#pedro pascal oc

[fartthepart]

marco. the man you are.

[cherryscribs]

Valentina Hernandez! My ᴾᵉᵈʳᵒ ᴾᵃˢᶜᵃˡ Oc!!

She’s a chef, punk but doesn’t feel like putting in much effort into her looks lol

[mssalo]

worship

Ignored and humiliated by your husband, you find yourself in Joel's arms-his best friend who's been silently craving you for far too long. One heated night pushes you both over the edge, and Joel isn't holding back. He's ready to give you what your husband never could: everything.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, cheating, body worship, your husband treating you bad, Joel treating you good, oral (f receiving), kissing, (P in V), pinning, cumming Inside, breeding kink, Joel gets nasty with it, 10k

Part: 2

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

The late afternoon sunlight filtered gently through the lace curtains, casting soft patterns across the dining table where you sat with Sarah, helping her with her homework. Your smile, though kind, felt heavy today. You leaned over the table, explaining a math problem to her with patience, even though your mind was clouded with thoughts of your husband.

It had been weeks—maybe months—since he’d been fully present. You had long suspected something was off, but now it was undeniable. He came home late, if at all, and when he did, his eyes never seemed to meet yours. You’d catch glimpses of texts on his phone, messages you weren’t supposed to see. You weren’t stupid. You knew.

But you’d spent so long being the perfect wife, the one who never caused trouble. He’d always introduced you as his “trophy,” an arm to show off at events, beautiful and polished. It was the role you’d filled for years, playing the part he wanted you to play. Smile, be perfect, don’t question. And you had been doing just that for far too long, even though inside you were crumbling.

You brushed a strand of hair from your face and forced a warm smile as Sarah struggled with her fractions.

You adored Joel’s daughter. She was smart, sweet, and had a lightness about her that made your heart ache with a longing for the family you never had. Sarah was only fourteen, but she had a way of reading people that made you think she saw right through you.

“You’re doing great, sweetie,” you encouraged her softly. “Just think of the numerator as the number on top and the denominator as the number on the bottom.”

Sarah gave you a soft smile, but it was clear she wasn’t fully focused. Her big, brown eyes studied you carefully, picking up on the sadness that lingered just beneath the surface of your cheerful demeanor.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice hesitant but filled with concern. “You seem… off today.”

Your heart sank a little at the realization that she noticed. You were supposed to be the adult here, the one keeping it all together, but it was getting harder to hide the cracks. You blinked back the tears threatening to well up, reaching over to give Sarah’s hand a gentle squeeze.

“I’m okay, baby,” you whispered softly, trying to steady your voice. “Just a little tired, that’s all.”

Sarah looked at you for a moment longer, her brow furrowed as if she didn’t quite believe you, but she didn’t push it. She was too kind for that, too sweet. You wished your own husband had even a fraction of the empathy this girl had. Instead, he barely acknowledged your presence anymore, leaving you to feel like a ghost in your own home.

After Sarah finished her homework, you walked her to the door, sending her off with her usual hug. She hugged you back tightly, sensing more than you were letting on, but when you said goodbye, you assured her again that you were fine. She gave you one last concerned look before heading home.

After Sarah left, the silence in the house became overwhelming, filling every corner with the weight of your thoughts.

You leaned against the door for a moment, closing your eyes, fighting the urge to let the tears spill over. It was getting harder to keep up the facade. The loneliness, the sense of being unseen in your own marriage—it was suffocating.

You’d done everything you could to save the relationship, to bring back the warmth that had once existed between you and your husband, but there was nothing left.

With a deep breath, you pushed away from the door and headed to the kitchen, trying to busy yourself with anything that could distract you from the ache in your chest. But the sound of a knock at the door startled you, pulling you out of your thoughts. You weren’t expecting anyone.

When you opened it, Joel stood on your porch, concern etched into his rugged features. His broad shoulders seemed even larger framed by the doorway, his familiar Texas drawl cutting through the silence as he spoke.

“Hey,” he said, his voice gentle but serious. “Sarah told me you weren’t doing too good today. Figured I’d come by and check on you.”

You blinked, surprised but not unwelcome to see him standing there. It took a moment for you to gather your thoughts, your heart catching in your throat at the sight of him. Joel had always been kind to you, always present in a way your husband wasn’t. He was a steady, comforting presence in your life, one you had grown to rely on more than you ever intended.

“I—I’m fine,” you stammered, your voice shaky. “I didn’t mean to worry her. It’s just been a long day.”

Joel’s brow furrowed, and he didn’t hesitate to step inside, closing the door behind him. He looked down at you with those dark, thoughtful eyes of his, reading you in ways you wished your husband still could. His gaze softened, but he didn’t buy your answer for a second.

“You don’t gotta put up a front with me,” he said, his voice low and steady. “I can tell somethin’s been bothering you.”

It was those words—the way he said them with such understanding, such care—that made something in you break. You couldn’t hold it together any longer, not with Joel standing there, offering the kind of concern and kindness you hadn’t felt in so long. The tears you had been holding back began to well up again, this time falling before you could stop them.

Joel stepped forward, his hands settling gently on your arms.

“Hey, hey now… don’t cry,” he murmured softly. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

His words, so simple yet so full of warmth, only made the tears come faster. You wiped at your cheeks, embarrassed that you were falling apart like this in front of him.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “I didn’t mean to… it’s just… everything feels so wrong.”

Joel’s grip tightened slightly, a gesture of reassurance. He guided you over to the couch, sitting beside you as you tried to compose yourself. You leaned into him instinctively, finding comfort in the solid presence of his body next to yours. Joel had always had this way of making you feel safe, like you could let your guard down without fear of judgment.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asked quietly, his hand still resting on your arm, warm and steady.

You hesitated, the words heavy in your throat. You’d kept it all inside for so long, afraid to say it out loud, afraid that acknowledging it would make it all too real. But sitting there, with Joel looking at you like he genuinely cared, it all came tumbling out.

“He doesn’t care anymore, Joel,” you murmured, the words spilling from your lips, weighed down by the months of heartache you had been carrying. “It’s like I’m invisible to him. He doesn’t talk to me, doesn’t even look at me… and I know he’s seeing someone else.”

The effect on Joel was immediate. His jaw clenched tightly, the muscles in his face twitching as he tried to contain the anger that flared up inside him.

His eyes darkened, filling with a storm of emotions—disbelief, frustration, and something protective, primal. His hand, which had been resting gently on your arm, tightened its grip slightly, grounding you as he processed your words.

He stared at you for a long moment, his face a mix of shock and disbelief, as if he couldn’t comprehend how anyone could treat you that way.

“What the hell is wrong with him?” Joel muttered, more to himself than to you, his voice low and rough. “How could he—how could anyone—do that to you? To you of all people?”

He shook his head, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. His voice softened, but the rough edges of his anger were still there, simmering just beneath the surface.

“You deserve so much more than that. You deserve someone who sees you, who knows just how lucky they are to have you.”

Joel leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a low, urgent murmur as he continued.

“You’re kind, thoughtful… hell, you’re always puttin’ everyone else first. The way you care for Sarah like she’s your own, the way you keep your home so warm and welcoming, the way you’ve always been there for him… you’re so damn good, and he doesn’t even see it.” He shook his head again, the disbelief etched deep in his furrowed brow.

“How could he not see that? How could he throw that away?”

His eyes softened as he looked at you, filled with a mixture of admiration and frustration.

“It breaks my heart to see you treated like this. You deserve someone who cherishes you, who shows up for you, every day… who loves you for exactly who you are.”

His words hit you like a wave, each one wrapped in the raw sincerity and care that had always been so natural for Joel. You could see the anger and confusion in his eyes—he truly couldn’t understand how anyone could treat you as anything less than extraordinary.

You had been trying so hard to convince yourself that it was enough to be the perfect wife, to keep playing the role you had been assigned, but Joel’s kindness made you question all of it. His care, his attention—it was what you had been craving for so long, and now, here he was, offering it to you without asking for anything in return.

“But I don’t know what to do,” you whispered, your voice trembling as the weight of everything settled heavily on your shoulders. “I’ve tried so hard to make it work, to be what he wants, but nothing’s enough.”

Joel’s hand lifted to your face, gently cupping your cheek. The warmth of his palm grounded you, the rough texture of his skin a stark contrast to the tenderness in his touch. He guided your face to meet his eyes, filled with an intensity that made your breath catch.

“You don’t need to be what he wants,” Joel said, his voice low, almost a growl, roughened by emotion.

“You deserve to be seen, to be loved for who you are. Not just for what you can give someone else.”

His words hung in the air between you, wrapping around your heart, pulling at the deepest parts of you that had felt so neglected, so starved for this very thing—connection.

The space between you felt charged, heavy with unspoken emotions that had been simmering for far too long. It was as though every unexpressed feeling, every suppressed desire had built up into a moment that neither of you could stop.

Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing the ache of loneliness and longing that had been gnawing at you for months. Joel had always been there, quietly, steadily, offering you the care your husband never could.

And now, sitting so close to him, his hand on your cheek, the warmth of his body radiating toward you, the pull between you was undeniable.

“Joel…” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper, your gaze flickering between his deep brown eyes and his lips, so close, so tempting.

He didn’t move away. Instead, his thumb brushed across your cheek, wiping away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. His touch was tender, but his eyes were dark, filled with something deeper—something that had been quietly building between you for longer than either of you cared to admit.

“I’ll take care of you,” Joel whispered, his voice rough with the promise of protection, of something more. “You don’t have to go through this alone anymore.”

Your heart raced, torn between the vulnerability of the moment and the undeniable comfort of his words.

The way he spoke, the way he looked at you—it was everything you had been craving for so long. The tenderness you had missed, the feeling of being truly seen, appreciated, cared for. It was overwhelming. And yet…

Before you could fully process what was happening, Joel leaned in. His lips brushed against yours in a soft, hesitant kiss. The world around you seemed to disappear, the only thing grounding you being the warmth of his lips and the steady strength of his hand still cradling your face.

The kiss was gentle at first, full of the tenderness and care you had longed for, but there was something else beneath it, something more intense, more primal, as if he had been holding back for too long and couldn’t anymore.

Your hands found their way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if needing something to hold on to, something solid in the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you.

His kiss deepened slightly, his other hand moving to the small of your back, pulling you closer. It felt like everything you had wanted—someone who saw you, who cared for you, who wanted you.

But just as quickly as the warmth of the kiss had filled you, the weight of guilt crashed down like a tidal wave. You broke away, pulling back suddenly, your heart pounding in your chest, breath coming in short gasps. You shook your head, stepping out of his reach, the taste of his kiss still lingering on your lips, but your mind already spinning.

