i-wrote-sins-not-tragedies

[i-wrote-sins-not-tragedies]

Back in Austin - Chapter 11

loml

relationship: dbf!joel x afab reader/you

words: 4.8k

warnings: see masterlist for fic tags

ao3

A/N: Hey <3

I’ve received a few… less than kind (?) comments on my recent chapters (swiftly deleted), so I just wanted to pop in and say something.

This is my story. I’ve chosen to share it here in the hope that it might become yours too, but the beauty of ao3 (and fanfiction in general) is that it doesn’t have to be. If something doesn’t resonate with you, that’s totally okay. But please, if you’re not enjoying this or any other writers story, I gently ask that you just… stop reading. Negative comments don’t offer anything constructive, and more often than not, they just discourage writers from continuing to share the free art they’re pouring themselves into.

I’ve loved TLOU, and Joel, since the first game came out. Joel is a deeply complicated character. He’s both soft and stubborn, protective and self-destructive. He overthinks, he self-sabotages, he loves in messy ways. That’s the version I’m writing. If it’s not your Joel, that’s okay. There are thousands of other incredible fics out there waiting for you, bestie <3

To everyone who’s supported this story so far, whether silently, through kudos, or in the comments, thank you. I see you. I appreciate you. You’re my ride or die.

Love you always. <3

You’d arrived at work Friday morning with paint still clinging to your cuticles, the scent of it somehow lingering in your hair no matter how many times you’d washed it.

You’d spent the whole previous evening painting your living room. A dusky green, rich and moody, the kind of color that made you feel like someone else’s version of yourself. You thought it would clear your head, give you something to do with your hands, maybe distract you from the fact that Joel had decided to completely fucking ignore you for the better part of four days.

But painting hadn’t helped. Not really.

It had just given you more hours to sit inside your own head, to replay every moment of the party and every text he hadn’t sent since. To try and pinpoint the exact second something had shifted.

You were familiar with the feeling. The fade.

You’d danced this dance before, boys who got quiet, boys who disappeared.

But that was the thing… Joel wasn’t a boy.

That had been the whole fucking point.

He was solid. Steady. Sure. The kind of man who meant what he said and didn’t make promises he couldn’t keep. You’d fallen for him because of that quiet certainty, that gravity he carried in every word and every look. He wasn’t the type to fuck around.

He was sure about you.

At least… he had been.

Now, you didn’t know what he was anymore.

You sat behind the counter at the shop, thumbs idly picking flecks of dried green paint from beneath your nails, trying not to spiral. Trying not to let it mean too much.

Maybe he just needed space. Maybe work had really been that heavy this week.

Or maybe he’d finally decided you weren’t worth the hassle. Maybe it was all too complicated, your dad, the secrecy, the risk. Maybe you were just too much trouble.

Maybe you just weren’t enough.

That thought stuck to your ribs like tar.

Across the shop, Maria was bent over a vase of roses, her phone propped against a spool of ribbon. She let out a soft snort, thumbs moving fast across the screen.

“Tommy,” she said with a grin, not even looking up. “Swears he can cook the best French toast in Texas but just sent me a photo of a frying pan on fire. Should I be worried?”

You smiled, the corners of your mouth tugging up reflexively. But it didn’t reach your eyes. Not even close.

Maria looked up, sharp, perceptive, always ten steps ahead emotionally. Her smile faded. “Hey,” she said, setting her phone down. “What’s going on?”

You hesitated.

Then exhaled, leaning your elbows on the workbench. “I don’t know. It’s Joel.”

“What about him?”

“He’s just…” You gestured vaguely. “Gone cold. Quiet. Barely texting. I haven’t seen him since the party.”

Maria frowned. “Nothing? At all?”

“He called me last night. Said he just wanted to hear my voice.” You gave a half-laugh, dry and brittle. “Didn’t say anything else. Didn’t ask to see me. Just… hung up.”

“Oof.” She made a face. “That’s some emotionally constipated man shit right there.”

“Right?” You looked down at your hands. “I don’t know what I did. I just, I keep thinking maybe it’s my fault. Like maybe I made it harder than it needed to be.”

Maria leaned across the counter, brow knitting. “Hey. No. Don’t do that. He’s a grown-ass man. If he has a problem, he should use his words like the rest of us functioning humans.”

You didn’t answer.

“Do you want me to fight him?” she added lightly.

That made you laugh, small and soft. “You’d lose.”

She shrugged. “I’m scrappy.”

You smiled again, a little more genuine this time, and returned to rearranging the stack of greeting cards by the till.

The rest of the morning passed slowly. Steady drizzle streaked the windows, and the usual lunchtime foot traffic never quite picked up. You didn’t mind the quiet, it gave you a break from pretending not to be bothered.

Around one, you grabbed your bag and shrugged on your coat. “I’m gonna run to the café,” you said to Maria. “Need caffeine. Want anything?”

Maria looked up from the bouquet she was wrapping. “I’m good, thanks. Hey, did Joel come in earlier?”

You blinked. “What?”

She tilted her head. “I thought I saw him. Outside, like, crossing the street? I figured he was dropping in to see you.”

Your stomach turned. “No. He didn’t come in.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh shit. Maybe it wasn’t him. I mean, I was half-distracted. Could’ve been some other rugged, broad-shouldered guy with too many opinions about power tools.”

You tried to laugh. “Yeah. Could’ve been.”

But the words stuck.

Because that image was already burned into your mind. Joel, outside the shop. Joel almost walking in. Joel choosing not to.

You made it to the café and back in less than ten minutes, but your hands shook the entire time. You didn’t spill the coffee, somehow, but you thought about that street corner the whole walk.

Had he really been there?

Had he seen you?

And if he had… why didn’t he come inside?

That question stayed with you for the rest of the day.

Long after the bell over the door stopped ringing.

Long after the last customer left.

Long after you turned the sign to Closed.

-

You sat curled into the corner of your couch, dinner untouched on the coffee table, a glass of wine cradled between your palms. You’d changed into your comfiest clothes the moment you got home, sweats, thick socks, one of those oversized sweatshirts that made you feel like you could just disappear inside it.

That had been the plan. To melt into the couch and never move again. Let the night swallow you up, let the silence do its worst.

But the silence didn’t do anything.

You did.

You replayed every conversation, every message, every shift in tone. Joel’s voice over the phone the night before, soft but distant. Measured. Not quite him.

Your insecurities got louder with every loop.

You weren’t good enough.

You’d always been too much.

Too complicated. Too messy.

But then…

Then your mind pulled further back.

Further than the party. Further than this week.

Back to the beginning.

That bar.

The way he smiled at you, like he’d known you in another life. Like he was glad you’d found your way back.

The way he moved toward you like gravity was a thing between you, not around you.

How he kissed you like he meant it.

Held you like you were something he was scared to lose.

Fucked you like he already had.

Whispered things in your ear like secrets, things you’d never forget.

Joel was it.

Not some fleeting crush. Not some phase.

He was the person you saw your future with.

Not the future other people tried to give you.

Not some glossy, catalogue-perfect life with a husband who wanted a polished wife on his arm, holidayed in the Hamptons and had dinner parties with couples who kissed once a week.

No.

You wanted Joel.

You wanted the man who left mugs in the sink and had calluses on his hands and a heart so big it terrified him. You wanted someone who knew life wasn’t in the grand gestures, it was in the way he touched your back when he passed you in the kitchen. The way he never let you walk on the side of the street closest to the cars. The way he remembered how you took your tea, and never teased you when you cried during commercials.

He let you be you. Fully. Loudly. Quietly. Messily.

And fuck this.

Fuck the space.

Fuck the silence.

This was worth fighting for.

Because you were so fucking in love with him.

You’d tell your dad.

You’d tell everyone if you had to.

If it meant having Joel.

If it meant getting to love him out loud.

You grabbed your phone and hit call.

Straight to voicemail.

You stared at the screen. Jaw clenched. Thumb hovering.

Joel, I need to see you.

Send.

Waited.

Nothing.

You called again. Fingers trembling now. Still no answer.

And that was it.

No more waiting. No more questioning.

You threw on a coat, didn’t bother changing, didn’t even check if you had your keys until you were halfway down the street. The rain hit the windshield in sheets, wipers barely keeping up as you drove through the dark, heart punching against your ribs the closer you got to his street.

You didn’t think. You just moved.

You parked like you always did, three houses down, just in case. The street was quiet, slick with rain, lights glowing hazy through the downpour.

By the time you reached his front step, you were soaked through. Breath visible in the night air, skin chilled, hair stuck to your face.

You pounded on the door with your knuckles.

“Joel!”

Nothing.

“Joel, it’s me!”

The porch light flicked on, golden and warm.

You banged again, harder this time. “Let me in! It’s raining!”

Still no answer.

Your voice cracked. “Please!”

The wood shifted, and then.

The door opened.

And there he was.

Sleep-rumpled, barefoot, eyes bloodshot like he hadn’t slept in days.

His dark brown eyes found yours, and something inside you cracked straight down the middle.

That face.

The one you missed more than anything.

That stupid frown line between his brows.

The little patch of beard that never grew quite right, the one you’d once told him was shaped like a heart.

He looked at you like he didn’t know whether to pull you in or close the door again.

And your heart…

God, your heart tore open.

-

The warmth of his porch light was a lie.

Joel didn’t say a word as he stared at you, rain dripping from your hair, your coat clinging to you like a second skin. He looked like hell, eyes bloodshot, beard thicker than usual, the lines around his mouth carved deeper than they’d been a week ago.

Good. So had you.

You walked past him into the house, breath hitching as you took in the quiet of the kitchen, every corner too familiar. The owl mug you used to drink from was still on the drying rack. A dish towel hung over the oven handle, just slightly crooked the way you always left it.

You had a strange feeling that you didn’t belong here anymore.

Joel stood behind you, silent.

You turned slowly. “Joel, what’s going on?”

He rubbed a hand down his face, jaw clenched tight. No answer.

“Please,” you said, your voice cracking. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”

Still nothing.

You blinked hard, tears beginning to blur your vision. “Did I do something?”

That broke him. Just a little.

His face crumpled, and he stepped forward instinctively. “Baby…”

But you jerked back. “No. You don’t get to call me that. Not if you’re gonna stand there and act like none of this meant anything. What is going on?”

Joel looked away. His shoulders straightened like he was putting on armor.

“I just can’t,” he said finally.

“Can’t what?”

“This.”

The word dropped like a stone. Heavy and hollow.

You stared. “Joel, what the fuck is going on?”

His eyes shut, breath shaking. “You shouldn’t have come.”

“What?”

He didn’t repeat it.

Instead, after a long beat of silence, he looked at you with that empty expression again, voice low and final. “This was a mistake. Should’ve ended it a long time ago.”

Your heart cracked. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

You took a step closer. “Joel, please don’t do this. Don’t pretend this didn’t mean something.”

He flinched like you’d hit him. “It meant something. But it doesn’t matter.”

You blinked. “What?”

“It’s too much. Your dad, the lies, the secrets. Every time I see you I feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. And I’m tired. I can’t… I can’t keep living in fear of being caught.”

“This is about him?” your voice rose.

“No,” Joel said, but it was too fast. Too rehearsed.

“Then what?” You were practically shouting now. “It’s too messy? Too complicated? Not, what? Not worth it?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it again.

You laughed, bitter. “Go on. Say it. Not worth it.”

He swallowed hard, eyes flicking up to yours. “It’s not fair to you.”

“You don’t get to decide that.”

“I already did.”

A pause.

And then, quieter. “You’ll move on.”

Your voice came out like a whisper, barely there. “You really think I can just forget you?”

Joel looked away again, jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek. His next words came low and brutal.

“I never should’ve touched you.”

That was the crack. The twist. The blow you hadn’t seen coming.

You stared at him like you didn’t know him anymore. Maybe you didn’t.

You took a shaking breath, chest burning. “You’re a fucking coward.”

He didn’t deny it. Didn’t argue. Just stood there and took it.

And something inside you broke.

You started toward the door. Hands shaking.

But then you stopped.

You turned, voice shaking with every syllable.

“Loving you was the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

His head snapped up.

“And I would’ve kept loving you. I would’ve chosen you in every single lifetime. In every fucking version of this story.”

Joel’s face twisted, like the words physically hurt him. But he didn’t move.

“You don’t get to break my heart and pretend it’s mercy.”

He flinched.

You opened the door.

Rain spilled in.

And you looked at him one last time.

Something in his eyes caught you, like a flicker of the man you knew. The way he used to look at you when everything was soft and safe and his hands knew only how to hold you.

It was still there, buried under the weight of whatever this was.

That was why you paused.

Because you could see it, the ache in him. The want.

But he looked away.

Down at the floor, like it held him together. Like meeting your eyes would ruin the lie he was trying to live.

And maybe it would have.

So you left. Quietly. Slowly.

Not because you stopped loving him.

But because you weren’t going to wait around for someone who was too scared to love you back out loud.

[i-wrote-sins-not-tragedies]

[i-wrote-sins-not-tragedies]

[i-wrote-sins-not-tragedies]

Back in Austin - Chapter 10

Joel

relationship: dbf!joel x afab reader/you

words: 2.5k

warnings: see masterlist for fic tags

ao3

A/N: honestly, TW just for joel being so fucking emotionally constipated

The morning sun was already hot by the time Joel and Tommy pulled up to the site. An old bungalow out past the west side, paint peeling off in long, tired strips, porch rail hanging loose like it had given up. They had the crew with them today, but it was the kind of job that felt like it’d cling to your skin for days, dusty, crooked, unforgiving.

They’d been at it for hours. Joel’s shirt stuck to his back, sawdust clinging to his forearms. He liked the quiet work, the rhythm of it, measuring, sawing, hammering. It kept his mind busy. Or tried to.

But Monday had a way of creeping in under your skin. Especially after a weekend like that.

Tommy wandered over around lunchtime, wiping sweat off his brow with the hem of his shirt, a water bottle tucked under one arm.

“So,” he said, not even bothering to ease into it, “I’ve been dyin’ to hear how that party went. You. Her. And Andy in the same yard? That had to be somethin’.”

Joel didn’t answer. Just kept hammering the nail he’d already sunk too far in.

Tommy grinned. “Come on, man. Don’t leave me hangin’. I bet it was tense as hell.”

Joel blew out a slow breath. “It wasn’t good.”

Tommy blinked. “Shit. What happened?”

Joel looked up finally, jaw clenched. “Some kid grabbed her. Got rough. I lost it. Grabbed him back. Whole damn party saw.”

Tommy’s face dropped. “You serious?”

Joel nodded. “Woulda decked him if I didn’t come to my senses. Whole yard went quiet. Her dad saw it. Everyone saw it.”

“Damn.” Tommy leaned back against a post, shaking his head. “That’s… Jesus, Joel.”

“Yeah.”

Silence lingered between them for a beat. Tommy took a swig of water, then glanced over. “Maria look good, though?”

Joel looked at him sideways.

Tommy held up a hand. “I’m just askin’. Bet she did. That dress she had on last time,”

“Tommy.”

“Alright, alright.” He smirked. “Sorry. Just, damn. That close, huh?”

Joel nodded. “Would’ve all come out right there if Maria hadn’t stepped in. She was quick. Talked her way through it, got Andy to ease up. But it was… close.”

Tommy blew out a whistle. “I mean, what’re you supposed to do, though? Just not react?”

“I don’t know.” Joel shook his head, running a hand through his damp hair. “I keep tellin’ myself I gotta be more careful.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “Careful for how long, man? The rest of your damn life?”

Joel didn’t answer.

“You really like this girl?”

Joel glanced at him. “Yeah. I do.”

Tommy nodded slowly. “So… what, you’re gonna tell Andy at some point?”

Joel’s jaw tightened. “She says no.”

Tommy stared at him. “Then what the fuck are you doin’, Joel? You just gonna hide this forever?”

Joel went back to what he was doing, wrenching a stubborn board free from the frame. The sound of wood splitting echoed sharply in the stillness.

Tommy didn’t say anything for a second. Just watched him.

“Listen,” he said finally. “I ain’t gettin’ at you. I’m just sayin’, you know how this ends if it stays like this. You can’t stay in the shadows forever.”

Joel didn’t look at him. Just muttered, “I get it.”

“I don’t think you do,” Tommy said, stepping closer, lowering his voice. “I’m happy for you, man. I really am. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you this… I don’t know. Pulled toward someone.”

Joel’s jaw shifted.

“But this girl… she’s what, half your age?”

Joel stiffened.

Tommy held up a hand again. “Not sayin’ that’s a bad thing. I’m just sayin’, she’s young, man. Startin’ out. And you? You’re settled. You’ve lived. You got a house, a life, routines.”

Joel finally met his eyes. “And?”

“You wouldn’t wanna hold her back,” Tommy said, soft now. “That’s all.”

Joel didn’t respond. He just went back to prying the next board loose. His movements were a little sharper than before. More deliberate.

They didn’t talk much after that.

The rest of the day passed in the usual rhythm, sawing, measuring, hammering, but Joel’s mind wasn’t in it. Every word Tommy had said echoed in the back of his head like nails rattling in an empty toolbox.

What are you doin’, Joel?

You gonna hide it forever?

You really like her?

Are you holdin’ her back?

By the time the sun started to dip low behind the trees, Joel’s hands were raw and his shirt was soaked through. But he hadn’t answered a single one of those questions.

Because he already knew.

And he just didn’t like the answer.

-

The house was quiet that night.

Too quiet.

Joel sat at the kitchen table long after dinner, elbows on the wood, palms pressed to his face like he could block out his own thoughts.

