#Getting more comfortable of yapping in this blog | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dolcecherub · 16 days ago

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say you’re mine ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

꩜ pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader

꩜ tags: best friends brother, smuttttt, lots of dirty talk, (lily cameo), aftercare, unprotected sex, hattie piastri!!!, australian and spanish gp, pining asf

꩜ yap: low and behold FINALLY finished writing this request here, and i had a lotttt of fun doing so, i changed a few minor things but hopefully its still enjoyable and just as good as you hoped anon and i hope yall love it!! very swiftly moving onto the next req on my list, enjoy mwah <3

꩜ word count: 7.7k (eek!!)

꩜ tag list: @skzvibes-blog, @blueberrybirdsworld

You’d always known Oscar wasn’t yours to want. Hattie’s older brother. The one who shared the same dinner table with you more nights than not, the one who’d throw Hattie over his shoulder during pool days before tossing her in and running after you. And considering your mums were closer than ever, your friendship with Hattie was inevitable.

It never changed the fact that you wanted him.

For as long as you could remember, Oscar had been your quiet obsession. Every smirk, every sideways glance, every smile, every teasing nickname had taken root in your chest. You had memorized the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, the way his voice dropped when he was tired, how he always drove with one hand on the wheel mindlessly and effortlessly.

You convinced yourself that maybe, one day, if the timing were right, he’d see it. He’d see you.

Which is maybe why the first grand prix of the season was more heartbreaking than ever.

The Australian Grand Prix was buzzing with energy, heat radiating off the tarmac, engines revving and preparing in the distance, the paddock a sea of bodies rushing with excitement, camera flashes and reporter voices filling the air loudly, adrenaline blanketing the whole area.

The McLaren hospitality suite shimmered with sleek branding and polished glass walls, giving a beautiful view of the pit lane, the air throbbing with high stakes and tension. You clutched a champagne flute in your hand, the bubbles catching the sunlight as you waited. Hattie stood next to you, chatting away with her mum and Edie as the rest of the team prepared themselves.

Qualifying had gone well for Oscar, placing just milliseconds behind Lando, scoring himself P2 for the starting grid. The room was buzzing with excitement at beginning the season with a 1-2 McLaren start for the race.

You were happy for him, how could you not be? Watching him get disappointed from underperforming in kart races to excited from his wins. Watching him fly through the Renault Eurocup then F3, and F2 to watching him come home frazzled by the Alpine announcement, all to end up where he is now. How could you not be proud?

You felt him walk in before you saw him, his voice filtering through quickly, his laugh warming your chest.

Oscar strode in, race suit on but folded down on his hips, his fireproof clinging to his muscles. You weren’t exactly sure when he’d grown into the man he was now, you simply remember him coming home from karting seasons, or his first years in F1, and somehow you were always shocked at how much he’d grown. His biceps strained the fireproof, looking as though it were tight against his neck. His hair was slightly curled, sitting in a way that made him look princely.

He looked radiant, confident. Every bit the man you had fallen for. He scanned the room, eyes brushing past Hattie, Edie, and his mum before landing on yours, and for a second, your breath caught, hand tightening on the champagne glass.

He walked closer, within ear shot at least when you heard him, “Come meet Lily,” He said casually, tugging someone gently forward.

You blinked.

And that was when it felt as though your world had tilted.

She was stunning. All legs and hair in effortless grace, eyes doll-like in the way they peered up at him. Dressed in a soft white linen and clinging to Oscar’s side like she’d always belonged there.

He looked comfortable. Familiar. The way he would when he was sitting in the living room barely watching a movie while the rest of his family chatted away and rehashing childhood memories. His hand was low on her back, fingers curling instinct bringing her closer.

“This is Lily,” He said, with a proud sort of smile. “My girlfriend.”

Frankly, he could’ve punched you and it might have hurt less. Your heart twisted painfully, the room blurring slightly, the fizz of your drink suddenly sharp on your tongue.

“Oh,” You managed, voice a little shaky. “Nice to meet you.” You offered a smile tight-lipped across your face as Hattie tuned into the conversation.

She gave you a perfect, friendly smile. “Oscar’s told me so much about you. You’re basically part of the family, right?’ She conversed, her tone far too sweet.

You didn’t know how to answer. You simply nodded and smiled, eyes flickering to Hattie. You pretended like your heart wasn’t cracking with every second that passed. Light conversation carried, Oscar laughing periodically at a jab Hattie made, Lily watching the interactions with adoring eyes. The sounds were drowned out, your head feeling dizzy, chest aching with heartbreak.

You excused yourself quietly, champagne bubbles churning disturbingly in your stomach. Forcing a tight smile you walked away towards the exit, placing the glass down with trembling fingers before leaving. You blamed the heat, the noise, the crowd.

Anything but the truth.

The corridor outside was dimmer, the buzz of post-quali still in the air, the roar of engines muffled behind glass. Your small heels clicked faintly on the tile as you made your way, trying to find the quickest exit out of the entire area. You held a hand to your ribs, as if you could physically hold yourself together. You hadn’t realized how tightly you were gripping your phone until your knuckles ached.

The sun was unrelenting, although it wasn’t the heat that made your eyes sting, definitely not the temperature that made your chest cave in.

Your phone buzzed, a message from Hattie.

You okay? Where’d you go?

You hesitated, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. You typed, deleted, and typed again, finally settling with, Think I got a bit too much sun, gonna lie down for a bit

It was a lie, but it was all you could give.

You reached your hotel room and barely made it to bed. Still dressed, shoes toed off haphazardly at the door, the room spinning faintly around you. You stared at the ceiling, eyes fluttering shut, a slight sting behind them. You let your tears fall, silent and slow.

He hadn’t even known he’d broken it.

༊*·˚

You hadn’t gone to another race after that. You hadn’t even stayed to watch Oscar in Australia. Your heart clenched with sadness when you heard he had spun out, yet beamed with pride when you heard he somehow still finished in points.

You ghosted every invite, every group message, subtly avoiding Hattie’s insistent messages claiming you “had” to come to the next race. You simply told her you were busy, sick, or swamped with work. You even went as far as to skip an annual summer break trip, heart aching at the idea of having to see her again.

At least you didn’t see her in any of the posts from friends.

You tried to forget the way it had felt, seeing him with someone else. Watching years of daydreams collapse within seconds.

You still kept up with the races, the soft spot in your heart aching to support him. You remember the smile that flashed on your face when you read that Oscar had won three races in a row. You opted against watching the races, the idea of her popping up on screen with a name card that confirmed she was his partner bound to twist the knife deeper.

Weeks passed, and the last race of a triple header this weekend. Hattie called, and she was fiercely relentless.

“We’re in Barcelona next week,” She said, as if you weren’t already aware. “You’re coming. No excuses. I’ve already put your name down for a pass. I’ll kill you if you flake,” And although she said it with a loving smile, you knew there was at least some truthful malice to her words.

You sighed, head spinning with a new possible excuse you could pull out. “Hattie-”

“Don’t. I will not hear any more excuses. I don’t care if you have to take time off work or if you pretend to be sick, because I will pump you up with Advil and DayQuil to watch this race.” She huffed out, not even letting you finish a sentence.

Then she added, more as an afterthought than anything, “You should come, it’s been ages. Everyone keeps asking about you.”

Your heart caught, “Everyone?” You asked quietly, although you already knew the answer.

“Yeah,” she shrugged. “You know how it is. You’re basically part of the family. Mum spent the entire trip mentioning how much you would love the food we were eating or how you would’ve loved to take a picture for ‘the gram’. Her words, not mine,” she laughed out, your heart warming at the idea of them missing you as much as you had missed them.

“Mae and Edie keep asking if you’re flying out too. Edie says no one takes pictures as well as you do, and that her pics are ‘lacking the aesthetic’, so safe to say we miss you. And Oscar’s been weird.”

You tried not to let that word echo, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Weird how?” You ask carefully, tone feigning surface-level concern when you knew for a fact your heart jumped at the idea of him missing you.

“Grumpy, I guess. Moody. Maybe it’s race stress, but it’s like he’s PMSing,” she laughed, brushing over his mood. “Come on. It’s Barcelona. I’m sure you need a break, and we miss you a ton, so please?”

You hesitated, her voice swaying you quickly. The casual fondness, the effortless assumption that you belonged, wore you down.

You booked the flight the next morning.

༊*·˚

Barcelona was beautiful and scorching. Loud and euphoric. Everything pulsed, fans, engines, your nerves. You felt a familiar comfort, and yet you still felt as though you hadn’t been to a race in years. You arrived at the paddock, sundress flowing softly in the hot breeze, sunglasses too big and a smile too fake. You had missed free practice, unable to let up a few things at work but you managed to get in just before qualifying for the weekend.

Hattie met you just past security, pulling you into a bone-crushing hug, your body relaxing at the embrace.

“I missed your face,” She grinned, motioning you towards where everyone else had been patiently waiting for qualifying to begin. She paused for a second, tone lowering slightly, “Also, don’t make it weird, and I think I told you, but in case, don’t mention anything, Oscar and Lily broke up.”

You stopped mid-step. “What?” Your tone far more eager than it should be.

“A month ago,” she nodded, ushering you to keep going as engineers bustled around you two. “You really didn’t know?”

You shook your head, stunned, feeling slightly guilty at the excitement that surged through your chest at the news.

“Damn,” she muttered, clicking her tongue. “I figured someone would’ve told you.”

You didn’t know what to say, nodding simply, your thoughts already spinning as people gathered round in hospitality to watch qualifying. You couldn’t help but cheer and clap a little louder at the end of Q3 when Oscar had claimed pole position. .

You ducked out of the paddock just before he could come meet you all.

༊*·˚

Sunday morning was a rush of nerves, excitement and the sounds of Hattie yelling at Edie for stealing the earrings she had planned to wear. You touched up your makeup lightly, trying not to spill anything on the flowy white maxi skirt Hattie let you borrow.

You hadn’t seen Oscar since you had arrived. At least not in person, and perhaps that was pure luck. You weren’t exactly sure if you were ready to see him again.

From the McLaren suite, you watched the race unfold, heart in your throat every time the camera’s nearest to you cut to his onboard. He drove like a man possessed, sharp, smooth, and ruthless.

You expected nothing less.

You clutched your pass like rosary beads to a nun in church, gasping under your breath as he defended his position in first.

And when the checkered flag dropped, the suite erupted in cheers. A McLaren 1-2.

Oscar had won.

Seeing Oscar get congratulated right in front of your eyes felt like a quick brush of events. You were mostly hidden behind taller engineers and team members as he shook hands with everyone, a proud smile sitting on your face as your arms were intertwined with Hattie’s. The cooldown room passed quickly followed by the celebrations and champagne showers. Your heart skipped a beat seeing Oscar drenched in champagne, his face flushed red from the excitement and the heat, charming smile sat beautifully on his face.

You were proud. Overwhelmed. Devastated.

He had come into hospitality about an hour later, the suite now fairly thinned out, the air filled with residual adrenaline and the sweet smell of champagne. You were tucked into a corner, nursing a glass of water and pretending like you weren’t waiting for him.

Hattie ranted on about some club in this city she desperately wanted to check out, words guiltily filtering through one ear and out the other. And suddenly he was there, still flushed from the podium, curls slick with champagne. His suit unzipped to his waist, torso damp with sweat and celebration. His medal hung heavy around his neck. Lando trailed behind him quickly branching off to talk to a few others.

His eyes scanned the room once before landing on you.

He stilled. And in that second, the world spun differently, your heartbeat sped up the loud thud drumming in your ears as he walked closer.

Hattie stood up, throwing her arms around him in a proud hug, whispering a sweet “good job” in his ear as he hugged her back. You stood slowly, hands fidgeting with the hem of your brown top.

Hattie let go, mentioning something to him about the race, and you could see a flash of decision run across his eyes. He stepped closer, arms opening up to you, and just for a second, you pushed your feelings aside, stepping up to him and wrapping your arms around his neck, his arms wrapping comfortably around your waist.

His warmth felt comforting, the smell of champagne lingering on his natural scent, you buried your head a little closer to his ear and whispered. “Congrats Osc.” You could feel him nod slightly, the acknowledgement enough for you.

You stepped back, unravelling your arms as his hands lingered for a second before sliding off your hips.

“Look who finally decided to crawl out of witness protection,” Oscar teased, his voice casual, his eyes saying something else entirely.

Before you could reply, Hattie’s voice rang out from nearby, her timing truly impeccable, and you couldn’t help but know she was eavesdropping. “Told you she wasn’t ghosting you forever. You’re welcomeee.” She sings out.