“I—” you stammered, the words barely forming as you backed away, your hands trembling. “I can’t… I’m sorry, Joel, I just… I can’t do this.”

The look on Joel’s face was one of hurt and confusion, but also understanding. He stood there, his arms falling to his sides as he watched you retreat.

“It’s okay,” he said softly, his voice gentle, though the rough edge of his emotion was still there. “You don’t need to apologize.”

You took another step back, trying to steady yourself, your heart in your throat. “It’s not right,” you murmured, your voice trembling as you tried to rationalize everything that had just happened. “I can’t… I’m still married, and this… this is wrong.”

Joel didn’t argue. He didn’t push. He just watched you, his eyes filled with a mixture of understanding and a quiet sorrow.

“I just don’t want to see you hurt anymore,” he said softly, his voice rough with emotion. “You deserve better than the way he treats you.”

His words hit you hard, but you couldn’t stay. You couldn’t face the reality of what had just happened, of what you had almost allowed yourself to feel. The guilt was too much, too overwhelming. You turned away, your hands still trembling as you moved toward the stairs, needing distance, needing space to breathe.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered again, your voice barely audible as you left Joel standing alone in the living room. You hurried upstairs, your heart heavy, your mind racing, every step a reminder of the pull between you and Joel that you had just tried so desperately to resist.

When you reached the top of the stairs, you paused, your hand gripping the banister as you tried to steady your breath. You could still feel the warmth of his lips on yours, the safety of his arms around you, and it terrified you.

Because for the first time in so long, you had felt something real, something you wanted. And yet, the weight of everything else—your marriage, your vows, the guilt—it was too much to bear.

You didn’t look back, but you could feel Joel’s presence downstairs, lingering in the quiet of the house. His words echoed in your mind, and despite everything, you knew deep down that what he had said was true: you deserved more. But admitting that meant facing the truth about everything you had been avoiding for so long.

And you weren’t ready for that.

· · ─────

The days following the kiss were thick with awkwardness and tension that hung between you and Joel like a fog neither of you knew how to clear. Every time you thought about it—his lips on yours, the tenderness in his touch, the way he had made you feel seen and wanted—your stomach twisted with guilt. But there was another feeling too, one that gnawed at you in the quiet moments when you were alone: longing. That kiss had stirred something deep inside you, something that had been buried for far too long, and now, you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

You longed for that feeling again—the safety, the warmth, the tenderness that had been absent from your life for so long. It made the distance between you and your husband feel even wider, the coldness in your marriage more unbearable. But despite how much you tried to shake it, that kiss was constantly on your mind.

Then came the day Joel came over to watch the football game with your husband. You knew it was coming—your husband had mentioned it in passing—but you weren’t prepared to see Joel again. The thought of being in the same room as him after what had happened made your heart race and your palms sweat.

When Joel arrived, you could hear his familiar knock on the door, followed by your husband’s slurred greeting. He had already been drinking, you noticed. You had hoped he would keep it under control, but knowing him, that was never a safe bet.

You opened the door and found Joel standing there, looking as calm and collected as ever. But the moment his eyes met yours, a wave of heat rushed to your face, your heart skipping in your chest. You tried to keep your expression neutral, but it was impossible to ignore the way the memory of that kiss flooded your senses all at once.

He shifted slightly, his hands slipping into his pockets, as if he was just as unsure of how to handle the tension between you. His gaze flickered over your face for just a second longer than it should have, his eyes darkening with something unspoken before he quickly looked away.

You felt the blush creeping up your neck, your cheeks growing warmer by the second. You cleared your throat, your voice barely above a whisper as you tried to greet him without giving anything away.

“H-hi, Joel,” you stammered, forcing yourself to look at him, even though your heart was pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it. Your fingers fidgeted nervously with the hem of your shirt, desperate to find something—anything—to do with your hands.

Joel’s eyes flicked back to yours briefly, and you could see the hesitation there, the same uncertainty you were feeling. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his voice coming out low and gruff, but with a warmth that only made you blush harder.

“hello there,” he said, his tone casual, but the way his eyes softened when he looked at you made your stomach flip.

The awkwardness was palpable, like neither of you knew exactly what to say. You wanted to hide from the intensity of the moment, to avoid the feelings that had been swirling between you since that kiss. Your gaze darted down to your feet, your fingers still twisting the fabric of your shirt nervously.

Your husband’s voice suddenly bellowed from the living room, a loud demand for more beer, pulling both of you out of the charged moment. Joel winced slightly, his brow furrowing in mild annoyance at the sound, but you just gave a small, flustered nod.

“Uh, I’ll get that for him,” you mumbled quickly, stepping aside to let Joel in, your skin tingling with the awareness of how close he was as he brushed past you.

As Joel entered, you couldn’t help but glance at him one last time, your heart racing again when you saw the way his eyes lingered on you for a brief second before he turned toward the living room, where your husband was already half-immersed in the game.

“Thanks,” Joel murmured softly, his voice still gruff but gentle as he moved to sit beside your husband.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. You knew tonight was going to be hard—being in the same room as Joel, pretending that nothing had changed. But the way your heart leapt every time you caught his eye made it clear that things were far from normal between you.

The night dragged on painfully, the tension in the room thick and suffocating. Your husband’s drinking had started early, his excitement for the game quickly turning into something darker, something meaner as the alcohol took hold. It wasn’t unusual for him to drink during football, but tonight, it seemed worse than usual. Each beer drained away whatever patience he had left, and you could feel his mood souring with every sip.

“Get me another one,” he grunted, not bothering to look at you as he pointed at the empty bottle on the coffee table.

You moved quickly, not wanting to cause a scene, especially not with Joel sitting there. The last thing you needed was for Joel to witness the full extent of your husband’s irritability. But as you handed him the beer, your husband’s gaze flickered up to you, and his expression turned sour.

“Can’t you just do one damn thing right?” he muttered, snatching the bottle from your hand. His words were slurred but sharp, laced with frustration as if your mere presence irritated him.

Your cheeks flushed with humiliation, the familiar sting of his words settling deep inside you. You could feel Joel’s eyes on you from across the room, but you didn’t dare look at him. The embarrassment was too much. All you wanted was to get through the night, to make it out of this room with what little dignity you had left.

But it only got worse. As the game continued, your husband’s tone grew harsher, his demands more insistent.

“Get me some more chips,” he barked, barely glancing at you. You quickly obliged, fetching the bowl from the kitchen, trying to keep your hands steady as you placed it on the table in front of him.

Joel, always polite, nodded in your direction. “Thanks,” he said softly, his voice warm and sincere. The contrast between Joel’s quiet gratitude and your husband’s increasing belligerence was jarring, and it only made the ache in your chest worse.

As you turned to walk back to the kitchen, you felt it—your husband’s hand coming down hard on your ass, the slap echoing through the room. You froze in place, your entire body going rigid as the sting of his hand sent a wave of humiliation crashing over you.

“Good girl,” he slurred, his voice dripping with mockery. “You’re real good at one thing at least, huh?”

The room felt like it was spinning, your face burning with shame. You couldn’t bring yourself to move, to even breathe for a moment. Joel was right there. He had seen it all.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the humiliation overwhelming, crushing. You had endured so much already—his cruelty, his indifference—but this? In front of Joel?

You couldn’t stay in the room any longer. Without a word, you turned and walked quickly toward the stairs, your vision blurring as the tears threatened to spill. You could hear your husband muttering something under his breath, but you didn’t care. You just needed to get away.

As you reached the bathroom, you closed the door behind you and leaned against the sink, gripping the edges tightly as the tears finally came. Your breath hitched in your throat as you tried to hold it together, but it was no use. The humiliation, the shame—it was all too much.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, your reflection blurred by the tears that streamed down your face.

What had happened to you? How had things gotten this bad?

You had spent years trying to hold onto the marriage, trying to make things work, but now it felt like you were nothing more than an afterthought, a servant in your own home. The sting of his hand, the cruel way he had dismissed you—it was unbearable.

You didn’t know how long you had been standing there when you heard a soft knock at the bathroom door.

“Hey… it’s me,” Joel’s voice came from the other side, low and cautious, full of concern.

Your heart tightened in your chest. You weren’t sure if you could face him, not after what had just happened. Not after he had seen the way your husband had treated you. But Joel wasn’t like your husband. He had always been kind, always understanding. He had seen you—truly seen you—when no one else had.

“Can I come in?” he asked softly.

You hesitated for a moment, wiping at your tear-streaked face as you tried to compose yourself. Then, slowly, you unlocked the door and pulled it open just enough to let him in.

Joel stepped inside, his presence filling the small space, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. His eyes softened when he saw your tear-streaked face, his brow furrowing in concern.

“I’m sorry,” Joel murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t mean for things to get like that.”

You shook your head quickly, wiping at your eyes again. “It’s not your fault,” you whispered. “It’s just… this is how it is. I don’t know how to make it stop.”

Joel’s expression darkened slightly, but not with anger—just with sadness, frustration at the situation. He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently brush a tear from your cheek, his touch so different from the harshness you had just experienced. His fingers were warm, careful, like he was afraid to push you any further than you were ready for.

“You don’t deserve this,” he said quietly, his voice full of sincerity. “You deserve better than the way he treats you.”

His words broke something inside you, and you felt your lip tremble as another sob escaped. You had been holding it in for so long—holding everything in, trying to be strong, trying to make it work. But now, standing here with Joel, it all came crashing down.

“I don’t know what to do,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I feel so trapped.”

Joel didn’t say anything for a moment, just stood there, his eyes locked on yours, full of understanding. And then, quietly, he spoke again.

“You don’t have to go through this alone,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m here. Whatever you need… I’m here.”

The warmth in his words, the tenderness in his touch—it was more than you had felt in years. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt seen, felt valued. It stirred something deep inside you, something desperate and raw, a need that had been pushed down for so long.

Before you could even think about it, you lunged toward him, closing the small distance between you and crashing your lips into his. It wasn’t delicate or hesitant—it was a kiss born out of longing, out of months, maybe even years, of being unseen, unheard.

Your hands fisted into his shirt, pulling him closer as your body pressed against his, needing more, needing all of him.

Joel responded immediately, his hands gripping your waist as he kissed you back with a fierceness that matched your own. There was no hesitation in the way his lips moved against yours, no doubt in the way he held you tight.

His hand cupped the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair as he deepened the kiss, his mouth hungry, demanding.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was fire, igniting every nerve in your body. His kiss was rough, filled with a desperation that mirrored your own, like he had been holding back for too long and finally, finally, he could let go. The tension between you, all the unspoken words, all the stolen glances—it was exploding now in this moment, and neither of you could stop it.

