv and looks over in your direction. Like a mouse caught in a trap, you’ve just been caught red handed gawking at the very essence of him. Your cheeks flush red from being caught. Snapping your eyes right back to the television, you pretend you weren’t just caught in the spotlight. But there he is out of the corner of your eye chuckling under his breath. Maybe it wasn’t the worst thing to be found out.

   A few moments later, the urge for more salty goodness draws you to the popcorn bucket. You reach over, eyes still on the lit-up screen, and just as you slip your hand into the bucket, your fingers meet the back of a strong, calloused hand. Gasping, you snatch your arm back and break the connection of warm skin on skin. “Sorry,” you say hurriedly, apologizing for the meet of hands. 

   He lets out a soft chuckle and reels his hand back, popping a piece of popcorn in his mouth. “S’alright. I don’t bite,” he smirks. And just by the flash of that mischievous smirk, your cheeks are painted crimson once again. 

   You fall back into a comfortable silence, but you can’t seem to stop thinking about how warm his hand was. Calloused and rough, but it felt… good. You secretly hope your hands meet again. Maybe you’d let yours linger a little longer this time. 

   The deep sound of Joel clearing his throat makes you turn toward him. “Ya know, if you wanted to, we could make movie night a weekly thing.”

   A hopeful smile stretches over your mouth. “You’d want to do that?” 

   He shrugs and grins. “Why not? I like movies and popcorn. And besides, I’m in good company.”

   He’s in good company. He likes watching movies with you. He likes spending time with you. Wait. He likes spending time with you?

   You let the thought churn in your head, letting it spin a few times to realize this is all real. You want to have movie nights with him. You want to spend more time with him. Maybe… maybe you like him too. “Okay. I’d like that a lot,” you smile just as you take a sip of cold water from your glass.

   “Friday nights work for you?” he asks. “Or would another night be better?”

   “Fridays are perfect.”

   “Looks like it’s settled then,” he smiles, crossing his arms behind his head, comfortably glancing over at you.  “I’ll write it on the calendar. Mark it in ink.”

   Mark it in ink. Permanent ink.

   Joel leans into the plush of the leather, legs spread comfortably, his palm gliding down the scruff of his beard. The tv flickers in the near distance, the fire crackling softly as warmth radiates through the open room. 

   When’s the last time he really sat down to watch a movie? Maybe when Sarah was back home. 

   His eyes trail over to you, not being able to help himself. His breath nearly catches when he sees the smile painted on your pretty mouth. Eyes wide and full of light as you watch the television with your soft blanket thrown across your lap. He’s never seen you look so… alive. 

   That’s it. That’s the word. You look so full of life, which makes a soft smile spread over his mouth, filling him with a warm fuzzy feeling buzzing in the base of his chest. 

   He loves to see it. Eyes sparkling like Christmas lights, hope saturated in your soft glow, hair thrown carefree across your shoulders. You. The perfect reflection of a bottle of hope.

   He’s so soft. Soft like melted marshmallows overflowing in a cup of hot chocolate. And that little flutter he gets in his chest every single time he sees a faint hint of a smile meet your lips makes him lose his balance, makes his axis tilt just a little off center. 

   He’s just so fucking soft... for you.

   Sighing, he lets his fingers drag slowly over his mouth as he watches you instead of the movie. Watching every turn of your head, every curl of your lips, every single fucking thing you do. He can’t seem to take his eyes off you. You’re just so… breathtaking. Not just that. He thinks you’re the most beautiful angel he’s ever seen.

   So fucking beautiful…

   He groans to himself, lets his head fall back so he can close his eyes and clear his racing mind. And through the thick fog, he finds his way back to you and your twinkling eyes. Finds the peace he needs to know you’re safe, you’re healing, and you’re going to be just fine one of these days. 

   For now, you’re safe and comfortable in the comfort of his space. One day you may drift away, might spread your gorgeous wings and fly far, far away. But deep down, he hopes you’ll stay. 

   Please, stay…

   “Joel?” you call, your head turning to look over at him while the movie runs.

   “Hmm?” he hums out, eyes looking into your sparkling ones.

   “Thank you for watching Gone with the Wind with me.” The softest of smiles curls over your pretty lips, making his heart skip a beat.

   He smiles over at you and falls a little more. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.” 

   He loves watching movies with you.