Tommy’s words had followed him home like dust on his boots.

She’s just starting out…

He hadn’t meant to replay the scene, but it kept looping in his head, the way you’d laughed that night at the party, sitting with those younger kids on the porch, legs crossed, drink in hand, radiant and easy in a way Joel hadn’t felt in decades. You looked like you belonged in that crowd, not beside him. Not tucked away in the shadows, hiding glances and keeping secrets.

And when that punk had grabbed you, God. Joel’s chest still burned when he thought about it. He’d reacted before his brain could catch up. White-hot fury, nothing else. Because no one touched you like that. Not on his watch.

But afterward… when it all went still and quiet and everyone stared…

You shouldn’t have had to handle that. You shouldn’t have needed Maria to cover for him.

What the fuck are you doing, Joel?

He didn’t know.

All he knew was that something had shifted.

Maybe Tommy was right.

Maybe you did need someone younger. Someone who could go to your friend’s parties and blend in, who wouldn’t raise eyebrows. Someone who didn’t carry grief like a second skin, who didn’t lie awake at night wondering if they were the mistake in your story.

But he also knew something else.

He was pretty sure he was falling in love with you.

No, he was in love with you.

It was quiet and aching and constant. In the small things. In the way you tilted your head when you listened. The way your fingers brushed his when you passed him a cup of coffee. The way you looked at him like he wasn’t broken. Like you’d never even noticed the cracks.

He couldn’t let that go.

So he didn’t.

But he could give you space. Could pretend nothing was wrong. So he did what he was good at, he withdrew.

Not completely. He still texted. Short replies. A picture of his dinner one night. A dry joke about the broken fence post. Nothing deep. Nothing that gave him away. Just enough to keep the connection alive. Just enough to feel your presence flicker through the phone.

But he didn’t ask to see you.

Didn’t hint at it.

And by Thursday, you noticed.

You: Are you okay?

He stared at the screen longer than he meant to. That one question, simple and soft, made something in his chest clench.

He couldn’t text back.

So he called.

Your voice picked up after the second ring, light and warm, like sunshine pouring through a dusty window.

“Hey.”

God, he’d missed that sound.

“Hey, baby,” he said, voice low, tight. “Sorry. Been… busy.”

There was a pause, then your gentle reply: “You sure that’s all it is?”

He closed his eyes, pressed a thumb to the bridge of his nose. “I just needed to hear your voice.”

You were quiet after that.

And in that silence, everything rushed in. The way your voice softened when you were sleepy. How you always remembered the little things he forgot. The way you kissed him like you weren’t scared of the dark parts of him.

He didn’t deserve that.

Didn’t deserve you.

You were so good. So bright. Still becoming something.

And he was just… already formed. Set in his ways. A man with years behind him and more baggage than any decent person should carry.

He ended the call not long after. Said he was tired. Said he’d call again tomorrow.

But when he hung up, he just sat there, phone resting on his knee, heart too loud in his chest.

He knew two things for sure.

He was in love with you.

And he had to let you go.

-

The bungalow job wrapped early.

Joel shook hands with the homeowner, some woman in her late forties with neat nails and a flirty kind of smile. She stood too close, kept tucking her hair behind her ear. He barely registered what she was saying, something about maybe needing help with her deck when spring rolled around. Her tone made the subtext obvious.

Joel cleared his throat and stepped back, wiping his palms on his jeans. “Sure. Just call the office.”

She bit her lip. “I might do that.”

He gave her a polite nod, climbed into his truck, and didn’t look back.

It should’ve felt like a win. Job done. Customer happy. Easy money. Instead, Joel sat with both hands gripping the wheel, his throat tight. Something about that woman’s interest, it rubbed him raw. Not because she wasn’t attractive. Not because he didn’t know the dance. He’d done it before. But now?

Now all he could think about was you.

Your laugh. The way you scrunched your nose when you were trying not to smile. The way your whole face lit up when you talked about that damn flower shop.

Joel stared through the windshield, heart kicking like a stubborn engine. This was stupid. The distance, the silence. Punishing you for loving him, for making him feel like maybe he had something left to give. He missed you so bad it felt like missing skin.

Fuck it.

He threw the truck into gear and started driving.

He didn’t even think about where he was headed. Just followed instinct until he was parked two blocks from the shop. He always parked away from the front window, habit now. But this time, he didn’t care if someone saw.

He could see the shop across the street. Could see you through the window.

His heart was going wild. He was going to walk in there, tell you everything. Apologise. Fuck the risk. It didn’t matter. None of it did if he couldn’t have you. He needed you to know he loved you. Needed to say it out loud, finally.

You moved across the shop floor, and his breath caught. Your hair was swinging loose behind you, catching the afternoon light like it was made for it. You turned your head and smiled at someone, some kid, couldn’t have been more than twenty-four, twenty-five.

Joel’s stomach knotted.

The kid said something. You laughed. And then you reached out, touched his arm as you answered him.

Joel stopped breathing.

It wasn’t anything. He knew it wasn’t anything. You were kind, warm, tactile. You touched people when you talked. You laughed with everyone. But standing there, frozen with one foot halfway off the sidewalk, Joel saw the whole picture.

You. That guy. The life you could have.

No secrets. No shame. No sneaking around or worried glances at your phone when your dad called.

Someone nearer your own age. Someone who could take you dancing and stay out past midnight without their knees aching the next day.

It should’ve been him. God, he wanted it to be him.

But it wasn’t. Not really. That was the whole fucking point…

-

He drove home with his jaw clenched and his hand white-knuckled on the steering wheel the entire way.

Your name lit up his phone before he even made it inside.

He stared at it, let it ring.

Then came the text.

“Please just tell me what’s going on. I don’t understand.”

Joel didn’t open it. Couldn’t.

He just stood in the hallway of his house with the phone in his hand, heart breaking like it was made of glass.

Because he had to do this.

He had to think. Had to find the words. Had to break your heart clean, and cold, and final.

Because anything less, and you’d still come back to him.

And if you did… he wouldn’t be strong enough to let you go.

-

The house was dead quiet except for the slow tick of the wall clock and the occasional creak of the old pipes settling in the cold.

Joel sat at his kitchen table, a half-drunk whiskey sweating on the wood beside him. His phone was flipped face-down next to it, an active choice. Every time it buzzed, it felt like someone tapping directly on his ribs.

It had been doing it less and less. You’d stopped calling an hour ago.

Now it was nearly midnight. He hadn’t eaten. Hadn’t moved much since getting home. Just sat there, elbows on the table, palms over his mouth like he was trying to keep the words from slipping out before he figured out how to make them hurt less.

How do you break someone’s heart without breaking them?

You didn’t. That was the truth.

He rubbed a hand over his face, scrubbed at his beard. This was the right thing. It had to be. Even if it felt like he was peeling his own skin off just thinking about the look on your face. You deserved more. You deserved…

Knock knock knock.

Joel blinked.

Then again. Three knocks. Fast. Familiar. Sharp.

His eyes snapped toward the door.

No one came here this late. Not unless something was wrong. He was halfway to standing when he heard it.

Your voice.

“Joel, it’s me!”

His stomach dropped.

“Joel, please! Let me in, it’s raining!”

He stood still, hands at his sides, heart pounding. Mouth dry.

“Joel!”

“Fuck,” he muttered, staring at the door like it might disappear if he wished hard enough.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He needed more time. He needed to say it right, cold but not cruel. Enough to make you walk away but not enough to destroy you. He’d been rehearsing it in his head all damn night.

But now you were here. Soaking wet. Voice cracking. And all he could think about was how much he wanted to pull you inside, press you to his chest, and tell you he was sorry. That he loved you. That he didn’t mean any of it.

But that would make him a coward.

He reached for the door.

The second it opened, the sound of rain came rushing in, steady and cold, matching the thrum of panic in his chest.

You stood there, half-soaked already, arms folded over yourself, breath shallow, eyes wide and shiny with unshed tears.

Joel’s throat closed.

You looked at him like he was the only person in the world who could fix what was wrong.

And he was about to be the one who broke it.

He gripped the door frame so he wouldn’t do something stupid like reach for you.

“Come in,” he said, voice low. Rough.

This was it.

He’d made his choice.

And now he had to watch it ruin you.

[i-wrote-sins-not-tragedies]

Back in Austin - Chapter 9

You Kept Me Like a Secret, But I Kept You Like an Oath

relationship: dbf!joel x afab reader/you

words: 2.2k

warnings: see masterlist for fic tags

ao3

Silence settled like a weighted blanket.

Conversations dropped. Laughter died. Every head in the yard turned toward the commotion.

Joel had Ryan pinned hard against the fence, one hand fisted in the younger man’s collar, the other clenched and twitching like it was aching to be used. Ryan’s face was flushed deep red, equal parts humiliation and fear, and your breath caught in your throat as you hovered near the kitchen door, your arm still burning where his fingers had dug in.

Your dad was shouting something, trying to push through the stunned crowd, but Joel didn’t hear it.

He wasn’t hearing anything.

He was seeing red.

“I didn’t even do anything!” Ryan’s voice cracked, high and defensive, one hand lifting as if to point toward you.

That was a mistake.

Joel’s hand shoved him harder into the fence with a thud that made someone gasp.

“You don’t even get to fuckin’ look at her,” Joel snapped. “You hear me?”

The words hit like gunfire. Raw. Real. Possessive in a way no one could misinterpret.

Your dad’s voice cut through the crowd, sharp now. “Joel, put him down!”

But Joel didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.

He wasn’t seeing your dad. Wasn’t seeing anyone but Ryan.

And you knew that look, his jaw locked, chest rising fast, that muscle twitching in his cheek.

He was barely holding it together.

“Joel,” you said softly, stepping forward despite your shaking hands, “it’s okay. I’m fine. ”

His head turned, slow and disoriented, like coming up from underwater.

The second his eyes found yours, something in him cracked.

His grip loosened. His whole body dropped a fraction, shoulders caving in as if only now realizing what he was doing.

Joel released Ryan’s collar.

Ryan stumbled back like he’d been shoved, red-faced and panting.

Your dad stepped in then, tense as a loaded spring, and Joel turned toward him, hands raised slightly, placating.

“Jesus, Andy,” he said, voice thick. “I…”

And then

“Oh, for goodness’ sake!”

Mrs. Everett, floral blouse and all, bustled through the gathering like a freight train in orthopedic shoes. “Honestly, this boy can’t go anywhere without stirrin’ up nonsense.”

She stopped in the middle of the chaos and clutched her pearls dramatically. “Ryan, you apologize to this poor girl right now!”

Your mouth opened, stunned by the sudden turn.

Ryan blinked, still rattled. “He’s the one who should be saying sorry!”

Joel’s hand flexed, but Mrs. Everett smacked her grandson’s chest with a sharp little pat. “Nope. Nuh-uh. I saw what happened. You don’t put your hands on a lady. Not unless she asks, and you sure as hell weren’t invited, now were you?”

She turned to you with an apologetic smile that barely reached her eyes. “Sweetheart, I’m real sorry for his behavior. I raised him better than that. We’ll just get outta your hair now.”

You barely had time to nod before she was dragging Ryan by the arm, muttering under her breath about “bad manners” and “ruining a perfectly good lemon drizzle.” On their way out, she offered your dad a tight-lipped smile.

“Sorry, Andy. Boys’ll be boys, but sometimes they grow up slower than they oughta.”

Your dad’s mouth twitched, forced patience smoothing into a polite smile. “It’s fine, Norma. Don’t worry about it.”

As the sound of the gate clanged shut behind Mrs. Everett and Ryan, your dad’s eyes didn’t leave Joel.

Not even for a second.

The music had started again, conversations rising in volume like nothing had happened, but between the two men, the silence was thick and electric.

“What the hell was that?” your dad said, stepping closer, voice quiet but hard.

Joel didn’t answer right away. His fists were still clenched at his sides.

Your dad’s tone dropped lower. “You wanna tell me why you looked ready to kill that kid?”

Joel’s jaw flexed. “He grabbed her.”

“Yeah,” your dad said. “I saw that. And I saw you throw him into the damn fence. You gonna explain the part where you looked like you were gonna break his neck?”

You shifted behind them, unsure whether to step in. Joel looked like he might say something, too much, maybe, when Maria cut through the tension like a scalpel.

She stepped forward, casually placing herself between you and your dad with practiced ease.

“Wow,” she said, loud enough to cut through the tension. “What an asshole. I’m so glad you’re okay.”

She turned to Joel, bright and friendly. “What’s your name, sorry? Joel, was it?”

Joel nodded once, silent.

“Well, Joel, I’m really glad you saw that and stepped in. Not a lot of people would’ve acted that fast. He had no right grabbing her like that.”

Your dad blinked. His expression shifted, not much, but enough. The tension in his brow softened just a bit. The rigid line of his mouth gave way to something closer to approval.

Maria offered a light smile, still smoothing over the scene. “You got to him first, Joel. Lucky for Ryan, I would’ve done way worse.”

Your dad didn’t laugh. His gaze lingered on Joel, jaw flexing with something unsaid. But eventually, grudgingly, he nodded.

“Yeah. Appreciate you lookin’ out for her,” he muttered. “Just… maybe next time, no need to scare the kid shitless.”

Joel’s reply came quiet and clipped. “Didn’t mean to.”

Your dad gave a noncommittal grunt, like that was as far as he was willing to go, and turned toward the grill, conversation clearly over.

The air felt thinner now, the worst of it past, but only just.

Maria glanced between the two of you, then leaned in slightly with a look that was all fond exasperation.

“You two really need to get your shit together,” she muttered under her breath, just for you and Joel to hear.

Then she straightened, flipped her hair off her shoulder, and strolled off like nothing had happened at all.

-

The party had started to wind down. The garden was littered with half-empty drinks and crumpled napkins, the soft hum of conversation fading into the clink of glasses and distant laughter from the few guests still lingering.

Maria was inside helping your dad with leftovers, bless her. She’d been a damn hero all day, making you laugh, shielding you from nosy neighbours, and keeping your mind off the weight of every glance Joel had thrown your way.

You stood at the edge of the patio, arms crossed, staring out into the darkened yard where the Ryan incident had taken place. The adrenaline had mostly worn off, but your skin still buzzed faintly, a reminder of how close that moment had come to tearing everything apart.

You caught up with Joel just as he stepped off the grass, standing near the fence where the shadows hung thicker.

“Joel,” you said gently, just above a whisper.

He flinched.

Not much, but enough to tell you he’d been somewhere else entirely.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said, voice low.

Your heart thudded. “He grabbed me, Joel.”

“I know,” he muttered. “But I nearly fucked everything up.” He dragged a hand down his face like it hurt to admit it.

Your chest tightened. “Joel, you didn’t,”

“I did,” he said. “You saw your dad’s face. Everyone saw. I wasn’t thinking. I just saw him touch you and I…”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

You could feel him trying to reel himself back in. But the damage was done. His breathing was uneven, hands still flexing like they hadn’t fully let go of Ryan.

A burst of laughter rang out from inside, and you both flinched. It was a reminder. Of your dad, your family, the paper-thin line you’d been walking since this all began.

Joel took a step back. “I should go.”

Your stomach dropped. “Please don’t.”

He looked at you then, really looked. Eyes sweeping over your face like he was trying to memorise it, like part of him didn’t want to see it at all.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he said softly.

“Please,” you whispered.

But he was already turning away. Shoulders hunched, head low, like the weight of it all had finally broken him down. You watched as his hand reached for the gate, pushed it open, and slipped out with nothing more than the soft click of the latch.

He didn’t look back.

-

The shop smelled like peonies and eucalyptus, bright, fresh, deceptively cheerful for how tired you felt.

Maria was at the front counter, trimming stems with a hum in her throat and a pen stuck through the top of her braids. “I shaved above the knee for the first time in a month,” she announced. “If Tommy doesn’t take me home tomorrow night, I’m filing a formal complaint.”

You looked up from your arrangement, smirking. “Maybe he’s being a gentleman.”

Maria snorted. “Please. I don’t need a gentleman. I need him to ruin my entire week.”

You laughed, grateful for the distraction, the ease of her presence. “Well, I hope he’s ready. Sounds like you came prepared for battle.”

She grinned. “Lip gloss, fresh sheets, and my lucky bra. He doesn’t stand a chance.”

The bell over the door chimed, both of you glancing up instinctively.

But it wasn’t Joel.

Just a young woman in a green raincoat, eyeing the window display. She gave a polite nod and started browsing.

Maria’s gaze slid back to you. “No Joel today?”

Your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I don’t know.”

Maria blinked. “Huh. He’s normally here the second the lunch rush dies down.”

You shrugged, returning to your arrangement. “He’s… been busy, I guess.”

That wasn’t a lie. Not exactly.

Joel had texted. He hadn’t ghosted or gone cold, not outright. But something was off. The messages were short. Safe. Stripped of the usual teasing edge or warmth that lingered like an afterglow in your chest.

You’d told yourself not to overthink it. You’d tried not to.

But the truth was, it had been four days.

Four days since you’d seen his face. Since you’d felt the weight of his hand on the small of your back. Since he’d looked at you like you were something he wanted, not something he had to protect at a distance.

You texted him first.

It was Thursday night. You were curled up on the couch, knees tucked beneath you, the flicker of the TV casting dull shadows across the wall. Some movie you weren’t really watching played in the background, your thumb hovering over your phone screen longer than it should’ve.

You: Hey, you okay?

You stared at the message for a second before hitting send, nerves already buzzing.

A few minutes passed.

Then your screen lit up.