Your heart raced as your hands roamed over his chest, feeling the solid warmth of him under your fingertips. The years of loneliness, of being ignored, melted away with every touch, every kiss. Joel’s hands were everywhere, pulling you closer, pressing you against him as if he was afraid to let go.

He pulled back just slightly, his breath ragged, his forehead resting against yours.

“I’ve wanted this,” he murmured, his voice rough and thick with emotion, his lips still brushing against yours. “God, I’ve wanted this for so long.”

You couldn’t respond with words—you didn’t need to. Instead, you pulled him back into the kiss, your lips crashing together again, more desperate, more urgent. His hands gripped your hips, lifting you slightly as he backed you up against the bathroom wall, pinning you there as he kissed you harder, deeper.

There was no space left between you, no room for doubt or hesitation. Your body responded to his in ways you hadn’t felt in years, every nerve alight with the intensity of it. His hands slid down your sides, rough and possessive, holding you tightly as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

You could feel the heat rising between you, the desperation building, as if all the longing, all the frustration had finally found an outlet. His lips moved from your mouth to your jaw, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck, each touch making your breath hitch, your body arch into his.

“Joel…” you whispered, your voice breathless, barely able to get the words out.

But he already knew. His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you even closer, his lips finding yours again in a kiss that was even more intense, more consuming than before. You were lost in him, lost in the feel of him, the taste of him. Everything else—the hurt, the humiliation, the loneliness—faded away until there was only this moment, only Joel.

This was what you had been missing. This was what you had been longing for. And for the first time in so long, you felt alive.

Joel’s breath was hot against your skin as his lips moved along the curve of your neck, each kiss searing into you, grounding you in this moment, in him. His hands gripped you firmly, possessive yet tender, his touch a reassurance that you were more than what you had been made to feel for so long.

“God, you have no idea,” he whispered against your skin, his voice thick with need. “You’re everythin’. You deserve so much more than what he gives you. So much more.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your body reacting to the intensity in his tone, the sincerity. You could feel the heat between you building, your heart pounding as his lips moved lower, kissing along your collarbone, your chest. You were lost in the sensation, the way his hands moved over you, the way his breath ghosted over your skin.

Joel's kisses became more urgent, more fervent, as he slowly knelt before you, his hands sliding down to the waistband of your pants. He paused for a moment, looking up at you with an expression that was both filled with desire and a silent question—a request for permission, for trust.

“Let me worship you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, his hands steady as he began to ease your pants down, his fingers brushing against your skin in a way that sent sparks through you. “I want to show you how much you mean to me. I want you to feel everything.”

The air between you seemed to crackle with electricity as he pulled your pants away, his eyes dark with want as he drank in the sight of you.

Joel stood, lifting you effortlessly in his arms, turning and pressing you gently but firmly against the wall. The coolness of the tile was a sharp contrast to the heat radiating off of him, his body holding yours securely, every inch of your weight supported by his strength.

“You’re everythin’,” he murmured again, his lips finding yours in a deep, lingering kiss before trailing down your neck. “You deserve the world. And I’m gonna it to you.”

Without breaking the kiss, he shifted you slightly, his hands gripping your thighs as he held you against the wall. His mouth moved lower, his lips, his tongue, trailing over your stomach, your hips, until he was kneeling before you again, one arm wrapped around your waist to keep you steady as he pressed his lips to the inside of your thigh.

The sensation of his breath against your skin made your head spin, the anticipation building as his kisses grew slower, more deliberate, inching closer and closer to the center of your need. Every kiss, every touch felt like a promise—a promise that you were cherished, that you were seen.

Joel’s lips trembled against your skin as he kissed down your stomach, rough and hungry, his hands gripping your hips tightly as though he was afraid to let go.

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark with desire, and his breath came out hot against your bare thighs as he spread you open for him, his tongue flicking out to tease the edges of your soaked entrance.

"Fuck, you're so wet for me," he growled, his voice deep and husky. "I've been waitin’ for this, waitin’ to taste this sweet pussy. You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about it—about you."

You gasped as he buried his face between your legs, his tongue flat and wide as he dragged it through your folds, groaning like he was savoring every drop.

His lips latched onto your clit, sucking hard, sending a jolt of pleasure straight through your body. Your fingers tangled in his hair, gripping tightly as your legs trembled, and he groaned again, the vibration making you whimper.

"God, you're perfect," Joel mumbled against you, his voice muffled as he licked you with long, languid strokes. "This cunt is all mine tonight, yeah? You feel that? You hear that? This pussy's mine."

He sucked noisily, deliberately making sure every stroke of his tongue was loud, wet, and filthy. You could hear the lewd slurping sounds as he devoured you, his mouth greedy and desperate as if he’d been starving for this moment.

Your breath came out in ragged gasps, your whole body burning under his relentless attention.

“What if he hears?” you whispered, your voice shaky as your head fell back against the wall. “Joel… what if—”

“He won’t hear shit,” Joel cut you off, his voice rough with possessiveness. “That asshole’s passed out cold on the couch. Even if he could hear, I wouldn’t stop. He doesn’t deserve you. But I do.”

His tongue plunged into you, fucking you with wet, deep strokes, his nose brushing against your swollen clit as he grunted against you. “This pussy tastes so fuckin’ sweet, baby. All I want is to hear you moan for me. Let him fuckin’ hear it.”

You couldn’t help but whimper, your hips bucking against his face as he growled, his tongue thrusting deeper, his lips and chin coated with your arousal. He pulled back for just a second, his breath heavy, his eyes wild as he looked up at you.

"Fuck, I could eat this pussy all night," he murmured, his voice almost a snarl as he gripped your thighs tighter, pulling you even closer. "I want to make you come on my tongue over and over, until you can't stand. You deserve to be worshipped like this. I’m not stoppin’ until you scream my name."

With that, he dove back in, his tongue swirling over your clit as he sucked you harder, his mouth relentless. You moaned louder, your fingers tugging at his hair as your body arched off the wall, pleasure crashing through you with every filthy stroke of his tongue.

He groaned again, louder this time, savoring every moment as he devoured you, his mouth hot and hungry, like he couldn’t get enough.

He alternated between sucking your clit hard, his lips tight around the sensitive bud, and sliding his tongue deep inside you, fucking your pussy with slow, torturous strokes.

Each time you gasped, your body trembling as the pleasure built higher and higher, his hands gripping your thighs so hard it felt like he was staking a claim.

"Yeah, that’s it," he murmured between licks, his voice raw. "I want to hear you scream for me. Let me hear how much you love it when I eat this sweet little cunt."

Your moans grew louder, filling the bathroom as Joel’s tongue worked you harder, faster, his groans matching your own as he lost himself in the taste of you.

His hands slid up your body, gripping your breasts roughly as he continued to feast on you, the pleasure so intense it was overwhelming. You couldn’t stop yourself anymore—every nerve was on fire, your mind blank as you gave in completely to him.

"Joel, fuck, I’m gonna—" you gasped, your thighs trembling as you teetered on the edge of release.

"Cum for me, baby," he growled, his voice hoarse as his tongue flicked over your clit again, harder, faster, relentless. "Cum on my tongue. I want to taste all of it."

With a final, devastating suck on your clit, you shattered. Pleasure slammed into you, your entire body shaking as you screamed his name, your nails digging into his scalp as he held you in place, his mouth still working you through the waves of your orgasm.

Joel didn’t stop—he kept licking, kept sucking, devouring every drop as your body convulsed, the intensity of it making your legs shake.

He moaned against you, his tongue softening slightly but still teasing your swollen clit as you came down, his grip on your hips loosening just enough to let you catch your breath.

When he finally pulled back, his face was slick with your arousal, his eyes dark with lust as he looked up at you, his chest heaving.

"You taste like heaven," he rasped, his voice thick with satisfaction as he stood, pressing his body against yours again, his lips crashing into yours in a bruising kiss.

You could taste yourself on his lips, feel the raw, aching desire still burning between you, and you knew this was only the beginning.

“That’s what you deserve,” he whispered, his hands roaming over your body, possessive and loving all at once. ���And I’m not done worshippin’ you.”

Joel’s hands moved up your body slowly, deliberately, as if savoring every second his fingers touched your skin. His breath was still ragged, and his lips were barely an inch from yours as he whispered against them, his voice rough but tender.

“If you were my woman, I’d never let you leave the house without makin’ you cum at least twice,” he murmured, his words sending a shiver through you. “And here he is, treatin’ you like garbage. Doesn’t he see? You’re a goddess.”

He paused, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, his touch gentle but insistent as he slowly pulled it up, over your head, tossing it to the side. His eyes darkened with hunger as he gazed at your bare skin, his breath coming out in a heavy exhale as he traced his fingers along the curve of your waist, up to the clasp of your bra.

“You represent everything good in this world,” Joel continued, his voice deepening as his fingers worked to unhook your bra, his eyes locked on yours. “He should feel so damn lucky to have you. How can he not see what he has?”

Your bra fell away, and his eyes dropped to your breasts, the sight of them making him groan deeply, the sound vibrating in his chest. His hands cupped them reverently, his thumbs brushing over your nipples as his lips curled into a smirk.

“These,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire, “prove my point exactly.”

Without another word, Joel dipped his head, his lips brushing against one of your nipples before he drew it into his mouth, sucking gently at first, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak.

The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure straight through your core, your back arching as you gasped, your hands instinctively finding his hair, pulling him closer.

He groaned again, his hand kneading your other breast as his mouth worked your nipple with expert precision, sucking harder, his tongue flicking over the sensitive flesh with just the right amount of pressure. Every movement of his mouth, every touch of his hands, felt like he was worshipping you, like you were something precious and sacred.

“I swear,” Joel mumbled against your skin, his lips trailing to your other nipple, sucking it into his mouth with the same intensity.

“If you were mine, I’d worship this body every damn day. You deserve to be treated like the goddess you are, not some afterthought.”

His teeth grazed your nipple, sending another wave of pleasure through you, making you whimper as he continued to suck and lick, his hands never leaving your body, constantly exploring, worshipping. It was like he couldn’t get enough of you, his mouth greedy, his hands possessive, but all of it wrapped in the tenderness that made your heart ache.

“Look at you,” he groaned, his breath hot against your skin as he switched between your breasts, lavishing each one with the same amount of attention. “Every part of you is fuckin’ perfect.”

His hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips as he pressed himself against you, his erection hard and insistent through his jeans. The friction only added to the heat between you, the tension building with every kiss, every touch. Joel’s lips moved back up to your neck, his breath ragged as he pressed soft kisses along your jawline, his words spilling out between them.

“I could spend all night tastin’ you, touchin’ you,” he whispered, his voice low and filled with raw emotion. “You deserve to feel this good all the time. I’d make sure you never forgot it.”