You let out a breathy laugh, more to ease the tension in your chest than anything else, your heart rattling against your ribs. Oscar’s gaze lingered a little longer than you had hoped, completely unreadable.

“I wasn’t sure I’d come, just been busy,” You said, brushing a hand over your skirt, suddenly extremely self-conscious. He nodded slowly, lips parting like he might say something else, but he didn’t. Not yet, at least.

There was a weight in the silence between you. Familiar, unfinished. You looked at him momentarily, eyes scanning across him as if you couldn’t believe that he was standing in front of you. Despite the cold air rushing through the suite, his cheeks were still flushed from the heat, hair drying quickly.

Then, his voice softer, he spoke. “You look different.”

You tilted your head. “Different how?” You asked curiously, a small smirk tugging at your cheek.

“Just…good. Better than I remember,” You laughed at the way he said it, knowing he meant no harm. You smiled, the tug not quite reaching your eyes. “It’s the borrowed outfit.’

He gave a low chuckle, eyes flicking down before quickly back up. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s just been too long.” His tone lowered. Before you could answer, Lando walked up behind him, a smile beaming off of him as he clapped a hand onto Oscar’s back.

“Everyone’s celebrating tonight, at the club near here. You have to come, mate, everyone’s coming, whole grid, I’m pretty sure,” He chuckled, eyes alight with the excitement of a celebration. He pointed a quick finger at Hattie, then at you before continuing. “You lot as well, first round of shots on me!” You couldn’t help but laugh at his antics, giving him a subtle nod as Oscar smiled at him, acknowledging his invite and quickly saying something before dapping him up before Lando walked away.

Hattie tugged at your arm, mentioning something about needing to get ready for the night ahead as she pulled you away. Oscar smiled softly at her, your heart stuttering at the sight. You flashed him a smile before you were out.

༊*·˚

The club was pulsing, strobe lights and bass stimulating all your senses as Hattie tucked her phone, ending the map route. A heavy pulse thrummed through the floor, rhythm tippling through your chest, the air thick with perfume and sweat, and the lingering sweet scent of many mixed drinks.

You arrived with Hattie and Edie, laughter trailing behind you as you stepped inside, the heat of bodies engulfing you in a warmth only meant for places like this. Eyes followed the dark shimmer of your dress, a shimmery body oil Hattie had let you borrow glistening on your skin like stars.

Hattie insisted you wear this dress, with thin tie straps knotted into sweet bows atop your shoulders, the neckline of the dress low and revealing, and the back even lower, dipping just above your tailbone. You could feel the hem of the dress brush against the bottom of your ass, legs feeling dangerously bare with a small pair of heels. Yet somehow, you’d never felt hotter, hair flowing in soft waves down your back, jewelry adorning you lavishly.

Your eyes scanned the club, catching sight of many of the drivers from the grid, finally landing on Oscar near the bar.

He leaned against the bar, black button-up stretching against his chest, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, hair still slightly damp from a post-race shower. He nursed a drink, the lights chiselling his face beautifully. He looked…wrecked. Handsome, but wrecked. His eyes caught yours nearly the second you stepped inside, and you felt it like a physical touch, low and unmistakable.

You looked away quickly, body flushing with heat separate from the thrumming heat of the club.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” You heard from behind you, a familiar voice. Your eyes caught sight of Hattie chatting up some Spanish guy, and you turned around to find Charles. His smile was soft, comforting. Warm in a way that didn’t ask for anything more than your time of day. “Though I should’ve known Hattie wasn’t going to let you skip such a celebration.” He teased.

You laughed, easing slightly at his tone, “She practically packed my bag for me.” You spoke in a tone matching his own in comfort.

“Good,” he said, nudging your elbow gently, his shirt slightly unbuttoned at the top, clinging to his skin from the heat. “Would’ve been a tragedy to miss out on you tonight.”

You blinked, caught slightly off guard, but the way he said it didn’t feel loaded. Just easy, thoughtful and casual.

“Tragedy?” You asked with a smirk, looking up at him expectantly. Charles tilted his head with a small grin. “Well, some things are worth celebrating properly.”

He stayed close, talking about the race and telling stories from media day. You congratulated him on his podium for the race and made a sly joke about Ferrari's pace that ripped a chuckle from him. He often leaned closer to talk, the bass of the club making it difficult to chat farther away, his body heat radiating off.

It felt good. Normal. Like the ache in your chest could maybe be softened. His arms deliberately brushing yours now and then.

Then he leaned in, his voice brushing just under your ear, making you shiver. “You really don’t notice him looking at you?”

You froze, “Who?” you asked, although you already knew the answer.

He nodded towards the bar. “Oscar. He’s been looking at me like he wants to put me into the wall in the next race.” You didn’t bother to turn around, heart racing as it is. Before you could respond, you felt a hand grasp your wrist, firm yet not painful.

“Sorry, Leclerc, just have to talk to her.” He spoke, his tone anything but apologetic. He pulled you through the crowd, leaving no room for disagreement. You barely caught Charles’ amused half-smile as you were dragged away.

The music blurred behind you, replaced by the pulse of blood in your ears, the thrum of the music a low hum now. You stumbled slightly in your heels as he led you into a little off-road beside the club, quiet and dark.

You snatched your arm from his grip, stepping back slightly. “Oscar, what the hell?”

He didn’t answer right away. His jaw was tight, chest rising and falling fast, eyes scanning your face like he was trying to read a language he hadn’t spoken in months.

“You can’t just do that. I was talking to him!” You snapped, arms crossing over your chest, Oscar’s eyes momentarily dropping to the sight it pushed up.

“He had his hands all over you,” He muttered, jaw clenched tight, a pulse in his neck.

You scoffed in awe, “He was being polite, friendly. You’re acting like I was-”

“I don’t care what it was,” he cut in. “I didn’t like it. I didn’t like him touching you.” Oscar stepped closer. “And you let him. You smiled at him.” he spoke, voice strained.

You blinked incredulously, “So?”

“So, I was this close to knocking his fucking teeth in.” He lashed, words gritting out from between his teeth.

You stared, stunned by the ferocity in his voice. “You don’t get to be like this.”

“Like what?” He scoffed.

“Jealous! Possessive, you had a fucking girlfriend like five minutes ago,” You spoke angrily, words lightly exaggerated but you were far too annoyed to care. “You don’t get to drag me out of there because someone else is paying attention to me.”

He stepped closer, his chest nearly brushing yours. “I felt like I was gonna lose my mind everytime he fucking touched you.”

You crossed your arms, biting back everything you wanted to say. “Why do you even care?”

Oscar looked at you like he was debating whether or not to say something that would ruin the mood even more. He sighed, deep and breathy, eyes dropping to your lips, lingering for a second too long. He inhaled sharply.

“I can’t do this here,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair, tousling it lightly.

“Great, then don’t,” You snapped sarcastically, spinning to head back toward the club door.

“Get in the car.”

You froze, “Excuse me?”

He walked closer, turning you slightly to face him, his eyes dark as they looked down at you. “Get in the car. Now.” His words rumbling low in your chest. Your heart thundered against your chest. “Why?”

His voice dropped impossibly, something rough and breaking. “Because if I have to stand out here any longer pretending like that dress isn’t driving me insane, or like I didn’t notice every pair of eyes on you tonight. I’m going to say something I’ve been trying not to for years, and I’m not doing that shit in an alleyway.” he rambled.

You stared at him, pulse thrumming in your neck. Then you turned slowly, and began walking towards his car, hearing him fumble his pocket for them before he unlocked the car.

He followed behind you slowly, letting you settle into the car before he began driving.

The car ride was thick with silence. No music, no words. Just the soft roar of the engine and your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Oscar’s hand gripped the wheel like he was trying not to snap it in half, the tension in his shoulders and his jaw flexing every second as if he was barely holding himself in. You sat with your arms folded tight across your chest, eyes locked on the blur of streetlights racing past the window, bare thighs sticking to his leather seats.

He parked in front of his hotel, silently getting out of there, signalling you to follow suit. You followed him up to his room, heart pounding with anger. He opened the door letting you in first as you turned around to talk to him.

“What is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me?” He said, twisting toward you. “You show up looking like that, letting him fucking touch you, and I’m supposed to just stand there and congratulate you?” He argues back.

You crossed your arms, tone defeated. “You don’t get to act like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like you have any claim on me.” You exclaim, Oscar walking forward towards you. “You don’t get to act like this, Oscar. You’ve spent years treating me like Hattie’s friend. Like I was off-limits. And then you had Lily-” He flinches at the name. “-so what the fuck do you want me to do?” You exhaled, cheeks flush with anger.

“I-” He started, stopping himself as soon as, like the words physically caught in his throat. He raked a hand through his hair then down his face before finally speaking. “I want it to be me.”

You blinked. “What?”

He exhaled, eyes avoiding yours. “I want it to be me you smile at like that. Me you dance with. I want it to be me you come home with.”

You stared at him stunned, your chest tightening.

His voice cracked. “I have since we were kids. Since you sat across from me at the dinner table and rolled your eyes at my stupid jokes. Since the moment you stopped being just Hattie’s friend and somehow became the one person I thought about before every race. But I- I didn’t want to ruin anything. That if I crossed that line, I’d lose you.” He rambled.

You looked at him, watching his eyes flit around the room frantically, looking anywhere but at you. “Why didn’t you say anything?” you asked, voice softening as you took a step closer, heels clicking deafeningly on the floor.

“I thought I wasn’t allowed, or that I shouldn’t. Figured you didn’t see me that way anyway. And I tried to move on. I tried, okay? We got into fucking fights about you, so, it’s never been anyone else.” Your breath caught at the mention of arguments knowing by ‘we’ he meant him and Lily.

And for the first time in what felt like hours, he looked at you, eyes locking on yours as he stepped closer, his chest nearly pressed against yours.

“And then you walked away in Melbourne and I- fuck I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to run after you. I didn’t know how to chase you without making a bigger mess. I should have,” words sputtering out like he was debating with himself.

His hands came up, cupping your face, his forehead pressing against yours, eyes slipping shut. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered, breath warm against your face as you looked at him closely, hands warming your cheeks. “Tell me to back off, and I will.”

Your hands slid up, resting on his abdomen as you curled your fingers into the fabric of his shirt. “Oscar,” you whispered.

He kissed you before you could say anything else. It wasn’t rushed, it wasn't frantic.

It was years of silence unraveling at the seams. It was cautious, like he needed you to feel everything he couldn’t put into words, everything he hadn’t said. His hands cupped your jaw, thumb brushing gently under your cheekbone as he angled his head, tongue sliding across your bottom lip as you panted.

Your hands gripped his sides, anchoring yourself as heat spread low and slow through your body.

He pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, both of you breathing hard.

“I should’ve told you so much sooner,” he whispered. You shook your head, eyes closed. “You’re telling me now.”

He pulled his head back, eyes opening to look at you as you glanced up at him. “Am I too late?” He asked, voice straining heartbreakingly.

“You’re not.” You reassured, hands holding him a little tighter.

His lips ghosted over yours once more, slow and searching. His hands now landing on your waist, pulling you closer.

And when you kissed him again, it wasn’t tentative, it was hungrier, teeth clashing against your lip as he nibbled, soothing it over with his tongue. His tongue licked over yours, kiss a messy mix of tongue and lips and want.

He guided you back, the back of your knees hitting the edge of the bed, his hands now firmly gripping your waist, grounding you almost. He held the kind of the urgency that came from restraint stretched too thin, from wanting for so long it started to ache. His mouth trailed down the side of your neck, warm and open-mouthed, you shivered at the feeling.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured against your skin, voice hoarse as he suckled a kiss onto your collarbone. “If this isn’t what you want-”

You pulled him back up to your mouth, hands cradling his jaw as your lips landed on his. “Please,” you breathed in between kisses, fingers curling into the back of his neck.

That was all it took.

He tugged you down gently, you sat on the edge of the bed as he placed a gentle kiss to your lips before kneeling in front of you, his hands trailing down the back of your calf towards your ankle. He looked up at you, fingers undoing the clasp on your heel and sliding it off before doing so with the other. He placed a soft kiss on your ankle before standing back up, his hips now level with your face. You blushed at the proximity, looking up at him wide-eyed as his hand brushed through your hair. Heat bloomed through your chest, spreading like wildfire under your skin.

He smirked softly, like he could feel a shift in the air, the charge.

His hand brushed your hair away from your face and off your shoulder, fingers curling gently at the nape of your neck, tugging lightly as you bit your lip. “Look at you,” he murmured. “So fucking pretty like this.”