   The end credits of the movie start rolling just as the clock strikes one in the morning. He rubs the backs of his hands over his eyes, fighting off a yawn as a wave of tiredness crashes against his body. Leaning forward, he pulls himself up and glances your way. “Sweetheart, that was—” He stops himself the second he sees you passed out, blanket up under your chin, soft breathing leaving your pretty lips. 

   A gentle smile spreads across his lips as if he’s seeing you in a new light. You’re so relaxed, so peaceful. No nightmares, no thrashing in your sleep. Just at ease. A calm serenity that surrounds you like a soft cloud. 

   Even though you look comfortable with your fingers curled around the wool blanket and your head pressed against the leather cushion, he really doesn’t want to leave you on the couch. You’d be more comfortable up in your own bed, tucked into your warm sheets. 

   He slowly makes his way over to you and crouches down to where he’s eye level with you, gently brushing his palm against your shoulder. “Sweetheart?” he asks quietly, hating to wake you up from a deep sleep.

   “Hmm?” you groan out, curling yourself into a ball as you tuck the blanket into the crook of your neck, too tired to open your eyes all the way. 

   “You fell asleep,” he says, voice low so he doesn’t disturb your peace.

   “What? No,” you shake your head, eyes still half closed, denying that you fell asleep. ”I saw the whole thing.”

   He chuckles and cards a hand through his tousled locks while he tries not to think about how adorable you’re being right now. “Afraid you fell asleep somewhere in the last half,” he says, remembering how you kept dozing off little by little as the clock got closer to midnight. 

   “I was still watching,” you pout with a puffy lip as you let out another tired yawn, stretching your arms like a napping cat.

   Christ. You’re adorable.

   “Oh, still watching, hm? Then how come your eyes were closed?” he chuckles softly.

   You grab for the remote but miss it by mere inches. “Just turn it back on. I’ll watch what I missed.”

   He clicks his tongue and grins from ear to ear. “Nuh-uh. It’s late. There’s always tomorrow.”

   “But I’m not tired,” you whine out, pouting your lips as your eyelids flutter closed. 

   Such a sleepy girl. 

   “Oh, yes you are,” he laughs, his voice bouncing off the walls as it ricochets and floats right back to him, making another giant grin curl over his mouth. 

   When did you become so… cute? Yeah, that’s what you are. Cute. Playful. Adorable. 

   “But I…” You try to protest, but he stops you before you can finish.

   “C’mon, sleepyhead. Let’s get you up to bed.” He scoops you up in his arms safely, holding you carefully so he doesn’t shatter or break you. He would never do that. Won’t even register the thought in his mind. You’re fragile, delicate like a flower, but he’ll always be so careful with you. Just like this. Right in his arms. As long as you’ll let him. 

   You don’t try to push away from him, you just let yourself fall into warmth. You just sink against his broad chest, let your dainty fingers curl into the cotton of his flannel, your face nuzzling snuggly into the crook of his neck. There’s no hesitation, no ounce of fear. Maybe you’re too tired to process his arms around you, hugging you like a thick jacket against his body. Or maybe it's because you’re starting to trust him, starting to see he really doesn’t want to hurt you. But maybe it’s because you just feel safe like this. Tucked against the body of a man that risked his life to save yours. Or maybe it’s because you don’t want him to let you go just yet. No. Maybe you’ll stay just like this. Your face tucked away into the collar of his flannel shirts that smell like him, pinewood scent surrounding you and covering you like a thick blanket you just don’t want to let go of. 

   So you stay. For now, you latch on like a magnet and let yourself drift to sleep. Because this feels good. This feels right. And in the thick haze, you let him hold you. Just this one time. Just for the moment. Because he feels like he was made to hold you just like this. 

   Joel tiptoes up the winding steps, careful not to jostle you awake, afraid he’ll disturb this guarded moment. Scared he’ll rustle you away from the peaceful slumber you’re in. 

   Carefully stepping down the dark hallway, he quietly opens your bedroom door and carries you to your comfy bed. With his arms folded like wings around you, he holds you close to his chest, guarding you with his life to make sure you feel safe. No more monsters to steal your soul. No more grabbing hands that lash and bite at you with razor-sharp fangs. No more slipping into darkness while they take what isn’t theirs. No more taking advantage of the delicate flower who lost all her vivid petals. Petals you’re slowly growing back.

   He takes one hand and pulls back the purple comforter, untangling your silky sheets while he keeps one flexed arm around you. When he makes enough space for you to slip in, he gently nudges your shoulder to let you know you’re back in your room, and you have to let go. 