Your mind was spinning, your body burning under his touch. Every word he spoke, every movement of his mouth, was like gasoline on a fire, and you were completely consumed by him, by the way he made you feel—seen, wanted, worshipped.

Joel’s hands slid back up to your breasts, kneading them as his lips claimed yours in another searing kiss, his tongue tangling with yours as he pressed you harder against the wall, his body radiating heat, his need for you palpable.

“Tell me,” he rasped against your lips, his voice thick with desire. “Tell me how much you want this.”

Your breath hitched, your lips parting as his words hung in the air between you. The heat in his eyes, the intensity of his touch—it was overwhelming, and you couldn’t stop yourself from responding.

“I want it so bad, Joel,” you whispered, your voice shaky with need, your body arching into him. “Please… take your clothes off. I need to feel you.”

He groaned at your words, his hands gripping your hips tightly, his erection pressing harder against you.

“Yeah, baby,” he growled, his lips brushing yours, “you need to see a real man. Feel a real cock, not just someone who acts like one. I’ll show you the difference.”

With a swift movement, Joel pulled back just enough to yank his shirt over his head, revealing the broad, muscular chest that you’d only stolen glances at before. His skin glistened with sweat, his muscles flexing as he moved, and the sight of him made your mouth water. Your hands moved instinctively to his chest, your fingers tracing the lines of his muscles as you let out a soft moan of appreciation.

“God, you’re beautiful,” you murmured, your voice breathless as your hands wandered lower, desperate to feel every inch of him.

Joel smirked, his hands already working to unbuckle his jeans, his voice dropping to a rough, dirty whisper. “You want this cock, hm? You’ve been starving for it—starving for a man who knows how to take care of you, who knows how to make you cum like you deserve.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as he pushed his jeans and boxers down in one fluid motion, his thick, hard cock springing free, already leaking with precum. It was big—thick and long, veins running down the shaft, the head swollen and glistening.

He gave it a slow stroke, his eyes locked on yours, the sight making your thighs clench with anticipation.

“See this?” he growled, tapping his cock against your thigh, making your breath hitch. “This is what you’ve been missin’. And I’m gonna make sure you never forget what a real man feels like.”

You whimpered in response, your hands reaching out to touch him, to wrap your fingers around his length, but he pulled back slightly, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

“Not yet, baby,” he murmured, his voice full of filthy promise. “I want you to feel it everywhere first.”

With that, Joel pressed his cock against your stomach, dragging it slowly across your skin, leaving a slick trail of precum in its wake. You moaned, the sensation driving you wild, your body arching into him as you felt the heat of his shaft sliding over your skin.

“Fuck, you look so good with my cock on you,” he groaned, his hand gripping his length as he slid it up between your breasts, over your chest, your neck, and then back down again. “You want this. You want to feel it inside you, stretchin’ you, fillin’ you up.”

“Yes, Joel, please,” you whimpered, your voice shaking with desperation. “I need it. I need you. I want your cock so bad, I can’t stand it.”

He chuckled darkly, his hand moving to tap the thick head of his cock against your clit, the sudden jolt of pleasure making you cry out.

“You want it here, yeah?” he growled, slapping his cock against your swollen clit again, harder this time, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. “You want to feel me inside this tight little pussy, fuckin’ you like you’ve never been fucked before.”

“Oh, God, yes,” you moaned, your hands gripping his shoulders as your body trembled with need. “Fuck me, Joel. I want to feel every inch of you. I want you to ruin me.”

His eyes flashed with pure desire as he tapped his cock against your clit again, the wet head of his cock throbbing as more precum leaked out, mixing with your own arousal.

He dragged his length through your folds, coating himself in your slickness, groaning as he teased you.

“I’m gonna make you scream for me,” he rasped, his voice thick with lust as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard, you’ll never even think about another man again. You’ll be mine, baby. This pussy will be mine.”

Your breath came in short, ragged gasps as he pressed the head of his cock against your entrance, teasing you, making you ache for him. Every word he spoke, every filthy promise he made, sent another wave of heat crashing through you, your body desperate for the release only he could give.

“Say it,” Joel demanded, his voice rough as he slid just the tip inside you, stretching you ever so slightly. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, Joel,” you gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders tighter as you felt him start to push inside you. “I’m yours. Please, fuck me. Make me yours.”

With a deep, guttural groan, Joel thrust into you, his cock stretching you wide, filling you completely. The sensation was overwhelming, your body arching into his as he buried himself deep inside you, his hands gripping your hips as he held you in place.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he growled, his voice strained as he began to move, his cock sliding in and out of you in slow, deliberate strokes. “This pussy is mine now, baby. And I’m gonna make you cum so hard, you’ll forget anyone else ever existed.”

Joel’s thrusts were deep and deliberate, each one sending a shockwave of pleasure through your entire body. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to leave bruises, but the delicious pressure only intensified the raw need coursing between you. His cock filled you so completely, stretching you to the point where you could barely think straight, only able to feel him.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ tight,” Joel groaned, his voice rough with lust as he pulled almost all the way out before slamming back into you with a force that made you gasp.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the small room, mixing with your ragged moans and the wet, lewd sounds of your pussy taking every inch of him.

“Fuck, baby,” he growled, his voice low and rough as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. “This is what you’d get with me all the time. Not that half-assed bullshit you’ve been settlin for. You’d get this—my cock fillin’ you up, my hands on your body, making you cum until you can’t even fuckin stand.”

He punctuated his words with rough, powerful thrusts, his cock driving deeper into you with each one. Your head fell back against the wall, your legs trembling as he held you up, completely at his mercy.

“You feel that?” he rasped, his breath hot against your ear as his hips snapped into you again and again. “You deserve this, you deserve to be fucked like this every day. Not treated like you’re worthless.”

Joel’s mouth was everywhere—his lips moving over your neck, nipping at your skin before kissing and licking at the sensitive spot just below your ear.

His tongue flicked out, tasting the salt of your skin, and you moaned, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he fucked you harder, his cock hitting that perfect spot deep inside you.

“You’re so fuckin’ perfect,” he growled, his voice thick with praise and hunger. “My perfect little good girl.”

He kissed down your neck, his lips trailing lower until he found your breasts again, groaning as he took one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard. The sensation of his mouth on your sensitive skin, combined with the relentless pace of his hips, had you gasping, your body on the verge of breaking apart with pleasure.

“Fuck, ’could suck these tits all day,” Joel murmured against your skin, his teeth grazing your nipple as he switched to the other breast, sucking and licking, his hands gripping your hips tighter as he fucked you harder.

“So fuckin’ beautiful. You’d get this all the time with me, baby. You’re my good girl, hm?”

“Yes,” you gasped, your body trembling as the pleasure built higher and higher, your nipples aching under his relentless attention. “I’m your good girl. Please, don’t stop.”

Joel growled, a deep, primal sound that sent a shiver down your spine as he kissed his way back up to your mouth, his lips crashing against yours in a bruising kiss.

His tongue invaded your mouth, hungry and demanding, as he continued to pound into you, each thrust harder than the last, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

You whimpered beneath him, your nails digging into his back as he pounded into you, his cock brushing against that perfect spot inside you with every thrust.

The pleasure was overwhelming, consuming you, and you could barely form coherent words. All you could do was moan his name, begging for more.

“That’s my good girl,” Joel rasped, his lips trailing down your neck as his hips snapped harder, faster. “You love this, baby? You love havin’ my cock so deep inside you, fuckin’ you the way you deserve. Tell me, baby. Tell me how much you need it.”

“I need it,” you gasped, your voice barely a whisper as your head fell back against the wall, your body trembling with pleasure.

“I need you so bad, Joel. I need your cock. I need you to fuck me harder. I love it. Please, Joel, don’t stop.”

“I won’t stop,” he growled, his hands sliding up your body, cupping your breasts again as he continued to thrust into you, his cock hitting that perfect spot over and over.

“I’ll never stop. You’ll never go a day without feelin’ this. Without knowing how fuckin’ perfect you are.”

His lips moved across your face, kissing your cheeks, your jaw, before finding your neck again, sucking and biting at your skin as he pounded into you. You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he pushed you closer to the brink of release.

His tongue claimed your mouth with the same intensity as his cock claimed your pussy, his hands still worshipping your body as if he couldn’t stop touching you.

“You feel so good,” he growled against your lips, his breath ragged as his hips continued to slam into you.

“This is what I’d do every single day if you were mine. I’d wake you up with my tongue on this perfect pussy, make you cum before breakfast, fuck you until you can’t even think straight.”

You moaned loudly, your body arching into his as his filthy words made your head spin, the pleasure building inside you with every thrust of his cock.

His hand slid down your body, his thumb finding your swollen clit and rubbing it in tight circles as he fucked you, his touch sending sparks through your veins.

“I’m gonna make you cum, babygirl,” Joel whispered, his voice thick with desire as he kissed you again, his tongue dominating yours. “I want you to cum all over my cock like a good girl. Show me how much you love it.”

You whimpered, your body trembling as the pleasure mounted, your mind going blank as Joel’s cock slammed into you harder, deeper. His hand on your clit, his mouth on your neck, his body pressed tightly against yours—it was too much, and you felt yourself spiraling toward release.

“That’s it,” he growled, his voice rough as he felt you tighten around him. “Cum for me, baby. Be a good girl and cum all over my cock.”

With a final, devastating thrust, the coil inside you snapped, and you screamed his name as your orgasm tore through you, your body shaking violently as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you.

Your pussy clenched around his cock, milking him as he groaned deeply, his hips never stopping, prolonging your pleasure as he fucked you through your orgasm.

Joel’s hips slowed, but his thrusts remained deep and deliberate, his cock throbbing inside you, the heat of him radiating against your skin. His breath came in hot, ragged bursts against your neck as his hands roamed possessively over your body, caressing every inch of your trembling form.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his voice thick with need as his hips ground deeper, each thrust making your body arch against him. “You’re fuckin’ perfect. My good girl.”

His words sent another jolt of desire through you, your body still sensitive from your orgasm, but you could feel his need, the tension in his body as he held back. His cock twitched inside you, and you knew he was close—so close.

Joel’s pace slowed slightly, his cock throbbing deep inside you as he hovered over you, his breath hot and heavy against your ear. His hand slid down your side, possessive, as if every inch of your body belonged to him now. He kissed along your jawline, his voice husky, thick with lust and something deeper.

“Where do you want me to cum, baby?” he rasped, his hands gripping your hips as he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his cock still twitching inside you.

“Tell me where you want it. I’ll give you whatever you want.”

You felt a rush of heat, your body trembling with the intensity of the moment. Your voice came out shaky, but full of want as you gasped, “Inside, Joel. Please cum inside me.”