Your lips parted, a soft breath coming out. His thumb stroked your cheek, then brushed over your bottom lip, a quiet contrast to the tension lingering.

“You know,” he said, voice low and steady, “all night, I watched you. Smiling, laughing, like nothing hurt.” He paused, hand tightening slightly in your hair, not harsh but just enough to make your breath catch. “All I could think about was how badly I wanted to take you home, how badly I wanted you.”

He leaned down, his other hand trailing up your thigh, thumb brushing just beneath the hem of your dress.

“You have no idea what it does to me,” he mumbled, breath fanning across your neck. “Seeing his hands on you. Watching you let him close like he had a fucking chance.”

You swallowed, your pulse pounding in your ears.

“Oscar-”

He kissed you again, rougher this time, possessive. His hand on your neck kept you close, body pressing into yours. “Tell me you’re mine,” he breathed against your mouth, “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped. He pulled back slightly, looking down at you like you were the only thing in the world he wanted. He kissed you hard, fingers gripping your jaw, the kind of kiss that pinned you in place. You panted between kisses, tongue slipping against his.

“Lay back for me, sweetheart.” he murmured, hands coming up to unbutton his shirt. You obeyed, heart thrumming like a drum in your throat.

Oscar’s hand skimmed up your thighs, slow, teasing, before you dragged the hem of your dress up and over your hips, the silk fabric brushing softly against your skin. He knelt between your thighs, shirt unbuttoned and hanging open. His mouth brushed the inside of your thigh as you trembled beneath him, eyes dark peering up at you through his eyelashes.

“Mine,” he muttered, lips trailing against your skin, placing soft kisses. Your hips bucked slightly at the sensation and he chuckled, dark and pleased. “Look at you,” he said, voice rough with want. “So needy, baby. You’ve been wanting this too, hm?”

You nodded, breathless, eyes following his every move.

“I could tell,” He smirked, hands tracing teasing lines across your thighs as his breath fanned hotly against you. “Could see it in your eyes, when you looked at me. Even back in Melbourne, oh you were so sweet, trying to hide it.”

His lips dragged up to your stomach, dress pushing up further. His hands gripped your waist, lips landing on the dip between your breasts, every part of you worshipped like he’d been waiting to earn this. He sucked light kisses on the edge of the neckline, his hand coming up to untie the bow at your straps, pulling off your dress and tossing it off the edge of the bed.

His eyes dragged over your body with a hunger you’d never seen in him before. “You’re fucking perfect.” thumb rubbing over your nipple as you arched up into him. He hovered over, bare chest brushing yours, the heat of his body between your thighs, voice dropping again. “Tell me you’re mine.”

You tangled your hands in his hair. “I’m yours.”

“Say it again,” He asked, lips trailing softly on your neck.

“I’m yours, Oscar,” You spoke, voice steady with truth.

He groaned, pressing his forehead to yours, “Fuck, I love hearing that.” He kissed you, slow and deep, and you could feel everything in it. All the want, all the frustration, the years of biting his tongue and looking away when he wanted to touch. His hands roamed with a reverence that bordered on worship. He dragged his fingers up the back of your thighs, over the curve of your hips and onto your waist.

He tugged off his shirt in between slow and sloppy kisses, your thighs slick with need. You arched beneath him as his hips pressed flush against yours, only a few layers of clothing between you now.

“You feel that?” he breathed, grinding against you deliberately. “That’s what you do to me. Every time I saw you, I had to pretend like I wasn’t losing my mind.”

You whimpered as his mouth moved down your neck, leaving hot trails of breathy and open-mouthed kisses along your skin.

He kissed his way down your chest, mouth lingering on your tits, tongue flicking over one nipple, thumb playing with the other as you moaned. He scraped his teeth before soothing it with his tongue. He continues kissing down your body, your hands tangling in his hair, his palms on your bare waist, spreading you open like something delicate, something he planned to savour.

“You’re unreal,” he whispered, kissing the top of your thigh, body resting comfortably between them. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them a bit farther as his eyes landed on your core, dripping with arousal. “So fucking beautiful, baby. Look at you.”

You blushed under the weight of his gaze, your legs trembling slightly from the anticipation of his touch, soft and possessive, as if he couldn’t decide if he wanted to worship you or ruin you.

Perhaps he had planned on both.

He pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, hands wrapping around your thigh, tossing one haphazardly over his shoulder as he tugged your body closer to him. Your fingers tightened in his hair, simply the sight of his face between your thighs making your hips twitch. “Oscar…”

He smirked against your skin, letting out a small laugh. “You say my name like that again, and I won’t last.” His thumb brushed over your core, feeling muted by your panties in the way. He tugged them to the side, thumb swiping through your folds, arousal soaking his fingertip. “Hold these to the side for me, baby.” He demanded, voice just above a whisper.

You reached a hand down, holding them to the side like he asked, a whine escaping your mouth. His mouth brushed over you like a whisper, the first swipe of his tongue making your hips jump, Oscar groaning in approval.

“God, you taste so fucking good. Better than I could imagine.” He breathed, the groan reverberating through you as you tugged his hair.

His tongue flicked again, more deliberate this time, tracing your folds with agonizing precision before pressing in, slow and firm, his tongue lapping at you hungrily. He circled your clit with a practiced ease, teeth lightly scraping before suckling, your hips bucking up onto him.

“That’s it, baby,” he muttered, lips brushing against you. “Let me hear how much you missed me,” He groaned, tongue lapping at you like he couldn’t get enough, his face buried deep between your thighs, nose nuzzling your clit. You nearly blacked out, a loud moan escaping between your bitten lips. “D’you miss me as much I missed you darling? Hm?” He teased, his hand slipping between your thighs.

He slipped a finger inside you, tongue still sliding over you as you choked out a moan, back arching off the bed. “You’re so fucking tight,” He groaned, “C’mon, take another, baby.” He begged, slipping in a second finger, pumping them deeper, lips never leaving you. The sound of your slick echoing off his tongue and hand was obscene, dripping on his fingers onto the mattress. He looked wrecked just from touching you.

You whimpered, helpless under his mouth, his name spilling out of your mouth like a helpless prayer. His tongue was relentless, flicking over your clit while his fingers curled into that perfect spot that made your vision go white. You gripped the sheets, fingers curling in his hair tighter as you bucked your face up into him, thighs trembling around his shoulders as your climax started to build fast.

“Oscar, I-fuck I can’t” You whimpered, body flushing with want.

“You can,” he nearly growled. “You will. Come for me, baby. Come all over my tongue.”

You broke with a cry, back arching off the bed as he held you down and helped you through it, licking and fucking you through every last wave of release. Your body writhed beneath him, pleasure crashing over you in thick, pulsing waves, his tongue lapping up your orgasm.

You finally slumped back, spent and shaking, he looked up at you, lips wet, breathing hard. He kissed your thigh once, soft and slow, the kind of kiss that made your chest ache.

Oscar rose from between your thighs slowly, lips slick, jaw clenched like he was barely holding it together. He undid his belt, sliding off his pants as you looked at him wantonly, limbs tiredly sliding off your panties, tossing them aside as he climbed back on top of you.

“You’re shaking,” he said, his voice rough with pride. “I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

Your breath hitched.

He leaned over you, kissing you hard, as if he wanted you to taste yourself on his tongue. You moaned against his mouth, his mouth swallowing the noise, his body pressing against yours until you could feel just how hard he was, dragging thick and hot against your inner thigh.

He ground his hips into you slowly, teasing the head of his cock against your still-throbbing entrance. “All those years…and I had to pretend like I didn’t wanna fuck you stupid every time you walked into a room.”

Your hips jerked forward instinctively, chasing more friction, and he smirked like the devil himself. He grabbed himself, hand pushing your thigh open as he slapped his tip on your clit, your body jumping at the sensation as you whimper. He slid his tip through your folds, slipping through the arousal before he began pushing in. You gasped at the stretch, and how thick he was, your hands flew to his shoulders, clinging. He held still for a second, soaking it in, then leaning down to your ear.

“Feel that?” he whispered, “That’s what you fucking do to me,” He teased, pushing in further. You whimpered, eyes catching his, wide and wanting. He pulled back momentarily before thrusting deeper, slow and punishing, making sure you felt every inch. “You liked it, didn’t you? Knowing I wanted to fuck you and not being able to.” He groaned, pushing all the way in till his hips were flush against yours.

“God, Oscar-”

“Say it,” he groaned. “Say you wanted me then. Tell me the truth, you used to fucking touch yourself thinking about me.”

You blushed hard, voice barely above a whisper. “I did, fuck so many times.”

That snapped something in him. He pulled back and slammed into you in one hard stroke, making you cry out as he buried himself deep. “Fuck,” he hissed, “You’re so fucking tight, so wet, Jesus. Fucking knew it, couldn’t keep your hands off this pretty little cunt thinking about me.” He stuttered.

He set a brutal pace, one hand gripping your thigh bruisingly, the other bracing himself up next to your head. Every thrust was deep and hard, possessive almost, designed to remind you exactly who you belonged to, his skin hot and slick against yours.

He pressed a hand against your lower stomach. “You feel that,” thrusts still rocking your body and he applied some pressure. “Feel how deep I am inside you? No one’s ever gonna fuck you like this. No one.”

You nodded frantically, lost in it completely, moaning his name with every thrust. “You’re mine,” he growled. “Tell me, baby.”

“I’m yours,” you sobbed, cunt clenching around him viciously. “Oscar, I’m yours, always have been.” You stuttered, words slurring, your mind dizzy from his thrusts.

His hand slid between you, fingers circling your clit with a perfect pressure as he kept pounding into you. “You gonna cum on my cock like a good girl?”

You clenched around him, body jolting at his words.

“You take me so fucking well,” He breathed, eyes intently watching where your bodies met. “So fucking pretty like this. Fuck I could stay inside you forever.” He groaned. Your nails scraped his back, mouth hanging open with moans.

You pulsed around him, heat pooling low in your stomach. “You’re fucking perfect. So tight around my cock. Like this pussy was made for me, wasn’t it baby?” He slammed back into you as you cried out, clinging to his arms.

His rhythm was punishing, every thrust forcing a whimper from your throat. Every time he bottomed out, his hips slammed into yours with a wet slap.

His hand slid down, thumb swiping across your clit in slow teasing circles while he kept pounding into you. You were dripping, wrecked, the sound of your bodies fucking filthy in the room.

“Fucking perfect, I’m so in love with you,” he rambled, your heart pounding at the words. Your climax tore through you like fire, your whole body tightening as you cried his name.

Oscar didn’t let up.

He kept thrusting, chasing his own high, fucking you through your orgasm, feeling your cunt clench around him deliciously. His breath was ragged, pace brutal, hips stuttering for release. He looked down at you like a man possessed, sweat-slick, lips parted, eyes dark and wild.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groaned, “Gonna fill you up, baby. Gonna cum so deep you’ll feel it for days.” You whimpered, nails digging into his back as he gave one final thrust, and then he broke, groaning your name as he spilled inside you. His hips twitched, cock pulsing deep in your pussy, filling you up obscenely.

You could feel the heat of it, the stretch of him and the weight of him on top of you. His breaths came out in huffs, forehead pressing to your shoulder, a soft kiss preceding his words.

“I should’ve done that years ago,” He chuckled breathlessly, voice wrecked. You smiled softly, tracing the edge of his jaw with your fingertips as he slowly slid out, wincing at the loss, your body clenching to keep his release in.

“I’ll take care of you, baby. Gimme a second.” He disappeared into the bathroom for a moment, returning with a warm cloth and the softest look in his eyes. You watched through hazy eyes as he cleaned you up gently, whispering soft apologies and praises as he went, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he stopped touching you.

“Come here,” he said, tossing the cloth aside and lifting the covers.

You slid into his arms, his bare chest warm against your cheek, his hand rubbing slow circles into your back. His legs tangled with yours under the sheets, possessive even in rest.

He smiled into your hair. “I love you, I’ve been in love with you for so fucking long it physically hurt.”

You looked up at him, eyes glassy. “You mean it?”

“I’ve never meant anything more,” he whispered. “You’ve ruined me for anyone else.”Your lip trembled, and he kissed it, soft and slow.

“I love you,” you breathed, “So much. It’s always been you.”

“I’m never letting you go again,” he murmured, burying his face in your neck. “You’re mine.”

You pulled him closer, “ All yours,” you spoke reassuringly.

He shifted, tucking you fully into his arms. The room was quiet now aside from steady breathing the faint noise of the city through the window, and the warmth of two people who had finally found their way to each other.