Joel: Hey baby. Yeah. Just been a long week.

You exhaled through your nose, tried to smile at the word baby. But it felt different tonight. A placeholder. Not a feeling.

You: I figured. You’ve been kinda quiet.

This time, no reply came through.

Instead, he called.

You sat up straighter, muted the TV, heart skipping the way it always did when his name flashed on your screen.

“Hey,” you said, soft, hopeful.

“Hey, baby.”

His voice was low, rough like always, but guarded. Measured. Like he was walking barefoot across glass.

You waited. Let the silence stretch. He didn’t fill it.

“Everything okay?” you asked.

“Busy,” he said. “Been dealin’ with some stuff. Got a lot goin’ on at work.”

You knew that tone. Vague on purpose. He wasn’t lying, not exactly, but he wasn’t telling you the whole truth either.

“Right,” you said quietly. “I missed you. At lunch.”

“I wanted to come,” he murmured. “I was just…”

“Busy?” you prompted.

“Yeah.”

You reached for something else to say, anything that might keep him on the line, but nothing came.

Just more quiet.

Then finally, Joel spoke.

“Anyway,” he said, voice lower now, almost hesitant. “I should let you go. Just wanted to hear your voice.”

Your heart ached at the tenderness of it. At the finality.

“Okay,” you whispered.

“Night, baby.”

“Goodnight.”

He hung up before you could say anything else.

You stared at your phone, thumb still pressed to the screen like that might bring him back.

No when can I see you.

No come over.

No I miss you.

Just a gentle, cautious goodbye.

You didn’t know what to do with that.

Or maybe you did. Maybe some part of you, deep down, knew exactly what was happening, you just didn’t want to name it.

The space between you and Joel had always felt charged, like a live wire running through every moment. Even in silence, even in stillness, he made you feel chosen.

And still, you kept telling yourself it was nothing. That he was tired. That work was heavy. That maybe he just needed a few quiet days after everything that happened at the party. You’d repeated those excuses so many times, they almost sounded like truth.

But the truth didn’t usually come with that sharp little sting in your chest. That tightness behind your ribs. That ache of reaching for someone who’d always been steady, and finding only air.

You ran your thumb slowly across the edge of your phone, staring at his name on the screen like it might flicker back to life. Like he might call again. Say he was coming over. Say he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Say anything.

But your phone stayed silent.

And you stayed still, wrapped in the kind of quiet that didn’t comfort, it unsettled. Like the calm right before something breaks.

[i-wrote-sins-not-tragedies]

the person who realised you could rearrange the letters in gossip girl to read “go piss girl” truly one of the great minds of our generation, madam your legacy

[i-wrote-sins-not-tragedies]

PEDRO PASCAL as JAVIER PEÑA Narcos (2015-2017) 2.05 "The Enemies of My Enemy" | requested by @gothcsz

[i-wrote-sins-not-tragedies]

Back in Austin - Chapter 8

For Emily, Whenever I May Find Her

relationship: dbf!joel x afab reader/you

words: 4.4k

warnings: see masterlist for fic tags

ao3

taglist: @glitterspark @throttlepascal

You were halfway through your second glass of wine when your dad pointed at you with his fork.

“So how’s workin’ at the flower place goin’? They treatin’ you alright?”

You smiled, pushing a piece of roasted carrot around your plate. “It’s good. I like it.”

He nodded like he was pretending to be casual, but you could already feel the Dad Questions coming. “You got enough shifts? They payin’ you properly?”

“Yes, and yes,” you said, laughing. “I promise, I’m not being exploited. Maria would unionise in a heartbeat if they tried anything shady.”

He chuckled at that. “That’s the one I met, right? The loud one?”

“That’s her.”

“She’s got a smart mouth, that one. I like her.” He leaned back in his chair, the bottle of wine sitting mostly untouched between you both. “You think she wants to come to the party?”

You blinked. “The party?”

“My birthday. I know you’re runnin’ the show, just figured I’d ask if you thought to invite her.”

Your chest went a little tight at the mention. Not because of Maria, she could handle herself anywhere. No, it was the idea of her being there, under the same goddamn gazebo as your dad and Joel.

You swallowed, nodding slowly. “Yeah, I’ll ask her.”

Your dad just nodded, content with that, and moved on to a story about a guy at work who accidentally glued his own fingers together. You smiled along, but your mind was already spinning back, to a few days ago, when your dad had actually stopped by the shop.

You hadn’t seen it coming. One second you were rearranging a bucket of peonies, the next you heard the unmistakable sound of his voice by the front counter. Maria had looked up and smiled before you could even register what was happening.

“Hi there,” she’d said brightly. “You here for something romantic?”

Your dad, always the charmer, had tipped his head and said, “Just here to bug my daughter.”

Maria’s brows shot up, and she turned to look at you over her shoulder. “This one’s yours?”

You’d nodded slowly, feeling your stomach cave in.

“Damn,” Maria said with a grin. “Explains the sass.”

Your dad had loved her instantly, of course. They’d talked for ten minutes about everything from football to flowers to who made the best steak in the city. Maria was unusually well-behaved, charming without being outrageous, probably because you had been hovering behind the counter silently begging her with your eyes not to say something stupid.

The second your dad left, the bell above the door still ringing faintly behind him, your heart had lodged itself in your throat. You turned to Maria and blurted, “I need to tell you something.”

She leaned on the counter, resting her chin in her hand. “Ominous. I’m listening.”

You took a breath, then another. “Okay. So… remember when I told you how I met Joel? At the bar?”

She nodded slowly. “Truth or dare. Hot kiss. My Roman Empire, yes, continue.”

You gave her a tight smile. “Right. So, that part’s true. But what I didn’t tell you is… a few weeks later, I found out he’s my dad’s best friend.”

Maria stared at you. Silent. Blinking.

And then, she screamed.

You shushed her, eyes wide, glancing at the door like someone might be listening.

“No. No. No,” she gasped. “You are not casually dropping this like it’s a weather update! Your dad’s best friend?”

“Yes.”

“The one that was in the shop just now’s best friend?!”

“Yes.”

She looked like she was trying to do math without a calculator. “So you’re telling me you’ve been sneaking around with Mr. Blueberry Muffin this whole time and he’s basically Uncle Joel?!”

You groaned. “Please don’t say it like that.”

“I have so many questions.” She started counting on her fingers. “How did you find out? Who figured it out first? Who panicked more? Have you had sex at your dad’s house, wait no, don’t answer that one. Do you call him daddy when you, actually, no, also don’t answer that one.”

You were bright red, laughing despite the embarrassment. “Maria!”

“No, listen,” she said, grabbing your hand across the counter. “This is insane. And hot. And kind of Shakespearean. And I’m obsessed. But also, how the hell have you not told me until now?!”

“I didn’t want to get anyone else involved,” you said softly. “I’ve been losing my mind trying to keep it all straight, and I guess… I just wanted something normal.”

Maria had softened at that. She squeezed your hand. “Hey. You’re allowed to have your secrets. But just so you know, I’m in now. Deep. Like… FBI-level classified. And if your dad ever finds out, I will fake my own death and disappear into the night. But until then? I’m ride or die.”

You’d smiled so big it hurt.

And now, sitting across the table from your dad, who was still talking about the coworkers glued fingers, you were already imagining the chaos this weekend was going to bring.

Maria. Joel. Your dad.

All in the same damn backyard.

You picked up your wine and took a long sip.

-

You arrived at your dad’s house early that morning, the hem of your floral dress swaying as you stepped through the back door. In one hand, a carefully baked cake. In the other, a small wrapped square.

“Happy birthday, Dad,” you smiled, setting the cake down. “The big five-oh.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Don’t remind me. I still feel thirty, until I try to stand up too fast.”

You tucked the cake into the fridge, then crossed to where he sat in his usual recliner, the news buzzing in the background. He clicked it off and turned to face you.

“For you,” you said, handing over the gift.

He peeled the paper away slowly, brow furrowing at the sight of the faded vinyl sleeve.

“Jesus,” he murmured. “Haven’t seen this in years.”

It was an old Simon & Garfunkel record. The one with For Emily, Whenever I May Find Her.

“You said Mom used to sing the Emily song in the mornings,” you said softly. “Figured it could be from both of us. Me and her. Saying happy fiftieth.”

Your dad smiled faintly, eyes still on the cover “She always said it was written for her. God, she loved that song.”

You’d heard the story a dozen times growing up, how your mom would dance barefoot in the kitchen with the record spinning, swaying to the words like they were meant just for her.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stared down at the sleeve, brushing his thumb along the edge.

Then he gave a small, tight nod. “Thanks, honey,” he murmured. Voice low. “This means more than you know.”

-

Family started to trickle in by early afternoon. Aunt Mary arrived first, dragging Cousin David behind her like a mood-swinging shadow. David, still proudly working in ’regional data management’ or whatever boring thing he’d always done, brought along his equally uninspiring wife, Diane, who looked like she’d rather be anywhere else.

You smiled and played hostess like a champ, accepting gift bags and casserole dishes and the occasional hug that lingered just a second too long. The garden filled slowly, voices rising as more guests arrived, neighbors, your dad’s old buddies, people who looked vaguely familiar from cookouts when you were twelve.

You’d done this before, of course. The Fourth of July party had been a practice run. But this one felt… heavier. The air thick with sentimentality. The sight of your dad laughing under the gazebo, red plastic cup in hand, made your chest squeeze. Fifty. You didn’t want to say it out loud, but it felt like a milestone in more ways than one.

You spotted Mrs. Everett weaving her way across the garden before you even registered her thick cloud of perfume and floral blouse, loud enough to compete with the flower beds.

“There you are, sweetheart!” she called, taking your arm like you’d wandered off. “I’ve been looking for your daddy, I’ve got his gift somewhere here, but I also wanted to introduce you to someone…”

You smiled politely. “Hi, Mrs. Everett. He’s around here somewhere,”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ll sniff him out.” She leaned in like she was about to whisper a secret. “Do you remember my grandson? Ryan? I told you about him at your daddy’s Fourth of July party.”

You nodded slowly, recognition dawning. “The one with the obedient Labrador?”

Mrs. Everett beamed. “Yes, sweetheart! That’s him. Good memory.” She turned, scanning the yard before shouting, “Ryan! Come say hello!”

You tried not to grimace.

He made his way over with a confident, easy smile. Chinos and a navy polo shirt, every inch of him looking like a walking LinkedIn profile. The kind of guy who probably already had a junior finance role, a gym membership he used religiously, and a five-year plan that ended with a country club and a Range Rover. Cute, sure. But not exactly rugged and in his forties enough for your taste.

“This is Ryan,” Mrs. Everett said proudly. “I’m sure you two will get along just beautifully. I’m going to go find your daddy.”

She patted your arm like she was handing off a project and bustled away, leaving you standing across from a man who looked like he might say “networking opportunity” without irony.

“Hi,” he said with a firm handshake. “You must be…”

“…needing a drink,” came Maria’s voice behind you.

You nearly collapsed in relief.

“There you are,” she continued brightly, looping her arm through yours. “Sorry, we’ve gotta do a quick thing with the, uh, caterer.”

“Now?” you asked, playing along, already pulling away.

“Yes. Urgent cheese-related matter.” She turned to Ryan with a dazzling smile. “Rain check?”

Once you were safely around the corner of the house, behind a row of folding chairs, you exhaled. “I owe you.”

“Oh, you owe me tequila and the first pick of the dessert table,” Maria replied.

You hugged her and led her toward the gazebo just as more guests arrived.

And then… you felt it. Before you saw him.

That low hum under your skin. That fizz of electricity that sparked along your spine like it knew who was coming.

Joel.

He entered through the side gate, the golden afternoon sun catching in his hair, swept back like he’d run his hands through it while cursing at traffic. A dark button-down stretched across his shoulders, sleeves rolled once, and jeans that fit him like they were made to be tugged off. He scanned the crowd slowly, his gaze landing on you almost instantly.

And oh, he smiled.

Just enough to wind you.

Maria, standing beside you, followed your gaze and whistled low. “Christ. You’re gonna have to pretend you don’t know that man? You’re so fucked.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your heart was already in your throat.

Because yeah, she was right.

And the party hadn’t even started yet.

-

You were trying to behave. Truly.

But Joel Miller had been looking at you all damn afternoon like he was picturing you on your knees, and not in a praying to Jesus kind of way.

It didn’t help that your dress, at first glance, looked sweet, soft yellow silk, strapless, dotted with tiny pink flowers, flowing all the way down to your ankles like something out of a vintage romance. But to Joel, it was torture. The silk clung in the heat, hugging the slope of your waist and the soft curve of your hips before swaying just enough to tease what it didn’t show. You’d picked it for your the party, not for Joel, but the way his eyes had tracked you since he walked in made you feel like a liar.

Maria had become your lifeline. You clung to her like a flotation device, laughing at her impressions of Aunt Diane and letting her carry most of the small talk. It kept you distracted. Mostly.

Now you were sitting with her around the patio table with a few others your age, kids of your dad’s old friends, dragged along for the food and family guilt. You sipped at your drink, nodding vaguely at a conversation about weekend plans, though your attention was several feet away, right where Joel stood with your dad, one hand braced on his hip, the other wrapped around a beer.

You caught him watching you again, and you pressed your thighs together under the table.

“Hey.” Someone snapped their fingers. “Did you hear me?”

You blinked and turned back to Ryan, the grandson. He’d had a few beers by now, the sheen of sweat along his forehead and the lazy smirk tugging at his mouth telling you enough.

“Sorry,” you said. “What?”

“I said is that that woman who was arguing about politics earlier?”

You followed his glance across the garden, where a woman in a navy dress was laughing with a few older guests.

“I think so,” you said slowly. “Why?”

He scoffed. “Man, she would not shut up. Just kept going. You’d think she was running for something.”

Maria gave him a look. “She was answering a question.”

“Yeah, well, just saying. It’s not a good look, is it? That kind of attitude? It’s a bit much.”

Your stomach turned.

You kept your tone even. “You mean confidence? Intelligence?”

He waved his beer like that wasn’t the point. “Nah, just, women like that, always feeling like they’ve got something to prove. It’s exhausting.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Maybe she’s not trying to prove anything. Maybe she’s just smart. And comfortable with that.”

Maria smiled into her glass. “Imagine being threatened by a woman with an opinion.”

“I’m not threatened,” Ryan began, but you were already tuning him out.

You stood up and brushed your hands on your dress. “Maria, wanna help me get the cake?”

Maria didn’t hesitate. “Oh, hell yes.”

You both ducked inside, the door swinging shut behind you. The second it clicked closed, Maria spun around, already mid-eye roll.

“‘Not a good look,’ my ass,” she muttered. “God forbid a woman knows what she’s talking about.”

You let out a breath, your pulse still thudding annoyingly in your throat. “I think he genuinely believes women should just sit there and smile.”

Maria scoffed, grabbing the lighter from the drawer. “Yeah. Nod politely, laugh at his bad jokes, and never say anything that might threaten his fragile little ego.”

You moved toward the fridge, hands suddenly fidgety. “I hate how easy it is for him to say that stuff. Like confident women are some kind of flaw.”

“Because he’s not used to being challenged,” Maria said. “Guys like that only feel smart if everyone around them stays quiet.”

You turned with the cake in your hands and raised an eyebrow. “He picked the wrong table, then.”

Maria grinned. “Damn right he did.”

You started arranging the candles. “I know I shouldn’t let it get to me…”

“No. Let it,” she said firmly. “Because it’s bullshit. And it happens all the time. You called him out. You should be proud of that.”

You glanced up at her and smiled, something warm settling in your chest. “Thanks for backing me up.”

Maria leaned against the counter, watching the flames dance as you lit each candle. “Always. But just so we’re clear, next time he says something like that, I’m flipping a chair.”

You laughed. “Deal.”

“And also? You should be less worried about what Ryan thinks and more worried about Joel Miller practically eye fucking you every time you move in that dress.”

You tried not to smile, cheeks warming. “It’s that obvious?”

“You two aren’t slick,” she said. “You think you are, but you’re not. It’s like watching a nature documentary where the lion’s trying really hard not to pounce.”

You shook your head, blew out a breath, and lifted the cake carefully.

The garden burst into applause as you stepped outside, the flicker of candles casting golden light across your face. Your dad beamed from the center of the crowd, looking a little misty-eyed as everyone broke into a loud, off-key rendition of Happy Birthday. He shook his head in mock embarrassment, wrapping an arm around your shoulders once the song ended.

“You baked this?” he asked, eyes narrowing.

“With love,” you said, lifting your brows.

“Uh-huh.” He sniffed. “And no poison this time?”

“No promises.”

He chuckled, then blew out the candles, sending the crowd into cheers.

You slipped back into the kitchen for the knife. You were halfway through slicing the cake when you felt it.

That hum beneath your skin. That warmth on your back.

Joel stepped inside and shut the door with a quiet click.

You didn’t turn around. Didn’t need to.

You felt him behind you, close, steady. The heat of his chest at your back, the warm brush of his breath against your neck as you stared out the window above the sink.

“Baby, you keep wearin’ this dress around me,” he said, his voice low, dangerous, “and I’m gonna lose my fuckin’ mind.”

Your breath hitched, but you kept your eyes forward. “Then what’s stoppin’ you?”

A sound left him, deep and rough, like something barely restrained. His hand slid around your waist, the other reaching down, slow and deliberate, gathering the hem of your dress. Silk rustled as he pushed it higher… higher… bunching it at your hips, until the cool air hit your thighs.