A guttural groan escaped his throat, his eyes darkening as he stared at you, the words hitting him like a spark to gasoline.

"God, I’ve been dreamin’ of hearing you say that," he growled, his hips bucking forward again, harder this time. "Pumpin’ you full of my seed. Fuck… the thought of you pregnant with my child?"

“The thought of you, round and swollen with my baby—fuck, sometimes I just cum from imaginin’ it,” he growled, his voice growing more desperate as his thrusts quickened, his cock hitting deep inside you with every movement.

“You’d be so beautiful, so perfect. And you’d be mine—all mine.”

His words sent a shock of pleasure straight through you, the intensity of his dirty talk igniting every nerve in your body. Joel’s hands gripped your hips harder as he thrust deeper, his cock filling you completely with each powerful stroke. His voice was raw, full of desperate hunger as he whispered in your ear.

“Imagine it,” he rasped, his breath hot against your neck, his cock pounding into you relentlessly.

“You, swollen with my baby. I’d make you cum again and again while my child grows inside you. I’d take care of you, worship you… make you feel like the goddess you are.”

The filthy images he painted, combined with the overwhelming sensation of his thick cock sliding in and out of your soaked pussy, made your body tremble, your mind reeling with the intensity of it. Your fingers dug into his back as your moans grew louder, matching the rhythm of his thrusts.

His pace grew faster, more frantic as he chased his release, the idea of you full of his cum, of you carrying his child, driving him wild. You could feel him getting closer, his grip on your hips tightening as his cock swelled inside you, his thrusts becoming erratic.

“You’d be such a good mother,” he groaned, his voice rough as he buried his face in your neck, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Fuck, I’m gonna fill you up, baby. I’m gonna cum so deep inside you. I’m gonna make sure every drop stays inside. ’ gonna be so full of my cum.”

You were lost in him, lost in the way his body felt against yours, the way his words wrapped around you, pulling you deeper into the pleasure.

“Yes, Joel,” you gasped, your voice shaky as your body trembled with anticipation. “Please, cum inside me. I want it so bad.”

“Take it, baby. Take all of it. I’m fillin’ you up. God, you feel so fucking good.”

With a deep, primal growl, Joel’s hips slammed into you one last time, his cock pulsing deep inside as he came with a force that made his whole body shudder.

He held you tightly, his breath ragged as he groaned your name, his cum spilling inside you, filling you completely.

You could feel every twitch, every hot pulse of his release, the sensation sending you over the edge again, your body convulsing as a second wave of pleasure crashed through you.

His body shook with the force of his release, his breath coming out in harsh, ragged pants as he held you tightly, his cock twitching inside you as he emptied himself.

He stayed like that for a moment, his body pressed tightly against yours, his forehead resting against your shoulder as he caught his breath. His cock still twitched inside you, his cum warm and thick as it filled you completely. His hands caressed your sides, his touch tender and loving despite the roughness of what had just happened.

Joel’s arms wrapped around you, holding you close as he buried his face in your neck, still trembling with the aftermath of his orgasm. “Fuck… you’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice soft but full of emotion. “’ everything I’ve ever wanted.”

His cock still twitched inside you, the warmth of his cum spreading through your core as he slowly pulled back, pressing soft kisses along your neck, your shoulders.

Joel's breathing was still heavy, his chest pressed against yours as he held you tightly, his cock still buried inside you. He kissed your neck softly, murmuring between deep breaths.

“I’ve been waitin’ for this,” he rasped, his voice low and raw. “You have no idea how long I’ve been savin’ this for you, baby. No one else could ever do it for me. You’re the only one… the only woman I want. I’m full of it, every drop of cum was meant for you.”

His words were tender but possessive, the weight of what he was saying wrapping around you. His hand slid up your side gently, still exploring, as though he couldn’t get enough of touching you. His lips brushed your ear, and his voice took on a pleading tone.

“Please, baby,” he whispered softly, his fingers tightening around your waist. “Leave him. You deserve more. You deserve to be worshipped, loved, the way I’ll love you every single day. You’re mine now. You know that, don’t you?”

You felt your heart pound at the weight of his words, your body still trembling from the intensity of the moment.

As the intensity of the moment began to fade, the weight of Joel's words hung in the air between you. You felt the warmth of his body still pressed against yours, his breath steadying as he held you close, but now, the frantic passion had simmered into something deeper. Something certain.

For the first time in what felt like forever, clarity washed over you. Joel had peeled back all the layers of doubt, of shame, of loneliness, and left you with the undeniable truth—you deserved this. You deserved more.

You shifted slightly in his arms, and he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. His gaze was soft, no longer driven by raw desire, but by something far more profound. There was a silent question there, one he didn’t have to ask out loud. He had already said it all.

You smiled softly, your fingers tracing over his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. You didn’t need to say anything right now. You didn’t need to make promises or decisions this second. But for the first time, you knew. You knew what you wanted, who you wanted.

And Joel knew it too.

“I’ll wait for you,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your temple, the tenderness of the moment grounding you both. “Whenever you’re ready.”

You nodded, feeling lighter than you had in years. You weren’t just his now—you were finally yours.

As the room grew quiet, the weight of your choices settled in, but it wasn’t daunting anymore. It felt like freedom. Like the start of something new.

The beginning of everything you’d been missing.

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

[cinnxmxngxrl]

Imagine Joel taking your virginity

Pairing: Jackson!Joel x f!Reader

Joel’s Masterlist

WC: 5.4k

Tags/Warnings: smut, minors DNI, porn with no plot, unspecified but big age gap, oral (m!receiving), virginity loss, unprotected piv, thigh riding, daddy kink, baby-talking, young and innocent reader, creampie, condescending joel, terms like baby girl, sweet little girl etc.

Even thought this part is a standalone, you might want to read a previous part: Joel teaches you how to go down on him.

Today was just another quiet afternoon in Jackson, you’d been heading back from the greenhouse, you weren’t paying much attention to your surroundings, too focused trying to brush the dirt off your knees, until you saw them…

Joel was outside the stables, half-laughing about something with a woman, gray in her hair, deep lines around her eyes from a life lived outdoors, she looked about the same age as Joel. She was standing close to him, not too close, nothing inappropriate, nothing that would give you the right to get pissed, but the kind of close that felt natural.

You stopped walking without meaning to, and you watched as she touched his arm and laughed. They looked right together, and it hit you like a sucker punch, the breath caught in your lungs and wouldn’t let go. Maybe because you’d never look right with Joel next to you, at least not in the way people expect a couple to look. People didn’t assume you two were together, hell, you’d even been mistaken for father and daughter more than once whenever someone new showed up in Jackson.

You turned away, heading back home before you could watch more. You felt so small, so young, like some little kid playing grown-up. You weren’t enough, not for him, not when he could talk for hours with a woman who remembered the same pre-outbreak songs, who didn’t need Joel to teach her how to shoot, or how to suck him off, a woman who could take all of him, not just the tip.

You didn’t realize how much time had passed after you reached your house until you heard the door open, footsteps crossing the threshold. Joel’s voice followed a second later, light and casual.

“Hey, darlin’. You home already?”

You didn’t answer, couldn’t get the words out of your mouth. You felt so insignificant, who were you trying to fool? There would come a day, because of course there would, when Joel would get tired of playing house with a little girl pretending to be a woman.

Joel walked into the bedroom, you didn’t look up, you were staring hard at the floor, fists clenched in your lap. He paused in the doorway, sensing the shift in the air instantly.

“Hey.” His voice softened. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head.

“C’mon now,” he said gently, stepping closer. “I know when something’s up, sweetheart.”

You finally glanced up, and the moment your eyes met his, everything cracked.

“I saw you,” you said quietly. “With her. That woman.”

Joel blinked, confused. “Who?”

“Her. Outside the stables.”

His brow furrowed. “Oh, you mean Carmen?”

You nodded once, the name sounded even worse spoken aloud.

Joel crouched in front of you. “What about her?”

You let the silence hang for a second too long, he caught it, could see it on your face. What were you supposed to say? He hadn’t done anything wrong, hadn’t cheated or anything like that.

“Goddammit,” he murmured. “My baby’s got herself twisted up, huh?”

“She’s your age,” you whispered. “She laughs with you. She gets your stories. She probably remembers music on the radio. And—and—I feel like a stupid little girl. You’re a man. You’ve lived this whole life. I don’t even… I don’t know what I’m doing half the time, I just pretend, and you’re just—You’re Joel. You don’t need me.”

“You really are just a dumb little thing, huh?” Your breath caught, he wasn’t cruel when he said it, just… exasperated, deeply, lovingly exasperated “Little dumb baby.”

Your breath was shallow, tears stung your eyes, but you didn’t want to cry, not in front of him. Joel didn’t say anything at first, just reached for your hands, gently unclenching them.

“I’m gonna say this once,” he said, voice low. “And I want you to hear me, alright?”

You nodded, barely.

“You’re my baby. You're soft, and sweet, and so fuckin’ easy to wreck I can barely keep my hands off you. You look at me like I’m good, even when I ain’t. And yeah, baby, I like that you need me. I like teachin’ you. I like when you look up at me all scared and excited, askin’ me to show you things no one ever has.”

He pulled your hands to his chest, right over his heart.

“I want you. I choose you. Every single goddamn day.”

Your throat closed, he sounded sincere, and you really wanted to believe him

“You know what I see when I look at you?” he asked. “I see someone who makes me laugh when I forget how. Someone who touches me like I matter. You know how long it’s been since I’ve felt that? I feel alive, baby. I feel like a man again. Not a ghost.”

You looked at him, really looked, and saw how wrecked he was now, how deeply this was hitting him too.

He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to yours. “You’re not a phase. You’re not pretendin’. And you’re sure as hell not some kid to me, you’re my girl.”

“I just… I know I’m not what you’re used to. I’m not older. I don’t know how to do stuff. I had to ask you to show me how to… suck you, and then I couldn’t even take you, not really. Just the tip.” your voice cracked on that. “You’ve waited so long already and it’s not fair—”

“Stop.”

You blinked, his voice was quiet, but it had teeth. Joel pushed himself up slowly, sitting beside you on the bed, and looked down at you like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“You think I don’t want this?” he asked, voice low and gravel-deep. “You think I’d rather be off with some older, experienced woman who could deep throat me and ride me into the goddamn sunset?”

He shook his head, almost laughing, but there was no humor in it.

“You think I give a single shit that you don’t know what you’re doin’? Sweetheart, I like teachin’ you. I like that you’ve never done this before. I like bein’ the first cock you take. I like that I get to be gentle with you. Take my time. Watch you fall apart under me.” He leaned down, bracing himself over you, hand sliding to your cheek. “You think I’m sufferin’ ‘cause I only had the tip inside you? Baby girl, that was the best fuckin’ orgasm I’ve had in years.”