He kissed your shoulder gently, “Move in with me.”

You blinked up at him. “What?”

“I mean it,” he said, tone soft and quiet, “You’re already home to me.”

Your chest felt like it might burst.

“Okay,” you whispered, smiling wide, “yeah okay,”

“Good,” he said, eyes closing, arms tightening around you. “Now sleep baby,” he said softly.

And you did, safe in his arms, wrapped in love that had always been there, just waiting to be spoken.

༊*·˚

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aeyumicore · 10 months ago

Note

hey I love your stories (I live on them). Can I make a request? Can you write a Zayne Fic where the Zayne is tired and she is giving him a massage but that massage escalates into a full blown love making. But Zayne is letting her top him, he let's her take control while he sits back and enjoy the so called massage. Squeezing his chest and then teasing him by squeezing his thigh muscles and maybe his *cakes* too...hehehe

know better

━ .ᐟ✧ PAIRING: zayne x female reader (afab)

━ ✧.˖ WORD COUNT: 2.2k unedited | ao3

━ .ᐟ✧ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, massage m!receiving, reader tops zayne, spanking, unprotected seggs, butt fondling m!receiving

━ ✧.˖ A/N: in honor of zayne's main story branch <3 again i don't typically take requests but i may start doing shorter scenarios like this! so feel free to send them :) hope everyone is having a good zayne day!! i haven't done the new story yet, but plan to soon! i don't mind spoilers so feel free to yap in my messages or inbox. this is not edited.

THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.

✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ nsfw | minors dni | 18+ only | minors dni | nsfw ✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖

“Let me take care of you.”

Zayne should have known better than to trust those angelically unassuming words, his devilish little minx. But the thought of your delicate fingers kneading into his tense bundles of muscles, after he’d been on his feet for a 10 hour surgery, was too heavenly to give up.

He should’ve known you were up to something when you straddled him in just your panties, claiming you didn’t want to get your shorts greasy with the self-heating massage oil.

“Sweetheart…” he’d warned as your hands danced down the arch of his lower back, hissing as your nails grazed the contours of his back muscles. The feeling of your bare thighs sitting against the sensitive skin of the underside of his ass was enough to have him growing harder by the second.

He definitely should’ve known you were up to no good when your fingers cupped his rear, digging in so perfectly that he couldn’t help the sinful groan that escaped his lips.

He tensed so adorably that you couldn’t help but continue to rub soothing circles into the plush mound of his ass. His strong glute muscles would squeeze every time you came close to the edges of his cheeks, daring yourself to go further.

“I should’ve known you were up to no good,” Zayne moaned, his words muffled as his face pressed into the towel you had laid out on your shared mattress.

You giggle, using your nails to gently rake up and down his rear, biting your lip as you can visibly see the goosebumps form on his pale skin. You bend down to press a kiss into his waist, dangerously close to unchartered territory.

Luckily for him, you save that for another night. Though it wasn’t necessarily something Zayne was opposed to, he was far too exhausted tonight to indulge in such unfamiliar endeavors. For tonight, he just wanted to submit to the pleasures of comforting intimacy.

Though he couldn’t deny, the idea of exploring new heights of pleasure with you left him flustered and excited, evident by the way his now painfully hard cock was pressed into the bed as you straddled him.

You begin to kiss up his spine, pressing your lips into his shoulder blades as you whisper into his neck.

“Does it not feel good?”

Zayne groans at your feigned innocence, his face turning to the side to try and catch your lips as they breathe into his sensitive neck. Your presence was having the opposite effect on him. With you around, he was more pent up than ever.

But to his dismay, you pull back with an adorable grin on your face, returning your attention to the task at hand.

You get off his thighs, “Turn over, please.”

Zayne hesitates, but knows better than to deny you. You had him wound so tightly around your fingers that there’d be no point to try and hide from you. Hide the way he was very much…pent up.

So when he finally does turn over, he doesn’t even try to cover his angrily erect cock. It stands so proud against his stomach, demanding attention.

Zayne sits up on his elbows, his abdomen quivering as he breathes heavily. His eyes, intense and smoldering, watch you carefully, anticipating your next move. Glistening beads of pre drip down his cock like a melting popsicle, as if daring you for more.

“Well? Will you take care of me, my love?”

And that was a request you could absolutely never refuse.

Zayne’s skin is slick against yours, creating the most filthy clapping of skin against skin as you bounce on his lap. His face is buried in your chest, teeth capturing your poor and abused nippeles as he holds you tight, his thick forearms wrapped around your waist.

He fights to keep his thighs still, wanting to let you “take care of him” like you so desperately asked to do. Though you have a paced rhythm, he wishes you’d go harder.

Zayne leans back against the headboard of the bed, relinquishing your sweet and tender skin from his lips. His eyes can’t help but wander south, watching your thighs quiver as they bounce eagerly on his own bulging muscles.

“You’re doing so well, beautiful,” he praises with starstruck eyes, hypnotized by the ripples of your thighs against his cleanly shaven pelvis. Your body never failed to amazon him, even as a physician and surgeon. The way your perfect taut walls could take all of him in; it was nothing short of mind-blowing.

“Y-Yeah?” you whine, body tightening at the surgeon’s praises, “Does it feel good, Zayne?” Your hips roll furiously against him, eyes falling into your skull when his curved cock strokes against your spongy g-spot.

“Ah – You’re just what I needed,” Zayne grunts, eyes now watching the way your beautiful breasts bounce, right in front of his face like a damn taunt, “You’re dangerous.”

Your hips stutter at the guttural growl in his tone, his throat bobbing as he watches you, “What do you – ahngh – mean?”

Zayne grips your chin to steady your dreary head, watching with an amused glint in his hazel eyes as you start to lose yourself to the please, your rhythm faltering.

“I don’t expect people to be accepting of the idea that their surgeon is thinking about this,” Zayne grabs your clit, his hand slipping between your oiled bodies, “When he’s treating them.”

Your body convulses against Zayne’s expertly twisting fingers, as you nearly double over at his lewd confessions, “N-No! Let me.”

Zayne chuckles, knowing you want to be the one to take care of him.

Reluctantly, he removes his fingers, settling his palms on your waist instead, looking up at you with all the wondrous adoration in the world reflected in his eyes.

“Show me, sweetheart. Show me how you want to take care of me.”

His demanding purr fuels you with a need to prove yourself, your hips moving with renewed eagerness. With every roll of your pelvis, you clit brushes against the forming stubble on his crotch, sending sparks of pain singed euphoria straight into your core. It fizzles all throughout your body, making your fingertips numb with a pleasure you’re all too familiar with,

A pleasure Zayne has brought upon your body too many times to count.

Zayne groans at the feeling of your slick smearing messily against him, your bodies so slippery and sweaty with torrid pleasure. Though he wished he could take control, show you how badly he needed to pound against your cervix, force his way into your womb, watching you so prettily sob as you bounced atop him was nearly just as blissful.

Your soft skin shines so beautifully before him, a heavenly light reflected against your resplendent curves. Zayne is so suddenly consumed with the need to feel your plush flesh against his itching fingers.

He takes two fistfulls of your ass, biting the inside of his cheek as he watches you with hooded lids. The sounds of your moans in response to his possessive hold ignites him with the need for more.

So as you rock onto his thick manhood for all he’s worth, his palm comes down onto your ass with a force that makes your entire body quake. His hand comes down so strongly against the globes of your rear that the massage oil on your skin splashes, creating darkened splatters on the fabric of Zayne’s expensive comforter.

You’re so surprised by his actions that your bounces flutter to a halt, your throat eliciting a choked squeal of surprise and arousal. Your fingers dig into Zayne’s shoulders, the sting of his hand spider webbing from your ass, spreading all the way up to your spine.

Zayne nearly cums right then and there, feeling just how excited and tight your cunt coiled against his cock, from him spanking you. But he bites his cheek, fighting the way his manhood fights to release inside you and the way his fingers itch with the need to spank you again.

“So tight,” he chokes out, cock lurching inside you, fighting against how fucking good you feel against him, how tightly you’re wound by him spanking you, “Hah – do you like it when I do that, sweetheart?”

Zayne had never been aroused by the idea of inflicting pain on you, even during sex. He’d never had the urge to spank you, never really saw the appeal in it. The most sadistic tendencies he had when making love to you was to grab your throat, squeezing just barely enough to make you whine.

But now as you tighten in excitement in response to him smacking the soft fat of your ass, nodding so damn eagerly, as if you want him to spank you more…it’s enough to turn Zayne into a sadist.

So when you falter, nearly coming undone by the surprise of his demanding palm, Zayne’s hand comes down on you again. On impact, his fingers dig in, grabbing two handfuls of your luscious skin, forcing you to rock onto him. He helps you up and down, fingers soothing circles into the stinging skin that he’d struck.

At this point you’re no longer doing any of the work, Zayne’s strong hands jostle you up and down, fucking you onto his cock like his precious little doll. Your body is far too gone, far too delirious from your newfound obsession with the way Zayne can blend pain and pleasure. You’re only capable of fucked out sobs, your head coming to lean against Zayne’s muscled chest as you come ever so close to your release.

As Zayne rubs soothing circles into your prickling skin, he whispers huskily into your ear.

“You’re so good to me,” he murmurs, voice tinged with his own desperate need to release, “I’m always thinking about the next time I get to be inside you.”

“But I want to take care of you,” he pleads, giving your ass one last gentle smack, as if he can’t hold his hands back from the feeling of your delicious skin, “Will you let me do that?”

Zayne lifts your chin to look at him, his golden green eyes shiny with a fervent desperation, expecting you to answer him even though you were clearly in no state to speak.

When your mouth flaps open and shut, Zayne chuckles, pressing your head back into his warm chest, cradling you so gently as if he wasn’t actively rearranging your guts. He buries his face into the top of your head, enjoying the way your pheromones invade his senses and fill him with the animalistic need to mark you with his cum.

“I’m going to fill you up, okay?” he breathes into your hair, “Don’t waste any of it.”

You nod vigorously, relieved you can finally let your orgasm take over.

“I-I can take it all!” you squeal as he bounces you harder, desperate to cum himself, “I’ll be good Zayne, please!”

A growl rips from Zayne’s throat as a deafening smack! reverberates as he spanks you one last time, “Yes you can, that’s my girl.”

As the sting ripples out from your ass, you come so violently undone all over Zayne’s lap, the wet paps of his continued movements making your release smear everywhere.

Between that and the massage oil, it’s a slippery and moist mess of unfiltered heat. Zayne doesn’t take long to follow behind, pressing his lips to yours hungrily as he shoots inside of you. He’s so eager that his teeth knock into yours, but you barely notice, only focussed on the way his seed fills you, his cum so contrastingly hot compared to the icy feel of his skin against yours.

Zayne squeezes you so tightly against his body as he comes undone, making it nearly impossible for you to breathe. His moans are choked, strangled as if he himself is struggling to breathe. His hands slowly come to a stop, cock stilling as it spurts its very last drop.

Your bodies heave against one another, Zayne’s breath hot against your ear. He presses a languid kiss into your pulse, sighing in bliss.

With the last of your strength, you use your fingers to dig gently into Zayne’s back, trying to smooth out the remaining knots in his muscles. Your head is still propped against Zayne’s pecs, your thighs caging his, and your cunt still snugly wrapped around him.

Zayne groans at the feeling, “What are you doing?”

You mumble tiredly against his heartbeat, “Need t’finish your massage.”

Zayne curses, grabbing a hold of your wrists in his long and slender fingers. You look at him in surprise, eyes wide in question.

“I’ve had back to back surgeries every night this week.”

“I know,” you tilt your head in confusion, “That’s why I want to finish your massage.”

Zayne sighs in frustration, before leaning into your neck, your wrists still captured by his grasp.

“Do you have any idea how…starved I am? You’re provoking a ravenous animal right now.”

The realization of just how touch-starved Zayne has become this last week sinks in. How even the innocent touch of your hands against his back has him alert and ready inside you. Your stomach flutters.

“Then…let me take care of you.”

And even though Zayne should have known better, he can’t help but once again give into the whims of the woman who had him utterly and completely wrapped around her finger.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or others. please do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.

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honeytonedhottie · 26 days ago

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journal prompts.ೃ࿔*:･🍨🎀

journaling is one of my all time FAVORITE things to do. its so much fun especially since i LOVE to yap and just write to myself. my journal prompts are super unserious and super girly and just so perfectly me, so in this post im just gonna share some of my journal entry titles as prompts for inspo for the other girlies who love to journal…💬🎀

❤︎ ideas - if u dont write ur ideas down i guarantee you won't remember them so its important to jot things down. i write down all my ideas for my blog, business endeavors, even just things i wanna do.

