#joel fluff

Joel’s office was warm and dim, a single lamp throwing amber across papers, tools, and an old coffee mug he hadn’t washed in days. He’d been trying to focus on patrol schedules, but then you had wandered in—barely knocking, plopping yourself right onto his lap like you belonged there.

“Y’know I got work to do,” Joel murmured, pretending to sound annoyed. His hand went automatically to your thigh, rough and warm, steadying you like he couldn’t help it.

You leaned into him, chin on his shoulder. “You don’t wanna do work,” you teased, voice soft like a secret. “You like when I sit here.”

Joel huffed, bowing his head against your temple, hiding the way his mouth was twitching. “Is that so?”

“Mhm, you like when I’m all yours, showing everybody.” You pulled back just enough to see him, that crease between his brows deepening as you smiled up at him. “Why’re you so handsome, huh?”

His ears burned. “Stop that.”

“What?” You grinned. “I’m just tellin’ the truth.”

Joel shook his head, eyes dropping to the desk like maybe the wood grain could save him. He won’t ever admit it but he loves your compliments. Hell, you’re the only one who gives them to him, to his face anyways. “I’m an old man. Ain’t nothin’ handsome about me.”

You leaned in, pressed your forehead to his until he gave in and met you there. “Handsome,” you whispered, sweet and certain. “Don’t argue.”

Joel groaned low, and his hand slid further up your thigh, squeezing. “You know what sitting on my lap means, don’t you, baby girl? Kinda things it makes me wanna do to you?”

Your laugh puffed against his lips, innocent and dangerous all at once. “No… what?”

“Not s’possed to do them here..,” His voice cracked rough, deep in his chest. He stopped himself, jaw ticking, but you caught the flash in his eyes.

“Do ’em.”

The look he gave you—stern, warning—only made your stomach twist hotter. “Careful what you ask for, baby.”

And then his fingers were sliding under your skirt, calloused tips grazing soft cotton. You gasped when he pushed your panties aside, fingertips teasing you until slick coated them easy.

“Mm so soft,” Joel muttered, voice low and reverent. “So wet sittin’ pretty on my lap. My pretty girl likes this, huh?”

You nodded quickly, nails digging into his shoulders. “Yes—”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, handsome.” You smirk, he meant for you to say Joel, baby, my love, daddy— anything but that. He loves most when you say his name, though— a claim, his, yours. However, handsome was also perfect. He let out an air of what can mimic a small laugh.

His fingers slid higher, rough palm grazing the soft line where your thigh met your hip. When he found the edge of your panties, he cursed under his breath. “Christ almighty…”

You gasped as his fingers pushed them aside, calloused tips slipping over your slick folds.

“Baby girl’s already wet for me,” Joel rasped, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Sat yourself down in my lap all needy, huh?”

You whined, clinging to his shoulders. “Joel—”

“Yes, baby?” His voice softened, but his fingers pressed harder, sliding between your folds until you shivered.

“Please.”

He chuckled darkly. “Please what? Say it.”

“Please touch me.”

“Good girl.” He slipped two thick fingers inside, groaning when you clenched around him. “That’s it. Always so tight.”

The sound was obscene— slick squelches filling the room, your breathy moans layering over his low growls.

“Stay still,” Joel ordered, one hand gripping your hip when you tried to rock. “Let me work you open. Old man still knows a few tricks.”

“Joel,” you gasped, nails digging into his shirt.

“Mm-hm,” he hummed, curling his fingers until your back arched. “That’s it, sugar. Give it to me.”

Your head fell to his shoulder, lips brushing his neck, and Joel nearly broke. “Don’t… don’t do that,” he groaned, hips jerking helplessly under you. “Goddamn it, baby.”

But you kissed him there, desperate, and Joel’s control shattered. He worked you harder, rougher, his voice breaking through clenched teeth.

“Sweet little thing, makin’ a mess on my hand. You like sittin’ here, lettin’ me finger you at my desk? While folks think I’m workin’?”

“Yes—yes, Joel—”

“That’s my girl,” he growled. “Come on, baby. Come for me.”

You broke with a cry, trembling in his lap, and Joel muttered praise against your temple— “that’s it, sweet girl, so good for me, always so good.”

When you slumped against him, boneless, Joel slowly drew his fingers free. His gaze lingered on the wet sheen glistening down his hand. And then— deliberate, unhurried— he sucked each finger clean, eyes on your mouth.

You whimpered, watching. Joel smirked around his fingers. “Come get a taste, sugar.”

He tugged your hair gently, pulling your mouth down to his. His kiss was deep, filthy, his tongue pushing past your lips to share the taste of yourself. His hand cradled your head as you whimpered into his mouth.

The kiss broke into something taunting. He kissed the side of your head, slow and mocking. “Dirty girl,” he murmured. “Thought that was enough, huh?”

Your lashes fluttered. “Joel…”

“I ain’t done.” His voice was firm, a growl beneath the warmth. He shifted you suddenly, his hands surprisingly strong as he lifted you off his lap and guided you toward the desk. “Up. Bend over for me.”

Your thighs quivered as you obeyed, folding over the cool wood. Joel’s chair creaked behind you as he settled back, smug.

“There we go.”

You felt the rough slide of his palms on your hips, dragging your skirt up over your ass until it bunched at your waist. His calloused fingers hooked your panties, tugging them slow until they pooled at your knees.

Joel groaned low, spreading you open with his hands. “Look at that,” he rasped, more to himself than you. “Mess I made sittin’ on my lap. Pretty little thing, all swollen for me.”

Your face burned against the desk. “Joel—”

“Shh.” He tapped your thigh, not harsh, just enough to make you whimper. “You take what I give you.”

His thick fingers pressed back inside, slick and eager. This time he didn’t go slow. He pumped them in deep, knuckles brushing your ass as he worked you open. The wet sound was obscene, echoing in the quiet room.

You moaned into the wood. “Oh my god—”

Joel’s chuckle was smug. “Old man’s makin’ you lose it again, huh?”

His thumb circled your clit in messy, tight spirals while his other hand spread your ass wider, exposing every bit of you. Then you felt it— the press of his thick thumb teasing at your other hole.

“Hey!” you gasped, body jolting.

“Relax, baby. Just playin’ with you.” His voice was low, coaxing, though the chair creaked as he leaned closer. “So fuckin’ pretty everywhere, can’t keep my hands off.”

He eased the slick of your arousal back, teasing the tight ring with gentle pressure while his fingers fucked into your pussy harder, sharper. The double sensation had you clawing at the desk.

“Can’t believe how wet you are,” Joel groaned, voice cracking as his thumb teased deeper. “Baby girl’s greedy. Wants another one already, don’t you?”

You whined, nodding frantically.

“Say it.”

“I—I want it—please, Joel, I want another one.”

“That’s my baby.” He pressed his mouth to your back, beard scratching, voice reverent and filthy all at once. “Gonna give it to you. Gonna have you shakin’ all over my desk.”

His pace grew merciless, fingers curling deep inside, thumb rubbing your ass in slow filthy circles, until you were wailing his name, clenching around both touches.

“Come on, sugar,” Joel urged, breath hot. “Let go for me. Show me how good my pretty girl can cum.”

And you did— again, harder this time, your knees buckling as Joel’s chair scraped back just in time for him to haul you upright against him, keeping you from falling.

He kissed your temple, his big hands still roaming. “Told you. Old man ain’t near done with you yet.”

Your body was limp over the desk, forehead pressed to the cool wood, breaths coming in ragged gasps. Joel’s big hands were still on you— one spreading you open, the other buried between your thighs until your whole body jolted around his touch. When he finally pulled his fingers free, you whimpered at the emptiness.

Joel chuckled, smug as hell. “Mm. Can’t even stand up straight.” He dragged his hands down, smoothing over your thighs, then tugged your panties back into place with surprising care.

You shivered when his palm skimmed over your ass, tugging your skirt down slow until it fell back over you. He patted it once, firm, almost like he was sealing his claim.

“There we go,” he murmured, voice honey-thick. “Lookin’ all tidy again. Nobody’d know you just came twice on my hand.”

You turned, cheeks blazing, hair mussed. Joel leaned back in his chair, smug grin tugging at his mouth, his beard damp from kissing you through both of your falls. He licked his thumb lazily, tasting you one more time.

“Joel…” you whispered, embarrassed and aching all at once.

He tugged you closer by the wrist until you were hovering over his lap again. His mouth brushed your ear. “You’re givin’ me more than two tonight, baby. Gonna wring every last one out of you ‘til you can’t even say my name.”

Your knees nearly buckled, and Joel grinned like the devil himself.

That was when the knock rattled the door. “Joel? You in there?” Tommy’s voice.

You stiffened, heart leaping. Joel just smirked, lazy and unbothered, hands smoothing over your hips as if he had all the time in the world.

“Go on, baby,” he drawled, slapping your ass once, sharp enough to make you squeak. “Answer it. Be polite.”

You wobbled on your feet, smoothing your skirt, tucking hair behind your ear as you reluctantly stepped away from him, attempting your best at looking and acting like you still weren’t dripping your own slick down your thighs.

Joel leaned back, spreading his legs, arms resting on the chair like a king on his throne. “I’ll be waitin’. Don’t think for a second I’m finished.”

You tugged the door open, cheeks hot and legs still shaky. Tommy stood there, eyes narrowing instantly, first at your flushed face, then at Joel behind his desk. Before you could register his look, you sped walked away down the hall and disappeared. Joel didn’t even bother to hide the smirk pulling at his mouth.

“Well, goddamn,” Tommy muttered, shaking his head as he stepped inside. “You old bastard.”

Joel only leaned back further, clearing his throat and looking at the plans in front of him. “Tommy, need you to—,”

“We just gonna ignore your pretty little girlfriend walk outta here looking all types of—,”

'Till It Sticks: Part Three

One thing that Joel hated the most when it comes to you is seeing you in any kind of pain. So when you went into labor with his baby, it was safe to say he was scared, nervous, and everything else in between.

And for Joel to be scared… You knew how much he loves you.

And you wouldn't have done anything differently.

Through the process, he was by your side and tending to our every need. Whether it be holding your hand, whispering soft words of encouragement, or simply taking the curses that you were throwing at him with a grain of salt.

After your daughter was born, he made sure you and the baby were okay before leaning his head against yours and watching you hold your baby girl for the first time. Then, when it came time you were able to go home, Joel was constantly asking if you and the baby, the two of you named Bella, were healthy. Once reassured - though he obviously wasn’t fully convinced, he brought you and Bella home.

It was a big adjustment to having a newborn in the house. You’d both constantly wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of cries, breastfeeding, and diaper changes; it was safe to say you both were exhausted. But you didn’t wake up as often as you thought you’d have to, and you knew it was because of Joel.