Your breath caught.

“You were clenchin’ around me so tight, I damn near came the second I pushed in. And you were so sweet—so good—lookin’ up at me all wide-eyed, sayin’ please, Joel, please just the tip, like you didn’t know you were ruinin’ me.”

You looked away, a bit embarrassed by the memory, but is hand gently brought your face back to his.

“You got nothin’ to be sorry for,” he said, softly this time. “You think I want someone who’s had twenty dicks in her mouth and five up her pussy?”

Your eyes widened, Joel was always so blunt, you let out a startled laugh, he grinned, brushing his thumb along your bottom lip.

“I want you, baby. I want this tight, shy little thing that don’t even know how sweet her own mouth feels until I show her. I want the girl who looks up at me while she’s suckin’ and asks, am I doin’ good, Joel? like it don’t drive me fuckin’ insane.”

You nodded against him, voice small. “I just… I want to be enough for you.”

Joel pulled back just enough to tilt your chin up. You were so clueless, Joel thought, how couldn’t you see how much he loved how soft and innocent you were? How you were all he’d ever wanted? Your sweetness made both his heart ache and his cock throb.

“You are enough. You’re fuckin’ perfect for me.”

You searched his face, the lines, the grey at his temples, the quiet sadness behind his eyes, and all you saw there was truth.

“Even if I need you to teach me everything?” You whispered.

“Especially that,” he murmured. “’Cause I’m gonna teach you right. Teach you slow. You’re gonna learn everything from me, and only me."

“Joel... I wanna try again,” you said, and your voice came out soft, but sure. “With my mouth.”

Joel stilled, his eyes darkened slow, oh, the things you did to him, hearing you say those filthy things with that sweet, innocent mouth of yours. He smiled, slow, crooked, filthy.

“You mean suckin’ my cock?” he asked, all teasing drawl and patronizing sweetness.

You nodded. “Yeah. I want to.”

Joel’s hand slid higher on your thigh. “You askin’ real nice, baby girl.”

You leaned closer, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Please, Joel. I wanna make you feel good. Wanna do it right this time.”

He groaned, low and sharp, hand flexing on your skin.

“Alright, then, but only cause you want to, not because you feel like you need to prove somethin’,” he muttered. “Go ahead. Show me what you remember.”

He shifted back on the bed and unzipped his jeans with one hand, tugging them low enough to free his cock, already half-hard, thick, and flushed. You sat up on your knees between his legs, suddenly so aware of how big he looked like this, broad and spread out, just waiting.

Your hand wrapped around the base of him, he twitched in your palm, and you leaned down slowly, licking a soft stripe up the underside like he’d shown you before.

Joel exhaled sharp through his nose. “Thassit. Just like that, baby.”

“Hi there,” you said softly with his cock on your hand.

Joel huffed a laugh, low and almost incredulous. “You talkin’ to my cock now?”

“Maybe,” you said to Joel, before focusing your eyes back to his cock. “Hello again,” you said sweetly, leaning in to kiss the head. “Missed me?”

His breath was already hitching, you took it as a good sign and did it again, this time licking the head in slow, teasing circles, letting your tongue slip under the ridge.

“Look at you. Such a good boy. Getting all big and strong for me.”

Joel groaned softly, dragging a hand down his face. “Jesus. You’re one of a kind, baby girl.”

You batted your lashes up at him. “You like it.”

“I love it,” he muttered, eyes fixed on your mouth as you gave another teasing lick up the underside. “Love my silly baby girl talkin’ nonsense while she plays with her food.”

You giggled and leaned in, rubbing your cheek affectionately against his cock like it was a plush toy. And then you leaned down and kissed it with over-the-top reverence, soft little “muah” sounds, little nose nuzzles. You really liked his cock, sure, it was the only one you’d ever seen in person, so you didn’t exactly have a reference point, but still… if you had to guess? It was the kind of cock a woman would want

He gave you that slow, dangerous smirk. “You gonna make out with him right in front of me, baby?”

You nodded solemnly. “Don’t be jealous, daddy. He deserves love too.”

Joel groaned like he was in pain, throwing his head back on the pillow. “Christ, you’re such a goddamn brat.”

You were driving him absolutely insane, on your knees, looking like a sweet little angel who’d fallen from heaven, your innocent little face nuzzling all over his cock, rubbing your cheek against it, pressing soft kisses… He wanted so badly to grab your hair, shove his cock down your throat and hold you there as he emptied his balls.

You kept flicking your tongue over his tip over and over again, watching as it began to leak more

“I’m your brat.”

“Damn right you are,” he said roughly, running a hand through your hair. “My sweet dumb baby. Givin’ daddy a heart attack every time she opens her mouth.”

“He missed me,” you whispered, tongue tracing around his tip. “He loves my mouth, doesn’t he?”

Joel’s voice dropped, rough and sweet and low. “Yeah, baby. He does. You got the best fuckin’ mouth. He wants you drooling all over him, don’t he?”

“Mhm.” You licked a fat stripe up the underside, then wrapped your lips around the head, making Joel moan, loud and unfiltered.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered. “You been practicin’ in your dreams or somethin’, baby girl?”

You smiled against him. “Just been thinkin’ about it,” you whispered. “Thinkin’ about makin’ you feel good.”

“Better just be that,” Joel groaned, “and not you practicin’ on any of those boys from round town.”

“Jooeeel,” you giggled, sweet and teasing, “you know I don’t want anyone else but daddy.”

He growled, and you let your lips close around the tip and sucked, hollowing your cheeks, going slow, shallow, just the tip, in and out, working your hand at the base to match like he'd taught you last time.

“Atta girl,” Joel groaned. “That’s it. Look at you. My good girl. My perfect little cockslut.” Joel’s hand came to rest on the back of your head, not pushing, just resting.

“Jesus, baby. You’re learnin’. Makin’ daddy feel so good…”

You moaned around him, and he twitched in your mouth, the vibrations were just adding to the intense pleasure you were already giving him.

“Fuck—yeah, do that again. Moan on it. Shit.”

You moaned and took him a little deeper, your throat felt tight, but you were determined, wanting to prove him you were a big girl, one that could take his entire cock in your mouth. You pulled back after you ran out of breath, and sucked softly on the tip, letting spit drip and smear down your fist.

He groaned loud. “Look at you,” he panted. “Look at this fuckin’ mouth, takin’ my cock so sweet. You were made for this, baby girl.”

You got bolder by his compliments, and licked down to the base and back up again. Let the head rest on your tongue and gazed up at him, eyes wide and wet, mouth full.

“Oh fuck, baby—don’t look at me like that, I swear to God—”

“You like that?” You asked, lips glossy with spit. “You like watchin’ me do it?”

“I love watchin’ you do it,” he growled. “You’re so good, baby. S’good for me. This mouth’s made for suckin’ daddy’s cock.”

You whimpered, and he caught your face in both hands, gently guiding you down again, rocking his hips just a little. He needed it, yes, he loved the gentle flicks of your tongue, the toying with his tip, but right now he needed to hit the back of your throat.

“You take what I give you,” he murmured. “Little bit deeper now. That’s it. Just like that. My good girl. Take him all the way. Show him how much you love him.”

You worked him with your mouth and hand together, taking breaks to lick, to suck, to breathe—and each time you paused, he praised you, whispered filth like you were doing him the biggest favor in the world.

“Goddamn, baby, you’re so pretty like this… pretty mouth full of me…”

“Yeah, just like that, take your time… fuck, I ain’t gonna last…”

“You feel how hard I am for you? You know what you do to me, baby girl?”

You sucked him harder, hand twisting at the base, Joel groaned, full-bodied and deep. “Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered. “Ain’t gonna last another minute with you takin’ it like that.”

You whimpered around him, thighs squeezing together. Just his moans and those bold, filthy compliments were enough to get you wet and aching.

“Aw, baby’s gettin’ wet just suckin’ cock, huh? Poor little thing. Gonna need me later?”

You nodded, still bobbing, spit running down your chin. You pulled off just enough to murmur:

“He’s gettin’ twitchy.”

Joel grunted. “Yeah? You feel him startin’ to cum?”

���Warn me, daddy,” you said around him. “But I’m not stoppin’.”

You smiled and sucked him back into your mouth, sucking deep, and you didn’t let go until he was shaking, grunting, hips stuttering.

“F-Fuck… baby—daddy’s cummin’, he’s cummin’—fuck, right now—” Joel groaned, voice rough and desperate, his hips jerking up into you as the pleasure overtook him.

He came down your throat, hot and thick and salty, you liked the taste of it more than you did last time. You swallowed around him, let him ride it out in your mouth, his hands cradling the back of your head, thumbs stroking your cheeks like you were precious.

When you finally pulled off, he was panting, staring down at you like he didn’t know what hit him.

“Holy fuck, baby…”

You smiled, wiped the corner of your mouth. “Did I do good?”

Joel laughed, breathless. “You did perfect.” It was only the second time you’d sucked him, and you’d already outrun every other woman who’d ever been in his life.

He pulled you up onto his lap, arms tight around you. His thigh shifted beneath you, solid and warm, and you didn’t realize you were grinding down against it until he did.

“Ohh,” he said lowly, voice nearly a growl. “There she goes.”

You froze, a little ashamed by the fact that you were so horny you hadn’t even realized you were unconsciously humping his thigh, but Joel leaned in, lips brushing your cheek. “Don’t stop now, sweetheart. Keep ridin' me like that.”

Your eyes fluttered. “On… on your thigh?”

He nodded slowly, letting his hand drag up the curve of your back. “Mhm. That’s it. That’s what a sweet, shy girl like you needs. Nothin’ too scary. Just daddy’s thigh to start.”

“Joel,” you whispered, embarrassed and overwhelmed and aching so bad.

“S’just like dancin’, baby,” he cooed. “You know how to move your hips, don’t you?”

You nodded shyly, lashes still wet from sucking him, clutching at his shoulders. He adjusted your legs so you were straddling one thick, muscled thigh, your knees braced on either side of his, making you feel the corded muscle shift under you.

“Try movin’,” Joel whispered, voice all honeyed patience. “Rock your hips on me. Just a little to begin with. Just rub your sweet lil’ pussy on my thigh. Pretend it’s my cock if you want.”

You hesitated, but then rolled your hips forward, slowly dragging your clothed pussy over the ridge of his thigh, the friction made you gasp and clutch your fingers on his shirt.

“There we go,” Joel cooed. “See? That feel good? That’s what I’m gonna teach you to do all on your own. Go slow at first. Just lil’ rocks, baby.”