❤︎ shopping lists - especially ones that i use more than once like my essentials shopping list or my seasonal shopping list.

❤︎ lipstick swatch pages - you can swatch some lip liner and do cute little kiss marks on the pages so u can remember what the shade of gloss looks like when ur on the go.

❤︎ tattoos i wanna get and why - i wrote that page like a year or two ago and as im looking back at it, it still rings true.

❤︎ smash or pass - i have a page of my celebrity crushes smash or pass, and then the people i actually know irl smash or passes. or i'll do kiss marry kill or something fun like that.

❤︎ general diary entries - like talking about my day, everything im grateful for etc etc.

❤︎ sweetest inbox letters - because you guys always write sweet stuff to me and i always copy it into my journal so i can look back on it.

❤︎ all about me page - what can i say, i like talking about myself.

❤︎ letters to future versions of myself - and then i dont open them until later dates. sometimes i'll do a video diary entry or something fun like that.

❤︎ notes to my younger self - this one’s kinda healing. write to the little you with love, and tell her how FABULOUS and gorgeous she turned out.

❤︎ dream outfits i wanna recreate - i screenshot pinterest looks or outfits i see in music videos + write down how i’d style them with stuff i already have or wanna thrift.

❤︎ boy toys - i LOVE how juicy this page is. im a super detailed writer and i come with RECEIPTS. i include names, dates, details, the whole nine yards.

❤︎ my designer wishlist - designer pieces that i want in my closet. im super intentional with my wardrobe so i want very specific things.

❤︎ my spicier techniques - idk how in depth i can go about this on my blog 💀 but i write all my techniques in here. use ur imagination.

❤︎ my emergency contacts - not actual phone numbers but more so things that instantly lift me up when im having like a mood swing. like the exact shade of lipgloss i wear when im sad or my comfort movie and comfort soup order from my favorite chinese food place.

❤︎ my perfume wardrobe - i have a matching perfume wardrobe in my beauty binder but i like to have it in my journal too because its just such a fun page.

❤︎ glow up plans - cuz i love looking my best and thinking about how i can get even hotter.

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pedgito · 4 months ago

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𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒 | Joel Miller x reader

part three– summary | Over time and through challenges, you find a way to settle in Jackson with Joel.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, established relationship, takes place over a longer stretch of time (two years), graphic depictions of violence, angst, fluff, there's a lot of tender moments sprinkled throughout, reader's progression into her own self, mentions of sa and coercion, trauma, joel triggering some ptsd for reader, tender smut (slight somnophilia) mentions of reader's scars (though mostly vague), ending is foreshadowing (if you get it, you get it)

author's note | this was very cathartic to write, i've had this entire thing outlined for over a year and like 80% finished so a lot of time i've just spent editing and procrastinating over plot points. i originally intended for this to end very, VERY grim. but, the ending i went with is more fitting. also thank you to anyone who's taking the time to read this or has told me they relate to this story and have found comfort in it, i love you!

word count —10k

PART ONE — PART TWO — SERIES MASTERLIST

The entire situation made you uneasy.

“So, do you have a name?” Ellie asks curiously, shoveling a piece of food into her mouth, “I mean, Joel always calls you the kid or the girl—you know, he did that to me for a while, but I grew on him,”

She smiles around her food, her authenticity wholly her own.

You knew Ellie through small moments, coming and going, not seeing her much around Joel’s house as she was obviously settled into her own and spent most of her time with Dina or Jesse.

“Ellie,” Joel admonishes, “stop yapping and eat,”

“You are no fun,” Ellie says pointedly at Joel, stabbing a fork into the pile of food on her plate.

You sat beside Joel, your hands resting on your lap, eyes scanning the table. It felt strange to be here like this, in a place so domestic. Alive. Maria balances Benjamin on her hip in the kitchen as she and Tommy conversed quietly over the few sides still finishing up.

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Tommy either—it was just the overwhelming weight of the unspoken, how his eyes couldn’t stop lingering on you and Joel.

It was the way Joel always seemed to know where you were, what you needed, even before you did. It had always been like that, but tonight, it felt more pronounced than ever.

He’s moving for things before you even make a motion to ask, handing them to you without a word, a hand curling over your thigh in silence when Tommy drops a pot on the floor, startling you and baby Ben in Maria’s arms, knowing instantly how to calm you. You were like a unit, moving as one, and Tommy could clock it from a mile away.

Once everyone had finally settled at the table Tommy clanked his spoon against his bowl, his voice cutting through the quiet. “So, how’ve things been for everyone? Ain’t been much talk from Joel lately. Ellie? Everything good?”

Joel grunted in response, a low, almost reluctant sound as he forked a piece of meat.

He didn’t meet Tommy’s eyes, but his posture was rigid, almost protective, as if keeping a silent barrier between you and the world around you.

It had been a full six months since you settled into Jackson, spring on the horizon, it would be a welcome reprieve to the bitter cold and piles of thick snow.

Ellie gives a short version, cliff notes, too busy eating to put any real effort into the conversation.

“I dunno why he’s askin’ to do dinner,” Joel had admitted earlier that day, “ain’t like him.”

Most of them saw each other daily, it seemed pointless.

Tommy leaned back in his chair, his hand rubbing his chin thoughtfully but nonchalant.

He noticed how Joel had placed his chair slightly closer to yours than usual, a casual closeness that seemed almost unnatural given Joel’s opposition to people and touch. You weren’t sure if Tommy had caught on, but his eyes lingered on the two of you for a moment longer than comfortable.

This wasn’t the pair he had dismissed the night you were found, something had changed.

The fire in the hearth cracked loudly, filling the room with a dull warmth that did little to ease the tension settling in your chest. The scent of stew hung in the air, thick and comforting, but your stomach churned at the thought of eating. You weren’t used to this—family dinners, warm lighting, the sound of silverware scraping against ceramic.

It was too normal.

Too exposed.

Tommy hadn’t seen much of Joel these past months outside of patrol and meetings. Not since he’d asked him to keep an eye on you—to help you adjust, to give you someone steady to rely on. He hadn’t expected Joel to isolate with you completely. And now, sitting across from the two of you, something felt off.

Tommy cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Didn’t think I’d be seein’ you two at my table tonight, s’been a while.”

Joel barely looked up at Tommy, “Figured we should.”

Tommy let out a small chuckle, “What, outta obligation?”

Joel’s jaw twitched, “Somethin’ like that.”

Your eyes flicker between the two, quiet as you eat.

Tommy turned his attention to you, “How’s it been? You settlin’ in alright?”

You didn’t answer audibly, not that he expected you to.

“She’s fine,” Joel said, voice even as he answers for you.

Tommy’s lips pressed into a thin line. “That right?”

Joel didn’t acknowledge the shift in Tommy’s tone.

Tommy leaned back, watching the way Joel subtly angled his body toward you—protective, like he was ready to shield you from something that wasn’t even there. Instinctual.

“Joel says you’ve been doin’ well with patrol,” Tommy turns his attention toward you suddenly, ignoring Joel entirely, “you feelin’ comfortable with all of it?”

Surprisingly, you nod, though your eyes ultimately flicker toward Joel who’s staring down Tommy from across the table, quickly catching onto Tommy’s behavior.

Ellie suddenly stood, pushing her bowl away. “I’m gonna—yeah, I’m done eating,” She grabbed her plate and left the room without another word. Smart kid. She knew when to leave.

Maria leaves eventually too, tending to Benjamin as she ascends the stairs and leaves the three of you in a standoff. The rest of the dinner passed in heavy silence. You barely touched your food. Joel barely let his guard down. And Tommy barely took his eyes off the two of you.

It wasn’t until after the dishes were being cleared that Tommy saw his opening.

“Joel,” he said casually, “help me with somethin’ outside.”

Joel hesitated, glancing toward you. You gave him the smallest nod. He exhaled through his nose and followed Tommy out onto the porch without a word. The moment the door shut behind them, Tommy turned.

“What the hell is goin’ on?”

“Ain’t nothin’ goin’ on,” Joel stiffens, standing toe to toe with his brother who lowered his volume to a hushed tone.

You focused on their voices, the house having fallen quiet.

“That’s bullshit and you know it, Joel,” Tommy retorts, “Is she…should we be worried about her?”

Oh, so he thinks you were taking advantage of Joel—either assumption couldn’t be further from the truth, but it does startle you, wondering how deceptive you looked to Tommy despite how welcoming he had been toward you in the beginning.

“She’s harmless,” Joel responds, “What—suddenly you’re worried about her? You stuck her with me, made her my responsibility, and now you’re worried? What? ‘Cause I’m doin’ what you asked?”

Tommy scoffed, rubbing his hands over his face tiredly, “She’s been here six months and she hasn’t branched out at all. Not once.”

Joel’s expression darkened. “She doesn't like people. I don’t blame her.”

“Or maybe she just doesn't have a choice,” Tommy tries it, bucking up to Joel and flipping the switch, throwing the harsh accusation at his brother.

It landed. A flicker of something passed over Joel’s face, but it was gone just as quick.

Tommy took a step forward, lowering his voice. “I put her with you to help her. To give her some stability until she could fair on her own. I didn’t put her with you to keep her locked away.”

Joel’s jaw tightened. “She’s safe with me. And free to leave whenever, s’not my fault if she doesn’t want to—maybe you’ll think twice before takin’ people in because you got a good heart,” by his tone you can tell he’s trying to take a dig, “if you wanna blame anyone, blame yourself.”

Tommy shook his head.

“That what you tell yourself?”

The blame wasn’t on anyone, really.

You weren’t sure what Tommy’s angle was or if he was just worried for Joel in a weird, roundabout way.

“I think whatever is goin’ on between you two ain’t healthy—to what extent I don’t even wanna fuckin’ know, there’s a point where we gotta hope she can manage on her own,”

Joel’s expression didn’t change.

But, something in his posture did.

Tommy let out a tired sigh, defeated, “Just... think about what you’re doin’, Joel.”

When Joel finally came back in, his eyes found yours immediately.

You searched his face, looking for something—anything—to tell you what he was thinking.

He didn’t say a word.

But when he reached for you, you reached for him.

That’s what you always did.

And maybe that was the problem.

–

You’ve come to cherish the time you spend in Joel’s bed outside of sex.

After almost a year in Jackson, there are moments when things truly feel normal.

As expected, Joel does most of the talking. And to his effort, he tries to get you to speak up, but you often can’t find the courage outside of the intimate moments when he’s holding you close, mouth pressed against your skin as he buries himself inside of you.

“You really ain’t got a name?” Joel asks as he scrolls through a crossword, glasses perched on his nose in a way that felt scarily domestic, remembering Ellie’s earlier question. You scribble on the edge of the crossword, leaving a trace of yourself.

I don’t even know my parents.

You had no real identity, Joel has come to realize.

No sense of self or claim over your body and thoughts, years spent serving as nothing more than a device to be taken apart and used against your will, expected to obey.

Some of them did it purely out of fear and self-preservation, but for you, the opportunity to live a life outside of that place was more important and something you were willing to die trying for.

Still, old habits die hard.

You were trying to find the courage to speak to him in these quieter moments, making small noises when he would ask questions—a hum for yes, a soft and disgruntled noise for no.

The silence stretched between you, comfortable and stifling all at once.

You felt his fingers trace slow, absentminded circles against your ankle, his touch light, cautious. He was always cautious with you in moments like this, when there was nothing to distract from the weight of things left unsaid.

“You ain’t gotta stay quiet with me,” Joel reminds you gently, your eyes connecting for a moment.

It was strange how a man so stoic could be so soft, even if it was only shown in brief flashes.

Every time you tried, the words twisted in your throat, trapped beneath years of silence.

Being told your voice didn’t matter. That your body wasn’t yours.

That your thoughts weren’t worth having.

Joel’s hand stilled. He must have felt the way your breathing hitched.

You’d spent so long being nothing. A thing to be used. A body with no name. No choices. No voice. Nothing at all.

But here—wrapped in Joel’s warmth, his scent, the safety of his presence—you felt like something. Or someone.

Eventually, your lips parted. You sucked in a slow, shaking breath.

Joel holds his breath, having tried this over so many nights.

He feels that his conversation with Tommy was partly responsible, forcing you into a space of discomfort, like you had to listen to him.

Then, in the smallest whisper—so quiet you weren’t sure you’d even said it—you forced out, “I don’t have a name.”

Joel went still.

Then, after a long moment, his voice came low and careful.

“What d’you mean?”