One night, you had shifted slowly onto your side, your body still aching and drowsy. But as you reach your arm to wrap around Joel, you’re met with an empty space where he’d usually be. You slowly open your eyes, the low dim of the lamp illuminating the room. You look over to the crib, where you’re met with the sight of Joel standing beside it

Bella is tucked against his chest, wrapped up snug in that soft, worn blanket Maria had insisted on. She’s impossibly small in his arms, her tiny face barely visible from your view. You hear him whispering different things softly to her. You couldn’t hear them entirely, since he was trying to keep quiet so you could sleep.

“Gotta let momma sleep,” he whispers, his head tilted down to her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, “She’s gonna need her rest.”

You smiled at the sight. A gruffy man like Joel softened into a father who’s just holding his daughter. “You’re a natural,” you said softly to not wake her up, and he turned to you.

“You should be sleepin’,” he says quietly, stepping closer to the bed.

You huff out the faintest breath of a laugh. “You too.”

He shakes his head, already easing down beside you on the mattress. The bed dips under his weight, careful not to jostle you and Bella too much. One hand comes up instinctively, hovering near your arm before coming to your cheek.

You smiled, leaning your head into his palm. After a minute, he returns his hand to Bella, gently shifting closer to you so you can see her. You bring your hand up to hers and her fingers instinctively curl around yours.

“She’s a strong girl,” he says, a proud smile making its way onto his face. “Just like her momma. One hell of a fighter.”

“Like her father,” you retorted, shaking your head before lowering it back down to the pillow.

“Don’t know ‘bout that,” he mutters before slowly getting up to put Bella back in her crib, gently tucking her in. He lingered beside her crib for a moment longer before leaning over and placing a soft kiss against her forehead, whispering something to her before walking back over to you.

He slowly lowers onto the bed, taking his spot on the bed beside you. You wrap an arm around his waist, shifting to lie beside him, resting your head on his chest. He runs his hand through your hair softly before bringing it to your back, gently rubbing out the tension in your muscles.

“You alright?” He asks softly, tilting his head down to you. “You sore, or you need somethin’?”

You shake your head, tilting your head up to meet his gaze, a soft smile on your lips, “I’m alright. Just stay.”

“‘m not goin’ anywhere,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against your forehead, “Get some rest, darlin’. I’ve got you.”

You softly hummed in response, sleep already taking over your body before you even knew it. Joel continues running his hand along your back, the same way he’d do when you were pregnant with Bella, to ease the aches. Effortlessly, you began falling asleep with him, the room a peaceful quiet now that Bella was back asleep.

—

The morning came softly, the sun shining a small beam through the crack in the curtain. But it wasn’t the light you woke up to. It was the sound of giggles and soft talking. Bella’s giggles and Joel’s talking. You lift your head, placing it on the palm of your hand as you watched Joel gently rocking her while pacing slowly back and forth.

He was whispering gibberish to her, but as a baby, she found it amusing and couldn’t help but giggle and laugh at her father’s foolishness.

“You think this is funny, hm?” He questions as he’s cleaning her from the dirt diaper. “Laughin’ at me while I’m cleanin’ this mess.”

Bella lay beneath him, kicking her tiny legs, with a gummy smile on her face as she looked around the room. Once he was finished and tossed the dirty diaper out, he fixes her onesie and gently picks her up.

“You’re a natural,” you say, a small smile on your lips.

Your voice causes Joel to turn to you, “Hey, darlin’. Did we wake you?”

“It’s the best way to be woken up.”

He lets out a huff of a laugh, nodding softly before looking down to Bella, who’s lying comfortably in her father’s arms, her hand tightening around one of his fingers like she never wants to let go.

The peaceful moment lasted for a few minutes before Bella whimpers, her face beginning to scrunch up, but within seconds, they sharpened into the piercing, demanding wail of a newborn.

Joel froze, his entire body tensing around the fragile bundle in his arms. He was a man who could face down infected and hunters without flinching, but this tiny, furious creature was a different kind of threat altogether. He held her a little tighter, his rough, calloused hands feeling clumsy and enormous against her soft blanket.

"She's hungry," you said softly from the bed, your voice cutting through his panic.

Joel's gaze snapped to you, then back down at the squalling infant. He shifted his weight, the ache in his bones a distant second to the urgency of her cries. Carefully, he carried her to you, his movements stiff with concentration.

As he passed her over, his fingers brushed against her downy head; the texture was soft against his weathered skin. You settled her against your chest, and Joel watched, his breath held tight in his chest, as you guided her to your breast. As soon as she was settled against your warmth, her frantic cries began to subside, replaced by the soft, desperate rooting of her mouth, and then she finally latched on.

“There you go, baby,” you said softly, watching as she gently curls her fist against your chest.

Joel sits down beside you, his gaze shifting between you and Bella. “She’s perfect, darlin’.”

You smiled, nodding before shifting your gaze to him, “She really is.”

The room was quiet, the only sound coming was from Bella’s soft feeding against your chest. Joel was quieter than normal, and you noticed it.

“We’re okay, baby,” you said softly, pulling his attention to you, earning a soft nod.

“I know,” he begins, placing his hand on your bed, his thumb gently rubbing against your knee through the blanket. “I’ll never stop thankin’ you.”

“Nothing to thank me for.”

“You know full well that I’m always thankin’ you for our baby girl,” he retorts quickly, his voice soft as he continued. “You went through hell to bring her here, ‘n I’m gonna fight like hell to keep you two safe.”

“I know you will.”

You smiled, and Joel leaned over, being careful of Bella, to press a soft kiss against your lips. He lets it linger as a way to let you feel the pure love he has for you before pulling back, sitting down, and leaning his back against the headboard.

He remains quiet as Bella feeds from you gracefully, and his gaze remains on you, while yours is on Bella. Joel was thankful that you decided to go through everything to bring this miracle into the world. He was thankful you gave him this. Gave him her.

You wake up to a Joel-shaped furnace beside you, his arm thrown over your waist like he’s got some claim to the bed you technically found first in the housing lottery. But he moved in two weeks ago, and now everything in the little blue house smells like cedar, coffee, and leather.

Home.

“Mornin’,” he rasps, lips brushing your neck as you stretch.

“There’s a community garage sale today,” you mumble. “We need a bed frame.”

Joel groans like you just suggested he skin a clicker with his bare hands. “The floor works just fine.”

“Joel,” you say, rolling onto your side to face him. “We’re not savages. You threw your back out last week tying your boot. You really wanna keep sleeping on a mattress like a college sophomore?”

That earns a low chuckle. “Fine. But if I end up haulin’ somethin’ heavy, you better make it worth my while.”

You press a kiss to his jaw. “Deal.”

The Jackson town square is buzzing. Booths are arranged in crooked rows, tables overflowing with mismatched dishes, fishing gear, hand-knit sweaters, and the occasional hodgepodge of someone’s pre-outbreak DVDs. A little boy walks by dragging a garden gnome by the hat.

You and Joel circle the perimeter until you spot it: an iron bed frame leaning against a tent, spray-painted with the word “$10 OR TRADE”. It’s rusted around the edges, but it’s got this vintage flair—like it belonged in some early 2000s Airbnb before the world went to shit.

“Sturdy?” Joel asks the booth owner, a woman in her sixties with a braid down to her waist.

“Stood the test of time,” she says. “Belonged to my sister. She and her husband were…active. Frame held up just fine.”

Joel grunts and crosses his arms. “That supposed to reassure me?”

You hide your laugh in your sleeve.

Eventually, you trade two jars of homemade pickles and a box of ammo for it. Joel loads the pieces onto a borrowed handcart, muttering under his breath the whole way home.

It’s not a bad bed. Once cleaned, the black iron headboard gleams in the sunlight pouring through the window. Joel grumbles over the screws, but you can tell he’s secretly enjoying the project. There’s something boyish in the way he crouches beside the frame, a screwdriver in hand, hair falling into his eyes.

You hand him bolts, trying not to stare at the curve of his forearms. “You know,” you say, leaning against the wall, “this could be a new thing for us. Domestic life. Fixing furniture. Hosting dinner parties. Maybe raising a goat.”

Joel snorts. “I ain’t raisin’ no goddamn goat.”

“Not even if I name her after you?”

He looks up, one brow raised. “You wanna name a goat Joel?”

“Joel-ine,” you say sweetly.

He points the screwdriver at you. “I’m takin’ back that screw if you keep talkin’.”

Later That Night

The frame holds.

You test it with gentle movement. Then a bounce. Joel watches with an amused shake of his head, arms crossed over his chest as you kneel on the mattress and try to rattle it.

“So,” you say. “Wanna christen it?”

He doesn’t answer. Just walks toward you slowly and sure, like you’re prey and he’s already halfway full but greedy for more.

His hands go to your hips. “You just want me to break it in.”

“I want you to break me in.”

He kisses you like he’s starved. Not just hungry for you, but for this—home, warmth, normalcy. His hands are on your waist, pulling you close, his mouth hot against yours. When you tug at his belt, he groans into your neck.

“Slow down,” he mutters, fingers slipping under your shirt to map the curve of your back. “Ain’t even admired you yet.”

You sit back on your heels atop the mattress, letting him look. The moonlight streaks in through the blinds, catching the soft sheen of sweat already blooming on your collarbones. Joel’s eyes darken as he takes you in—shirtless, flushed, breathing hard.

“You’re trouble,” he says.

You smirk. “And you like it.”

He lunges forward and kisses you hard, all tongue and teeth, like he’s trying to prove something. You pull him down on top of you, gasping as his weight presses you deep into the mattress. His thigh parts your legs. You roll your hips up against him, and the low, strangled sound he makes sends heat coiling through your belly.

“Been thinkin’ about this all goddamn day,” he growls, sliding a hand down your stomach, slipping inside your waistband. “You wearin’ these little shorts… bendin’ over that booth…”

“Joel,” you gasp, clutching his arm.

He slides his fingers between your legs and finds you soaked. His touch is slow, deliberate, maddening. He rubs tight circles, watching your face the whole time. “Fuck. This all for me?”

You nod, too breathless to speak.

Joel dips his head, kissing your jaw, your throat, your chest. He takes one nipple into his mouth, hot and insistent, while his fingers keep working you. You arch under him, mouth falling open in a moan that’s half his name.

“Turn around,” he whispers. “Wanna see you like that.”

You shift, spine arching as you flip onto your stomach. Joel growls his approval as you lift your hips, bracing your hands against the pillows. He kneels behind you and drags your shorts down slowly, reverently, baring you inch by inch. The cool air hits your slick heat, and you shiver.

“Jesus,” he mutters, running his hands over your ass, spreading you open. “Look at you.”

You feel the blunt head of his cock tease at your entrance, thick and hot and so ready.

“Joel,” you beg, unable to take the teasing anymore. “Please.”

He slides in slow, inch by inch, watching you clench around him. The stretch is almost too much—but god, you crave it. You want to be full of him. Marked by him. Taken apart and put back together again.

“Fuck,” he hisses, bottoming out. “You feel so fuckin’ good, baby.”

He starts to move. Deep, languid thrusts that make the bed creak with every snap of his hips. You fist the sheets, crying out as he hits that spot over and over, your thighs trembling.