Joel pressed closer, his hips flush with your ass, the thickness of him already straining against his jeans. His arm reached around, hand splayed low across your stomach as he held you still, his lips brushing your ear.

“You been walkin’ around all day lettin’ me stare at this little ass,” he murmured. “You know what that does to me?”

“Joel,”

“Don’t,” he growled. “Not unless you want me to stop.”

You didn’t say a word.

His hand dipped lower, fingers brushing between your thighs, finding the thin scrap of lace there already soaked through.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “Already so wet?”

You bit your lip, eyes still on the glass.

He kissed the side of your neck, nipped it. “Thought about bending you over this counter all damn day,” he said, voice rough and fraying.

“Joel, someone might come in,”

He stilled, fingers ghosting where you wanted him most.

“You want me to stop?”

You shook your head, dizzy with it. “No.”

His hand moved with purpose now, sliding beneath the lace, parting you with his fingers like he knew exactly what you needed, because he did. Every motion, every touch, was slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world to ruin you right there against the counter.

You gasped softly, hips instinctively rocking back into him, and he pressed his body closer in response. His other hand left your stomach and trailed up your chest, fingertips grazing your ribcage before tugging the neckline of your dress down just enough to bare one breast to the cool air.

“You’re killin’ me,” he muttered, rolling your nipple between his fingers. “This fuckin’ dress, that mouth, the way you look at me like you want me to tear it all apart.”

“I do,” you breathed, voice barely there.

He chuckled low, dark and full of heat. “Yeah, I know you do.”

He pulled his hand from your pussy, and you whined before you could stop yourself, but he was already working at the button of his jeans, already shoving them down just enough. You heard the soft hiss he let out as he freed himself, his cock hard and heavy against your lower back.

Then his hand was on your clit again, fingers slipping back through the slick mess he’d already made of you. He guided himself to your entrance, pausing, teasing.

“Still want this?” he asked, his voice lower now, rough with restraint.

You nodded, breathless. “Yes.”

“Say it.”

“I want you.”

That was all he needed.

He pushed into your aching pussy slowly, inch by thick, aching inch, one hand steadying you against the counter, the other gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks.

You gasped, one hand bracing on the counter’s edge, the other flying back to grip at his forearm.

“Fuck, baby girl,” he growled into your neck, burying himself deep. “You feel so goddamn good.”

He pulled back, thrust forward again, setting a rhythm that had your knees trembling. Each snap of his hips sent you forward, stomach brushing the edge of the counter, your breath fogging up the window in front of you.

It was messy. Desperate. The kind of need that had been simmering all day, all week, maybe since the first night you let him take you apart in the dark.

“Touch yourself,” he murmured into your ear, voice thick with heat. “Wanna feel you come all over me.”

Your hand slipped between your thighs, fingers circling your clit as he kept fucking into you, harder now, deeper.

You felt it building fast, that sharp edge creeping closer with every stroke, every filthy word he growled against your neck.

“Come for me,” he rasped. “C’mon, baby, let me feel it.”

You shattered around him with a cry, the kind that tore straight from your chest. Your body clenched around him, back arching, stars bursting behind your eyes.

Joel cursed low, hips stuttering as he chased his own release, just a few more thrusts before he spilled into you with a deep, broken sound, his grip on your hip tightening as he came.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Just the sound of your breathing, the faint murmur of the party outside the window, the pounding of your hearts in sync.

“Jesus,” he breathed, chest still rising and falling against your back. “You’ll be the death of me.”

When he pulled away, he pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then dropped to one knee. His hands were steady as he reached for your panties, still tangled around your ankles. He lifted them with care, like it was the most natural thing in the world, and guided them back into place with a final, gentle tug.

“Joel,” you whispered, breathless. “Someone could have come in.”

He stood, adjusting himself with a smirk. “They didn’t.”

You let out a shaky laugh, eyes trailing up his body, his flushed cheeks, the damp hair curling slightly at his temples, the faint redness on his neck. A little wrecked. A little smug. And completely, unfairly gorgeous.

“You’re unbelievable,” you muttered, but the smile tugging at your mouth gave you away.

Joel winked as he backed toward the kitchen door, still looking at you like he hadn’t just fucked the life out of you ten seconds ago. Like he was already thinking about the next time.

He cracked the door open and called out, bright and casual, “Thanks for the cake! Was delicious!”

You slapped a hand over your mouth, mortified.

Then, because he was a menace, he turned back, caught your eye…

And licked his damn fingers.

You went scarlet.

“Jesus Christ,” you hissed, shoving your hands over your face as he disappeared into the party, smug as ever.

You stood there for a beat, catching your breath. Your thighs still trembling. The counter still warm from where you’d braced your hands. The man was a complete fucking idiot.

But he was your idiot.

And no matter how many times he made your heart race or your skin burn, no matter how absolutely chaotic this whole thing was, God help you, you couldn’t get enough of him.

You smoothed your dress down, checked your reflection in the toaster, and drew in one last calming breath.

You stepped out of the kitchen and back into the party, trying not to look like you’d just been thoroughly, deliciously ruined.

The backyard had shifted while you were gone.

The sky had turned that inky, navy-blue kind of dark, the kind that made everything else feel brighter. The string lights you’d spent all morning wrestling with were finally earning their keep, glowing soft and golden above the patio. A few citronella candles flickered on tables, their flames dancing lazily in the breeze.

Laughter carried from the corner near the grill, where your dad stood holding court with two of his oldest buddies. His cheeks were pink, eyes crinkled at the corners, clearly a couple beers in. One of them clapped him on the back and your dad let out a loud, wheezy laugh that made your chest warm.

Maria caught your eye from across the yard, perched on a deck chair with her legs tucked underneath her, wine glass in hand. She grinned and waved you over.

You lifted a hand in return, mouthing, one sec, before turning toward the cooler to grab another beer.

You swung around to open the lid, and slammed straight into a solid chest.

“Oh,” you said. “Sorry.”

And looked up into the slightly unfocused eyes of Ryan, who was swaying just a little more than the breeze could explain.

He didn’t move. “Funny. You’re real good at walking away.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I try to talk to you, you treat me like dirt. Then I see you giggling with your little friend like nothin’ happened.”

You frowned. “I didn’t treat you like dirt. I walked away from a conversation I didn’t want to be in. That’s not rude.”

He scoffed. “God, you think you’re so much better than me.”

You took a step back. “Okay, Ryan, I’m done. Please just leave me alone.”

He grabbed your arm.

Hard.

You yelped, the sharp pressure shooting up your bicep. “Ow! Let go of me.”

“Maybe you need to be taken down a peg,”

And then he was gone.

Joel had yanked him back so fast you heard the thud of his shoes skid across the patio.

“The fuck you think you’re doin’,” Joel growled, slamming Ryan against the fence.

The garden went silent.

“Joel,” your dad said sternly, shocked.

Joel didn’t let go.

“You don’t touch her. You hear me? You ever lay a fuckin’ hand on her again-”

“Joel!” your dad snapped.

Ryan looked pale, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

And you, still shaken, arm aching, breath stuck in your throat, stood frozen, caught between Joel’s fury and the weight of what was about to come crashing down.

Your secret wasn’t just close to unraveling.

It was already out in the open.

[i-wrote-sins-not-tragedies]

[i-wrote-sins-not-tragedies]

Back in Austin - Chapter 7

You Wreck Me, Baby

relationship: dbf!joel x afab reader/you

words: 5k

warnings: see masterlist for fic tags

ao3

A/N: I’m a slut for dialogue and I am NOT sorry.

tag list: @glitterspark @throttlepascal

You hadn’t expected to love it so quickly.

Arranging flowers had come as naturally to you as breathing. You didn’t overthink it, just reached for what felt right. Some part of you just knew what colours sang next to each other.

It was instinct, almost. Like the way your hand would reach for Joel’s wrist in the dark without thinking.

The quiet of the shop helped. The hum of the cooler, the snip of scissors, the faint sound of the radio drifting in from the back room. It was peaceful in a way you hadn’t known you needed. And working with your hands, no screens, no meetings, no pressure to explain your life to anyone, felt like a kind of freedom.

Except for Maria.

Maria, who could do a bridal arrangement with one hand and eat a bagel with the other, who never shut up in the best possible way, and who, thankfully, didn’t ask too many questions.

She was your age, maybe a year or two older, with dark hair she never bothered to fully tie back and nails that somehow always looked perfect despite working in buckets of water all day. She was sharp as hell, funny, and had a way of saying things that made you choke on your coffee at least once a shift.

“I swear, if that suit guy comes in again asking for ‘something masculine’ I’m just gonna hand him a cactus and a condom,” she said yesterday, pulling blooms from the cooler with ruthless efficiency.

You’d snorted. “You’re unwell.”

“I’m efficient,” she corrected, then held up a pink rose. “You think this says ‘apology for cheating’ or ‘I’m sorry I watched the last episode without you’?”

“Definitely cheating.”

She grinned. “Perfect. Into the Bastard Bundle it goes.”

And just like that, she’d gone back to humming Alanis Morissette under her breath.

You liked her immediately.

You were scrubbing out a stained vase near the sink when the doorbell jingled and you glanced up, expecting a delivery or a lost tourist.

Instead… Joel.

Your heart kicked hard against your ribs.

He looked, god, so good. Black work cargos that hugged his hips too well, his Miller Contracts t-shirt stretched across his chest and clinging to the curve of his arms. A tool belt slung low on his hips like it had been thrown on without thought, but of course you thought about it. Immediately. In vivid, excruciating detail.

You stepped forward just as Maria turned and muttered under her breath, “Well, hello, construction daddy.”

You choked on air. “Maria.”

She didn’t even pretend to look sorry.

Joel, infuriatingly unfazed, smirked as he held up a takeaway tray and a brown bag. “Brought reinforcements.”

You blinked. “You, what?”

“Figured you’d forget to eat.” He tipped his head toward the tray. “Muffin and a flat white. Extra syrup.”

Maria blinked, openly staring now. “Okay hi, are you her boyfriend or a Calvin Klein model moonlighting as a tradesman?”

Joel’s smirk widened as he looked her up and down, amused. “Depends who’s askin’.”

You groaned. “Oh my god.”

“This is Joel,” you said, dragging the name out like a warning.

“Obviously,” Maria replied, grinning like she’d just unwrapped a present. She leaned across the counter, chin in her hand. “Hi, Joel.”

“Hey,” he said, easy and charming, and then, because of course, he turned back to you.

You stepped out from behind the counter, fingers brushing his as you took the tray. He didn’t let go right away, just leaned in to press a kiss to your cheek, slow and casual, like it was the most natural thing in the world. But his mouth lingered just long enough to make your heart skip.

“Blueberry,” he said against your skin. “Still warm.”

You flushed. “Thank you.”

He winked, hand brushing your waist as he stepped back, fingers ghosting just under the hem of your apron.

As he pulled the door open, Maria called after him, “Bring the muffins and arms for me next time.”

He threw a lazy two-fingered salute over his shoulder. “Will do.”

The bell jingled as the door swung shut behind him.

Maria let out a low whistle, wide-eyed. “Okay. Now I get why you keep sneaking off for mystery lunch breaks.”

You laughed under your breath, cheeks burning. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh, really? Because I’m fairly sure that man has rearranged your furniture and your spine.”

“Maria.”

“No, no, you don’t get to deprive me of that visual and then act all embarrassed. He looks like he’s been fixing broken hearts and water heaters since before we were born.”

You shook your head, grinning. “We’re… seeing each other. Kind of.”

“Uh, yeah you are. In what world does a man in a tool belt drop off warm muffins like that unless he’s also dropping your panties?”

You wheezed, laughter bubbling out of you as you nearly knocked a full vase off the counter.

Maria just smiled smugly. “Don’t worry. I don’t need the details. I’ve got a vivid imagination and one hell of a lunch break now.”

You shook your head, still smiling as you tucked the bag away and sipped your coffee. It was perfect. Sweet, warm, familiar.

Just like him.

-

The weeks that followed slipped into place like they’d been waiting to.

You fell into the rhythm at the shop with surprising ease. Arranging stems by colour, cutting them at a diagonal, selecting which blooms worked with which foliage, it all came naturally. You’d catch yourself working on an arrangement and realise you hadn’t even been thinking. Your hands just knew.

Maria was part of it too. She had this uncanny ability to match your pace without a word, the two of you weaving around each other like you’d done this for years.

She’d come to yours for drinks one Friday night, dumped a bottle of tequila on your counter, and insisted that you had to rank the Hemsworths in order of sexual proficiency. You’d laughed so hard at one of her impersonations you nearly peed your pants.

And it was the best you’d felt in weeks. Maybe longer.

Maria didn’t know everything. She didn’t know about your dad. Or how Joel wasn’t just Joel. She only knew that you were seeing a man who brought muffins and coffees and looked like he could bench press a truck. And honestly? That version of reality felt nice.

Joel dropped by the shop once or twice a week now, and Maria had quickly added him to her list of “approved male specimens.” He played along with her teasing, met her sarcasm with dry wit that made you want to roll your eyes and kiss him at the same time.

“You’re gonna ruin muffins for me,” Maria had told him once, when he handed her a fresh bag. “I’ll never be able to eat one again without picturing your forearms.”

Joel, straight-faced, had said, “Glad I could be part of your bakery trauma.”

And that was the thing. It worked. The three of you. It worked.

For the first time, you and Joel felt like a real couple. Not just in the dark corners of your apartment, or in coffee shops far from home, or in the breathless silence between the moments you weren’t supposed to want each other.

This world, the one that included Maria and muffins and sunlight through the storefront windows, it made the rest of the mess feel quieter.

You weren’t getting lost in your head as much. You were still careful, still cautious. But when Joel came over now, it wasn’t always rushed and frantic. Sometimes he stayed the night. Sometimes you cooked dinner. Sometimes he just held you on the couch, breathing slow and warm at your back while you fell asleep with a smile on your face.

It was good.

It was perfect.

One quiet afternoon, Joel dropped by and lingered longer than usual, leaning over the counter, sipping his coffee and tossing dry remarks back at Maria while you wrapped a bouquet for a walk-in order.

His phone rang. “Hey,” he said, voice dropping into that low, familiar drawl. “No, I already handled the vent, yeah. You check the other duct? Might be a pressure thing.”

He turned slightly away, rubbing the back of his neck while he listened.

Maria popped a grape in her mouth and leaned in close, stage-whispering, “Is that the brother?”

You nodded. “Tommy.”

She chewed slowly, then grinned. “He single?”

You raised an eyebrow. “I think so.”

She didn’t hesitate. “Perfect.”

Joel was still on the call, nodding slightly. “Right. Well tell ‘em if they want the whole system replaced, it’s not gonna be cheap. Yeah. Alright.”

As he hung up, Maria was already leaning on the counter with both elbows, looking entirely too pleased with herself.

“So,” she said. “Tommy. Is he hot?”

Joel blinked at her. “Uhm…”

You snorted.

“I’m just saying,” Maria went on, undeterred, “if he’s even a fraction as well-built and suspiciously charming as you are, you should probably introduce us.”

Joel chuckled. “You’re not subtle, are you?”

“Not even a little bit.”

He nodded thoughtfully, then glanced at you. “She’s trouble.”

“She’s fun,” you corrected, already smiling.

Joel tilted his head, pretending to consider. “Tommy would like you.”

Maria lit up. “You say that like it’s a warning.”

“It is a warning.”

She winked. “Set it up anyway.”

Joel laughed, running a hand through his hair. “Alright. Saturday night? Drinks?”

You and Maria exchanged a quick look.

“Deal,” she said.

-

Joel returned to work after lunch, the rest of the day was spent patching up drywall and replacing cabinets for a sweet old lady who kept bringing out lemonade like it was still the ‘60s. By the time the job wrapped, the crew was peeling off one by one in their own trucks, shouting goodbyes over the sound of engines and gravel. Joel and Tommy were the last ones left, packing the final load of tools into the bed of Joel’s truck.

Tommy wiped his brow with the back of his wrist. “Think I inhaled more sawdust than air today.”

Joel grunted. “You’re still breathin’, ain’t ya?”

“Barely.” He tossed the last tool bag in with a thud. “Let’s get the hell outta here before she brings out another plate of cookies.”

Joel chuckled low and opened the driver door. He waited until they were on the road, the engine humming and the windows rolled down halfway, before he spoke again.

“Hey, I need to talk to you about somethin’.”

Tommy looked over sharply. “Ah, shit. What is it now? You sick or somethin’?”

Joel snorted. “No, I, goddamn. Not every conversation gotta start like that.”

“You sound serious, man. You don’t do talks unless it’s a problem.”

Joel gripped the wheel a little tighter. The road stretched ahead in golden streaks of sun through the trees. “You remember that girl from the bar?”

Tommy scoffed. “You know I do. She was smokin’. What about her?”

Joel hesitated, then sighed. “I been… seein’ her.”

There was a beat of silence. Then-

Tommy slapped him across the arm with a loud whap.

“Shit!” Joel swerved slightly and cursed, correcting the wheel.

Tommy was grinning like an idiot. “You serious? How the hell’s a girl like that interested in a grumpy old fucker like you?”

“Watch it.”

“I’m just sayin’.”

“Well don’t.”

Tommy laughed again, sitting back. “So? You and her, it goin’ well?”

Joel nodded, eyes still on the road. “Yeah. Yeah, it is. That’s kinda why I wanted to bring it up.”

Tommy raised a brow. “You askin’ for my blessin’? ‘Cause I’m happy for you, man. You deserve that.”

Joel shook his head. “No, it’s… She’s got this friend. Asked if we wanted to go out for drinks tomorrow, four of us.”