You shrug, crossing your legs on the soft duvet, “I,” your mouth feels dry, like you were having an out of body experience as you spoke, like this wasn’t even real, “—didn’t…need one. He never addressed me directly. None of them did.”

Joel notices the way your tongue lingers around he, a heavy memory, a man whose face is impossible to forget.

The silence grows as Joel seems to contemplate his words, seeing how your fingers inch closer, a quiet yearning that you’ve been learning to subdue—not every act of service needed to be thanked, Joel had made that clear.

You try to ignore how your heart hammers in your chest at his silent admiration of your voice, speaking to him despite your disdain and buried fear, unsure if you could commit to more.

“Look…” he starts, his hand falling to curve around the heel of your foot, pulling your leg straight until your foot presses into the headboard of his bed, his hand traveling to rest against your upper thigh, “I ain’t ever been good at talkin’ about this kinda thing. But I gotta say it, ‘cause if I don’t, I know I’ll regret it.”

He looks serious, lips pulled into a thin line, but not unkind.

“What we've been doin’—I know why you do it. I ain't stupid.” Joel begins, your eyes locked on the way his fingers drag gently against your skin, massaging the muscle, “For a while, I let it happen ‘cause… hell, I don’t even know why. I ain’t got a reason, which makes me a bad person, taking advantage of you like that, knowin’ you had gone through hell to get here,”

You chew nervously at your bottom lip, letting the words sink in and marinate, eyes flickering up to look at him briefly, nodding in quiet understanding.

"But I don’t want that from you. Not like that. I ain’t never wanted somethin’ from you that you didn’t choose to give,” Joel admits, uncomfortable with the vulnerability of the conversation but knowing you needed to hear it, “I got my ways about me, I’m an asshole. I know, but this—I ain’t never been in a situation like this,”

You’ve never heard him talk like this, almost as if he’s spilling everything dark and vulnerable about him, laying his heart and mind out on a silver platter for you to devour.

“Sex ain’t just about… sayin’ thank you,” Joel looks at you directly, waiting to catch your eyes, “it’s supposed to mean somethin’. Be somethin’ you do when you trust someone, when you—” he licks his lips, clearing his throat as the words escape,“—care about ‘em. You understand?"

You nod softly, eyes burning with the faint sting of tears.

“You’ve never owed me nothing, kiddo.”

Eventually, Joel grows tired and stuffs the book away on his nightstand, inviting you beside him under the cover in silence, already knowing you had been itching to snake your way in, seeking out his warmth as he leans back to turn off the lamp and is met with your lips when he turns back, feeling your lips tremble with a timidness he’s not familiar with.

Something about it was different, a long and gentle press of your lips as you sigh, breathing through your nose before you pull away, shuffling closer into his chest as his chin rests at the crown of your head, rubbing slow circles over your shoulder until your breathing evened out.

Joel isn’t even sure if he’s doing this right, but he’s not sure he can let you go now.

It would do more harm than good for both of you.

–

A few months later, on another night, you find yourself in silence.

Mind filtering through a million thoughts at once, Joel sleeping quietly beside you—or so you think. His arm is slung over you, breathing slow and steady.

But you’re awake, staring up at the ceiling.

Thoughts race.

Thoughts about him, about you—the unspoken bond. And then, in the stillness, you speak.

“Joel?” you say softly, the small but meaningful utterance of his name has him stirring within seconds, blinking through bleary eyes.

He hums in question.

“Love,” such a fickle word, something you’re not sure you’ve ever felt before, the feeling foreign, “have you felt it before?”

Joel’s eyes open wider, shifting beside you as he rises on one elbow, the hand of his opposite arm reaching for you, fingers brushing absentmindedly along your arm.

It’s a loaded question—and at this hour? Joel can’t help but chuckle.

“Long time ago,” Joel responds vaguely and you’re waiting for him to continue, but he doesn’t.

You’re lying on your back, eyes stuck on the ceiling as he stares at you now.

“What does it feel like?” you ask quietly.

Joel can’t help but cherish the moment, the raw emotion in your voice that he only heard on special occasions, not under the guise of pleasure—this was just you.

Joel tenses slightly, though—his mind shifts to Sarah briefly, his life before. It felt light years away, barely able to remember her face at times.

“Kinda…feels like it’ll break,” Joel says hesitantly, “it’s somethin’....real fragile—like when you hold something too tight and it cracks,” you nod slightly in understanding, “but it's also a feeling you’re too scared to let go of, does that make sense?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt that,” you admit, looking over at him briefly before averting your eyes.

“You’re young, kiddo,” he tells you, “give it some time.”

There’s a stretch of silence before you find the courage to ask, heart skipping unnaturally.

“Who was it?”

Joel figures you lucky that he’s less guarded like this, your warmth against his chest and your bottom lip trembling slightly—it always seemed to, a lingering fear that never left you.

“My daughter,” Joel explains simply, no sugarcoating or lies, “she died….long time ago,”

“Before?”

Joel nods, a solemn expression flashing across his face before he sets it right.

You don't press him.

But you wonder, deep down, if he’s afraid he might be feeling it again.

When you find your voice outside of Joel, it was in a moment of defense.

You’re not sure why—well, that isn’t entirely true.

You know why, but you can’t explain how the feeling overtook you like possession.

Tommy had suggested you go on patrols with Jimmy, a younger man in his mid-twenties and closer to your age, a reliable man, as Tommy insisted. You’ve never even seen him, let alone was willing to speak with him or venture out beyond the walls.

It could be anyone else. Ellie, Dina—hell, even Tommy himself. You could fair there, but it seemed like Tommy was forcing you out of your comfort zone without any understanding of what that would mean to you.

“You’re smotherin’ her, Joel,” Tommy argues.

“She’s capable of makin’ her own choices,” Joel defends, turning to you, “I ain’t keepin’ you here, am I?”

You shake your head, arms crossed tight over your chest.

“She needs more than just you,” Tommy responds, “or me—or Ellie, I’ve got people askin’ about her, worried she might—”

“Might what?” Joel asks, warning Tommy to tread carefully,

“I’m just sayin’, people are weirded out by her behavior,” Again, talking as if you weren’t there, you find the anger in your chest beginning to swell, “She can try more—that’s all I’m askin’,”

“I don’t want more,” you spit out, both of the men freezing in place.

Joel turns so fast it’s like he doesn’t believe what he just heard.

Tommy blinks, his mouth parting slightly in shock.

“I don’t want more,” your tone softens, looking down as you scuff your shoe against the wood of the porch, “I don’t need more.”

Joel’s face contorts in a way that makes Tommy frown with the realization, because whatever mess the two of you were tangled into wasn’t one-sided in the slightest and if Tommy was honest with himself, he knew Joel was in much deeper.

The next time you speak, it was completely unprompted, feeling him thrash violently in bed beside you—he’s had his own nightmares before, usually consisting of him waking in a sweat or mumbling in his sleep, but this one was particularly alarming, like he was being attacked in his slumber as his arm swings up and knocks the lamp to the floor, ceramic shattering and still, he remained deep in the state of fight, and you were trying your hardest to shake him out of it, slapping his face gently as you held down his other arm.

“J—Joel,” you croak, voice thick with sleep and lack of use, always sounding like the words croaked from your mouth any time you spoke, “Joel—wake up!”

He flinches harshly but his eyes fly open, wild before they land on you and his blurry vision becomes clear, the sound of your voice grounding him into reality.

“It’s okay,” your voice shakes, watching as his throat bobbed with a harsh swallow.

He couldn’t explain how your voice had become such a comfort to him.

Like it was something he’s been missing.

And the first time he hears you laugh he swears he imagined it.

Ellie makes a terrible joke at his expense and the sound comes out too naturally, a triumphant grin crossing Ellie’s face as you both look at Joel who suddenly feels like he’s in a battle of two against one, hands held up in defeat.

“At least someone laughs at my jokes,” Ellie defends, watching as Joel rolls his eyes fondly.

“So, you’ll laugh when she makes a joke but not at mine?” Joel asks.

You shrug, “They’re good,” You chirp quietly.

Ellie throws her hands out in smug triumph.

“Stay bitter, old man.”

“Old man? I’ll tell Tommy to pair you up with Eugene,” Joel threatens.

Tough break, you think.

“Wha—no, what the fuck? That’s a total abuse of power,”

Joel shrugs as to mock you, catching your gaze briefly with a faint smile.

You’ve never felt more at ease in your life and that terrified you.

–

It happens over time, months, years.

The first year you spend in Jackson is hard—from the moment Ellie has found you on the outskirts of their walls, struggling to break old habits that had been instilled in you from birth, and finding comfort in society that only wanted to live, not take.

Jackson was a community, a family.

You still felt like a stranger, an obedient puppy at Joel’s side, shadowing him wherever he went. Patrols, always. The dining hall, occasionally. He never forces you to attend the fancier events held for the community with overwhelming sights of unfamiliar faces and too many voices. The music, the kids, drunkards getting loud around the tables they liked to play roulette at.

You liked silence and so did Joel.

Besides, he’s much softer in these moments.

You’re helping him with dinner when you watch Ellie approach him, arms spread out as he pulls her in.

A hug full of feeling, watching his eyes drift close as his cheek presses into the crown of her head, a grin splitting on her face as he squeezes her too tight, playfully shoving him away.

You never asked personal questions, only thrived off the assumptions in your head, but Joel knows you. He can see the way your eyes beg a question but you’re too afraid to ask.

“I’ll make a deal,” he begins, chopping into the vegetables as you peel potatoes with care, “use your voice and I’ll answer whatever questions is buggin’ you, fair?”

You nod, chewing at your bottom lip habitually before you find the courage to speak, “You…Ellie…” often your words felt disjointed, not that you didn’t understand, but you found yourself being concise, quick, using as little words as possible to get your point across and Joel notices too.

“She’s not mine, biologically,” Joel admits casually, “s’long story, but family ain’t always blood,”

You nod in understanding, the quiet growing again as you place the vegetable and utensil aside, “Her…family?”

“Don’t know much,” Joel shrugs, “kid was dealt a bad hand, but she’s special—a pain in the ass but, she’s good.”

–

Time progresses further, finding comfort through the seasons.

You’ve rotated through different jobs, none of them feeling right without Joel.

And it takes a while, but eventually something clicks.

As a step, you try your attempts at wall patrol—only when Joel wasn’t going out and he was busy planning the patrol schedule out over being gone for days at a time, too worried to leave you, but becoming slightly complacent and selfish in the time he spends inside the walls.

It works for a handful of months, minimal risk, always within shouting distance from Joel.

It was rare for stragglers to come wandering through the woods too, but as someone who had been on the other side, your empathy shines through in a moment of misjudgment one night.

Everyone is on break but you—Tommy and Joel were strict about at least one person always having eyes on the entrance and it wasn’t unsurprising that people jumped on the opportunity to leave you with the responsibility while they snuck away for a break.

You had just opened the gates for Ellie and Dina as they were coming back from the route, pushing the thick doors closed when you spot someone off in the distance, a man stumbling with great difficulty as he limps towards the gate. He’s clutching his side, doubling over in pain, and you feel the jolt of a distant memory pulling at you—a time when you were the one begging silently for help.

By the time you turn over your shoulder, Ellie and Dine are long gone.

Fuck.

“Please!” The shout is faint but enough to stir some instinct deep within you.

The others are too far and he’s approaching quickly, blood leaking from the side of his face as he slumps to his knees by your feet as he reaches you. You dig your heels into dirt and pull the gate open again, just enough for him to slip through with your aid, arm looping into his own.

He collapses onto the ground as soon as he makes it inside, pulling you down as you kneel beside him, “Th—thank you,” he gasps out. His face is flush, not indicative of someone who’s dealt with the elements very long, but he’s bleeding, clearly in pain.

You’re kneeling by his side when Joel’s voice cuts through the tension, sharp and angry.

“What the hell?!” He’s charging toward the gate with his revolver in hand, Tommy trailing behind him with wide eyes, flicking briefly between the two of you.

In any other situation, you wouldn’t have thought twice to leave the man behind, hellbent on survival at whatever cost. You knew better. Your instincts are sharp; they’ve kept you alive long enough, but your newfound heart wins over logical reasoning.

As the crowd of people grows, you find your throat swelling with anxiety.

Desperately, you try to convey your worry through looks.

“Y’all got jobs to do,” Joel snaps, “get back to your station,”

He dismissively moves your hand away as he hauls the man to his feet, the man groaning in deep pain as he shoves him toward Tommy, passing him off before his arm is circling around your bicep and tugging you away, struggling to keep up with his hurried steps until he can find a private spot, cornering you with a face you haven’t seen in almost two years.