“Been wantin’ this,” he groans, picking up the pace. “Every night. Every fuckin’ minute.”

You push back to meet his rhythm, skin slapping against skin, breath hitching. It’s primal and messy—desperate—and the bedframe is not handling it well.

You can feel it wobbling.

“Don’t stop,” you pant. “I don’t care, just—don’t stop—”

Joel grabs your hips and fucks into you harder, faster. The sound of your bodies moving in rhythm fills the room, and you’re so close, it’s maddening. His fingers find your clit again, rubbing frantically, and you fall over the edge with a strangled moan, shaking beneath him.

He follows with a growl, slamming into you once, twice—then the frame snaps. A deafening crack. The mattress tips sideways and Joel shouts, losing his balance as you both tumble onto the floor in a sweaty, tangled heap.

Silence.

You’re breathless, stunned, still trying to come down from the high as Joel groans, “Goddamn it.”

“Yup,” you wheeze. “You broke our sex bed.”

Joel shifts off you and sits up, bare and exasperated. “They said it was sturdy.”

“Maybe just not Joel-fucking-me-into-next-week sturdy.”

He scrubs a hand over his face. Then laughs.

You’re still giggling when he reaches down and pulls you into his lap, one hand cupping the back of your neck. “Guess I owe you a better bed.”

You thread your fingers into his messy curls and lean your forehead against his. “Guess you do.”

He kisses you again, slower this time. Like you’ve got nowhere to be. No clickers. No broken frame under your asses.

Just a mattress on the floor, the man you love, and the moonlight painting soft shapes on the wall.

The Next Morning

You wake up sore and boneless, Joel snoring beside you.

There’s a knock at the front door.

You throw on a shirt and answer it to find Tommy standing there with a coffee mug and a smirk.

“Y’all break your new bed already?” he asks.

You blink. “How’d you—”

“Ellie heard the crash from two houses over.”

You groan and shut the door in his face.

Joel mumbles from the bedroom, “We’re buildin’ the next one ourselves.”

You call back, “With what? Vibration-proof steel?”

He grins into his pillow. “Damn straight.”

As Joel trudged tiredly up the driveway, he watched the porch light flicker and dim, only to return to its original warm glow a moment later. The bulb was old and it would be difficult to find another; he didn’t want to think about it, he had a long enough list of things to do already.

As more people moved into Jackson, more babies were born, and more houses built, there was more work to be done around town and more responsibilities to be dealt with. Joel’s hair had greyed significantly in the past year, and still his patrols were getting longer. Even though his muscles felt extra sore after a long day of scavenging, he’d still have to get up the next morning and do it again.

Joel was fifty-seven two months ago, and as winter settled upon the town and rain puddles took a permanent residence on the sidewalks, he was becoming increasingly aware of it.

In recent weeks, light dustings of snow would fall from the sky, previews of the inches yet to come as the cold months approached. Joel’s heavy boots clomp against the cement path to your shared home, stepping in slush that crunches, half frozen, under his feet.

In his age, his fingers were especially sensitive to the cold, and it was likely that his brown leather gloves were the only thing protecting them from turning purple in the frosty air. Even so, he feels numb, and he rubs his covered hands against each other. Joel steps onto the porch, the only sound being his bulky shoes against the hollow wood of the deck. With a deep and breathy exhale and a glance up at the glowing window—you were awake—he fishes the house key from his pocket and slides it into the lock. It was a rewarding sound, one he looked forward to each day. It meant a night of rest, a warm plate of food, and the chance to see you.

He turns the cold brass knob and the door creaks open, emitting a squeal from its old and rusty hinges. The house was clean and tidy, but it had been built so long ago. No matter how clean the two of you kept it, the wood in the walls was weakening and the roof tiles continuing to wear under the rain. It reminded Joel of himself. He breathes in and closes the door, turning the lock as he takes in the smell, a fusion of both of your unique scents, traced with the aroma of old books and wood.

His boots are muddy, so he makes sure to rid them by the door. Under his feet, the floor creaks lightly and once you register the sound of movement downstairs, you practically prance down them.

You find him in the kitchen, still in his jacket and gloves as he leans on the counter with a glass of water. He takes a sip and places down the cup, its clink against the surface obscured by his deep, southern voice.

“Sweetheart,” he greets, the bags under his eyes deeper than usual, and his voice less steady. You could practically feel his exhaustion—now, and in weeks past. Regardless, your mouth turns up in a smile.

“Long day?” Your hand takes one of his, fingers working to peel the leather from his skin. “I made dinner. Chicken, the way you like.” You move on to his other hand before setting down the gloves and lacing your fingers with his freezing ones. You squeeze.

“Thank you, baby… s’just… freezin’ out there. Cold gives me a damn headache.” He presses a kiss to your forehead as your fingers find the brass zipper of his big brown jacket—the one he always wore and that you’d never tire of seeing him come home in. You pull down and free his strong arms as he stretches them above his head, sighing. You hear a pop from a joint of his, a hollow crack that rang out habitually each time Joel broke free from a spell of motionlessness. Soon, his jacket is forgotten and draped over a chair as you fetch a plate from the wooden cabinet.

The plates were china, their condition nearly mint and preserved for all these years. From the pot on the stove, you heap his plate with food. It was warm and steaming, and you found little as rewarding as watching him scarf down your cooking or drink down your tea after a long day of work. Perhaps it was your love language; a humble exchange for the drawers he’d fix and mend, or the shelves he’d put together when you needed more space for the trinkets he’d bring back for you, swiped from the shelf of an empty home he’d cleared.

You place the dish in front of him on the table, setting a fork next to it and a topped off glass of water. Across from him, you sit, having already aten. This felt optimal, allowing you to rest your chin in your hands and watch him, talk to him, hear about his day.

Joel nearly groans as he takes the first bite, his exhaustion even more evident. “Tastes like heaven, baby,” he mutters between bites.

“I made extra for you to bring on patrol tomorrow. Lunch, or something.”

He hums in acknowledgement, a quiet thanks as he enjoys his meal. A drink from his glass, then he breaks the silence, a hand palming at the back of his neck. “‘M so damn sore.”

You frown. It upsets you to see how much Joel is working, and saddens you further to witness how it affects him. More often than not, his back is sore, or his legs achy. As prideful as he was, it was clear that he needed a break. And although Joel warned you against bringing it up to Tommy, the idea was getting increasingly tempting. It’s becoming a priority of yours to get him off that damn schedule.

“I’m sorry,” you soothe and stand up, topping off his glass once again, before your hands come to rest on his shoulders as you stand behind his chair. Your fingers squeeze at the muscles there, taut and stressed as he inhales deeply and takes another bite. “I can massage it if you want.” A beat, before you speak again. “Maybe you should ask Tommy if someone else can pick up your shift.”

Joel says your name in a stern, yet exasperated tone that says, ‘drop it’. You wonder what exactly it is that stops him from asking for help.

“Okay,” you agree, forcing the topic out of your mind and out of your mouth, hands still working at his tense and knotted muscle. “I just worry about you. I just don’t want to see you hurting, I want you to feel good.”

“I’m just… gettin’ old, is all. Ain’t got nothin’ to do with work, I’m… I’m okay.” Joel grunts as your hands work, and you don’t believe him one bit—not even a little. Either way, you don’t argue. Instead, you lean down and kiss the top of his head, your lips pressing against his soft, graying hair.

“Alright,” you agree. He hums as he feels your lips.

“Plus,” he adds. “I can still keep up with you, I reckon.”

“Sure can, old man,” you squeeze one of his arms, a thick bicep only barely softened by age. You very strongly appreciated his strength—muscles formed through vigorous labor; initially, fixing roofs in the sun, and eventually, fighting infected with his bare hands. Granted, he is more comfortable now. His life is stable in Jackson, allowing his tummy to soften up a bit because he has food to eat and a bed to lounge in. Even so, he could still pick you up and carry you out in the snow, and when he would grunt a little deeper now with the effort, you reveled in the sound.

He takes a bite. “So long as you don’t get sick’a me.” 

“Never.”

A deep chuckle from Joel, and his plate is clean. He looks up at you, and you take the opportunity to lean down and press a kiss to his cheek, hands finding the sides of his face as your lips move to envelop his. Your mouth moves tenderly over his as he emits a soft hum.

You pull your lips away softly, a string of saliva connecting your mouths before it breaks and your eyes rake over his face as it still rests in your hands.

“I feel better already,” he states.

“I’m sure,” you smile, gaze flicking down to the bulge in his pants, a tent beginning to form.

“Feels nice,” he says, referring to nothing in particular. It was all so pleasant—the way you made him dinner and fed him with such care, how you worked out the stiffness in his muscles and kissed away his trepidation—he never had enough of it. He was never entirely sure why you chose him—grumpy and hardened, old and weary—but you never let him spend too much time mulling it over. You loved him so entirely that it was nearly impossible to doubt, every past loss and failing managing to fade to nothing when he would meet your eyes.

Your hands drop from his face and you pick up his plate and empty glass, your feet carrying you the short distance to the kitchen sink. Over your shoulder, you see him watching you, on his eyes a look of admiration combined with a hint of lust. Joel’s absolute love for your nurturing nature was something that he would rarely voice, and that nobody else would ever guess. You wipe the plate clean and set it in the sink, rinsing your hands and wiping them dry.

By now, Joel has stood, meeting you again in the dim light of the dining room. You smile lazily at him, relieved that the day’s responsibilities were done and dealt with. To you, having Joel around in the evening after a long day is the best gift, and you find his occasional night patrols to be cruel and unusual punishments. When your arms wrap affectionately around his middle, his hand rests on the back of your head, fingers splaying over and entwining with your hair. He presses a kiss to your temple.

“You’re s’beautiful…” he murmurs into your skin, his words so honest and caring. He hums softly before tilting your head up and taking a kiss. Joel felt that it was the most reassuring thing and so wholly intimate. Your lips, he felt, belonged on his, slotting onto one another like pieces of a jigsaw. Your hand rubs up his back as one of his cups the back of your neck, guiding your head gently. He pulls your body lightly against his, the movement firm but not aggressive. He’s sleepy and sapped, but that doesn’t stop his hands from coasting greedily over your body. Your warm skin always soothes him—evidently, he is harder now, and you feel the pressure wedged against your lower stomach.

Your lips drift apart, still tangled in the other’s arms. It’s clear where Joel wants this to go, and you second the thought.

“You’re gorgeous…” he mutters another compliment, pushing aside a strand of hair from your face. “Just wanna have you forever. I could. Again and again…”

It isn’t clear if Joel entirely knows what he’s saying, but his musings sound promising either way. “You sure you have the stamina for that, old man?” You tease him into his shoulder, your close embrace both tempting and comforting.

“Yes, ma’am,” he states, paying no mind to his own lassitude and achy muscles. How could they even cross his mind? He had you in his arms, your body at his fingertips.

In a mediocre attempt at assuming Joel’s southern drawl, you ask, “Are you fixin’ to prove it to me?”