Tommy perked up immediately. “Damn, brother. You settin’ me up for a change? I’ll be there.”

They pulled up outside Tommy’s place. He slung his bag over his shoulder and was halfway out the door when Joel said, “Wait.”

Tommy turned back, one foot still on the step. “What? You need my cologne or somethin’? I ain’t lettin’ you borrow the leather jacket.”

“That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Tommy blinked. “Well what the hell else could there be, brother?”

Joel exhaled, thumb tapping against the steering wheel. “You remember Andy?”

Tommy’s brow furrowed. “Andy? Your buddy Andy? Why the hell we talkin’ about Andy when we could be talkin’ about goin’ to a bar with two hot chicks?”

Joel looked straight ahead. “That’s the thing.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes. “What… what’s the thing?”

Joel swallowed. “Turns out… she’s Andy’s daughter.”

Tommy squinted. “What, the friend?”

Joel shook his head slowly.

“Wait, wait. Joel.” Tommy leaned fully back into the truck. “Joel… you’re seein’ Andy’s kid? Jesus Christ. You’re fuckin’ dead. You know that, right?”

Joel didn’t answer.

Tommy’s voice climbed an octave. “You didn’t know, right? Tell me this ain’t some twisted fantasy where you were like ‘oh hey, I knew her when she was five.’”

Joel glared at him. “Don’t be a goddamn idiot. I didn’t know who she was. Met her at the bar that night. Didn’t know nothin’ till later.”

Tommy leaned back, shaking his head in disbelief. “How’d you find out?”

Joel muttered, “Went to Andy’s Fourth of July barbecue. She was there.”

Tommy howled with laughter. “You gotta be kiddin’ me. You show up holdin’ a casserole and there’s your girl standin’ next to her old man?”

“Somethin’ like that.”

“Jesus Christ, Joel.” He wiped a hand down his face, still laughing. “That’s not just forbidden fruit, that’s fuckin’ nuclear.”

Joel sat there, jaw tight. “Yeah, well. Doesn’t feel that way when I’m with her.”

Tommy’s smile faded at the edges. “…You serious about her?”

Joel looked down at his hands on the steering wheel. Callused. Worn. “I think I might be.”

Tommy squinted, lips twitching into a grin. “Well,” he said after a beat, “guess I better wear somethin’ nice for this date then. Might be the last good night out you ever get.”

Joel smirked. “Why’s that?”

Tommy clapped him on the shoulder as he stepped out. “’Cause once Andy finds out, you’re a dead man walkin’. Figure we better send you off with a beer and a damn good burger.”

Joel huffed. “Andy ain’t gonna find out.”

Tommy paused, halfway up the path to his front door. “You really think that?”

Joel shifted in his seat. “We’re keepin’ it quiet. Just between us.”

Tommy arched a brow. “You ever known anythin’ to stay quiet around here?”

Joel didn’t answer.

Tommy just shook his head and chuckled. “Alright, brother. You enjoy your top-secret romance while you can. I’ll bring my best smile, just in case it’s your funeral.”

Joel cracked a dry grin. “Appreciate it.”

Tommy pointed at him as he backed toward the house. “Text me the details. And try not to get her pregnant in the meantime, alright?”

“Jesus,” Joel muttered, but he couldn’t help the quiet laugh that followed.

Tommy gave a mock salute and disappeared inside.

-

Maria showed up fifteen minutes early, a bottle of tequila in one hand and a devilish grin on her face.

“You ready to corrupt your liver and your soul?” she asked as you opened the door.

You snorted. “Is there another kind of preparation?”

She swept into your flat like a tornado in heels, already kicking them off. “Music. Alcohol. And a little gossip before we face the Miller men.”

You grabbed two glasses while she hooked her phone up to your speaker, the soft hum of a playlist pulsing to life.

“Alright,” she said, leaning back against your kitchen counter with her shot glass in hand. “Tell me everything I need to know. Joel I’ve met, clearly, but what about this brother? Is he equally carved from hardwood?”

You laughed, tossing back the tequila. “You have no idea. He’s like… Joel with a mischievous streak. You’ll love him.”

Maria wiggled her brows. “God, I hope so. What’s his deal? Married? Divorced? Serial killer?”

“None of the above. Just, single. Pretty laid back. He works with Joel.”

“And how exactly did you meet this brood of construction beefcakes?”

You groaned, already regretting it. “At a bar. Joel was there with Tommy, and my friends dared me to kiss a stranger.”

Maria stared. “And the stranger was Joel!? Your life is a telenovela.”

You laughed and buried your face in your hands.

She smirked. “Can’t blame you, girl.”

The tequila helped. So did the music. The two of you slipped into your dresses, Maria in a black low-cut number. You chose your silky red dress, the one Joel hadn’t seen yet. The one that always made you feel a little dangerous.

You’d told Joel to meet you both at the restaurant. You knew full well if he came to pick you up, you’d never make it out the door.

The restaurant was all low light and soft chatter, the buzz of clinking glasses humming underneath a classic soul playlist. You barely made it three steps in before your eyes landed on them, Joel and Tommy, already seated at a table near the back, side by side like a damn Calvin Klein ad gone rugged.

Joel had gone full heartthrob with a navy button-up that brought out the gold in his skin, the sleeves casually rolled just past his elbows. His dark jeans hugged his thighs in a way that made it extremely hard to keep walking, and his hair, pushed back like he’d just stepped out of the shower, still damp at the edges, only added to the slow-burn disaster that was your night ahead.

He looked up.

And saw you.

And everything else fell away.

The corners of his mouth lifted, just barely, and that look he gave you, slow, full of quiet possession, had no business being legal.

Maria whistled low under her breath beside you. “Okay, damn. Tell me that tall drink of Southern water is mine.”

You didn’t take your eyes off Joel. “That’s Tommy.”

Maria clutched her chest. “Thank God. I couldn’t survive both of them being off-limits.”

You were too busy trying to remember how to breathe to reply.

Joel rose as you approached, eyes still fixed on you like you were the only person in the room. He leaned in, lips brushing your cheek in a kiss that was technically innocent and yet somehow felt like being touched everywhere at once. His hand found your waist and gave a small squeeze, thumb slipping just under the silk of your dress.

“Hi,” you said, a little breathless.

“Hi yourself,” he murmured, gaze warm.

Tommy stood and gave Maria a once-over, his grin friendly. “You must be Maria.”

She offered her hand. “You must be trouble.”

“Only on weekends,” he said, eyes twinkling.

“Oh, we’re gonna get along just fine,” she said, sliding into the booth next to him like she already owned the place.

You sat beside Joel, your thigh pressed flush against his beneath the table. He made no effort to move away.

Once menus were passed around and drinks were ordered, two beers for the brothers, cocktails for you and Maria, the conversation took off like a shot.

“So,” Maria said, spinning her straw. “Which one of you was born first, and how many minutes did it take the second one to get jealous?”

Tommy grinned. “That’d be me. Joel had a five-year head start and still couldn’t hold the spotlight.”

“Not true,” Joel said smoothly, sipping his beer. “I just let you think you were winning.”

Maria cackled. “God, I love sibling dynamics. It’s like reality TV with more trauma.”

Joel raised a brow. “You saying I’ve got issues?”

“You’re at dinner with your little brother and his date,” Maria said sweetly, “and your own date’s best friend. Yeah. There’s definitely something kinky happening here.”

You nearly spit out your drink.

Tommy leaned back in his chair. “Alright, alright. But you gotta admit, this setup... You, me. Your best friend and my brother. It’s like the beginning of a very niche adult film.”

Maria didn’t miss a beat. “Bold of you to assume you’re the star, sweetheart.”

Even Joel snorted.

“You’re all ridiculous,” you said, grinning as you reached for your wine.

Joel’s hand found yours under the table, thumb brushing the inside of your wrist. It was such a small thing, but the intimacy of it, casual, practiced, tender, made your stomach swoop.

“You love it,” Joel murmured quietly, leaning closer.

You did.

God, you did.

Dinner unfolded like the kind of night you’d remember years from now. Maria and Tommy were electric together, she matched his cheeky energy line for line, neither one of them backing down. Joel was quieter, but not silent, every now and then he’d slip in with a comment that made all of you wheeze with laughter. He found Maria hilarious, that much was clear, and somehow, watching them get on so well made your chest ache in the best way.

After dessert, chocolate cake, shared like you weren’t all keeping mental tabs on who ate the most, Joel’s hand slipped into yours again beneath the table. His fingers threaded through yours like they belonged there. You turned to him, and this time he didn’t say anything. Just looked.

You smiled, heart thudding hard behind your ribs.

You glanced across the table to see Tommy feeding Maria the last bite of cake, her lipstick smudged but her grin wide. She swatted his hand away and stole his drink instead.

You laughed and leaned into Joel’s side, resting your head on his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

-

Tommy tossed back the last sip of his drink and nudged Maria with his shoulder. “Alright, I vote we keep this party going somewhere with bad lighting and worse decisions.”

Maria was already halfway to her feet. “Yes. I’m feeling tequila and bad karaoke in my future.”

You laughed as you and Joel both stood too. “We’ll leave you to it.”

Tommy raised a brow. “Joel? You tapping out?”

Joel shrugged, slipping his hand into yours. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with knowin’ when to call it.”

Tommy smirked. “Right. Translation… He’s old and needs his bed.”

Joel narrowed his eyes. “I got a bad back.”

Maria snorted.

You leaned in to hug her. “Don’t let him get you arrested.”

“No promises,” she whispered with a wink, before grabbing Tommy’s arm and heading toward the bar exit, their laughter trailing behind them.

You and Joel stepped out into the night air together. It was cooler now, the city quieter, the distant hum of traffic a steady backdrop as you walked hand in hand down the street. Just the two of you. Like it had been before anyone else knew.

Joel’s fingers tightened slightly around yours. “Y’know,” he said, glancing sideways at you, “this is the same way I walked you home that night.”

You looked up at him, smiling.

You slowed as your apartment came into view. Joel paused just outside the front steps, eyes warm on yours.

“And I was thinkin’,” he said, stepping closer, voice lowering to that deep, rough drawl that always made your stomach flip, “maybe I’ll do to you what I did that night, too.”

Your breath caught. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And then he scooped you up, just like that, hands firm beneath your thighs, your body flush against his chest before you could do more than squeak out a surprised laugh.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, grinning into his collar. “You’re ridiculous.”

Joel kissed the corner of your mouth, soft and sure. “Might be. But I’m not putting you down.”

Joel carried you through the apartment like he’d before, effortless, familiar, like the weight of you in his arms was something he’d been built for.

Your front door clicked shut behind him with a soft finality, and then it was just the two of you. No crowd, no Maria, no Tommy, no pretending. Just the steady thud of Joel’s boots down your hallway and the sound of your breath catching when his mouth brushed your neck.

He nudged open your bedroom door with his foot and lowered you slowly to the bed. His hands lingered at your waist even after you’d settled, thumbs pressing lightly into your hips like he couldn’t bear to stop touching you.

You sat up on your elbows, legs dangling off the edge of the mattress, looking up at him in the dim glow from your bedside lamp.

Joel’s gaze dragged over you, slow and deliberate. His voice was low, rough at the edges. “You really wore that dress to ruin me, didn’t you.”

You smiled, slow, wicked. “I wore it for you.”

Joel’s hand came up, fingers curling around the back of your neck as he leaned in and kissed you, harder this time, with none of the restraint he’d clung to at dinner. His lips moved against yours like he already knew every shape and sound you’d make, like your mouth was a map he’d memorized.

You tugged at his shirt, dragging it up over his head, leaving his hair mussed and his chest rising beneath your palms. He was warm, solid, real, and already breathing like he couldn’t keep up with the way you touched him. You kissed your way down his neck, grazing your teeth just beneath his jaw, and he growled low in his throat.

“Bed,” you murmured.

Joel didn’t need to be told twice.

He shifted you both back, climbing over you with one knee braced on the mattress, then the other, his hands dragging your dress up your thighs as he kissed you again, deeper now, his tongue parting your lips, hot and possessive.

You gasped into his mouth as his palms skimmed up your thighs, pushing the fabric higher until he could see the soft cotton of your underwear. He groaned, dragging his hand up between your legs, fingertips ghosting your clit through the fabric.

“Joel,”

“I’ve got you, baby,” he whispered, kissing down your throat. “Gonna take care of you.”

Your hips rolled into his touch as he slipped his fingers beneath the fabric, sliding through your soaking lips with practiced ease, finding you already slick and aching. His thumb circled you slowly, coaxing breathy little sounds from your mouth, and you felt his cock harden where it pressed against your hip.

“Need you,” you whispered, your voice nearly a whimper. “Need you now.”

“You’ll get me,” he rasped, pulling back just long enough to strip his jeans and boxers off, then dragging your panties down your legs, his hands worshipful as he kissed a slow trail from your ankle to your knee, then up your thigh.

By the time he moved over you again, you were trembling.

He kissed your lips, your jaw, the hollow of your throat. “You ready, baby?”

You nodded, wrapping your legs around his waist, eyes wide and locked on his.

“Say it,” Joel murmured, his forehead resting against yours, his voice hoarse. “Please.”

“I’m yours. All of me.” you whispered.

Joel sank his cock into you with a groan that echoed through your whole body, and you gasped, clinging to him as he filled you completely. It wasn’t fast, wasn’t rough, he moved slow and deep, like he was trying to memorise every inch of you, like he was laying a claim and saying goodbye all at once.

“Goddamn,” he breathed, burying his face against your neck. “You feel so fuckin’ good.”

Your dress was still on, bunched around your waist now. Joel’s hands moved with purpose, pushing the straps down your shoulders as he thrust his cock into you, his mouth finding your breast, sucking and biting at your nipple until your back arched off the bed.

You gasped, hips rising to meet his every stroke, fingers tangled tight in his hair like you were anchoring yourself to him. His name left your lips again and again, half prayer, half plea.

One of his hands slid beneath your thigh, lifting you slightly. The change in angle made your breath catch, the rhythm of him hitting deeper, sharper, your body already starting to unravel.

“Come with me,” Joel murmured, voice wrecked and low.

You could feel it building, wave after wave until you were right at the edge, and when you felt him spill inside you, that was all it took.

You shattered around him, moaning his name like it was carved into your lungs, your nails dragging across his back, the walls of your pussy pulsing and strangling him.

He cursed softly against your skin, his hips stuttering, arms trembling where they braced him above you, every inch of him pressed against you like he couldn’t bear the thought of letting go.

For a long moment, neither of you said anything. You both lay tangled in the sheets, your bodies warm and slick with sweat, breath still evening out.

Joel pressed a kiss to your temple before slowly easing out of bed. You watched him go with heavy eyes, the curve of his back disappearing into the bathroom, the soft sound of running water following him. He returned a moment later, kneeling beside the bed with a damp washcloth in hand, gentle as he cleaned between your thighs where he’d spilled inside you.

You smiled, touched by the quiet care in the way he moved.

“You’re amazing,” you whispered.

He glanced up at you, a slow smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Not half as amazing as you, darlin’.”

You laughed softly as he tossed the cloth into the laundry basket across the room and climbed back into bed beside you. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into the firm warmth of his chest like he never wanted to let go.

You melted into him, tucking your leg over his, your cheek resting against his shoulder.

“I think today might’ve been the best day I’ve ever had,” you murmured, voice soft and certain.

Joel pressed his mouth to your hair. “Me too, baby.”

[i-wrote-sins-not-tragedies]

Back in Austin - Chapter 6

I’m All Your’n, You’re All Mine

relationship: dbf!joel x afab reader/you

words: 3.4k

warnings: see masterlist for fic tags

ao3

taglist: @glitterspark @throttlepascal

It had only been a few weeks since the Fourth of July barbecue, but it already felt like another life.

The secret was heavier now. Sharper around the edges.

What had started as reckless and electric, had shifted into something more fragile, more deliberate. You both knew what was at stake now. Knew what it meant to keep choosing each other anyway.

Since that night, things had mostly been quiet. Careful. You fell into a rhythm that didn’t quite feel like a routine but was slowly becoming one anyway. Late-night calls, mornings tangled in his sheets, afternoons where you’d cross the street just to be safe if you saw someone who might recognise you. The fear of being seen made it easier to just… not go out at all. So you didn’t. Most of your time together was spent behind closed blinds, inside your apartment where no one could question it.

You’d tiptoe past the threshold of conversation, neither of you saying out loud how hard it already was. Only a couple months in, and the silence around your dad was beginning to feel like another person in the room. You avoided the subject entirely, choosing instead to fill your nights with distraction, your limbs tangled across Joel’s lap, your mouth pressed against his skin, bent over the back of your couch or your barely assembled IKEA dresser, breathless and aching and clinging to whatever moments you could get.

But that couldn’t last forever.

Joel was the first one to say it out loud, not the thing about your dad, but the other thing. The truth you’d both danced around for weeks now.

“I’m sick of pizza,” he’d muttered the last time he was at yours, flipping open the third greasy box in as many days and shaking his head at the sad, half-burnt crust. “And you cook like someone who’s never met a vegetable.”

You’d gasped, fake-offended. “I met one once. Didn’t like it.”

“Christ.” He muttered it like a prayer, or a curse. “You’re comin’ to my place next time.”

You laughed, but you could tell he meant it.

And then on a Wednesday evening, without preamble, he called.

“I’m makin’ you dinner.”

-

He opened the door with two wine glasses in hand, the sleeves of his shirt shoved up to his elbows. “Evenin’, trouble.”