“Oh…”

“Atta girl. You’re doin’ so good. S’just like that.”

You moved again, the soft cotton of your panties growing damper with every pass. Joel watched you like a starving man, eyes hooded, hands staying right at your hips, guiding your movements.

Your breath came quicker as your clit caught on the firm pressure beneath you. The friction was perfect through your panties, rough enough to spark pleasure but safe enough not to scare you.

“Feel good, baby?”

You whimpered. “Y-yeah.”

“You ridin’ me now, aren’t you?” he asked softly. “Even if it’s just my thigh. So desperate to be a big girl, you just had to feel it, huh?”

You nodded, moving again, this time more confidently, moaning under your breath as the pressure hit just right.

“Aw, my poor baby,” he whispered, mock sympathy dripping from every word. “Look at you grindin’ all over me like you need it to breathe.”

Your cheeks burned, you buried your face in his neck as your hips rocked faster. “Feels so good, daddy…”

“I know it does. This is what happens when you trust me to teach you. I’ll show you everythin’, baby. Start you slow… get you used to it.”

You moaned into his skin, your clit catching just right on his thigh.

“Bet you’re gettin’ your pretty panties all wet, huh?”

You whimpered again in response.

“Yeah, I can feel it,” he growled. “Soakin’ through. You keep goin’, baby girl. Use me. Rub that little pussy right on me ‘til you cum.”

“God, Joel, it—feels so good—”

He nodded, hand sliding up your back. “I know it does, sweetheart. That’s your little pussy learnin’ how to get off. Keep goin’ for me.”

“Joel—”

“You need to cum,” he said, gently but firmly. “You need it, don’t you?”

“I—I think so—”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he crooned. “Think real hard. Wanna cum for me, don’t you?”

You nodded desperately, now chasing every movement of your hips, the pressure was building and building, your clit throbbing against the strength of his thigh. He let you do your thing, just watched you unravel slowly, whispering praise like poison in your ear.

“That’s it. Just like that. Look at you—so sweet and dumb, so fuckin’ precious. Bet if I let you cum like this, you’ll be beggin’ me to show you what ridin’ my cock feels like next, huh?”

“I think—I think I’m gonna—Joel—”

You cried out, back arching, your thighs shaking as the orgasm hit. It was hot and dizzying and so much stronger than you expected just from grinding him, but you’d never done anything like this, never been talked through it like this, handled like this. You kept rocking even through it, drawn-out and needy, until Joel’s hands stilled you.

“Shh. That’s it. That’s enough, baby. I got you.”

Joel held you close through it, murmuring praise into your hair, arms wrapped around you like you were something breakable. When your breath finally slowed and your hips stilled, you whispered, “Joel…”

His thumb brushed over your bottom lip. “Yeah, baby?”

You swallowed, voice small. “I think I’m ready.”

He stilled, blinking, breathing harder now.

“Yeah?” he said after a second, thumb still pressed to your mouth. “You sure, sweetheart? Don’t say it if you’re not. I can wait. I’ll fuckin’ wait forever for you.”

You nodded. “I want it to be you.”

Even though that orgasm had been mind-blowing, your body was still craving more. You were a little scared, but you knew Joel loved you, and that he’d take such good care of you in every step of the way.

Joel let out a shaky, wrecked sound and leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, your cheek, your lips. He kissed you like you’d given him something holy. He felt so honored to be the one, the only one, to take that part of you. To be the first cock to stretch you open, to fill you up completely.

“Alright,” he rasped. “Alright, baby girl. We’ll go slow. Real slow. I got you.”

He laid you spread open on the bed, softly, like you were made out of glass. He kissed down your chest, your stomach, your thighs, murmuring as he went.

“I just…” You swallowed, cheeks burning. “I’m nervous. I don’t know what it’s gonna feel like.”

Joel exhaled softly, his voice dropped low.

“S’a stretch, baby. First time always is. You might hurt some. But I’ll be right here the whole time. I’ll help you through it. You just gotta listen to me, yeah?”

You nodded.

“Gonna be s’good for me,” he breathed. “You’ve been s’good for me already, haven’t you? Lettin’ me teach you. Lettin’ me touch you. And now you’re gonna let me take you all the way. That what you want, baby? Want daddy to take your little virgin pussy?”

Your thighs trembled. “Y-Yeah.”

Joel pulled back just long enough to wrap his hand around himself, hard, and heavy, all over again.

“Look at this cock, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You really think you’re ready for all this?”

Your eyes flicked to his cock, shy but sure, it was all you needed right now. “I want it.”

He groaned, moving between your thighs again. “Alright. Gonna give you just a little first, okay? Gotta stretch you open slow, baby. I ain’t lettin’ you hurt.”

His fingers stroked through your folds, slick and ready, spreading you for him, and then you felt the broad head of his cock, warm and insistent, pressing right at your entrance.

“Deep breath,” Joel said, his voice like velvet. “Just the tip first, like last time. Let daddy in.”

You exhaled, and he took that moment to push forward, just barely, just enough to breach you. You gasped, your whole body tightened around him instinctively, but Joel was already soothing you, already leaning over you with kisses and murmurs and praise.

You gasped—your hands flew to his arms, nails digging in. “Joel—oh—wait—”

“Shh, shh,” he soothed. “I know, baby. I know. It’s a lot. Daddy’s so sorry.”

He leaned down and kissed your forehead. You were shaking, even if he wasn’t moving.

he whispered. “Too much?”

You shook your head quickly. “Just… hurts more than I thought.”

“I know, baby. I know it hurts. Just breathe f’me. You’re doin’ great.”

You tried to breathe through it, feeling the dull burn of being opened by something too big, too thick, but still, you wanted it, you wanted him.

“Shhh, baby, that’s it. You’re doin’ so good. Tight little thing, ain’t you? Gonna suck me in so sweet. I knew you’d be tight, but fuck—you’re squeezin’ me like you never wanna let go.”

You let out a shaky laugh that turned into a cry as he gave another slow push.

“It’s a lot, huh?” he whispered against your ear. “Big cock stretchin’ you for the first time. Feels full, don’t it?”

You nodded, jaw trembling. “So full.”

“Too much?”

“No. Keep going, daddy.”

His breath hitched. “Jesus. You’re so fuckin’ brave, baby girl.”

And then finally—finally—he was all the way in, buried to the hilt, making you gasp again. Joel froze, holding you tightly, his whole body shaking above yours.

“Christ,” he groaned. “You took all of me. First time and you’re takin’ me so goddamn deep. That pussy was made for me. You feel that?”

You could only nod. Tears prickled the corners of your eyes. Joel looked down, utterly wrecked by the sight of your pussy swallowing him whole, of that tight little hole stretched around him.

You could feel everything, every twitch, every throb, every part of him stretching you open in ways you’d never imagined. It hurt, he was so big, and your body was struggling to take it, but you knew the pain would fade, your just needed to give your body a minute to stretch, to get used to him, and once it passed, the good part would come.

Joel rocked gently, barely moving, just letting your body adjust. You whimpered at the pressure, at the fullness, at the intensity of it all.

Joel just babied you. “Such a sweet girl. So fuckin’ brave. You lettin’ me be your first, baby? Makin’ me feel honored.”

“Don’t move yet,” you whispered. “Just… stay.”

“I ain’t movin’,” Joel said. “You tell me when. This pussy belongs to you until you give me permission.”

Your heart ached by how sweet he was, you wrapped your arms around his neck, held on, breathed, and slowly, the pain dulled, the sting turned to heat, the fullness turned to need, you needed more, you desperatly needed friction.

“Okay,” you whispered. “You can move now.”

Joel pulled back, just a little, and then rolled his hips forward, slow and steady. And again, and again. Each stroke made you gasp, made you cling to his shoulders, the feeling of him sliding deep, hot and heavy and perfect, dragging against every tender, untouched nerve inside you.

Every thrust was shallow, slow, careful, but it still made your thighs tremble. The pain was a shadow now, replaced with a tight, delicious ache and something filthy blooming low in your belly.

“Good girl,” he kept whispering. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ good. I knew you would. This sweet little pussy was just waitin’ for me, wasn’t it?”

You moaned so loud your throat felt sore. You would’ve been so embarrassed if you hadn’t been so completely lost in the overwhelming, electric pleasure coursing through your body.

He was trying to hold back, trying to stay gentle, because he knew how important a first time was, and you were his baby, you deserved for it to be nothing but soft and sweet. But in the back of his mind, he was already tasting the future, already imagining how he’d have you in all fours soon, when your body was ready to take more. He’d be rough then, fucking you deep and hard, just like he knew you’d want it once you got a real taste of him. But not now. Not yet.

“You wanted this cock,” he murmured. “You needed it. Wanted daddy to teach you how to take it. Fuck—look at you, baby girl, takin’ every inch. Buryin’ my cock all the way in this perfect fuckin’ pussy.”

You nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks, not quite from pain anymore, but from how full and overwhelmed you were. Joel kissed them away, he started to move faster, the heat built with every slow thrust, every slick grind of his hips against yours, and then his hand slid between you, thumb circling your clit in time with his thrusts.

You arched under him, sobbing louder now, overwhelmed and shaking from how deep he was. It felt like he was in your stomach, stretching places you didn’t even know could feel pleasure.

“J-Joel, it’s so much,” you whimpered. “I—didn’t know it could feel like this.”

He groaned low, voice thick and wrecked.

“That’s right, baby. That’s me all the way up in there,” he murmured, pressing his palm flat against your lower belly, feeling the bulge where his cock reached so deep it made your eyes roll back.

“That’s it,” he grunted. “Wanna feel you cum on my cock. Want this little pussy to milk me dry. Can you do that for me, baby?”

“Y-Yes—yes—Joel—”

You didn’t even have to try, the tip of his cock found that perfect spot inside you, that sweet, aching place you didn’t even know could feel that good, and the moment he hit it you saw stars, and then he hit it again… and again… and again.

You came hard, it was all so new, so perfect. You clenched around him, voice breaking, and the spasms of your cunt made Joel snap. His thrusts got rougher, deeper, his hips stuttering as he groaned your name over and over again.

“I’m gonna cum—fuck—gonna fill you up, baby girl, give you every fuckin’ drop—mine, you hear me? This pussy’s mine.”

He spilled inside you, grinding deep, holding you to him as you both fell apart. You clung to him, trembling, panting, tears still slipping down your cheeks. It was strange, so strange, a sudden heat blooming inside you, you swore you could feel his thick and warm seed being spilled inside you, and then sliding back out, dripping from your sore, used hole, slick and messy between your thighs. You whimpered at the sensation, so sensitive now that even the slow trickle of it made you twitch.