He chuckles, his voice low and thick. “If that’s what you want,” he feigns nonchalance—albeit, poorly. “I don’t sound like that.”

“Mhm…” By now, your mind is empty, save for one thing. Memories of Joel’s busy schedule have departed from your head, along with all of your external worries, and he is leading you upstairs.

When your back hits the mattress in the palely lit bedroom, you smile softly up at Joel, who is unhooking his belt, pulling it free from the loops. His gaze is roaming over you hungrily, and you can tell that his day has been particularly long by the wanting look in his eye.

You squirm out of your shorts and pull your top over your head as you lay against the cold covers. Dropping the discarded clothes on the floor by the bed, you catch Joel’s eyes as he pushes down his worn and worked jeans, faded dirt staining the heels. His boxers are dark and tented, his necessity for you abundantly clear. He’d like to crawl into your arms, but first, he has to give you what you want and assuage his own frustration. He lifts his shirt over his head, dropping it absentmindedly on the floor.

The bed dips slightly when the weight of Joel’s knees comes to rest on it. You peer up at him as he looks down at you, a dazed and loving smile on his face as his hands are set on your knees, pulling them apart and making room for his broad body between them.

Joel’s lips kiss along your jaw, nipping lightly at your neck. He props his body up with one elbow, the other hand coursing over your skin, trailing over the lace of your bra and down to the fabric of your soft panties. He mindlessly toys with the band, his mind focused on your neck, but quickly shifts his attention to the rest of your body.

Joel is particularly desperate tonight, his hands both restless and spent as they hook under and pull at your underwear. They come off fully, tossed aside on the bed. The air in the room is chilly, but Joel’s form radiates warmth, encasing you with it. You smile softly as his briefs are finally let down and a strong, veined hand wraps around his length. Joel pumps it a few times before teasing his tip along your entrance, and you inhale through your teeth.

You chuckle breathily at the focused look on his face as he nudges himself into you. You brace yourself for the stretch as your eyes watch where his cock hitches inside, before your gaze coasts up to the trail of hair that leads to his belly button, then at his strong chest, and ultimately his face. He slides in before you can look back down, and your eyes narrow as your mouth falls open slightly.

The look on your face was priceless—one Joel had seen many times—but priceless, nonetheless. His first few strokes are slow and relishing, but his impatience forces him to speed up. He has spent the day thinking about you, and will continue to do so long after he drifts to sleep; so, his energy has nowhere to go but into his movements, his hips tapping yours as the room fills with the soft click, click, click of your bodies touching, fluids exchanging.

Your husband’s mouth no longer has the power to contain his grunts of pleasure, soft noises escaping his throat with each movement. Your heavy breaths align with his like a melody, sounding synchronously into the dim bedroom, limbs tangled in blankets and damp skin.

Above you, Joel’s brow is slightly dampened with sweat, his body trying not to succumb to his enervation. Of course you couldn’t hear it, but you could only guess that his heart was beating a bit quicker than it usually did. His hands grip at your hips a little harder as his thrusts hasten, your velvety skin on his fingers consoling him.

Joel might be getting up there, but he was still big. He always would be, and a sound no short of a whine leaves your mouth as your hand rests over his on your hip—a comforting gesture to both him and yourself. The insides of your thighs are slippery, and they slicken Joel’s in turn when your bodies touch.

“Baby…” Joel grumbles, his voice low and nearly inaudible.

Your response is a feeble hum, an affectionate reassurance. “Hm…”

“I’m… shit, I…” his voice trails off. One hand of his is still tightly holding the bone of your hip, guiding and grinding it against his own as his cock disappears into you. His other wipes away the perspiration on his forehead before landing to tightly grip the wooden headboard, the structure bracing Joel’s weight as he drives into you.

“So good, Joel…” you mutter, your eyes drifting shut as he moves inside of you, tip kissing your cervix again and again. Repeatedly, your insides stretch and your pleasure mounts, your eyelids still closed in sheer bliss, stomach tingling from your approaching orgasm, along with your proximity to the man you love.

You swear you hear the wood crack with how hard he holds the head of the bed. His movements become more tense, deliberate. His breath huffs deeply, and at first you suspect that he might be getting close. He usually takes longer than this, but you cannot blame him—his day’s been hard, and he’s needed you. But soon enough, almost as abruptly as he had started, his movements cease. He doesn’t slow, or pull out to finish on your stomach—he stops. Your hips buck imperceptibly at the cessation.

“Sweetheart…” Joel mumbles defeatedly, his hips drawing out a few more slow and shallow strokes before coming to a complete halt. “I can’t. M’ too tired.”

You blink at his admission. You fish deep in your brain for something to say, a caring response, but before you do, he does all he can to hide his reddening face in the crook of your neck.

For a moment, he stays there. His head rests on your shoulder in silence before he breaks it. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry baby.” He mumbles something about a hard day and getting old. You can’t help but card your fingers through his hair, dark and streaked with silver like a tree turning red in autumn. Except, when his leaves fell, they would not be growing back. They would not rejuvenate themselves come spring, ready to dance again in the summer breeze. But you don’t think that winter needs to be hopeless or sad. There isn’t a bone of Joel’s that you don’t love, or a wrinkle you won’t worship. Every doubt—if there ever were any, at all—is waved away, lost to what you love the most about him; and so you giggle into his hair.

“Don’t laugh at me…” he murmurs, embarrassment still permeating his voice.

“I’m not laughing at you, baby. It’s okay,” your head pats lightly on the back of his head. “It’s okay. You’re working like hell.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes again. He’s a proud man, and letting you down feels like a firm blow to the chest.

“Don’t say sorry,” you smile sweetly as you tilt his head up towards yours. After laying a gentle kiss to his forehead, you add, “It’s alright, Handsome.”

He scoffs under his breath, but can’t stop a sheepish smile from spreading across his lips. He buries his head back into the crook of your neck. As soon as he does, you tilt his face back up again and speak.

“What, you don’t agree?”

He avoids your eyes, looking up off to the side. “I just… y’sure? You think I’m handsome? Y’don’t think… I ain’t enough for you?”

The question catches you off guard and you continue to gaze down at him, your thumb gliding over the side of his face. “Are you being serious?”

No answer on his end, just the same apprehensive look on his face as he refuses to meet your eye.

“Of course I do, Joel. You’re so handsome. Don’t be ridiculous.” You say before adding, “And I think you’re the best guy I could ever ask for, and it doesn’t matter if you’re a little tired sometimes.” You smile.

Joel only grunts when you shift your body until his back is on the pillows. You’re now sitting on his hips, his cock still buried in you—throbbing but forgotten. His hair is disheveled and he looks rather dazed, gazing up at you with a look of admiration and necessity.

Your hand finds its way to cup the side of his face, a position it often assumes; the spot feels like its home. You feel the prickle of his beard on your skin, and you lean down to press a kiss to his lips, wet and a bit chapped from the cold outside. Slowly, you begin to rock your hips, a gentle and slow movement that Joel reacts to, one of his hands coming to grip onto your hip and the other draping over his eyes out of both insecurity and overwhelment.

A heavy breath leaves his mouth as you pull his hand away from his face. He still isn’t quite able to look you in the eye, so you tilt his face toward you once again, your hips rolling in treacherous circles.

A hum leaves your mouth, the look on Joel’s face fueling the fire between your legs. As you move, you let your mouth drop open slightly, wanting to make your pleasure clear to him.

“Feels so good, Joel…” you murmur. “Keep looking at me,” you instruct. You weren’t sure exactly how to get his confidence back up or make him feel better. His head seemed to be in another place, one of penitence and embarrassment. “Y’never told me how nice it is to be on top. Might have to try it more often.” You feel him twitch inside of you. Your fingers continue to trace along his jaw.

Joel groans as your hips grind into his a bit faster, the view of you peering down at him heating up his stomach. “It’s… okay? You’re not disappointed?” He asks, more so to reassure himself.

You chuckle lightly under your breath, his still moving as you choke out, “Of course not…” You hear something close to a whimper leave Joel’s mouth, and you take one of his hands and hold it to your center, between your legs as his thumb begins rubbing your clit. “There you go…”

He is happy to help. Any way you can make him feel appreciated will make him groan under you.

“Oh, wow, Joel…” you continue, your noises growing more prolonged. By now, you could almost cum from his sounds alone, desperate and almost pitiful. His fuck-up hit him hard, and has left him yearning to either make it up to you or push it from his head. His thumb circles you in just the way you like, sending jolts through your body that further energize you, hips still rocking with care and want. A hand laced up into his hair, you murmur, “I’m gonna cum… you’re making me cum, Joel… shit.”

“I’m… me too,” you hear him choke out. He looks entirely out of it, his gaze shifting from your face down to where your flesh surrounds him. You smile, taking a few more rolls of your hips before slowing, pulling out of you his thick length, tip angry, red, and swollen from being still without release. You let your hand run up and down his cock, further smearing the liquids that coat it as you rub him, his mouth falling open slightly.

“Yeah… you’re so pretty, Joel. You’ll always be pretty. Handsome… sweet…” you list, mumbling off whatever kind words you could think off as you stroke his cock, rubbing it occasionally against your clit.

He hisses, pleasure mounting at your tenderness of your touch and the sweetness of your words. Each time your hand travels up his length, he gets closer, and he’s unable to stop himself from spilling over your hand. His thick ropes of cum leak from his weeping slit, a low grunt sounding from somewhere deep in his throat.

A smile spreads across your face, the dribble of white down your hand doing something to you—it always does. “There you go, baby,” you coddle, a kiss to his cheek. “As simple as that.”

If there was one thing Joel knew for sure, it was that he turned into a cat the second the weather dipped. Didn’t matter how many Texas winters he’d lived through, cold hit and suddenly all he wanted was heat. 

One second he’d been half-awake, staring at the ceiling fan spinning slow above the bed, the next he had rolled into you. Your hands were curled into his bare chest, fingers splayed through the hair that had been creeping thicker lately. He’d noticed it first in the mirror, then in the way your hand lingered one night.

You’d said, real casual, “I like it.”

So he’d stopped trimming it. Simple as that.

God, he’d gotten so lucky.

A year ago, his bed had been cold in a way that had nothing to do with temperature. Without you around him, angry for lying to you, he spent weeks lying awake, replaying the conversation that had ended badly. He’d cried more than he liked to admit. Sat on the edge of that same mattress, elbows on his knees, head in his hands, wondering if this was just how it was gonna be from then on.

Dr. Harris’ voice floated up uninvited. You’re allowed to be happy, Joel. You earned this.

He’d scoffed at that back then.

Now, he believed it.

He dipped his head and pressed a kiss to your forehead. Then another to your temple. Your cheek. The corner of your mouth.

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice rough from disuse.

You shifted, brow furrowing, but you didn’t wake. Just made a small sound in the back of your throat and curled closer.

He smiled to himself and kept going, kissing along your jaw, down to the warm skin just below your ear.