You arched a brow. “Flirting before food?”

He looked you over once, slow and thorough, eyes dragging unapologetically down your figure. You’d worn a top that could barely pass as decent, thin straps, plunging neckline, a whisper of lace that dared anyone to stare too long. You wore it on purpose. Of course you did.

His smirk deepened. “Well you knew damn well what you were doin’ when you put that on.”

You shrugged innocently. “Just tryin’ to beat the heat.”

“Mm. Steak’s in the pan. Get in here before I forget how to be a gentleman.”

You followed him into the kitchen, the scent of sizzling butter already hanging thick in the air, cut with the sharper bite of garlic and thyme. Joel stood at the stove, focused and quiet, turning the steak in the pan like it was second nature.

You settled into one of the stools at the island, folding your arms across the cool surface as you watched Joel move around the kitchen. It felt oddly domestic. Comforting. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself.

“How did I get so lucky?” you asked, voice light. “Meet a hot stranger at a bar who can fix up my apartment and cook?”

Joel gave a short huff, still focused on the pan. “Yeah, well. One outta three ain’t bad.”

You laughed. “Which one are you claiming?”

He looked over at you then, that familiar twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll let you decide.”

You held his gaze for a beat too long. “Well, guess you turned out not to be a stranger after all.”

Joel’s smirk faded, gentled. “Guess not.”

The room quieted. Just the low sizzle of the pan and the hum of the fridge filling the space while he finished up. You watched him plate the food with practiced hands, every movement unhurried and precise.

“We haven’t really talked about it,” he said finally. “Me and your dad. How we became buddies.”

“I know.” You exhaled. “That’s because I’m pretending you’re not.”

Joel didn’t push. Just set the plates down and slid yours in front of you.

You took a bite. Closed your eyes.

“Jesus Christ,” you mumbled, mouth full. “This is insane. Like… actual restaurant-level.”

Joel gave a low chuckle. “Told you.”

You looked up at him. “You gonna tell me, then?”

“What?”

“About you and my dad.”

He shrugged, grabbed his own fork. “Was this birthday thing. Mutual friend. Backyard cookout sorta deal. Your dad and I kinda hit it off, just talking about home repair crap, mostly.”

You blinked. “Riveting stuff.”

Joel shot you a look. “You asked.”

You grinned and motioned for him to go on.

“He mentioned his water heater was actin’ up, so I offered to take a look. Went over a few days later, ended up stayin’ for a beer. We started talkin’ football. Then we went to a game together… I dunno. We just kinda kept makin’ plans after that.”

You chewed slowly, trying to picture it. “Huh. I guess that’s… kinda cute.”

Joel arched a brow. “Cute?”

You shrugged. “I mean, in a middle-aged, dad-bonding kinda way.”

He groaned. “Christ.”

You laughed behind your hand, watching the way the corners of his mouth curled upward despite himself.

Then, just as quickly, the moment settled. You looked down at your plate, absently pushing a piece of steak through the sauce. The smile didn’t quite hold. Not because of Joel, never because of him, but because the weight of it all crept back in, slow and familiar.

Joel watched the way your eyes dropped to the counter, your smile dimming just slightly. You weren’t saying anything, but your silence said plenty.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just took you in, how quiet you got when your brain spun off in a hundred directions. He could see it happening, same way he’d already started recognising your mood before you spoke a word. The crease between your brows, the way your shoulder curled inward just a touch. He knew that look. Knew you were getting tangled in your own thoughts.

He frowned, but only briefly.

“You find anythin’ good yet?” he asked casually, taking another bite of food.

Your head lifted, a little blink like you were surfacing from deep water. “What?”

Joel met your eyes. “Job hunt. Any luck?”

You blinked again, then gave a soft exhale, half laugh, half sigh. “Right. That.”

He tilted his head. “That bad, huh?

You shrugged, but some of the fog had cleared already. “Just… nothing that doesn’t make me wanna claw my eyes out.”

He poured the butter from the pan over the steak with slow precision. “You’ll figure it out.”

You watched him, the sure way he moved, how unbothered he always seemed. “You always sound so damn certain.”

Joel glanced over. “’Cause I am.”

And that made something ache in your chest. That quiet, grounding certainty. Like he’d already decided things would work out, for you, for this, and that was that.

You reached for your wine again. “Hope you’re right.”

Joel wiped his hands again, then leaned back in his chair, watching you. “Don’t worry, baby. I usually am.”

You reached for his hand across the table without thinking. He didn’t flinch. Just let his fingers settle between yours, warm and sure.

The plates were mostly cleared by then, just a few bites left, a smudge of sauce you’d lazily been dragging your fork through. Joel didn’t say much as you ate, he never really did when he was proud of something, but you noticed it anyway. The small upward twitch at the corner of his mouth when you’d gone back for seconds. The way his eyes softened when you leaned back in your chair with a satisfied little sigh.

You squeezed his hand. “Seriously. That was incredible.”

Joel just shrugged like it was nothing, but you could see the pride tucked behind it.

You leaned back in your chair after a while, fork dangling between your fingers. “So is this your master plan then?” you asked. “Lure me in with good sex and better food?”

Joel didn’t even look up. “Seems to be workin’.”

You laughed, shaking your head as he stood to clear the plates.

You made a move to stand, but he glanced over his shoulder. “Sit. I got it.”

You blinked. “Joel…”

“I mean it,” he said, already walking your dish to the sink. “You ain’t liftin’ a finger tonight.”

You stayed where you were, leaning your elbows on the table and letting your gaze follow him. He moved without fanfare, scraping plates, rinsing them clean, wiping down the counter with a kind of quiet focus that made your chest ache. It wasn’t the act itself, it was the intention behind it. The ease of it.

You weren’t used to this. To someone doing the small things, not to impress you, not to prove anything, just because he wanted to.

It was stupid, probably. You’d known him properly for what, five weeks? But watching him like this, the domesticity of it, the way he didn’t fuss or put on a show, just quietly took care of things… it made something catch in your chest.

You liked him. God, you liked him so much it scared you a little.

And sure, hiding this from your dad was already complicated. It was only going to get harder. But for this, for Joel, for the way he cooked and cared and kissed like he meant it, it was worth it. He was worth it.

Without thinking, you got up and padded across the kitchen, wrapping your arms gently around him from behind.

He stilled, then let out a breath and leaned back just a little into your touch. Your cheek settled between his shoulder blades. His warmth bled into you, steady and grounding. For a moment, he just stood there, letting you hold him.

Then he turned, dish towel in one hand, the other coming up to brush a loose hair away from your cheek. You looked up at him, and whatever he saw on your face made his soften.

You rose onto your toes and kissed him, slow and sweet.

Joel didn’t hesitate.

His hand slid to your waist, the towel forgotten, and the kiss deepened, gentle at first, then less so. His mouth moved with intent now, tongue brushing yours, pulling you closer until your chest pressed against his.

You weren’t sure when his hands found your thighs, or when you’d gasped into his mouth and gripped his shoulders, but the next second, he was lifting you like it was nothing, setting you down on the cool edge of the counter. His palms sliding beneath your knees, spreading them, anchoring you there.

You made a noise, half gasp, half moan, when his mouth dropped to your neck, then lower, lips skimming fire down your chest, your stomach, his hands strong against your thighs.

The counter was cool beneath you, but every part of you burned where he touched. You gripped the edge behind you, knuckles white, breath catching as Joel dropped to his knees without a word, like it was instinct, like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

He kissed the inside of your knee first, then dragged his mouth up your thigh, slow and unhurried, like he was savoring every inch. His hands slid beneath the hem of your skirt, rough palms warm against your skin as he pushed it higher, bunching the fabric around your hips.

You sucked in a breath when his fingers found the waistband of your panties, hooked them gently, and began to ease them down your legs. His eyes stayed on yours the entire time, like he was waiting for you to stop him.

You didn’t.

The scrap of lace fell to the floor, forgotten.

“Joel,” you gasped, hips tilting forward of their own accord, shameless now, too far gone to care.

He didn’t answer. Just hooked your thighs over his shoulders and dragged his mouth over your pussy, slow and sure, like he was tasting something he’d been craving for days. His tongue moved with practiced ease, parting your sensitive lips, teasing your clit until your breath hitched in your throat and your spine bowed off the counter.

You whimpered, one hand flying to his hair, fingers tangling in the thick waves. You tugged just enough to make him groan against you, and the sound made your thighs tremble where they rested against his cheeks.

He tightened his grip on your hips, grounding you, his stubble scraping just slightly in that perfect, maddening way. His tongue worked your clit in slow circles, then quick flicks, changing rhythm every time he felt your legs start to shake. He was relentless, devoted. A man determined to ruin you completely.

“Please,” you whispered, not even sure what you were asking for. More, maybe. Or to never stop.

He didn’t stop.

Your head fell back, eyes fluttering shut as that wave crested hard and fast, rolling through you until your whole body was trembling, mouth falling open on a broken gasp. You clutched at his shoulders, his hair, anything to hold onto as he drew it out, licking you through every last flutter and quake.

When he finally pulled back, his mouth was slick, jaw flushed, eyes dark and hungry as he looked up at you.

You were still catching your breath when he pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh, then another, slower one right above your knee

He stood between your legs, eyes dark, jaw clenched as he pulled himself out, painfully hard and leaking at the tip. He stroked his hand over himself, a small groan leaving his lips. His hand grasped at your hip, guiding his cock inside your already slick pussy, rough and deep, like he’d been holding back all night and finally snapped.

You moaned at the feel of him, stretching you open, filling you completely.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, voice thick and low. “Let me hear you.”

You gasped, clutching at his shoulders as he fucked you slowly against the counter, nothing but heat and muscle and filthy praise spilled against your skin.

“Always so fuckin’ tight for me,” “Can’t get enough of you.”

Each word dragged a whimper from your throat, the raw need in his voice undoing you even faster. Just pure, desperate want, his hands gripping your hips like he couldn’t bear to let go, his dick hitting that sweet spot inside you that you never wanted to stop.

You came again fast, wrecked already from his mouth, and Joel wasn’t far behind, his breath stuttering, grip bruising, hips snapping forward one last time before he groaned your name like a prayer.

But it didn’t stop there.

He kissed you, slow and dirty, still hard inside you, and when he finally pulled back, it was only to lift you off the counter, his voice rough against your ear.

“Bedroom. Now.”

And just like that, the night started all over again.

-

The rest of the week slipped by in a blur of ordinary moments. Joel showed up unexpectedly one afternoon to fix your leaking sink, wearing his usual black work cargos, a Miller Contracts t-shirt, short sleeves revealing strong forearms, and his trusty tool belt hanging low on his hips. You tried to focus on job applications, fingers tapping away at your laptop late into the night, but your thoughts kept drifting back to him.

You met for coffee one afternoon at that quiet little café just outside the city, far enough away to feel like your own secret world. The conversation was easy, the kind that made time slip away without notice, leaving you both reluctant to leave.

But all too soon, Saturday arrived, too early, and far too loud.

You’d planned to wake up at eight, shower, and do something vaguely respectable with your hair. Instead, you’d hit snooze three times and jolted awake at 9:55, five minutes before your dad was due to arrive for breakfast and the wildly unnecessary furniture assembly you’d roped him into helping with.

You flew out of bed, barely managing to yank on a pair of denim shorts and a white tank top. Your hair was shoved into a claw clip that was already fighting for its life.

Your phone buzzed on the mattress.

Joel: 60 second warning.

A piece of hair slipped across your cheek as you stared at the message, frowning in confusion. Joel? What did he…

The buzzer sounded.

You cursed, stumbling barefoot to the door. “Shit, shit, shit,”

You opened it.

Your dad stood there, all smiles.

And beside him… Joel.

Wearing his usual jeans and a worn navy tee that clung just right to his arms, a familiar spark in his eyes barely masked by the polite smile. You felt your stomach drop.

“Figured I’d bring in the cavalry,” your dad said, holding up a flat-packed box like it was some sort of prize. “You remember Joel, right? Contractor, don’t know if I mentioned. Thought he could take a look at the place.”

You blinked. “Dad, Joel doesn’t need to waste his time on-”

Joel cut you off smoothly. “Not a problem at all, ma’am.”

You shot him a sharp look. Fucking ma’am? Really?

The walkthrough began instantly, your dad pointing out every odd quirk of your apartment like he was hosting a damn open house. Joel followed with his hands in his pockets, eyes meeting yours every so often with the faintest twitch of amusement.

“The place has character,” your dad said proudly, gesturing at the crooked trim. “You see this, Joel? Original moulding. Pure charm.”

Joel nodded solemnly. “Oh, it’s got charm, alright.”

They reached the hallway.

“This,” your dad said, pointing to a small hole in the drywall, “this’ll need patching up.”

You almost choked. Because you knew exactly how that got there, Joel's hand braced right there, palm flat against the plaster, the wall steadying you both while he fucked you with his mouth pressed to your neck, your leg hooked around his waist…

"Yup," Joel said, clearing his throat.

You looked anywhere but at him, heat blooming across your chest.

Then, to your horror, your dad opened your bedroom door.

“Jesus, Dad,” you groaned, trailing after them.

He waved you off. “Look at this mess. Still not makin’ your bed?”

Joel looked far too entertained.

You shot him a glare, mouthing, I hate you.

He grinned, like you’d just said I love you.

Eventually, the grand tour circled back to the kitchen. Your dad stopped short at the sight of the bouquet sitting on the counter, peach and pale pink blooms, their petals just beginning to open.

“Those are nice,” he said, leaning in. “From that new flower place thing?”

“Yeah,” you replied quickly. “Started this week.”

He frowned. “Dunno how long you’ll stick it, but if it makes you happy, whatever.”

You didn’t look at Joel. But you could feel him looking at you.

Your dad glanced over his shoulder. “She’s got herself some fancy florist job in the city,” he told Joel, already turning toward your coffee machine.

“Congrats,” Joel said, casual, but you caught the twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

“Thanks,” you muttered, trying not to combust.

You could feel the memory hanging in the space between you, him nudging you toward the shop window, encouraging you to apply. Him waiting while you asked about the job. Him pressing that exact bouquet into your hands a day later, kissing your temple with that quiet pride he never voiced aloud.

Your dad clapped Joel on the back. “Think you oughta be her contractor. Plenty to fix.”

You opened your mouth to object, but Joel just chuckled. “We’ll talk.”

Your dad started fiddling with the coffee machine. “Show him out, would you?”

You nodded, grateful for the excuse, and walked Joel to the front door.

“Thanks for your time, Joe,” you said loudly, for your dad’s benefit.

Joel snorted at the name, then leaned in close, one hand brushing your hip with infuriating nonchalance. "Call me," he murmured, eyes glinting.

You closed the door behind him, heart thudding.

Then pressed your forehead against the wood, willing yourself not to burst into flames as you imagined him walking back to his truck, laughing his ass off the entire way.

[i-wrote-sins-not-tragedies]

Besties I tried not to name our dad in Back in Austin but I can’t get around some of my dialogue without it 😭

[i-wrote-sins-not-tragedies]

[i-wrote-sins-not-tragedies]

PEDRO PASCAL 'Eddington' Press Conference | Cannes Film Festival

[i-wrote-sins-not-tragedies]

[i-wrote-sins-not-tragedies]

Back in Austin - Chapter 5

Cowboy Like Me

relationship: dbf!joel x afab reader/you

words: 5.9k (oops)

warnings: see masterlist for fic tags

ao3

The party had wound down hours ago, but the smell of firework smoke and beer still clung to the air.

You were dragging a stack of chairs toward the garage when your dad wandered up with a beer, sighing like he’d just run a marathon. “No fights, no fires. I’m calling that a success.”

You smirked, wiping your hands on your dress. “Low bar, but sure.”

He grinned. “Gotta set it somewhere.”

Nearby, Karen, the next door neighbour who never missed an excuse to hover, was busy helping collect empty drink cans. Or rather, she was pretending to help. Most of her attention was on Joel, who was stacking chairs in a careful rhythm, the fabric of his t-shirt pulling tight over his arms, muscles flexing with every lift. Distractingly gorgeous. Unfairly so.

“You sure know how to throw a party,” Karen said to your dad, her tone syrupy as she turned to Joel with a bright smile. “And you… You’re such a help. Strong and handy.”

Joel gave a grunt of acknowledgment, barely looking at her. “Just stackin’ chairs.”

She laughed again. “Mmm, modest too.”

You looked down, hiding your smirk as you shook your head.

Your dad leaned in close enough for only you to hear. “She’s layin’ it on a bit thick, huh?”

“A bit?” you muttered.

He chuckled, watching the way she hovered near Joel’s elbow like a wasp looking for sugar. “Still… wouldn’t be the worst thing. Karen’s cousin just got divorced, but I think Karen’s eyeing Joel for herself.”

You blinked, your stomach flipping. “Seriously?”

Your dad shrugged. “Why not? He’s a good guy. Doesn’t get out much.”

You kept your face neutral, biting the inside of your cheek.

Joel moved past you then, brushing close enough that your fingers almost grazed. His eyes flicked to yours for half a second. Nothing more. But the knot in your stomach tightened anyway.

Eventually, your dad clapped his hands. “Alright, that’s enough, you two. Go home, both of ya. We’ll finish the rest.”

Karen placed a hand on his arm. “You sure? I don’t mind staying.”

“We’ve got it,” he said with a smile. “You’ve done plenty.”

Karen turned toward Joel with a lingering look. “Walk me out?”

He nodded stiffly. “Sure.”

You watched them go, Joel politely keeping pace with her down the driveway, Karen already chatting away like she had their whole life planned out.