“You got a death wish or something?” Joel growls, “Why’d you let him in?”

The intensity of his gaze pins you, and you swallow hard against the pressure building in your chest. Bottom lip trembling with fear, “I—I couldn’t leave him,” you stammer out weakly, emotions tying words into knots, it hurts to speak—to defend yourself.

You weren’t sure what you did was right, but it felt that way in the moment.

“He was hurt.” Joel’s jaw clenches at your words, a muscle twitching near his temple, veins protruding. He shoves a hand through his greying hair and drops his voice low, not any less terrifying than when he had yelled at you a moment ago—it has been so long since you’ve seen this side of him, unrestrained rage.

“He could be fuckin’ bit,” Joel argues, “hell—maybe he’s fakin’, but you never—never make that decision on your own,” his hand is flying around in anger, pointing from you and to the gate, “you don’t know if he was staging an ambush or if he would’ve had a knife. You can’t be this fucking naive, I’m not gonna be around to save you all the time and—”

“Stop,” you plead, blinking away the tears that formed quickly, “please, stop—just—”

Joel pauses, a steely expression on his face.

“D-don’t be mad at me. I-I know I messed up.” You wipe at your cheeks, but the tears keep coming, and you can’t stop them, can’t stop yourself from shaking. The air between you feels thick and charged, like he had finally found the opportunity to rid himself of you.

Joel’s eyes soften for a fraction of a second before hardening again. He takes a deep breath, and you flinch as he reaches out, not sure if he’s going to hold you or hit you, familiarizing his emotion with violence after years of being on the receiving end of angry, vile men.

He does neither.

Instead, his hand falls to his side in defeat, “You’re lucky it wasn’t worse.”

Suddenly, you’ve never felt so small.

–

Joel doesn’t return home until late that night, heavy boot stomps carrying words he couldn’t find the energy to say, finding his bed earlier empty as he approaches his room.

There wasn’t a single trace of you, not here, or anywhere he would usually find you, his mind suddenly going into a panic as he searched frantically through the house—his bathroom, the kitchen, the backyard and into Ellie’s guest house, but nothing.

As he approaches the living room, he notices the lack of blankets and pillows before his head whips toward the basement, door closed and lights off, slowly, he approaches.

What he finds makes the pit in his stomach sink—you, curled up on the old, fragile frame of the bed that held a mattress stained and tattered, sleeping soundly but unknowing of how long.

His anger, his words, had driven you down here, away from the warmth of the house.

You didn’t feel like you belonged there now.

He feels a pang of guilt. Basements were not meant for living; they were for storage and solitude and silence.

He’s reduced you to this; a thing to be stored away.

Joel approaches with a quieter step, kneeling down at your bedside.

“Hey.” His voice is soft, almost gentle. “Hey.”

You stir, blinking bleary eyes up at him.

For a moment, confusion clouds your face before it shifts to apprehension, and Joel feels something twist in his chest. You jump back, scared. Eyes wide and fearful.

He fucking hated it.

“Hey,” he tries again, his hands hovering close, curling around the edge of the blanket like he wanted to swoop you into his arms, “You gotta come upstairs.”

You shake your head, pulling the thin blanket tighter around yourself, moving away from him.

“You can’t sleep down here,” he insists, firmer this time but without the sharpness to his tone like earlier, “C’mon, kiddo.”

You shake your head again, face softening as you frowned and pushed him away with a gentleness that tugs at Joel’s heart.

Joel sighs long, deep, hands spreading out over his knees before he admits defeat.

He retreats back upstairs with heavy steps, but this time they speak of regret rather than anger.

Out of precaution, they kept that man separated from the community, locked up in a spare cell.

It’s been a few days—but, the real problem comes as they strip him of his bloodied clothes to supply him with new ones, the bag of trashed clothes coming home with Joel later that week as he prepared to burn them out back—not before he pulls himself a small glass of bourbon, simmering in his own thoughts.

Like a mouse, you sneak up on him.

It was a strange flash of the past that tore Joel up inside, watching you pour yourself a glass of water from the pitcher in the fridge before you eye the pile of clothes on the counter. It wasn’t the egregious amount of blood that shocked you, but the threading—gold flecks underneath dark patterns that had you inching forward carefully, reaching out with timid fingers to shift the fabric out of the way to reveal the gold symbol that instantly made your body seize up, the glass in your hand crashing to the floor and over your feet, ignorant to the shards of glass pricking your skin and the water soaking your shirt.

“Shit,” Joel mutters in shock, shooting up to his feet and reaching for you before he stops himself. His hands hover like a curse again, unsure of what to do with them or you.

He decides on a worn dish towel, thrusts it in your direction, “What’s wrong?”

You’re stuck where you stand, no sense of time or movement. Eyes fixed wide on the clothes.

“Hey,” his voice is soft, low, and tender, “you can talk to me, s’alright—”

You come back to life with a jolt at his touch, pulling away from him and dropping the towel onto the floor. “I need to get out,” you tell him cryptically, “I need to leave.”

It was the first time he had heard you speak in days and the words are heart wrenching.

He follows your eye line and grabs at the material, crumpling it in his hand as he brings it toward you.

“This mean anything to you?”

You nod meekly, subtle.

Your eyes are burning with tears that don’t quite fall, refusing to shed as you push his hand away and take a few steps back, feeling dizzy and intensely nauseous.

“Oh, wo-woah,” Joel follows you in a way that seems territorial, but is purely out of concern, quickly guiding you toward the sink as the bile in your stomach comes to the surface, gagging into the sink as Joel turns the faucet on, his warm hand at your back, “shit—baby, you’re alright,”

Your head snaps to the side, cautious to his words.

It slips out and even Joel can’t look at you for too long, cheeks heating in shame.

You search his face for cracks in his facade, wondering if this was a trick—that he wasn’t going to blow up at you like a flipped switch, all too accustomed to retaliatory behavior.

“Bad men?” Joel asks after a while, coming to the conclusion based on your initial reaction and your tightened jaw as you stared at him.

You nod, stronger this time.

“Did you know him?”

The truth? You had no clue who he was.

He was unfamiliar, but he belonged to them.

“No, but he’s with them.”

This changed things.

And he needed to talk with Tommy—soon.

—

Joel knows what he’s required to do, though that part of him had long since been dormant. Firing off a gun was much different than something like this, close and personal, the possibility of watching someone’s life fade under the force of your hands.

He expected you to stay behind given how shook up you were about the entire thing—to him, it still made no sense.

The man was hurt, a sizable gash to his leg and a superficial head wound. But, nothing life threatening; no gaping wounds, no bites. And he seemed uneasy, just another suspicion confirmed that what he had sensed the moment the man had passed beyond the gates wasn’t here seeking help.

He was sent for something.

Joel has an idea, but they would have to kill him first.

You stand quietly in the corner as Joel paces the room, knowing Tommy was stationed just outside the door.

Methods like this weren’t widely accepted in Jackson, people too sheltered to have experienced real threat or harm. But, you understand.

You’ve been on both sides—the helpless victim tied up and waiting for your imminent death, but in the same vein, you’ve watched a man lose his life under the pressure of your blade.

You still don’t recognize him, though that isn’t a surprise. Fresh recruits were filtering in every week, new unsuspecting faces ready to be trained into soldiers, killing machines. Men with an insatiable thirst for violence.

He seems to notice you, though.

Eyes wander, survey—the subservient position you took in the corner wasn’t on purpose, rather habit.

Joel didn’t want you to speak, didn’t want you to put yourself in a position to be attacked. He wanted the man to strike first and give Joel a reason to punish him.

Eventually, it happens.

“Damien’s got pictures of you, carries it everywhere,” the man says around Joel, his voice surprisingly calm, “they take one of each of the girls, but you…”

You flinch at the name. Joel notices.

Joel’s blade flicks open and the man chuckles, eyeing him with challenge.

“Go on, kill me,” he taunts, “I’m not telling you anything.”

Joel grunts and flares his nostrils before he approaches the man and grabs his hand, quickly slicing through the skin, muscle, and bone of one finger before reaching into the small fire pit placed at the center of the room, cauterizing the wound without missing a beat.

You don’t even react, watching Joel work like muscle memory—normally, you would feel fear.

But, with Joel, it was a strange unrecognizable feeling.

The young man curses out in pain, thrashing against his binds in the chair as Joel clasps his hand over his mouth, cloth acting as a barrier so he wouldn’t get bit.

“Are there more of you coming?” Joel asks in a calculated tone, “Did they send you here to survey?”

“They’re not after her,” the man chokes out with a sick grin, “but when they find her here, well…”

Joel wraps his fingers around short strands of hair and yanks the man’s head to the side, the point of his knife positioned at the man’s jugular.

“Oh—woahwoah, wait!”

It’s embarrassing how easy it is to make a weak man break.

“They’ve…been watching this place for a while,” he admits breathlessly, eyes glancing nervously at Joel’s knife, “I just did what I was told—they roughed,” a strangled swallow and a quick breath from the man, your arms tighten over your chest as you stare him down, “roughed me up and—and I was supposed to create an opening in a couple days, they—“

“How far are they?” Joel asks suddenly.

“I dunno man!” He shouts.

“Why?” You speak up without warning, both of the men’s attention drawing toward you, “Why now?”

He swallows, eyes flicking up toward Joel out of fear.

“We’re running low—on supplies, housing, everything. This place is the closest that looked—looked worth taking.”

“Where are they now?” You know he knows, pressing the matter.

“I don’t fucking—“

You step forward quickly, ripping the knife out of Joel’s hand and positioning it at the center of the man’s chest, right above his heart.

“Okayokay—the lodge—the fucking lodge!” He sputters, “We’ve been watching your patrol schedules for months and they found a blind spot, they’re held up at the lodge. Please, I told you, just don’t fucking—“

The blood rises in his throat quickly, your face scrunching up in disdain as you press the blade through his skin until it reaches his heart and his body slumps, staring at Joel the entire time.

For a moment, there’s bewilderment.

The last time you and Joel stood around a dead body there had been nothing but raw desire and emotion, but now there was an understanding. Connection.

“That was stupid,” he remarks, with no real threat in his voice, “really fuckin’ stupid.”

“You would have ended up killing him too.”

You weren’t wrong and Joel knew it.

—

It’s hastily planned, but done with an urgency that carries a heavy burden.

It was Tommy, Joel, and a handful of men, stirring around the gate at midnight when Joel catches you sneaking up on him, bag packed and ready to leave.

He’d left you there for reasons unknown—possibly out of guilt, or fear, but it didn’t matter because you were here and you were going, whether he liked the idea or not.

He doesn’t even combat it, really.

“You sure?” he asks with no malice or apprehensiveness.

Your nod is all he needs.

The world outside the walls is always nothing but silence—eerie and gaunt.

Each footfall of a hoof echoes with a dread that is almost tangible and the wind is loud, roaring in your eyes as it sings a mournful tune.

Joel’s eyes meet yours briefly and in them, an unspoken agreement.

This was necessary, even if it is dangerous.

The hours that pass feel like years, the sun on the rise as you near the lodge.

It was quiet, too quiet—no movement, no sign of life.

Tommy was the first one to break off, telling Joel he was going to scope out the place on his own and you can see the way Joel’s jaw tenses at the idea, the muscle refusing to relax until his brother returns.

And when he does, there’s a slight breathlessness to his tone, “They’re sleepin’,” he tells Joel, “fuck waiting—we can get in there and deal with this before it turns into a blood bath,”

Joel’s already signaling the others, horses hitched to nearby trees and before you realize it, you’re moving again, faster now.

A plan is made with nothing more than hand signals. Half of you will circle around back, cover escape routes; the rest, straight through the front, guns drawn and ready. They wouldn’t have anywhere to go.

It’s as you approach, stuck to Joel’s side, that he can see the way your eyes dart around.

And then you spot him.

You hadn’t mentioned him to Joel, the history or the trauma that came with—but it was their leader, an older man who towered like an ox, intimidating without even trying.

There’s fear there, in your face, but it’s not the kind Joel expects and he knows you well enough to recognize it for what it is—you were starting to dissociate, his finger circling around your wrist to ground you as his hand tightened around the revolver in his grip. He almost says something, almost lets it slip, but there’s no time and it doesn’t matter now.

It’s not until you’re in the main room, a collection of cots and sleeping bodies in front of you, as they are able to subdue a few men with the end of their knives, that a floorboard betrays your presence.

The creak is deafening and you feel Joel tense beside you, his finger poised on the trigger.

Then suddenly, it's chaos.