“You know,” you suddenly muttered, “Normal people wait for their girlfriends to wake up before ambushing them.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “I’m whisperin’. Don’t consider that ambushin’.”

“You’re thinkin’ really loud.”

“Didn’t know you had that talent.”

One eye cracked open, hazy with sleep, you looked at him. Joel ran his thumb underneath your eyelid, trying to soothe you. Then you yawned, jaw stretching, then tucked your face into his neck. 

“It’s cold.”

“It ain’t,” he said automatically.

You pinched his side, sharp enough to make him jump. “It is to me.”

“Alright, alright,” he grumbled, tightening his arms around you. He shifted, pulling the blanket higher over your shoulders, tucking it around your back. “Better?”

You sighed, satisfied. “Much.”

Joel took your comfort as permission. He didn’t stop kissing you. He physically could not stop kissing you.

Your cheek. Your temple. The bridge of your nose. Your eyelids. Your mouth, barely, like he was teasing himself more than you. Over and over. Little soft presses, loud ones, the kind that landed sloppy because he was smiling too much.

You squinted at him. “Jesus, Joel.” 

He hummed against your skin and kept going. 

“Why are you like this?” you muttered, laughing despite yourself.

He kissed the corner of your mouth again. “Like what?”

“You’re being… weirdly affectionate,” you said, pushing at his chest halfheartedly. “Like a big—”

He kissed your nose.

“—clingy—”

Another kiss, your cheek.

“—overgrown cat!”

He kissed you again, harder this time.

“Okay! Okay, you woke me up.” You smiled at him for a second longer than necessary, then shifted, starting to sit up.

Joel made a low, needy, unmistakably a whine. “No.”

You snorted. “Joel.”

He tightened his arms around you. “Stay.”

“We can’t just sit here forever”

“Sure we can.” he said, muffled against your skin, voice already slipping into that lazy, clingy morning drawl. “It’s warm.”

“So warm we’ll end up cooking each other with the heat.”

He lifted his head, eyes narrowed like he was thinking very hard about something. You didn’t even have time to register the look before he moved.

You shrieked as he tackled you back onto the mattress, the bed bouncing beneath your weight. “Miller! Get off me!”

“Nope.”

Everywhere his lips could reach, he kissed, quick and relentless. Your neck. Your collarbone. Down your shoulder. You squealed, twisting beneath him, hands pushing uselessly at his shoulders, but he was heavier, stronger, and entirely too pleased with himself. 

He shifted his weight and suddenly you were pinned, wrists pressed into the mattress above your head, his knees bracketing your thighs.

“Unfair,” you accused, breathless.

“You love it.”

You were still laughing when he bent his head, kissing down your throat. He nudged your shirt up, exposing your bra inch by inch, until cool air met flushed skin, and he pressed his mouth there, reverent.

“Y’know,” he murmured, breath hot against your skin, “This is exactly what I wanted for Christmas.”

You let out a breathy giggle, hands sliding into his hair as you squirmed beneath him. Your legs wrapped around his waist without you even thinking about it. His right hand slid from your wrist, trailing down your side, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shorts. He glanced up at you, asking without asking. You nodded.

His fingers inched closer to your panties.

His breath hitched. 

You opened your mouth to let out the sweetest—

“Mrs. Miller. Do y’know where you keep your coffee ‘cause Dina can’t find it and—oh.”

Everything happened at once.

You thrashed, slipping out of his grip, kicking wildly as you scrambled back. Your foot connected with something solid.

Joel’s chest.

He yelped, the sound cutting off as he went flying sideways, tumbling right off the bed. There was a heavy thud, followed by a very undignified groan.

“Son of a—!”

He lay there for a second, stunned, clutching his sternum, already preparing the string of curses that were about to tear out of him.

Then he saw the robe. Pink. Bright. Ridiculous. Flannel pants. Slippers. Motherfucking Jesse. And in his hands? Joel’s cup. His, “number 1 dad” cup. 

“Ain’t nobody teach you how to knock?” Joel snapped, still on the floor.

Jesse’s eyes were huge, darting everywhere but at either of you. “I—I didn’t— I’m so sorry, I called your names—I think? I thought—”

You leaned over the edge of the bed, hair wild, shirt crooked, but put on correctly, looking over and addressing Jesse. “It’s okay, honey,” you said gently. “W-what do you need?”

His ears went red. “Uh—coffee. Dina just—she couldn’t find it.”

Joel groaned, dropping his head back onto the carpet. “You used my cup.”

“I’ll wash it,” Jesse said immediately. “I swear. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you’d be—”

“Please leave,” Joel muttered.

Jesse nodded too fast, backing out of the room like it might explode. “Yep. Leavin’. Sorry. Again. So sorry, Mrs. Miller.”

The door slammed 

Joel lay there, staring at the ceiling, chest throbbing. From above him, you started laughing. You were full-on shaking, hand over your mouth, breath hitching.

He groaned again. “Don’t.”

You laughed harder.

He closed his eyes, letting the embarrassment wash over him. Christ. He had his girlfriend in his bed, almost naked two minutes ago. And now Jesse had seen… enough. Too much. Way too much.

“Oh, shit.”

You stopped laughing. “What?”

Joel sat up too fast, realization washing over him and immediately regretting it, hands flying to his face. “Sarah.”

Your brows knit together. “What about her?”

“She’s got her friends over,” he said slowly, dread crawling up his spine. “All of ‘em.”

“You… forgot? You forgot we have four teenagers in our home?”

He had completely forgotten. Like his brain had wiped it clean the second he’d woken up with you half-asleep in his arms. How the hell had he forgotten?

Sarah had begged. For weeks.

“Christmas break, Dad. Please. Everyone’s parents are busy. We’ll be quiet. We’ll help around the house.”

He’d said no. Flat out. Teenagers didn’t know how to be quiet. Or clean.

They had shown up anyway, the day after school let out. Sarah, Jesse, Dina, Ellie. Standing on his porch in what he could only describe as homemade costumes. Cardboard halos. Bedsheets. Someone had fake blood on their face. He still didn’t know why.

They’d dragged him and you into the living room and announced they had a presentation. A play.

Joel had crossed his arms, unimpressed, already planning how to say no again. You, on the other hand, had sat on the couch right beside him, chin in your hands, smiling like this was the greatest thing you’d ever seen.

At first, it had been stupid. Singing about how Joel should let them stay for not one, but a two-day sleepover. Dina tripped over a chair on purpose to be funny. Joel had rolled his eyes so hard he thought they might stick.

Then somehow it had turned sad. They started talking about not being separated for Christmas. Even Sarah’s eyes had gotten shiny as if she would die if she didn’t get her way.

When it ended, you’d grabbed his hand and dragged him into the hallway, whispering. “We can’t say no. Joel. I’ll never forgive myself.”

He’d blinked at you. Once. Twice.

And that had been it.

Phone calls. Parents. Logistics. Ellie's mom had been fine with it. Dina’s parents too. Jesse’s mom had hesitated, but eventually agreed.

Now they were in his house. His kitchen. His coffee.

“Shit,” he repeated, already moving.

You scrambled after him, grabbing his arm. “Wait— Joel, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to kick you, I just panicked—”

“It’s fine,” he said, waving it off, already halfway to the door. “I’m more concerned those kids are in my kitchen wreckin’ my shit.”

You caught him before he could take another step, cupping his face gently despite his grumbling. You rested your forehead against his. “Let’s just… calmly get ready.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Calmly…?”

You smiled and took his hand anyway, tugging him toward the bathroom. He let you pull him as the sounds of teenage life drifted faintly down the hall. Joel shut the bathroom door behind you and leaned against it, closing his eyes for just a second.

He could do this.

Joel pushed off the door and reached for his toothbrush, moving on autopilot while his brain caught up. You stood beside him.

He squeezed toothpaste, too much of it.

You rolled your eyes and started brushing too, leaning into him. Your elbow nudged his ribs. Your shoulder rested against his arm. He caught your reflection in the mirror—barefoot, sleepy, smiling around minty foam—and something spread slow through him.

Domestic.

That was the word that kept coming back.

You kissed him mid-brush, quick and playful, lips brushing his cheek. He made a noise of protest and you laughed, rinsing your mouth.

“Can’t help it,” you said. “You’re cute in the morning.”

“Liar.”

You kissed him again anyway. Then again. Little pecks, one after another, like you were testing how many you could steal. He tried to ignore it. Failed miserably.

“Hey,” he warned, mouth still full of toothpaste. “I’m armed.”

You grinned. “With Colgate?”

He finished brushing, spit, rinsed, then turned fully toward you. You kissed him properly this time, slow and your hands resting light on his chest. His hands slid to your waist.

He loved this. Loved waking up like this. Loved that there was no drama anymore. Loved that there were toothbrushes side by side and your shampoo in his shower and—

Mrs. Miller.

His stomach flipped.

Mrs. Miller.

Jesse had said it so casually.

He swallowed and, before he could stop himself, tried it out in his head with your name.

Heat crawled up his neck fast. His ears burned. He stared at his reflection, suddenly very aware of how much he wanted that.

“Hey,” you murmured, thumb brushing his pulse point on his throat. “You’re disappearing on me.”

“Jus’… thinkin’.”

Your gaze softened, not teasing now. “They’ll be gone by tomorrow afternoon, if you’re wondering.”

“Yeah,” he said, exhaling. “Can’t wait.”

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“Hey, Dad?” Sarah’s voice cut through the door, far too cheerful. “Where’s the coffee? I told you not to change the spot.”

Joel dropped his head to stare at the floor between your feet. “I swear,” he groaned to no one in particular. “I can’t catch a break.”

He took one last breath, stepped away from you, then pushed the bathroom door open.

Sarah stood there in her pajamas,  arms crossed like he’d been doing her an inconvience.

“Dina needs—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, coffee. Breakfast. The whole damn—” He stopped himself, scrubbing a hand down his face. “The whole… thing.”

She grinned, victorious, and turned on her heel, already heading down the hall. “Good. ‘Cause Dina gets really cranky without it.”

“‘Course she does,” he muttered, following her. Over his shoulder, meant just for you: “I’ll start breakfast.”

He heard your laugh behind him and the bathroom light clicking off as you followed. He stepped into the kitchen already preparing himself for chaos.

He expected broken dishes. Cracked cups. Flour everywhere. Burnt something. Smoke alarms. Noise.

Instead, he stopped dead in the doorway.

Ellie stood at the stove, spatula in hand, tongue poking out slightly in concentration as she flipped a pancake with surprising precision. Dina moved behind her, calm as anything, setting pans on the counter. Jesse hovered near the coffee machine, poking at buttons randomly to get it to wake up.

“What,” Joel said slowly, suspiciously, “Is goin’ on?”

Ellie glanced over her shoulder, smirk already locked and loaded. “Oh, look,” she said. “It’s Sleepy Miller.”

Dina checked the clock on the microwave, frowning slightly. “Well, duh, it’s already eleven.”

Jesse flushed immediately, ears turning red. “Oh—uh—hi,” he said, hands flying up from the coffee machine like it had shocked him. “I—I’m still tryin’ to figure this thing out.”