   He doesn’t want to let you go. Not just yet, but he can’t be selfish. Can’t keep you to himself. 

   Your slow breaths blow against his neck, fingers lock tighter around his favorite flannel. It’s like you don’t want to let go either.

   “Gotta let go, sweetheart,” he whispers into your ear, careful again not to disturb you. But you don’t jar awake, only fold tighter into the crook of his neck till your light breaths kiss the shell of his ear. 

   He sighs and carefully untangles you from his arms, gently laying you down into the safety of your bed. He chuckles quietly to himself when your hand still doesn’t register to let go. So slowly, unwantedly, he delicately pries your fingers from his shirt and places your hand softly on the bed. He already misses the warmth of your palm, misses the way you oh so carelessly just folded your weight into him. 

   He thinks he likes that. Holding you in his arms where you’re safe, where you’d be out of reach from anyone that wanted to hurt you. He thinks he could hold you forever just like that. If you were ever his, he would until you told him to stop.

   God. How could anyone have hurt you? You’re so… precious. Just like a gemstone. So delicate and rare and special. So just like the most unique diamond in the world, he’ll make sure you stay safe. 

   He lingers on the edge of the bed, carefully tucking the blanket up over your shoulders, making sure you’re warm and comfortable. He watches you turn ever so slightly his way, but your eyelids don’t flutter open. You just hum softly and fall back into whatever peaceful dream you’re having. 

   Without thinking, he gently grazes the tips of his fingers against a lock of your hair, feeling how soft and velvet-like it feels against the pad of his thumb. He ever so slowly slips the lock of hair behind your ear, letting the back of his knuckles graze your cheek as he takes in the faint blush of your skin.  

   “You’re so beautiful…” he silently whispers, the words floating effortlessly off the tip of his tongue as he stares in awe at the stunning angel that’s safe in his presence. 

   He stays like that another few seconds, until he finally pushes himself off the bed and makes his way to the door, his eyes on you the entire time he moves.

   Beautiful… you’re so fucking beautiful. 

   He said he’d never fall for one of the women he saved. That was never his intention, but what’s this? Sweeping back a piece of your hair, lingering his fingers on your smooth skin, telling himself how stunning he thinks you are, praying you won’t get out of bounds of him. 

   It’s like a slow burn candle, flame flickering in and out against the wind rushing in from the crack in the window. Wax slipping down the wick, the flame still burning bright while the air tries to blow it out till it’s nothing but smoke and memories. 

   That’s what this is. A slow burn of feelings that’s threatening to snap any day now. He’s getting attached, and he doesn’t know if he can stop them from growing into something he can’t control anymore.

   He should pull the reins back, stop whatever this is that’s starting to ignite between the two of you, but he can’t seem to blow out the flame. He can’t seem to stop wanting you…

   Maybe it’s the way you wear his flannels around the house, or maybe it’s the shy smiles and the way you nervously flutter your long eyelashes at him when you try to hide your gorgeous smile, maybe it’s even the way you make this house feel more like a home instead of an empty nest. You make him feel not so alone, and your company is something he doesn’t want to lose. 

   He doesn’t want to lose you… So maybe you’ll stay. He hopes you’ll stay. For as long as possible. Because if you choose to leave, which you probably will one day, he’ll surely lose a piece of himself the day you do.

   Stay. Please… just stay. 

Tag List: @clawdee @jellybeanxc @lotusbxtch @thebeldroramscal @laurrrra

@whxtedreams @sawymredfox @sanarsi @mountainsandmayhem @bitchytimetravelqueen

@southernbe @katinasweeney @pixelspunk @amyispxnk @mysterious-moonstruck-musings

@christinamadsen @aurorawritestoescape @evolnoomym @littlevenicebitch69 @alltheirdamn

@inept-the-magnificent @maried01 @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @fandomdaydreamer @elliaze

@callmecath1 @kulekehe @yorkshirewench @untamedheart81

@tateypots @stylesispunk @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @mellymbee @pascalsbae

@locaparapedrito @ladyofmidlo72 @readingiskeepingmegoing @copperhalfcent @axshadows

@here-briefly @cozylittlepigeon @pastawench @keylimebeag @joelsoftie

@romanarose @captainredspade @megangovier @bishtrouille @almodovarispunk

@papipascaaaal @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler @bambisweethearts @puddles221b

@valkyreally @northennlights