You weren’t a fighter in this sense, so Joel’s main objective is to keep you close but away—it was a bloodbath in an instant, the flurry of grunts from men at the end of their life and Joel hastily shoves an attacker away before he shoots him point blank in the chest.

To your left, Tommy and another guy are pinning two men against the wall, barking orders to drop weapons and stand down and another man lunges toward you as Joel takes him down with a grim efficiency that speaks volumes of his past.

He doesn’t miss a beat.

But, somewhere amongst the fight, your grip slips from Joel, the blade of your knife slicing through the neck of a stranger, a man, an attacker, as you scramble toward the corner of the room.

There’s only a few moments of calm as you catch your breath, before a gun is being pressed against your neck and your arms are twisted behind your back and tugged, pressing you close to the solid press of a body.

Joel’s eyes had left you for a second—a second.

“I’ll put a bullet through her pretty little head,” Damien, their esteemed leader, shouts behind you, gasping at the grip he has on your hands, twisting them awkwardly behind your back, “think you got your fuckin’ fill, killing my men—”

Joel cocks his gun without hesitation and in retaliation, the leader does the same.

You close your eyes, an unsettling calm washing over you.

“You either leave without her or you don’t leave this place alive.”

—

"She’s not yours to claim,” Joel responds,” she’s not anyone’s."

Damien sneers, a sick grin crossing his features, "You think giving her freedom is a favor? She doesn't know what to do with it. She never did. She’s always been mine."

It was your choice to be here—not Joel’s.

Yours and yours alone.

Despite his domineering position behind you, gun still tight against your throat—he sounded pathetic, not a single man to pedestal him up.

They all laid dead, strewn about the lodge and outside.

He didn’t stand a chance and yet—

“You don’t walk away from this. You don’t get to keep her."

He’s stalling—you can see it.

No one was coming, he had no tricks up his sleeve.

He’d relied on the element of surprise, hoping to blindside and ambush the town with ease.

“No one is going to keep me, not anymore,” you force through gritted teeth, “ and definitely not you.”

“You little bitch,” He snaps, slamming the but of the gun against your head as you fall to the floor, groaning in pain, “I’ll fucking gut y—”

Joel doesn’t let him finish.

The blood splatters against your face as you fall to your ass, a bullet ripping through his skull.

There is stillness then, almost immediate, a quiet that seeps through the lodge and pulses beneath your skin. A thunderous sort of silence. You feel it in the air, violent, rushing—yet nothing moves.

Joel shoves his gun into his jeans and approaches you with a careful hand, leaning down and using the fabric of his flannel button down to wipe away the thick blood from your face, staring up at him silently in the process of his movement, malleable to his hands as cleans you up.

And just like that, you owe everything to him. Again.

But, you knew there was no need for thanks—it was implied in the stretch of his gaze and a gentle nod.

—

“He raised me,” you explain to Joel a few moments later, staring down at the lifeless body of the man who had held you captive for years, reduced to nothing, “like—a father? But, then he—”

You watch as a few of the men begin to wrap up the body and prepare to drag it out the backdoor of the lodge.

“You ain’t gotta get into it, sweetheart,” Joel comforts, standing near but not touching.

You kneel down and reach into his pocket, stiffness under the fabric that leads you to a stack of items. A small knife, a hastily drawn map, and a few polaroids—just as the younger man had said.

They're unflattering to look at, bringing back an intense wave of emotion as you stare at yourself in the photos, laid in a compromising position and bare of any clothes. Joel can see the tremble in your fingers, unsure, so he pulls the polaroid away and promptly rips it in half, then again, letting the pieces drift to the floor.

Like it never existed.

“He started touching me after the surgery,” you continued despite his words, “then it was hours—days, sometimes. I had to be there for him, whenever he wanted. It hurt. The sex. But, they’re nicer when you take care of them. If I resisted, he'd cut me, hit me, burn me.”

Joel finds himself speechless for the first time in his life.

“They should go for them,” you tell Joel decisively.

The girls—the others, the ones too fearful to make the choice you did.

You knew they were still there.

“They deserve a chance, too—like the one you gave me. I can lead you there.”

Joel stares at you with a new look, face twitching with minimal emotion but his eyes spoke louder.

The difference between the girl he’d taken in so long ago and the one standing in front of him now was night and day.

After the men had decidedly made the move to raid the compound, there were about twenty girls—wounded, injured, but fortunately alive, that they were prepared to take in.

With that, Joel sees you come into your own.

A lot of your time for the next handful of months was spent caring for them, rehabilitating them, and being a source of hope and comfort in a time where they weren’t sure how to feel.

Joel’s astounded by the change.

And you’ve always known to admire—often for the sake of men’s pleasure and their own sick enjoyment. But, like this, sat in Joel's lap as he gave himself over, comfortable in the silence as his fingers slid up and down your thighs—this was for you.

His scars are plenty—scattered over his chest; some from knives from what you can tell, others from scrapes and gashes that didn’t heal well, a few lingering marks under his chin and one that rested unspoken against his temple.

Your thumb grazes over the raised skin and Joel is quick to guide your hand away, but gentle.

Joel mirrors the sentiment, admiring every inch of your body with a silent look, eyes focused on the trail of his fingers, the way you shiver from his touch.

His curiosity is like his touch—persistent, soothing. It’s easy to let yourself melt into him, let the heat and intimacy roll over both of you. You can see the exhaustion on his face, too.

It was a long day for both of you, too much violence and strife for any one person.

You’ve never slept so soundly next to him, but his touch returns in the morning.

His hands trail over you with such careful urgency, a man intent on giving, taking only the contentment that washes across your face, watching you rouse from sleep.

You shift beside him, pressing closer to the growing need that stirs between you both. His hand is incredibly wonderous between your legs as he guides your knee up, spreading yourself open for him as you shift more to your stomach. Joel pulls you in and his mouth grazes over your shoulder, each kiss a promise of something deeper, something more.

His breathing catches when you move against his fingers, an unexpected vulnerability in the way he traces circles on your bare back with his lips and tongue.

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he murmurs, voice low and driving right through you like a knife.

And he means it.

Heat pools inside you, spreading like a wildfire. Joel’s fingers dig into your hips as you push your shorts down, underwear pooling at your ankles before you kick them away and settle yourself against his cock as he hastily shoves them down, pulling a gasp from both of you.

He groans softly and the sound sends a shiver down your spine.

You’re not eager, either—not as ravenous as usual. This was entirely for Joel and you were okay with that, in fact, you wanted it more than you cared to admit.

Joel presses his forehead into the crook of your neck, lips grazing your skin as he exhales,his fingers slide from your hips to cup your ass, pulling you further in. Your fingers twist into the sheets as you moan into your pillow, a weak sound that Joel wouldn’t have heard had he not been so close.

He’s warm and hard against you, letting yourself melt into it, into him.

He moves slowly, each roll of his hips deliberate and electrifying.

You moan again, unable to keep it in as he shifts his grip slightly to find the angle that makes you whimper and bite down into the sheets.

The sound of his breathing fills the air between you, ragged and raw.

The room is filled with the desperate sound of skin on skin and his soft noises.

“Fuck,” he whispers, more of a breath than anything

Your hand finds purchase in his hair behind you, clutching tightly as he thrusts deeper.

He’s pressed against every inch of your body, sinking into the sheets as his hand comes around your head, hovering over you lazily as he fucks you without urgency, hot skin against your own and you’ve never wanted something—someone, so bad.

The whole world narrows down to this—the two of you.

And you couldn’t be more satisfied.

Life had a sick way of give and take.

As you find your place, your comfort with Joel again, Ellie slips through his fingers.

The conversation about Ellie’s immunity was never something you were supposed to hear, but it came about during a hushed conversation late at night, sneaking out of Joel’s bed to the faint rumbling of voices.

“You don’t think it’s strange I’ve never met anyone else like me?” Ellie asked, coat and shoes on like she was prepared to leave—patrols never left this late.

There is nothing but silence on Joel’s end, glancing at her sideways from the kitchen table, his reading glasses perched on his nose and a book open in front of him, knowing Joel was riddled with an insomnia you’ve become familiar with.

“Ellie, enough,” you can hear the way his teeth grind, “we’re not talkin’ about this right now,”

You see his chin turn slightly behind him, sensing your presence.

But, Ellie doesn’t seem the slightest bit perturbed.

“I can’t be turned,” she says suddenly, at you, “I’m immune.”

It was like a child rambling off her darkest secret, much to the dismay of Joel as his chair skirts back and he stands, a warning.

“She barely talks,” Ellie says offhandedly, and it stings, “who’s she gonna tell?”

There’s a brief flash of apology that shows on her face, but she focuses on Joel, simmering with a similar anger you’ve seen within him. It was damn near identical.

Later, after Ellie leaves for the night, you find yourself curled up against Joel, his fingers rubbing idly against your shoulder as he tries to sleep, but fails.

“What did you do?” you ask suddenly, turning your head up to look at him, his face emotionless.

“They wanted to test on her,” Joel tells you, like he’s reciting a script, “weren’t even sure it would work, it was just experimental. They wanted to dissect on her brain, all on a fuckin’ maybe—I saved her.”

“Is it what she wanted?”

Joel pauses, eyes flicking down briefly and away from you, guilt washing over his features.

“She deserves a life—that cure, it was a goddamn pipe dream, that’s it.”

You stay quiet, chewing at the inside of your cheek as you try to put yourself in his shoes, understanding the choices he made.

“I killed…” Joel starts hesitantly, not that his violent side was unfamiliar to you, “a lot of people, innocent ones to protect Ellie.

“Does she know?” you ask curiously, not an ounce of judgement in your tone, something that Joel seems to notice, his shoulders relaxing.

He shakes his head in silence.

You nod with a somber understanding and curl into him, fingers tugging at the center of his shirt until he angles his body against your own. It takes time, but eventually sleep takes him, the warmth of you wrapped around him.

—

You had decidedly packed Joel’s bag for patrol a few weeks later, his first patrol without you by his side in almost two years, listening to the faint voice of Joel and Ellie on the front porch as you traverse the Miller home.

The tension between Ellie and Joel had risen to a point unfathomable—after she had discovered Joel’s wrongdoings, it had become a heavy point of contention.

And the party from a couple nights ago was the catalyst.

It was supposed to be a celebration for the town, nothing but joy to go around.

You’ve never seen Joel so helpless, attempting to defend Ellie in a moment of vulnerability, not realizing just how well Ellie has come to hold her own. She’d given Joel the full wrath of her resentment toward him and stormed off without a word, nothing but sadness on Joel’s face.

This conversation was a long time coming, months of build up and frustration culminating, hushed voices and broken whispers as Joel looked down somberly into his empty mug from the blinds you peeked through, hastily brushing away a tear.

He joins you in his room a while later, his belongings packed up in the chair at his desk, the lamp at his bedside table illuminating the room in a dull, orange glow.

“It was time to let go,” you assure him, knowing Joel had done everything he could to protect Ellie, “She’ll figure it out—and if she needs to, I’m sure she’ll come to you.”

Joel brings your knuckles to his lips, looking at you as he pressed a kiss to the skin before tugging you playfully forward, quickly swinging your leg over his thigh so you could straddle him properly.

“You’ll wake up tired in the morning,” you warn him, eager fingers digging into supple flesh, his thumb pushing the fabric of your shorts down, “Joel—seriously,”

“I’m dead serious,” he responds, using you as a distraction, eyes focused on the sliver of skin peeking from under your top, his thumb rubbing over the faded scar, your hand pressing to hold him there, “—sure you can handle a couple days without me?”

You nod assuredly, pressing a gentle and teasing kiss to his lips that he chases eagerly.

“You’re gonna make me wait, aren’t ya?” Joel asks, a slight chuckle in the back of his throat as you push him away playfully.

"Gotta make sure you come home to me," you tell him.

It was a big step, relinquishing the claim you and Joel had on one another, fearful that something horrible would happen if you two were to part—but you knew that Joel was careful, safe.

Even with hoard creeping closer and winter releasing it’s wrath this time of year, Joel had never been reckless. He was indestructible, really.

He’d survive—he’d come home to you.

Joel smiles lazily, breathing in your scent as he buries his face into your neck and rolls you into the bed, cuddling himself around your back.

It was a welcome change to not be treated so fragile, like you would break from a single touch—without Joel, you weren’t sure you would have ever reached this point.

To him, you were forever indebted.

Joel had fixed the things about you he’d never broken, rebuilt you piece by piece and reinforced the strength with his words, his actions—because without him, you weren’t sure you would have ever survived this long.

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