Joel stared at the machine. Then at Jesse. Then back at the stove. “You’re tellin’ me, That my kitchen’s still standin’… and y’all are cookin’?”

Ellie flipped another pancake. “You sound disappointed.”

Before he could answer, you peeked out from behind his shoulder, chin resting there. “It’s okay, Jesse,” you said easily. “I don’t think I even understand how it works.”

All three of Sarah’s friends lit up at the sight of you.

“Oh my God, you’re awake too!” Dina said immediately, abandoning her pans to pull you in.

Ellie leaned over the counter. “You disappeared last night. Sarah said you went to bed early.”

Jesse shuffled closer too, suddenly braver, and you reached out without thinking, ruffling his hair and brushing a bit of lint from his shoulder. 

He watched them swarm you—talking over each other, laughing, tugging you toward the stove. He watched the way you bent slightly to hear them better, how your hand rested on Sarah’s shoulder when she joined the group, dragging you proudly to show off cutters laid out on the counter.

Those four had grown closer to you than he’d ever expected. Maybe it was because you’d helped them sneak in last year. Whatever the case, he knew that those teens loved having you around. 

He took the opening to slip toward his coffee machine. He crouched slightly, opened the one in the back. He grabbed the bag with a quiet huff of victory.

“Told you it was there!” Dina called behind him. “I said it was in the back cabinet.”

Jesse winced. “You said a cabinet.”

Joel hid a smile as he poured the grounds. He flipped switches a little harder than necessary, lids clacking, spoon tapping the counter with sharp little sounds.

He heard the conversation migrate toward the dining room. He sighed, relieved, shoulders loosening as the kitchen finally quieted. That was when he felt you. Your arms slid around his waist from behind, easy and familiar. He leaned back into you without thinking.

Then your lips brushed the nape of his neck. “Good job, you behaved.”

Heat rushed straight up his neck. “You do that on purpose.”

You smiled against his skin. You stayed there while the coffee finished brewing, cheek resting between his shoulder blades. For a moment, silence. Then—

“You got your outfit for dinner tonight, right?”

“Don’t remind me.”

You laughed softly, arms tightening just a little as he launched in.

“I ain’t got the patience,” he said, pouring coffee now, movements getting sharper with every word. “Not for Tommy and his two mini-hims runnin’ wild. Maria’s the only reasonable one in that whole bunch.”

He stirred too hard. Coffee sloshed.

“And my folks are gonna be there. And Clyde. And four teenagers. Four. So yeah, I’m skippin’ to get my outfit ready. I’m gonna have so much fun, sweetheart. Jus’ a real blast.”

You laughed at his antics while Joel took a sip. You then, made your way to his side. 

“Maybe if you don’t complain too much… I’ll give you an extra present.”

Slowly, he turned his head to you, eyebrow lifting. “Oh yeah?”

“I’ll let you pick my outfit.”

He tried to play it cool. Failed.

“E-even that purple one? The one that goes—” he gestured with his finger, tracing a line down the center of his own sternum, “—right there?”

“If that’s what you want.”

He swallowed.

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat, ears burning. “Yeah. Maybe I could behave if you… wore that.”

You laughed, then you patted his shoulder as if he’d just done something commendable.

“It’s a deal then.”

And just like that, you slipped away, back toward the dining room.

He shook his head, a grin tugging at his mouth, chest warm and full.

Ain’t he the luckiest bastard in the world?

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙    ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

Joel was gonna rip his ears clean off his head.

Four voices filled the cab behind him, bouncing off the windows like they were trapped in a tin can.

Ellie and Dina were pressed together, whispering and snickering about something that clearly required Ellie to lean halfway across Jesse to say it. Jesse was laughing so hard his shoulders were shaking, which only made Sarah laugh harder. She kicked the back of Joel’s seat again—by accident, she’d said.

“Sarah,” he warned, not even turning around.

“Sorry!” she called, still giggling. The kick came again a second later. Softer this time. Maybe.

He breathed through his nose.

Five minutes. That was it. Five more minutes and he could park the truck, get out, and regain whatever was left of his sanity.

Then he glanced right.

And immediately forgot what he’d been mad about.

You sat in the passenger seat like you always did. The purple dress caught the low light from the dash, rich and deep, hugging you just right without trying too hard. You’d done your hair up, loose but intentional, a few strands brushing your cheek.

Joel swallowed.

He didn’t want to be that guy. The one whose brain shut off the second his girl dressed up. But damn if you didn’t make it difficult. Everything about you looked distracting, and he found himself reaching over without thinking, resting his hand on your thigh.

You glanced at him then trailed down to his deep purple flannel, his dark brown jacket over his shoulders. You smiled to yourself before going back to the view. 

Earlier in the night, you’d been perched on the edge of the bed, chin in your hands, while he tried on shirt after shirt like he was fifteen again. He’d pretended to grumble, but he hadn’t rushed you once. He knew you wanted to match, so he’d let you fix his collar, smooth the fabric over his shoulders, and clap when you found the one.

That memory faded  as the restaurant came into view.

Tommy’s truck was already there, parked crooked like always. Joel eased in beside it and killed the engine. Ellie bolted ahead with Dina, Jesse jogging to keep up with Sarah calling something over her shoulder that Joel didn’t quite catch. The front door swung open and swallowed them whole.

You both slid out from your seats, and Joel met you at the front of the truck so his hand could find the small of your back.

“Thank God Sarah didn’t invite more friends,” he muttered as you started toward the entrance. “I’m already worried Ellie’s gonna get too comfortable with my dad and your daddy, and Dina and Jesse—they’re absolutely gonna charm my mama.”

You laughed softly, nodding. “At least that means they’ll all be distracted. No one will bother you.”

“I do want to get through this dinner as quickly as possible…” he admitted. Then, quieter, with a glance down at your dress, “Well. Maybe a bit longer if I get to see you like this.”

You bumped his side with your hip.

He reached the door first and pulled it open, holding it while you slipped inside. The smell of food hit him immediately, as well as the amount of people. It was one of the few restaurants open on Christmas Eve, but even Joel had his doubts on getting a reservation. Thirteen people for one table? No way. 

Only a man like Tommy could get a table in these conditions. 

They were already gathered near the front—Tommy and Maria with their boys, Raymond standing awkwardly and solid beside Lorraine and Clyde, who were already smiling and chatting with Sarah’s friends like they’d known them for years.

Maria spotted you first. Her face lit up. “There you are!”

You went to her immediately, hugging her carefully while she balanced Benji on her hip. Joel and Tommy met in the middle, arms slapping around shoulders in a rough hug.

“I thought you were gonna ditch,” Tommy said, grinning.

“Thought about it.”

“Oh?” Tommy’s eyebrows shot up. “What stopped you?”

He didn’t answer. Just tilted his head toward where you stood with Maria, Kevin now tugging insistently at the hem of your dress.

Tommy snorted. “Aww. Girlfriend got you by the collar, Joely?”

“Don’t start.”

“I’m jus’ sayin’,” Tommy said, hands up. “You've been in her palm since we were fifteen.”

Joel narrowed his eyes. “Funny, comin’ from you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You were in her palm, too,” Joel shot back. “In fact, you were worse ‘cause she actually got you to do the stupidest shit ever.”

Tommy opened his mouth—then stopped when you called Joel’s name. Joel looked up instantly.

You were walking over with Benji settled in your arms. The kid looked content as could be, pacifier bobbing slightly as he sucked on it, little shoes kicking. “He wanted to say hi to Uncle Joely.”

Joel’s expression softened immediately. He stepped closer, finger brushing Benji’s tiny hand. “Hey there, buddy.”

Benji stared at him seriously for a second, then grabbed his finger with surprising strength.

Tommy laughed. “Careful. He’s got a grip.”

You rolled your eyes at Tommy before Joel could even open his mouth. “Get that pride out of your voice, that grip isn’t from you. That’s all Maria.”

Tommy’s hand flew to his chest like he’d been personally wounded. “Now that ain’t true.”

“Oh, it absolutely is. I put you in a headlock once, remember? Our dads were teaching us and you started turning purple? Where was that grip then?”

Joel watched Tommy’s ears go red in real time.

“I was not goin’ purple,” Tommy shot back, already backing away. “I was concentratin’.”

“You were wheezin’,” you called sweetly.

“Blah, blah, blah,” Tommy muttered, waving you off. “Ain’t listenin’.” He turned and stalked back toward Maria, clearly to complain.

You turned to him, grin bright and victorious. “Now that’s how you get Tommy Miller off your back.”

He shook his head, amusement softening his face. “What would I do without you?”

You tipped your chin up, pleased. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

Benji chose that moment to make a soft, bubbling sound and shoved his pacifier toward Joel’s chest with determined little fingers. Sticky. Glorious.

Joel blinked, then took it automatically. “Well—thank you, buddy,” he said, staring at the spit-slick thing in his hand.

You laughed. “You’re so patient.”

He sighed, shoulders dropping. “This is the best age,” he said quietly. “They don’t do much.”

His eyes flicked, unprompted, to Kevin now wailing in Tommy’s arms. Then past him—Sarah and her friends laughing too loud, falling over each other and onto the walls.

“Terrible toddlers,” Joel went on, “And teenagers? That ain’t when you get moments like this.”

You nodded, leaning in to kiss Benji’s chubby cheek. He squealed, delighted, the sound contagious. One of those baby noises that hooked straight into the chest.

Benji reached up, cupping your face with both hands like you were the most important thing in the room. You laughed softly, talking nonsense to him, brushing a curl back from his forehead.

Joel loved it. Loved the way you talked to him like it was natural. Like it belonged to you.

He blinked hard, throat tightening—but then he noticed your left hand as it moved again.

Bare.

Too bare.

A ring would look right there. No, his ring would look right there. 

Joel inhaled too fast and choked on it.

You and Benji both looked at him at the same time.

“You okay?” you asked, brows knitting.

He waved a hand quickly. “Yeah—yeah. I’m fine.” He cleared his throat and nodded toward Benj. “C’mere, buddy.”

He reached out before his brain could catch up, and you let him take Benji without hesitation. The weight settled into his arms easy. Benji squirmed once, then stilled, blinking up at him with those serious little eyes.

Joel offered back the pacifier. “Here y’go.”

Benji took it immediately and went to sucking. Joel couldn’t help it, his lips curved. “Comfortin’ ain’t it? Must be nice havin’ somethin’ to soothe you and not get any looks.”

Benji grabbed at Joel’s hair, tugging just hard enough to sting.

“Hey—easy,” he laughed under his breath. “Lord, I’m jus’ talkin’. Ain’t no one gonna take it from you.”

He looked up, intent on pulling you into the joke, but he paused. 

You weren’t smiling anymore. Your cheeks were flushed, eyes fixed on where Benji’s hands were fisted into his hair, on the way Joel held him, like he would for any child of his. You looked like you were somewhere else entirely.

Joel's brows furrowed. “You alright?”