You stayed behind, collecting the last few bottles and tossing them into a recycling bin. Your dad leaned against the edge of the porch, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Y’know,” he said after a moment, “I’m really glad you met Joel tonight.”

You turned slowly, heart stuttering. “Yeah?”

He nodded. “He’s been a good buddy these last few years. Checked in when you went off to college, invited me out when he could tell I was havin’ a rough time of it. I guess you don’t realise how quiet the house gets until you’re the only one left in it.”

Your throat tightened.

“He’s solid,” your dad continued. “The kind of guy who just… shows up. Don’t make ‘em like that anymore.”

You looked down at your hands, suddenly too warm.

He exhaled, folding the dish towel and tossing it over the porch rail. “Anyway. I’m beat. You should head home too, honey.”

You nodded, forcing a tight smile. “Yeah. Okay.”

He kissed your temple. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

You walked back around to the driveway, chest hollow, the quiet finally settling over the neighborhood like a blanket.

You said goodbye like everything was fine.

Like your chest wasn’t cracking open with every word your dad had just said. Like you hadn’t just stood there and listened to him talk about Joel, how loyal he was, how good, with pride in his voice and a softness in his eyes that you hadn’t seen in a long time.

You walked slowly toward your car, the quiet of the street settling over you like fog. The cicadas buzzed in the trees.

Your steps slowed when you saw him.

Joel.

Leaning against his truck, parked just behind your car like he’d been waiting. His head was down, one boot absently nudging a loose rock along the ground. He wasn’t checking his phone. Wasn’t pretending to be busy. Just… standing there. Still and quiet.

You watched him for a moment.

Something shifted in your chest, twisting the knot of guilt into something warmer. Softer. He looked different in the hush of the streetlight. Not like the man who had pressed you against the bathroom counter hours ago. Not like the confident contractor your dad had just praised.

He looked almost nervous.

His hands were in his pockets. His jaw tight. His shoulders rigid like he was waiting for a verdict.

You smiled, just the smallest, tired curl of your lips, and walked toward him.

He looked up when he heard your steps.

His eyes found yours immediately, and for a second, neither of you said anything.

Then you stopped in front of him, voice low.

“So…”

Joel huffed a breath through his nose, almost a laugh but not quite. “Didn’t see that one comin’.”

You nodded slowly. “Me either.”

He looked down again, toeing the rock near his boot. “You okay?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Then finally, “No. Not really.”

His jaw ticked.

“My dad thinks the world of you,” you said, voice smaller now. “Said you kept him company while I was away. That you looked out for him.”

Joel glanced at you, expression unreadable. “He’s a good man.”

You swallowed hard. “Yeah. He is.”

The weight of it all hung between you, too big for the quiet street, too sharp for the soft summer air.

Then Joel straightened up slightly, hand dragging through his hair.

“You wanna come back to my place?” he asked. “Talk this through?”

You nodded.

-

The drive to Joel’s house was short.

Uncomfortably short.

When Joel pulled into the driveway, the porch light lit the front of the house in a soft, forgiving glow. Like it could make everything inside feel safe.

You stepped through the door and froze.

It was beautiful. Quiet. Exactly what you’d imagined.

Dark wooden floors, walls painted in warm neutrals. A navy tiled kitchen, filled with clean lines and subtle touches that felt deliberate. The furniture was solid and real, not bought in a hurry. The kind of place someone built with their own hands, over time. Lived in. Comfortable. Joel.

And it made everything worse.

Because now you could see it, this life he’d built. The kind of man your father looked at and said, That’s the kind of person I trust.

You stood still while Joel locked the door behind you. He didn’t say anything. Neither did you.

“I’ll get you a drink,” he said after a beat.

“No.” You shook your head. “Let’s just… sit.”

You didn’t wait. You walked to the couch and sat at the edge, your spine rigid, hands curled in your lap. Joel followed and dropped onto the opposite cushion, but kept his distance.

“My dad said you were like a brother to him,” you said quietly.

Joel exhaled. “Yeah. He said that to me too.”

You nodded, looking down at your hands. “This is bad.”

“I know.”

“Really bad.”

He didn’t try to disagree. He just nodded again. The silence between you felt alive, twitching, hot, restless.

You swallowed hard.

“He trusts you, Joel. That means something to him.”

He didn’t say anything. But his silence said plenty.

You hesitated, then finally said it. “If he ever finds out, it won’t just be anger. It’ll be betrayal.”

Your voice cracked on the word.

“I love my dad,” you said. “I really do. But he’s been angry at the world ever since my mom died. That kind of anger, it doesn’t just go away. He’s worked hard to be better. To be normal. Sober, he’s gentle now. Kind. He jokes. He tries to be okay.”

Your voice thinned.

“But when he drinks? That version of him comes back. The one who punches holes in the drywall. Who throws plates across the room.”

Joel’s eyes darkened, jaw tight.

You shook your head, blinking hard. “I know what he’s capable of. And if he found out about us…”

Joel stayed quiet, but his gaze was locked on you.

You took a shaky breath. “He’d never forgive me. Or you. And everything we’ve rebuilt between us, the peace we finally have after so long, it would all fall apart.”

Joel’s voice was soft when it came. “So what are you sayin’?”

“I don’t know.”

You felt like a child saying it. Helpless. Small.

Another beat passed.

“You wanna stop?” he asked.

The words hit like a bruise. You looked up at him sharply, your chest hollowing.

“No,” you whispered. “Do you?”

Joel didn’t answer right away. His fingers tapped once against his knee. Then stilled.

“I’ve had relationships,” he said quietly. “Short ones. Long ones. Thought I’d seen it all, felt it all. But this… it’s different.”

Your heart twisted.

“I haven’t stopped thinkin’ about you since the bar,” he admitted. “And I tried to tell myself it was just sex. Something we could walk away from when it got messy.”

You stared at him.

“But I don’t wanna walk away.”

You exhaled slowly. “Even if it means hiding?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Even then.”

You looked at your hands, thumbs rubbing at your knuckles. “It’s only been a few weeks.”

“I know.”

“It’s probably stupid.”

“I know.”

“But it doesn’t feel stupid,” you said.

Joel’s voice softened, just enough to unravel something in you. “No. It doesn’t.”

The quiet that followed wasn’t empty.

It pulsed.

It breathed.

It felt like a choice being made in real time.

You drew in a breath. “Then we keep it quiet. We don’t tell anyone.”

Joel nodded. “We’ll be careful.”

You turned toward him, voice quieter now. “Promise me.”

He reached out, took your hand gently. “I promise.”

You felt the tension in your chest release, not all of it. But enough.

Joel shifted, opening an arm. “C’mere.”

You didn’t hesitate. You slid into the space beside him, curling into his chest, letting yourself rest in the familiar rhythm of his breathing. He held you tightly. Like he needed the contact just as badly as you did.

“This doesn’t feel wrong to me,” he said softly, lips brushing your hair.

You closed your eyes. “I know. That’s what scares me.”

He kissed your forehead.

And then your cheek.

And then, slowly, your lips.

You kissed him back, letting yourself sink into the moment, the quiet, the stillness, the deep and steady ache of it. His hands slipped into your hair as your lips moved over his, slow and steady, neither of you rushing this time. He tasted like the beer you never finished and something warmer beneath it, something like home.

You pulled back just enough to look at him.

His eyes searched yours. Dark and glassy.

“Come to bed,” he murmured.

You nodded.

His hand brushed your lower back as he guided you through the hallway. Joel’s bedroom was exactly what you expected, neat, practical. A bed with navy sheets. A heavy wooden dresser. A bedside lamp casting low amber light across the room.

You turned to face him, and he was already watching you.

His fingers found the hem of your dress, and you lifted your arms without a word as he pulled it up and over your head. He let it fall to the floor and stood back for a beat, his eyes raking over you like he needed to commit every inch to memory.

Then he stepped forward, and his hands found your hips.

“Lie down for me.”

You did, heart pounding, letting the bed take your weight.

Joel followed, crawling onto the mattress and pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. Then another. Then another.

You gasped when his fingers hooked into your underwear and pulled them down slowly. He tossed them aside and settled between your legs, hands firm on your thighs, spreading you open with quiet reverence.

He didn’t dive in.

He looked at you first.

Like you were something to study. Something to savor.

And then he lowered his mouth and kissed your swollen clit, deep and unhurried, his tongue dragging through your lips in slow, wet strokes that made your whole body tense.

“Fuck,” you whispered, your hips twitching up.

His voice was thick when he answered. “Been thinkin’ about this all damn day.”

He groaned softly against you, then flattened his tongue and licked up again, firmer this time. One hand held your thigh steady while the other came up to spread your pulsing lips open, his thumb resting just below at your entrance.

You arched into him, one hand twisting in the sheets, the other fisting in his hair.

He licked and sucked and kissed, all of it patient, focused. Like he had nowhere else to be.

“Joel,” you breathed.

He hummed in response, and the vibration sent a shockwave through your spine.

You felt yourself build too quickly, pressure winding tight and hot in your belly. But he didn’t stop. Not when your legs started to tremble. Not when you bucked against his face. He just held you tighter and kept going, tongue flicking over your clit, mouth dragging you to the edge.

You came with a cry, your thighs clamping around his head, hips rolling helplessly. He didn’t pull away. He stayed there through it, his mouth softening, slowing, coaxing you down.

When he finally looked up, his lips were wet, and his eyes were dark.

He kissed the inside of your thigh one more time, then moved up your body, slotting himself between your legs.

You were still shaking.

“You okay?” he murmured, mouth brushing your jaw.

You nodded, your breath stuttering. “Yeah.”

He kissed you softly, his tongue still tasting like you, and the intimacy of it made your stomach flip.

He pulled off his shirt. Then his jeans. Every motion slow, deliberate.

You watched him undress with your body still humming, the aftershocks of your orgasm warming your skin as you reached up for him again.

Joel settled over you, his cock bare and hard, and you gasped as he pressed inside your dripping pussy.

He looked down at you, his voice thick. “Tell me if you need to stop.”

“I won’t.”

He pushed inside, slow, so slow, filling you inch by inch, stretching you open with the kind of control that made your toes curl.

You whimpered, arms wrapping around his shoulders.

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he groaned, forehead resting against yours.

His hips moved in slow, dragging thrusts. Deep. Intentional. Each one felt like a confession. A question. A promise.

You clung to him, legs wrapping around his waist, your body curling into every rhythm he gave you. He kissed your throat. Your cheek. The corner of your mouth. His hands never stopped moving, your thigh, your waist, your face. Like he couldn’t choose where to hold you. Like he needed all of you at once.

It wasn’t frantic.

It wasn’t rushed.

It was worship.

“I’m not gonna last,” he whispered against your skin. “You feel too damn good.”

“Don’t stop,” you whispered. “Please, Joel. Don’t stop.”

His thrusts grew deeper, hips rocking into you as your bodies moved together, your moans catching in your throat as that coil built again, faster now, more urgent.

He brought his hand between you, fingers circling your clit with perfect pressure.

You cried out, back arching.

“Let go, baby,” he whispered. “Cum with me.”

You fell first, body shuddering, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open on a moan.

Joel followed, hips stuttering as he pressed deep and stayed there, groaning against your neck as his cock pulsed inside you.

You held him through it, arms tight around his shoulders.

When the last wave passed, he didn’t pull away.

He just pressed his face into your neck and stayed.

-

You woke to golden light slipping through the blinds, striping Joel’s sheets with soft, warm bands.

His arm was heavy around your waist. One of your legs was still tangled between his, skin to skin beneath the covers. You could hear his breathing, slow, even, and the occasional creak of the old house settling.

You didn’t move.

Not at first.

You just let yourself feel it. The heat of him. The safety of his bed. The ache between your thighs and the calm that came after being wanted like that.

You weren’t sure how long you lay there. Minutes. Maybe more. Until you finally rolled over slowly, chest to his side, and tucked your face into the space beneath his shoulder.

Joel stirred.

His arm tightened around you in a sleepy reflex. His mouth brushed your hair.

And then…

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand.

You froze.

Joel groaned quietly, still half asleep.

Your heart thudded.

You reached for the phone blindly, squinting at the screen.

Dad.

You jolted upright.

Joel murmured something, still groggy, his arm slipping off you as you scrambled to answer.

“H-Hey,” you said, breathless.

“Hey,” your dad’s voice crackled over the line. “Everything okay?”

You blinked, trying to scrub the sleep out of your voice. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

“Well, your car’s still out front. Just noticed it when I went out for coffee.”

Your stomach dropped. You glanced at the clock. Shit. It was almost nine.

Joel shifted in the bed beside you, voice thick, “Who you talkin’ to, baby?”

Your eyes went wide.

You whirled around and launched yourself on top of him, knees bracketing his hips, hand clamping over his mouth.

Joel blinked up at you, stunned and still half asleep, his eyes dragging down your naked body and back up to your very panicked face.

You gave him a death glare.

Then brought the phone back to your ear.

“Uh-sorry,” you said, trying to sound casual. “I got a ride home last night. One of your friends offered.”

There was a pause.

“What friend?”

You winced. Glanced down at Joel, whose eyes were now glittering with restrained amusement, one eyebrow raised beneath your palm.

“I think… Joel?” you offered, voice light.

Another pause. You could practically hear your dad thinking.

“Well, that was nice of him,” he said. “Next time just shoot me a message, yeah? I thought maybe something happened.”

“Yeah. I will. Sorry.”

“Alright. I’ll talk to you later, honey.”

“Bye.”

You hung up and immediately threw your phone facedown on the bed.

Joel was grinning now, smug as hell beneath your hand.

You glared down at him. “You are such a menace.

He lifted his brows, voice muffled against your palm. “I was just sayin’ good morning.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You almost ruined everything.”

He grabbed your hips suddenly, making you squeal, and rolled you onto your back. The sheet twisted around your body as he hovered over you, hair messy, grin wide.

“Did I?” he murmured, eyes dragging slowly over you.

You were still naked, legs tangled around his, your heart pounding like a drum in your chest.

“You’re dangerous,” you said, breathless.

He lowered his mouth to your neck, voice low. “Mm. You keep sayin’ that.”

His hips shifted, rolling once, slow and deliberate, against yours, and the spark of him lit your whole body up.

“Joel,” you warned, catching your breath. “We need to be more careful.”

He turned his head, pressing a kiss to your temple. “We will be.”

But his hands were already sliding down your sides, gripping your thighs and pulling you closer beneath him.

“You still stressed?” he asked, eyes full of mischief.

You tried to glare. It didn’t land.

His mouth found yours before you could answer, and just like that, the panic disappeared.

Replaced by heat. By him. Again

His tongue slipped into your mouth, slow and sure, as the sheet bunched higher around your hips. You didn’t stop him.

Couldn’t.

The phone call. Your car at your dad’s. All of it faded to the edges of your mind.

Because this, him, was already worth the risk.

Already worth everything.

[i-wrote-sins-not-tragedies]

Back in Austin - Chapter 4

Fourth of July

relationship: dbf!joel x afab reader/you

words: 5.9k

warnings: see masterlist for fic tags

ao3

A/N: This one is for you jj <3 (Fourth of July - Jrrmint)

You were elbow deep in folding chairs when your dad finally emerged from the garage with two mismatched coolers.

“Jesus,” he muttered, setting one down with a grunt. “We got enough beer for the whole damn neighborhood?”

You gave him a look as you straightened up, brushing dust off your thighs. “We? I was the one hauling chairs while you were back there playing Tetris with the coolers.”

“I had to find the good one,” he said, slapping the lid. “This one doesn’t leak.”

“Mmhmm,” you replied, dragging the last chair into place. “You know if you’d let me help before the night before, we might actually have our shit together for once.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. This was your rhythm. Chaos and all.

The backyard was nearly ready. String lights half-hung, the pool skimmed clean, bug lanterns already humming. The scent of grass clippings still lingered in the air from your dad mowing earlier. A soft breeze picked up, just enough to tug at the corners of the red-white-and-blue tablecloths.

He stood beside you, arms crossed, surveying the lawn.

“Not bad,” he said. “Pretty good for a couple amateurs.”

“Mm. It needed a woman’s touch,” you said, nudging him with your elbow. “You would’ve just stacked all the beer under the trampoline again.”

“That was one time.”

“And nobody could reach them!”

He grumbled, but there was a grin tugging at the edge of his mouth. The light caught his greying hair and his sun lined skin, and for a moment, you were struck by how small he looked standing there, how much older than you remembered.

He glanced at you sideways. “So. You settling in okay?”

You took a breath, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah. Apartment’s a wreck, but I like it. Feels like mine.”

Your dad snorted. “Damn thing’s probably not worth half what you paid.”

You gave him a look. “Mind your business.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m just sayin’. It’s a lotta money for a place with no working stove and a suspicious smell in the walls.”

“I’ve named the smell. He’s part of the lease now.”

Your dad huffed a laugh, then grew quiet for a beat.

“I just thought you’d stay here a while, is all. At least ‘til you got your feet under you.”

You softened. “Dad…”

“I know, I know,” he said quickly, waving it off. “You’re too old to live at home. I get it.”

You nudged him again, gentler this time. “I’m still here every other day.”

He nodded, staring out at the yard. “I know.”

You let the silence sit for a second before clearing your throat. “Anyway… I’ve mostly been knee deep in drywall dust. Just some DIY stuff.”

He glanced at you. “You doin’ all that by yourself?”

“Yeah,” you said quickly, too quickly.

He narrowed his eyes. “You sure?”

“Dad.”