You blinked, like you’d been pulled back into your body. “Yeah—yeah.” You smiled, quick and a little breathless. “Sorry. He just… looks really comfortable with you.”

Before Joel could answer, a voice cut in.

“Alright, folks—party of thirteen?” The waitress stood nearby with menus tucked against her arm.

You took the lead, tugging him gently toward the table. Joel followed, Benji still in his arm. The table was long, already crowded with glasses and folded napkins. The teens claimed one end immediately. His dad, his mama, and Clyde on the other

Tommy and Maria took the middle, Kevin wedged between them, kicking his feet against the chair legs. A high chair waited right next to his brother

Joel lifted Benji into the high chair, hands steady as he strapped him in, checking the buckle twice. Benji protested briefly, then calmed.

Joel circled the table and slid into the seat beside you. Your knee brushed his under the table. 

The waitress returned, pen ready. “Alright, let’s start with drinks.”

You ordered wine without hesitation. Joel asked for water. He watched Sarah order a Diet Coke. Dina and Jesse went for Pepsi. Ellie squinted at the menu and asked for something pink and aggressively sweet.

Dinner blurred: too many voices, too many hands reaching for bread baskets, too many Miller mannerisms stacked on top of each other until Joel stopped trying to track it all.

He remembered the steak, though. Medium, just how he liked it. He cut into it and felt that small, stupid satisfaction when it came apart easy. You ordered something you liked—he caught the way you smiled when it came out.

His hand stayed on your thigh most of the night without him thinking about it. Sometimes his thumb moved in slow, absent strokes when conversation lulled. You never told him to stop.

He split his attention between his dad and Clyde, answering questions, nodding along, laughing when Clyde cracked a joke that got his dad to actually laugh.

Before Joel knew it, plates were cleared. The waitress dropped the check with a polite smile. They split it four ways—Clyde, Joel’s folks, Tommy’s family, and Joel. His portion was the biggest, no contest. He didn’t comment. He just pulled his wallet out and paid it.

You leaned in after he gave a good tip, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you.”

That alone made it worth it.

Outside, the night air hit cool against his skin. Thirteen people spilled out onto the sidewalk like a small parade, conversations overlapping, goodbyes shouted across the lot.

Joel was already halfway to his truck when four voices hit him at once.

“How are you still hungry! You ate for like, three.”

“I’m a growin’ man! Don’t judge me.”

“Or, you’re just greedy.”

“Oh shut the hell up Ellie, you cannot be talking. You were the one who mentioned the ice cream place first when we were walking in.”

“Yeah shut up Ellie. Gosh, now you made me crave it too…”

Joel stopped.

“No,” he said automatically, not even turning yet. “It’s cold. If y’all get sick right ‘fore Christmas and then I’ll never hear the end of it.”

A chorus of complaints filled his ears.

“Dad—”

“It builds immune systems.”

“Please, Mr. Miller. It’s practically a tradition.”

“There’s that place two blocks down.”

Joel turned slowly, narrowing his eyes. “You’re all already loud. Sugar ain’t gonna help.”

Sarah stepped closer, eyes wide, voice going soft in that way she knew worked. “Please? We’ll wear our jackets. I swear.”

“You should be already.”

The four kids immediately pulled their jackets over their bodies.

“See? We’re ready.”

He held her gaze. Tried to stay firm.

She tilted her head. “C’mon, Dad. For me?”

That was it.

Joel exhaled hard, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Fine. Fine. But if anyone starts sniffin’ tomorrow, I’m sayin’ I told you so.”

The four of them squealed and took off down the sidewalk. They must’ve memorized the way there. 

“Unbelievable,” he muttered.

Goodbyes happened fast after that. You hugged your daddy, arms careful around his cane. His mama grabbed Joel’s face in both hands and kissed his cheeks like he was still sixteen, His dad giving him a solid clap on the back once she was done. Tommy waved, already juggling Kevin, Maria balancing Benji on her hip.

“Night, Uncle Joely,” Maria teased.

Joel smiled and waved back, then turned as you fell into step beside him.

Without thinking, he shrugged his jacket off and draped it around your shoulders. You protested softly, but he was already tugging it closed, looping an arm around your waist to keep you tucked in close.

The walk was easy. The teens stayed ahead of you, arguing about flavors, their laughter carrying back through the night. Joel watched them with half an eye, the other half on you.

The ice cream place glowed warm and yellow against the dark street. Inside, it smelled like sugar and waffle cones. Only two workers were behind the counter, music humming low from an old radio.

The kids rushed the counter, shouting orders over each other.

Joel leaned back against the wall, eyes slipping shut for a second. He was exhausted with all the people interactions today, and it didn’t help that he spent almost every waking moment of the past month watching grainy videos on metal work, taking classes, and spending all his free time in his garage. He was exhausted. But his work was wrapped. Ready for your eyes. 

You nudged his side gently. “You tired?”

He opened them again, blinking. “Nah. Jus’ a long day.”

“I can drive us home if you want.”

He shook his head immediately. “You had wine. I got us.”

You frowned. “Stubborn much?”

“Damn right.”

You smiled anyway. “Ice cream will  wake you up.”

“I hope so.”

You ordered for both of you—your favorite, the one he always pretended not to like. Joel paid for everyone without comment.

They settled in the seating area after. The teens took the table by the window, already digging through a stack of board games. You and Joel sat close on a small bench.

You balanced the cup between you, passing it back and forth. Spoons clinked softly. The ice cream was already melting around the edges, but neither of you rushed.

Joel took a bite, then another, then exhaled without realizing it.

“Good?” you asked, licking your spoon.

“Good,” he said automatically.

You hummed, and took another scoop. You were about to eat it, when you paused. Your mouth twitched.

“You’ve got—” You reached up before he could ask where, thumb brushing the corner of his mustache. You wiped the little smear of ice cream away, then—quick—licked it off your thumb..

“…Thanks,” Joel’s brain lagged a second behind his body.

You smiled like it was nothing. He took the cup back, scooping a bite he didn’t really taste. His eyes drifted back to the window.

Ellie was loudly accusing Jesse of cheating. Dina was defending him just as loudly. Sarah was laughing so hard she had to lean back in her chair.

Joel sighed, long and slow. “They’re good for each other. All four of ‘em.”

You followed his gaze. Your expression softened. “For sure. Sarah’s lucky. Not everyone finds friends like that.”

“I know.” After a beat, “Makes things easier. Havin’ people.”

You bumped his knee lightly with yours. “Just like  me and Tommy.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “That’s your example?”

You laughed, head tipping back. “Hey, we were inseparable. Still are.”

“Yeah, well,” he said, lifting his spoon. “God help me if Sarah ends up like that.”

“God save you if that’s the case.”

He chuckled, finally, low and warm, and took another lick of his spoon. 

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Your shoulder rested against his. He could feel the heat of you through his jacket. The cup was nearly empty now, just streaks of melted ice cream at the bottom. Outside, headlights slid past the window.

He glanced down at you. You were watching the kids again, but your hand had drifted to rest on his knee, fingers relaxed.

Eventually, chairs scraped, cups were tossed, and coats were shrugged on with a lot of groaning and complaining about the cold. 

The drive home was calmer. The kids slumped into their seats,  voices dropping to murmurs. The radio played something low and forgettable. You leaned your head against the window for a bit.

When they finally pulled into the driveway, the house loomed familiar, porch light glowing. The moment the door opened, you disappeared down the hall with a soft, “I’m gonna get ready for bed,” already tugging at your coat. He watched you go before clearing his throat and turning back to the kids.

“Alright. Jesse—” he nodded toward the hallway closet. “Extra blankets are in there.”

Jesse jumped up immediately. “Got it.”

Together, they hauled pillows and blankets out. Jesse stacked them neatly on the couch while Joel unfolded the old mattress topper as he’d done it a hundred times before. Dina and Ellie, predictably, abandoned the setup halfway through.

“I’m starving,” Dina announced, already opening the pantry.

“You jus’ ate,” Joel said, without looking up.

“That was hours ago,” Ellie said, digging through the fridge.

“It’s been thirty minutes.”

“Time isn’t linear, y’know,” Ellie replied, triumphant as she found all his frozen foods. She and Dina quickly set up a spread on his counters.

Sarah soon grinned and grabbed Dina and Ellie’s hand. “C’mon. Pajamas.”

The three disappeared down the hall, laughing, leaving Jesse and Joel alone in the living room. Jesse headed over to his backpack by the couch, got his clothes, and started side-stepping awkwardly to the bathroom. 

“I’m gonna change in the bathroom,” he muttered.

“Jesse.”

Jesse stopped, turning back. “Yeah?”

“This time,” he exhaled, voice firm but not unkind, “You need anythin’… you knock first. Got it?”

Jesse’s ears turned red instantly. He ducked his head. “Yes, sir. I mean—yeah. I will.”

“Good.”

Jesse vanished down the hall. Joel scrubbed a hand over his face and shook his head once, muttering to himself.

He moved toward the storage cabinet next, kneeling to pull it open. Boxes came out one by one. Wrapping paper rustled softly as he started arranging them beneath the tree. The kids’ Secret Santa gifts went down first, placed carefully like he’d been instructed. Then Joel’s gifts to Sarah and you. Then the ones you’d bought for Sarah and Joel. And finally, Sarah’s gifts for you and Joel.

He was adjusting one of the tags when—

“Well, this looks serious.”

He turned.

You were standing there in his shirt—of course you were. It hung loose on you, sleeves pushed up, collar stretched. You had on shorts with tiny snowflakes scattered all over them. Your face was clean of makeup, hair twisted up.

“Lookin’ good over there,” he said, before he could stop himself.

You smiled and stepped closer, crouching beside him. “You aren’t doing so bad yourself.” You started helping without being asked, sliding boxes into place, straightening ribbons. “So,” you said casually, “What’d you get me?”

He shot you a look. “Only if you tell me what you got me.”

You laughed and poked his arm. “You sneaky man.”

“It’s only fair.”

“Guess we’ll just have to wait.”

Before he could respond, the hallway exploded with noise.

Sarah, Ellie, and Dina came barreling back into the living room, all three wearing matching shirts that said ‘unironically naughty’ and identical Santa pants.

“Oh my Lord…” Joel said flatly.

They immediately swarmed the tree, crouching low, pointing. Ellie was already shaking a box. Dina was guessing out loud. Sarah was shushing them like she hadn’t been the one to sprint in first.

You stepped back, tugging gently at Joel’s sleeve. “Let them take over.”

He glanced at the chaos, then back at you. “I hate givin’ them control during sleepovers. Had to do it last night. Now ‘gain.” He sighed deeply. “This is torture, sweetheart.”

You grinned and pulled him away before he could get sucked back in. “You’ll survive.”

“Debatable.”

In the kitchen, the house finally quieted down to a dull hum. You helped fix his tea exactly how he liked it—Dr. Harris said it apparently helped with anxiety? Joel didn’t know how, but it worked—and listened to the voices muffled by walls, the clink of spoons, the kettle settling back into silence.

After that, you and he were heading for the hallway when Jesse appeared, wearing the same stupid Santa pants, hair still damp from the bathroom.

Joel opened his mouth. He already felt the lecture lining up: be respectful, don’t be dumb,, or too loud—

You caught his wrist with your free hand.

“We all remember the rules,” you said easily, looking at the teens. “If you need anything, you come get us.”

They nodded in unison.

You squeezed his hand and laughed as you led him down the hallway, leaving the kids behind.

In contrast, his room was quiet and dim, lamplight soft against the walls. You immediately crossed to your side of the bed, picked up your book, and settled in. Joel took a second longer—peeling off jeans, tugging on sweats, the shirt following. He took a long sip of his tea, set it down on the nightstand, then finally climbed into bed.

You opened an arm without looking.

Joel collapsed into you, face pressed against your chest, a tired sound leaving him as he nuzzled in deep. He shifted, then rolled partway over you, one arm slung across your middle, eyes already drifting shut.

You smiled down at him, book balanced in one hand as you read over his head. Your fingers slid into his hair, nails scratching gently at his scalp.

“Not much to say tonight?” you murmured.

He huffed, voice muffled. “All talked out.”

You leaned down and kissed the top of his head. “Goodnight, baby.”

He answered by kissing the top of your breast through your shirt, absentminded. “Night, sweetheart.”

And just like that—his breathing evened out, weight settling fully into you.

Out cold.

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙    ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

‘It's a magic carpet on a rail, never takes a rest’

Paper littered the floor. Wrapping, bows, ripped-open boxes everywhere. Sarah and the others were still in that frantic post-present haze. Ellie was loudly showing off her brand-new hoodie. Dina was reading the back of a CD case. Jesse was on the floor, half-buried in tissue paper, helping Sarah set up something electronic that kept beeping at the wrong times.

‘Flying through the mountains and the snow’

Joel’s attention drifted back to the ‘Polar Express’ and the singing kids. The train on-screen surged forward, bells chiming, voices singing about belief.

‘You can ride for free and join the fun if you just say "Yes"’

He took another bite of his cookie. God, this new movie was uncanny. The animation looked so off, but the music was good, so it was whatever.

‘‘Cause that's the way things happen on the Polar Express!’

You were tucked into his side, legs curled beneath you, head resting just under his shoulder, gifts littered around you and him. You had your own cookie, smaller bites than his, crumbs caught on your fingertips.

“Mmh,” you murmured, chewing. “You did good on this batch, baby.”

Joel glanced down at the cookie in his hand, turned it slightly. “I dunno,” he said. “Think they’re a bit too sweet.”

You raised a brow. “You’re saying that,” you said slowly, “But you’ve eaten three already. And we haven’t even gotten to the part where the kid looses his ticket.”

 “Ain’t gonna let ‘em go to waste.”

You laughed softly and leaned in again, your shoulder pressing into his chest. 

Across the room, Sarah looked up from her mess of gifts. “Dad, Ellie’s trying to trade me a hat for my necklace.”

Ellie didn’t look guilty. “It’s a good hat.”

“It’s got a moose on it,” Sarah retorted back.

“It’s Yellowstone!”

Joel swallowed a smile. “Sarah, you don’t gotta trade nothin’ you don’t wanna trade.”

“But it’s a cool moose,” Ellie insisted.

Dina snorted. “You hate moose.”

“That’s not the point.”

Sarah rolled her eyes, and went back to opening another gift. Joel’s eyes darted down to you, engrossed in the movie, and to the two white boxes side by side. Joel cleared his throat. 

“Hey, baby girl.”

She looked up. “Yeah?”

“Can you hand me her gift,” he nodded to the boxes. “And give her mine.”

Sarah squinted at the pile, then dug in and brought both boxes over. 

“Also,” Sarah chimed in, already backing away, “Do you still have my green cookies cooling?”

Joel nodded. “Kitchen. Don’t burn yourself.”

“I won’t!” she called, already halfway there.

Once she was gone, you swung your legs over his thighs and took the smaller box from him. He took yours and immediately felt it in his arms. Heavy.

He frowned at it, then at you. 

You nudged his knee with yours. “Open it.”

“You sure?”

You nodded. “Well I didn’t buy it for no reason.”

Joel peeled back the paper carefully, slower than usual. The lid came off.

And then—

“No way,” he breathed.

He sat up straighter, box balanced in his hands, staring down at the full woodcarving kit nestled inside. Clean handles. Sharp, polished steel. The kind he’d seen behind glass. The kind professionals used and were unreasonably expensive.

He looked up at you, stunned. “How did you—”

You shrugged, cheeks pink. “You’ve been spending a lot of time in the garage. And I noticed your tools were… well loved. So I figured you deserved ones that wouldn’t break next time you touched them—hey!”

Joel tackled you back into the couch, the box forgotten, and you squealed as his weight pressed you down. He kissed you everywhere—your cheeks, your jaw, your mouth—muttering thank you, over and over.

When he finally pulled back enough for you to breathe, he rested his forehead against yours. “I love it,” he said, voice thick. “God, I love you.”

You smiled, breathless.“Okay,” you added, tapping his chest. “My turn.”

His stomach flipped, slowly lifting himself off you to place your gift down and pick his up. He handed you the box.

God, there was no way you would like it. You got him something he wanted for so long, and this? His gift? Would you even enjoy it?

You sat upright, carefully unwrapping it. He watched your hands the whole time, heart in his throat. 

You lifted the lid.

Inside the box sat another velvet box. You lifted it out, brows knitting as you stared down at it. Joel’s mouth went dry.

You opened it.

The heart-shaped pendant rested in the center, simple at first glance—soft sheen, smooth edges—but unmistakably handmade.

He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking away. “So… uh. The reason I been spendin’ so much time in the garage lately, a-and spendin’ all those hours after work out of the house,” he started, voice low, rough around the edges, “Was ‘cause of that.”

You looked up at him slowly. He swallowed.

“I-I made it.”

“You… made it?” you repeated, softer now.

“Yeah,” he said, cheeks heating. “Had to borrow one of your necklaces for reference. Chain, clasp… whole damn thing.” He huffed a quiet laugh. “Turns out tiny stuff’s harder than it looks.”

You tilted the box, inspecting it closer. “This is—Joel, this is a locket.”

“Pretty sure that’s what I made. Open it.”

Your fingers trembled just a little as you pried it open.

Inside were two photos. One was recent—you and him curled together on the couch, your head tucked under his chin, something bright and loud on the TV. His arm was around you.

The other made his chest ache just looking at it.

You were kids. Ten and twelve. Standing side by side in front of a Christmas tree, arms slung around each other in a rare moment of cooperation. You were smiling, and he had a rare look of  pride that was not common on his lanky figure. Probably because he was so close to you.

“Mama had about a million pictures,” he said, trying for casual and failing. “Couldn’t decide. But that one… that one’s always been one of my favorites.”

You didn’t say anything.

You just launched yourself at him.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, knocking the air out of him as you hugged him tight, kissing his cheek, his jaw, his mouth in a rush that made his head spin. He laughed into it, stunned, hands coming up automatically to hold you just as close.

“I love it,” you said breathlessly, words tumbling over each other. “I love it so much. I love you so much.”

His heart nearly burst. He hugged you harder, burying his face in your hair. He kissed you back slow this time, deeper.

“Let me put it on you?” he asked quietly when you finally pulled back.

You nodded immediately, already turning, lifting your hair out of the way. Hhe fastened the clasp, fingers brushing warm skin. When he was done, you touched the pendant instantly.

You squealed softly and scooted closer to him, curling right back into his side.

“I love this day,” you murmured. “I love it with you.”

He pressed a kiss into your hair. “Me too.”

Outside, Christmas lights blinked through the window. Inside, wrapping paper crinkled, Sarah and her friends laughed, and the movie kept on chugging forward.

But right there, with you tucked against him and his heart hanging around your neck, Joel knew—without a single doubt—that he had already gotten everything he’d ever wanted.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

“Merry Christmas, Miller.”

First t&c side story!! I have no idea if I want to continue doing this, but hey, we’ll see!

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you hang your head and pull yourself off of the doorway you're leaning on. you make your way over to where he's sitting, still at his desk, with those glasses on, the ones that make your head absolutely spin with desire.

you reach your hands out in front of you to take his as you stand in front of him, and he tightly holds onto them, not letting you go anywhere. your eyes are weary and part of you just wants to go sit on his couch and nap. you consider it, but deep down, you crave his touch more than anything.

"c'mere, darlin'. come on," he encourages once more, gently tugging on your hands to urge you closer. he spreads his legs apart, pulling you to stand hovering over his thigh before sitting you down on it.

his hands come to wrap around your waist. you rest your head on his shoulder, almost half asleep. his hair tickles your nose from having grown out.

you fucking love his longer hair. it makes him look so pretty, so good, all your own.

his hands are warm against you, his body heat seeping into your cold bones. your eyes stay shut as he tilts his face towards you, whispering, "want me to make you feel better, sweetheart?"

you nod against his shoulder. he always makes you feel so good, takes all your worries away. you're so grateful for him, making sure you're always taken care of, even now when he's supposed to be working.

his hands adjust to center themselves on your hips while yours remain gently wrapped around his torso.

"don't gotta move a muscle, babygirl," he assures you. "just let me take care o' ya."

his voice is like molasses in your ears, and you feel yourself melting against him. he slowly begins rocking your hips against his leg, ever so slowly. you turn your head to face downwards, pressing your forehead to his shoulder, and let out a low whine at the feeling he's stirring within you.

"shh, shh," he whispers, still dragging your hips so gently over his thigh, "just relax."

his strength to move you against him is no match for the friction of your denim pants against his. all you feel is the comfortable pressure of his leg between yours, gently rocking you in a perfect rhythm to ease the stress in your mind and help lure you into that sleepy state you're near.

you settle, as instructed, leaning all your weight against him as he continues to help build the heat you feel between your thighs.

"Joel," you whine, "'s good."

"yeah? you like that?" he begins. "bet you'd like me to take you home, wouldn't you? fuck you so soft, it'll put you to sleep, baby. would ya like that, baby, huh?"

you whine. that sounds like heaven.

"please," you whisper.

"oh, I will, baby. I will," he reassures you. "just need you to finish right here, baby. then I'll take you home. I'll put my mouth on you real nice, just the way you like, yeah?"

that's all you want. to go home, take a hot shower, and just let him worship you.

your whole body warms as the pressure of him against you finally takes over. your climax is ever so soft, a gentle release of the pressure and stress of your mind, all washing away. you whine when it happens, and any tension you might have had left in your bones falls away.

he's always there when you need him, always there to take on your stressors and anxieties as his own. he's your backbone, always supporting you when you need it the most.

and even when you fall, he'll be there to catch you.

~~~

this was my first work for joel and i need practice and it's kind of overshadowed by the fact that i have to go watch s2 e2 after this but oh well <3

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