You smiled and walked toward the porch, calling over your shoulder, “You’ll see tomorrow. Everyone’s gonna be too busy admiring my beautifully placed citronella candles to care about anything else.”

He followed, muttering, “Damn candles better work this year.”

-

You woke early, sun already pouring in through the slats of your blinds. You rolled over, eyes still heavy with sleep, and reached blindly for your phone.

A new message blinked on the screen.

Joel: Happy Fourth. Pretty sure barbecues are legally required today, so I hope you’re doing your civic duty.

You smiled before you even fully woke.

You: Don’t worry. Beer coolers are already out. Flag bunting. Plastic forks. You name it.

Joel: Sounds like chaos.

Joel: Have fun, baby.

You: You too.

You pulled on your plain white sundress, the one with the soft cotton and a tie at the waist, and tugged half your hair back into a little white bow. You looked at yourself in the mirror, just long enough to decide you looked fine. Not too overdressed. Not too tryhard. Just… you.

You headed out.

-

The heat had settled in thick by the time the drinks started to sweat in their cans.

Heavy and close, the kind of warmth that clung to your skin no matter how often you ducked inside or dabbed your chest with a napkin. The back patio buzzed with lazy chatter, paper plates perched on knees, lawn chairs groaning under the weight of full bellies and long hours in the sun. The smell of grilled meat lingered, tangled with charcoal and cut grass, drifting slow through the air like everything else.

Your dad held court near the grill, flipping burgers and talking like he was running for office. Everyone wanted to shake his hand, thank him for the spread. He thrived in it, this was his thing. The beer, the smoke, the music turned too low to really hear but loud enough to give everyone permission to shout.

You floated between conversations, your smile beginning to ache at the corners. Every voice started to blur, old neighbors, distant cousins, people who’d known you when your shoes lit up and your front teeth were missing. You kept the coolers stocked with ice, passed around soda cans, and tried not to flinch every time someone squeezed your arm and said how grown up you looked.

Everyone seemed to have the same script.

So you’re back for good, huh?

Bet your dad’s glad to have you close.

Must’ve been wild livin’ out there in that big ol’ city.

Can’t believe how tall you’ve gotten. Last time I saw you, you were up to my hip.

You nodded, let out the polite laugh you’d been perfecting since the third guest arrived. You weren’t sure if it was sweet or suffocating, how every conversation seemed to be about who you used to be. Not a single one asked who you were now.

You were halfway through refilling the cooler again when you heard it, drawn out and saccharine, floating across the yard like a bell you didn’t want to answer.

“Oh, would you look at that,” a voice called. “I was hoping I’d get to see you,”

You turned slowly, the smile already forming, practiced and pleasant. The kind of smile you gave to people who still thought they knew you.

You turned, already bracing yourself.

It was Mrs. Everett from two doors down. Short white curls, floral blouse, perfume that hit you like a rose scented slap.

“You probably don’t even remember me,” she said, grabbing both your arms like she thought you might slip away. “You used to tear through my yard in nothin’ but your little underwear, chasin’ the sprinklers!”

You smiled tightly, heat creeping up your neck. “I remember.”

She stepped back to study you. “You’re a beautiful young woman now. You married yet?”

You almost choked on your beer.

“No, ma’am.”

“Mm.” She tilted her head, lips pursed. “Well, my grandson just moved back into town. Ryan. Tall, handsome boy. Works in insurance, drives a Toyota. I should introduce you two,”

“Oh, uh, that’s sweet, but I’m not really-”

“You like dogs?” she interrupted. “He’s got a lab. Real obedient. That’s important in a man.”

You blinked. “The… obedience?”

“Don’t get smart,” she warned, poking your arm. “Come find me later. I’ll show you his Facebook.”

You escaped with a mumbled excuse and a desperate need for shade.

-

Inside the house again, the kitchen was no longer quiet.

Two of your dad’s old friends had claimed the counter space, leaning heavily on their elbows, bottles in hand. You gave them a polite smile as you grabbed another drink.

“You get prettier every year,” one of them said. Mike, maybe? Or Mark? One of the M names.

You gave a short laugh, noncommittal. “Thanks.”

“You ever think about modeling?” he asked, eyeing you a second too long.

You pulled a cold beer from the fridge, keeping your voice neutral. “Not really my thing.”

“Shame,” he said, then added, “Bet the fellas are lining up.”

You took a sip to avoid answering. The other man chuckled like that was the height of humor.

You smiled, tight lipped. “Enjoy the party.”

You rinsed your hands at the sink and watched condensation roll down the side of your beer bottle, when your dad’s voice cut through the hum of backyard noise.

“Honey! C’mere a sec!”

You looked up, eyes scanning through the smudged glass of the patio door. The sun had started to slip lower, softening the edges of everything.

You moved slowly toward the door, your dad’s voice still in your head, following it like a thread. You slid it open with your hip, stepping out into the heat. The air hit thick and sticky, wrapping around your neck like a reminder you didn’t ask for.

You searched for your dad’s voice again, scanning the crowd, and paused for a second when you caught sight of two kids darting too close to the edge of the pool. You barely registered anything else. Just the wild squeals, the slap of wet feet on concrete, the way one kid nearly tripped on his own shadow. You tensed, heart climbing, ready to call out.

And then, just past them, near the back fence, you caught a glimpse of your dad. Laughing, gesturing toward the house. Standing beside someone.

You didn’t look at the other person right away. Just a man’s silhouette, shoulder to shoulder with your father, head tilted in that polite, half listening way people did when your dad got into one of his long winded stories.

And then you saw it.

The man’s weight shifted, right hip cocked slightly out, one knee bent just a little, like he always stood when he didn’t even realise he was doing it. One hand in the front pocket of his jeans. The other loosely holding a bottle of beer. You knew how he held a bottle of beer.

He wore a soft, faded navy t-shirt that clung to his back and stretched slightly over his shoulders. His hair was messy from the sun, curls flattened in some places like he’d run his hand through it one too many times. You knew that shirt. You’d clutched it in your fists. You’d fallen asleep against that shoulder.

You stopped moving.

Every part of you just… froze.

Because it was Joel.

You barely had time to react. Barely had a second to process what the hell was happening, why he was here, how this was possible, before your dad’s voice rang out again, cheerfully, like he was announcing something harmless.

“Ah! There she is!”

Joel turned with a smile already forming, one of those casual, easy ones he wore when he wasn’t trying. But the second his eyes found yours, the smile dropped.

His whole face changed. His shoulders locked up.

You didn’t breathe.

And neither did he.

“Joel, this is my daughter!” your dad was saying, grinning ear to ear.

His expression didn’t shift at first, just eyes wide, jaw tight, like his brain was scrambling for context, timeline, reason. Yours wasn’t doing any better. Your fingers were frozen around the bottle. You couldn’t move.

“Been my best buddy while you shipped off to college,” your dad added, clearly oblivious. “Told him all about you.”

Joel blinked.

You blinked.

The air between you twisted, taut as fishing line.

Your dad looked between you both, clearly noticing the silence. “You two alright?”

Joel spoke first, his voice off kilter. “Eh, yeah. Hey. Joel.”

You nodded quickly. “Hi. Joel.”

You shook his hand. His grip was firm but hesitant, the warmth of it sending a shock through your wrist straight to your chest.

You couldn’t look directly at him. Not without thinking about his mouth on yours. His hands in your hair. The fact that he had been between your thighs forty-eight hours ago.

Your father slapped him on the back, laughing. “Go get this man a beer, will ya?”

“Yeah. Sure,” you said automatically.

You turned and walked away, back toward the kitchen on legs that barely worked, the bottle sweating in your grip. Everything inside you buzzed with disbelief, your skin hot with it.

Joel.

Your dad’s best friend.

The man who had been to this house. Who knew your name before you ever told him. Who had likely heard stories about you years before you ever saw his face across that bar.

And now he was here.

With your father.

Like this wasn’t the cruelest, most ridiculous twist of fate imaginable.

-

You didn’t know how long you stood in the kitchen, gripping the neck of the beer bottle like it might anchor you to the floor.

You barely even felt your legs move when you finally walked it back out, held it out to Joel without meeting his eyes.

“Thanks, honey,” your dad said, already halfway into another story with someone else nearby.

Joel took the bottle from you slowly, brushing your fingers as he did. It was subtle. Accidental. But your breath caught.

You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t.

The tension crawled under your skin like electricity. Every time he spoke, every time he shifted beside your dad, you felt it. Like gravity bending toward him. Like your body already knew the weight of his hands and wanted more.

You stayed busy.

That was your plan.

You helped serve food. Passed out drinks. Checked the pool. Smiled through more “You look just like your mother” comments and side hugs from people you didn’t recognise.

But Joel was always there. Somewhere in your periphery.

Leaning against the fence, bottle in hand. Sitting in one of the old lawn chairs, legs spread like he didn’t have a single care in the world. Laughing softly at your dad’s jokes. Talking to the people you grew up around like he belonged there.

Because he did.

Because he’d been here before.

…You needed a minute.

You ducked into the house again. Headed for the bathroom just to catch your breath.

The door swung open behind you before you could close it fully. Joel’s hand braced against the wood, his body blocking the doorway.

He stepped inside before you could think to say anything, his broad body filling the small bathroom like he was made to take up space there. The door clicked shut behind him, and the noise of the party vanished.

Just you. Just him.

His eyes locked on yours, stormy and searching.

“What the fuck?” you breathed.

Joel didn’t answer right away. His jaw was clenched tight, chest rising and falling like he’d just run across the house. “I had no idea.”

“You’re my dad’s best friend,” you said, your voice sharp and stunned. “I feel like I can’t breathe.” You leaned back against the sink, stomach twisting.

Joel raked both hands through his hair and turned away like he couldn’t even look at you, then turned right back because he couldn’t not.

“He never showed me pictures,” Joel said, voice rough. “I mean, he’s talked about his daughter before, sure, but I couldn’t even remember what he said your name was.”

You stared at him, stunned.

“I’ve been having sex with my dad’s best friend.” The words tasted like heat and guilt and something else you didn’t want to name.

Joel made a quiet sound like he might laugh, or maybe throw up. “Fuck.”

You both stood there, silent for a moment. The kind of silence that crackled.

You watched him swallow hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “We should stop.”

You nodded. “Yeah. We should.”

Another pause.

Neither of you moved.

Your eyes scanned him like they couldn’t help it. The scruff at his jaw, the way he looked in that fitted shirt like he had no right being here, in your dad’s house, looking like that.

You hated how badly you wanted him.

His eyes met yours, dark and full of something wild. “Do you have any idea how hard it’s been all day,” he said, voice rough, “watching you walk around in that little dress?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous.” His gaze raked down your body, slow and deliberate. There was nothing soft about the way he looked at you now, just hunger, raw and dangerous.

He took a step toward you. Then another. You didn’t move, until his presence became too much, and instinctively, you began to back away. Step by step, breath catching, until the small of your back gently hit the edge of the bathroom counter. You stopped. He didn’t.

Joel loomed in front of you, tall and sure and seething with tension. You tilted your head up to meet his eyes, barely breathing. You should’ve said no. Should’ve told him you couldn’t, shouldn’t, after what you both just found out.

But your lips wouldn’t form the words.

He reached for you with a touch that contradicted everything burning in his expression. Soft. Testing. His hands slid down to your hips, then lower, cupping your ass as he leaned in and lifted you with ease onto the countertop. The cool surface against the back of your thighs made you gasp.

“Joel-”

“Shhh,” he whispered, gaze locked on yours.

You watched as his eyes dropped to your thighs, your dress pushed up high. He slid his hand slowly up the inside of your leg, fingertips dragging along your skin, until he reached the soaked fabric of your panties. His smirk was nothing short of wicked.

“Already wet so for me?” he murmured. “You’ve soaked these, baby. Look at you.” He tutted under his breath, like he expected better, but the heat in his eyes betrayed him.

He hooked the fabric to one side with practiced ease and, with the other hand, unzipped his pants. The sound was deafening in the silence.

You gasped as his cock pushed in, stretching you slowly, deliberately. Your hands flying to his shoulders as your body adjusted to the feel of him.

He stayed close, forehead nearly touching yours, eyes never leaving your face. His thrusts were slow, devastatingly controlled, like he wanted you to feel everything.

“You drive me fuckin’ crazy, baby,” he growled, hips rolling into you with precision. “D’you know that?”

You could barely nod, the breath knocked from your lungs.

“Use your words,” he said, voice low but sharp.

“Yes,” you whispered.

His thumb stroked your jaw, the other hand braced on your thigh. “You gonna be a good girl for me? Stay quiet while I fuck you in your daddy’s house?”

“Yes,” you breathed again.

“Good girl.”

And then he pulled you closer, hands gripping your thighs as his pace changed, no longer slow. He thrust into your soaking pussy, hard, sharp, skin slapping against skin. You bit your lip, trying to muffle the sound, but when his hand dropped to touch you swollen clit, just the right pressure, just the right spot, you moaned in pleasure, the sound breaking out of you before you could stop it.

Joel’s hand came up fast, covering your mouth. “Shhh, baby,” he whispered, thrusting deep. “You’re doin’ so good, but you gotta stay quiet.”

It was too much. You came hard, your body trembling, back arching against the mirror. Joel cursed as he followed, hips stuttering, pulling you down onto him one last time as his cum spilled inside you.

His hand dropped from your mouth, and he leaned in, kissing you once, slow and deep, before pulling back and tucking himself away. You were still gasping for air.

“Holy shit,” you breathed, heart racing.

Then you heard it.

Your name, faintly, shouted from outside. A man’s voice.

Your dad.

“Fuck,” you said, eyes wide.

Joel’s head snapped toward the door. You both froze.

You jumped down from the counter, frantically smoothing your dress, trying to tame your hair, your breath. “Oh my God,” you whispered, over and over, panic rising in your chest. “Fuck. Fuck.”

Joel was still adjusting his clothes as you slipped out of the bathroom and hurried down the hall. You found your dad outside, standing by the grill, mid-conversation with a neighbor. He barely looked up when you joined him.

You tried to act normal, even though your panties were soaked with his cum, the evidence of what you’d done still warm between your thighs.

Minutes later, you caught sight of Joel stepping through the kitchen doors, calm as anything, except for the way he ran a hand through his hair, still slightly disheveled.

Only you noticed.

Only you knew.

And your skin still burned where he’d touched you

-

The sun dipped lower. The party began to thin.

Most of the older guests took their leave with soft hugs and empty casserole dishes, waving off offers of help and praising your dad’s barbecue like it was sacred. Kids were wrapped in towels now, clustered near their parents. Laughter mellowed into easy conversation.

You wandered back toward the patio, beer in hand, feeling wrung out and wired at the same time.

Joel was already seated at a small round table tucked into the corner. One of the folding chairs was pulled out slightly, just enough.

You took it.

Neither of you said anything for a moment. Just watched the sky bleed into soft pinks and blues as dusk settled over the neighborhood.

Then you exhaled.

“I can’t believe you’re my dad’s fucking best friend, Joel.”

He groaned quietly.

You glanced at him.

He wasn’t looking at you. Just rubbing a hand over his jaw, eyes still on the sky.

“I don’t even know what to say,” you admitted.

“Me either.”

“He likes you.”

Joel let out a hollow laugh. “Yeah. That makes this feel real great.”

You stayed quiet.

He glanced at you. “You wanna end it?”

You didn’t answer right away. Then shook your head. “No.”

His gaze lingered.

“Me neither.”

There was something heavy in the silence after that. Something that made your chest ache and your skin feel too tight.

And then, of course, the universe had a sense of humor.

Your dad’s voice cut through the soft hum of conversation. “There y’all are!”

You straightened instantly, guilt flaring behind your ribs.

He walked over, grinning, beer in one hand. “I’ve been lookin’ for you two.”

Joel cleared his throat. “Just, uh, sittin’ outta the way.”

Your dad nodded approvingly. “Smart. Let the chaos die down a bit.” He looked between you both. “Y’know, I’m really glad you’re gettin’ along.”

Your stomach twisted.

Joel made a quiet sound of agreement.

“I was tellin’ Joel earlier about your new place, how much work it still needs. Thought I’d ask if he might come take a look. He’s a contractor, after all.”

Your eyes flicked to Joel.

He barely flinched. Just lifted his chin in that relaxed, easy way. Cool as ever.

Your dad went on, oblivious. “Figured you’d actually listen to a professional, since you won’t let me help.”

You forced a smile. “That’s okay, Dad. Wouldn’t want to trouble him.”

“Nah, honey, it’s really a mess,” he said, waving you off. “He should take a look.”

You glanced at Joel again. And this time, he looked right back.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, barely there, just enough for you to catch it. The kind of smirk that said he already had. That he’d been in your apartment. That he’d helped you paint those walls. That he’d fucked you against one of them.

“It’d be no trouble at all,” Joel said smoothly, eyes still on you. “Happy to help.”

Your dad clapped him on the back. “That’s what I like to hear. I’ll sort something out.”

Then he turned, disappearing toward another group of guests, none the wiser.

You sat in stunned silence, eyes on the grass. Joel’s knee brushed yours under the table.

And then the first firework cracked in the sky.

You both looked up, reflex more than anything.

Red and gold bloomed across the darkening sky, followed by the echoing pop of another. And another.

The two of you sat there, side by side.

Joel’s hand brushed yours. Not enough to hold it. Just enough to know.

And there you were.

Sitting next to the man who had touched you like no one else ever had. Who had kissed you slow and fucked you deep and murmured your name like a secret.

Your dad’s best friend.

Watching fireworks.