“You did so good,” he whispered. “So goddamn good. You’re mine now, baby. Every part of you.”

Afterward, Joel gave a few slow, shallow thrusts to push his cum deeper inside you before going completely soft. Even as he pulled out with a low groan, he watched the last of his seed slowly drip from your hole.

“Fuck… look at that, baby,” he rasped, his voice still thick with lust and awe. “Can’t even keep it in. I filled you that good.”

You could barely speak, barely breathe. All you could do was lay there and feel his release leaking out of you in hot waves.

“Daddy made a mess in you,” he murmured, his thumb gently playing with the warm slickness, spreading it over your folds and making you flinch from the sudden sensitivity. “D’you want me to clean you up, baby?”

“Mmm, can I stay like this, daddy?” you whispered. “I wanna feel you inside me.”

It felt… nice. Comforting, even. Being this marked by him. Joel just nodded, he didn’t move away from you, he just stroked your face, your hair, kissed your cheeks and whispered how good you’d done, how proud he was, how much he loved you.

And even though your body ached, your legs were still trembling, and your thighs were sticky with him, you felt safer than you ever had in your life.

He kissed your face, your hair, your lips. You were still crying a little.

“You did so good, baby girl,” he whispered. “So fuckin’ good f’me. I’m so proud of you.”

You held onto him, safe in his arms, and whispered.

“…I love you.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time. “I love you too, sweetheart. More than I ever thought I could.”

A/N: This definitely ended up being much longer than I intended, especially for pure porn without plot, lol

I’m so happy to see how much you liked the previous part I posted🥹 I immediately started writing this other one, and I hope you enjoy it just as much. If you do, please consider showing some support, it would mean the world to me🩷🩷

dividers by: @/diviniyae

[missadangel]

The Heart of Rome (Marcus Acacius x OC!Princess) All Chapters

-completed-

Summary:  You are a secret medicus (physician) who embarks on a perilous journey to heal General Marcus Justus Acacius, who was wounded during the war. However, there is a hidden truth: you believe yourself to be an orphan, but you are mistaken. In reality, you are a Roman princess, the daughter of the previous emperor. Everyone, including your half-brothers who now hold the throne, thinks you died long ago. You remain unaware of this truth, but everything you know is about to change forever.

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x OC/Princess, She has golden hair and hazel eyes, her age is 26, and her name is Aya, (later called Aurelia when she finds out she is a princess)

Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI, Smut

Word Count: +300k so far (sorry for writing loong chapters:))

Warnings: falling in love, loss of virginity, mention about virginity, slow burn, rough sex, smut, sex, oral sex (both f&m receiving), all sex, dirty talk, gladiators, battle, war, violence, blood, ancient time language, fluffy, injury, pregnancy, childbirth, breeding kink, drunk sex, grieving, intrigue, passion, lust

my masterlist

ao3 link

I. Heal the Heart

II. The Letter

III. The Intention

IV. The Desire

V. The Council

VI. The Battle

VII. The Wedding

VIII. Lust, Threat, Tension

IX. The Rage

X. The Conflict

XI. The Accusation

XII. The First Kill

XIII. The Missing

XIV. The Ambush

XV. The Plan

XVI. Separation and Triumph

XVII. The Birth

XVIII. The Unexpected

XIX. Trouble

XX. Game

XXI. Retaliation

XXII. Hostile

XXIII. Farewell

XXIV. Grief

XXV. Sorrow

XXVI. Trap

XXVII. Comeuppance

XXVIII. Thirst

XXIX. Defiance

XXX. In Aeternum et Ultra (Final chapter)

My playlist if you care to listen while reading

[pascalissmoked]

-Thighriding with Joel-

cw: thighriding, dry humping, hinting at sex, joel being a brooding mess, spicy time with grumpy joel basically

a/n: just a short drabble bc joel makes me feel funny things 😋

Joel had been in his brooding, lonely self for the past few days now. Stiff posture, arms folded, that look in his eye like the world had personally pissed him off. He hadn’t said much all day — barely a grunt during patrol, less than that when you tried to joke around.

You knew that look. He was chewing on something he wouldn’t spit out.

So you decided to make it worse.

You walked right up to him in the quiet of his living room, hands cold from the snow, cheeks flushed from the wind. He didn’t even look at you when you walked in. Just kept staring at the fire like it had offended him somehow. You kicked the door shut behind you, boots thudding on the floor, and leaned against the wall, watching him.

“Long day?” you asked lightly.

No answer.

You moved closer, slow. He didn’t flinch, didn’t blink, didn’t move. Just clenched his jaw tighter. You’d seen him like this before — wound up so tight he could snap steel in half. The only difference was now… he wasn’t pushing you away.

So you pushed first.

You stepped between his legs, palms on his thighs, and leaned down until your mouth brushed his ear. “You gonna keep sulking like a damn ghost, or are you gonna do something about the way you’ve been looking at me all week?”

That got his attention.

Joel’s hand shot up, gripping your hip like it was instinct. Not rough, but final — like now that he had you, he wasn’t letting go.

“You got a mouth on you,” he muttered, voice low and gritty.

You smiled against his jaw. “You’ve been ignoring me for three days. Figured I’d give it something to talk about.”

He finally looked at you — really looked. And the heat in that gaze made your stomach flip. His pupils were blown, breathing shallow, hands twitching like he was holding back something brutal.

“You don’t know what you’re askin’ for,” he said, more warning than protest.

You straddled his lap in one smooth motion, letting your weight sink into him. You felt the shift in his body — his breath hitch, his thigh tense under you, the sharp exhale against your neck. “Yeah, I do.”

Joel’s hands slid up your thighs, rough palms dragging slow, deliberate. “You come in here, wearin’ that little smirk... sittin’ on me like you fuckin’ own me…”

“Maybe I do,” you whispered, grinding against him. “Maybe you’ve been mine since the first time I caught you starin’ when I bent over that fence.”

He growled — an actual, low growl that rumbled in his chest. His hand tangled in your hair and yanked your head back, just enough to make your breath catch.

“You don’t get to talk like that and walk away.”

“Then stop me,” you dared.

Joel surged up, mouth crashing into yours — all teeth and heat and frustration finally breaking through. He kissed you like a punishment, like a promise, like he’d been starving for it and hated himself for wanting it.

You ground down harder, and he groaned — deep, almost pained.

Your hips moved on instinct now, chasing every ounce of pressure, every twitch of his thigh, every time his grip shifted to hold you down tighter, rougher.

“That’s it,” he growled. “Fuckin’ take it.”

You were so close it hurt. And Joel knew it — knew every breath that caught in your throat, every tremble in your thighs. His voice dropped to a low, dangerous whisper.

“C’mon, baby. Make a fuckin’ mess.”

That was all it took.

You came with a shudder and a whimper, fingers fisting the front of his shirt. Joel held you through it, breathing hard, eyes locked on you like he was watching something sacred — or maybe something sinful.

“You needy little thing,” he muttered, pulling your hips harder against his. “Could’ve had this days ago if you’d just said the word.”

You bit his lip. “Where’s the fun in that?”

His grip on you tightened. “You got five seconds to decide if you want this soft or if you want it the way I’ve been thinkin’ about since you showed up in this town.”

You didn’t hesitate.

“Ruin me.”

Joel’s eyes darkened — like something inside him snapped free. And just before he dragged you down again, before his hands shoved under your shirt like he couldn’t stand another second of distance, he said—

“You fuckin’ asked for it, sweetheart.”

And you were so glad you did.

[joelslastofus]

[SUMMARY: Pregnant reader saves Joel from Abby.]

That’s when you looked back at Joel and for just a moment, a glimpse of the vulnerable fear he had just felt flickered in his eyes.

You knew how Joel would feel about you coming after him, you knew if he had even the slightest idea that you were heading out there he would’ve found a way to stop you if he could. The two of you only just finding out you were pregnant weeks before, Joel was extra protective of you. He made Tommy give him his word that he would care for you while he did patrol. But the moment you knew Joel wasn’t responding and heard about the lodge, you had to go even if it meant sneaking behind Tommy’s back. You were supposed to be locked in a basement with other women, children and the elderly, but you refused to do so. Your love for Joel being too strong to just sit by and wait it out, you left without looking back.

The blizzard was brutal, you could no longer feel your face, the snow making it hard for you to even see, until you finally saw a horse from afar.

It had to be Joel’s horse.

Joel looked back out the window at the scene going on in Jackson, thinking of you…thinking of his unborn child. A panic brewing inside him and it had nothing to do with his life being threatened but because he couldn’t help you, he couldn’t keep you safe and that to him was the most important thing.

As sneaky as you were, it didn’t take long for Tommy to find out you were missing. Knowing how crazy his brother was about you, he got things under control with the other men and quickly got on his horse heading out to find you.

Walking into the lodge you could hear a woman’s voice, anger to her tone but you couldn’t make out what she was saying.

Then you heard Joel’s voice as you got closer and your heart skipped a beat.

“Military” you listened closely. With your gun in hand, you slowly opened the door to see Joel with his hands up. He was being questioned by people you’ve never seen before. Your lips parting you took a step back not knowing what to do when suddenly you were grabbed from behind. A hand over your mouth you were dragged to a corner before you heard a very familiar voice.

“I’m gonna get in there first, you stay behind me. Alright?”

It was Tommy.

Boy had you never been so relieved to hear his voice. Quickly you nodded as he let go and headed to the door in front of you.

Looking over at you, he counted with his fingers and on 3 he busted into the room with his gun immediately going off.

Tommy moved quickly taking down 4 when you noticed the woman who was speaking to Joel looking back directly at you. Without saying a word you aimed your gun at her and shot her straight in the head. Just like that she was on the floor. Joel stood in shock, speechless, his hands still halfway in the air. You couldn’t speak, you couldn’t believe what you had just walked into. Tommy took a quick look around the room making sure there wasn’t more of them around before he turned to his brother.

“Joel, we good?” Tommy called out to him.

“Yeah” Joel finally responded blankly. His eyes not leaving you until you dropped everything and ran to him. His arms instantly catching you, closing around you as he held you tightly. Neither of you saying a word but you could feel him trembling.

“Joel, I was so-“ he suddenly grabbed your face and made you look up at him.

“Don’t cha ever pull somethin’ like this again, ya leave this to Tommy ya hear me?” His lip trembled. The thought of anything happening to you or his baby because he was in trouble was something he was not going to allow. But Joel’s eyes instantly softened the moment he looked at you and noticed the fear you just felt. Your damn stubbornness saving him.

“I’m sorry” he quickly whispered.

“I couldn’t leave you out here knowing something bad could be happening..” you whispered through tears.

“Tommy didn’t know I left” Joel looked up at his brother who confirmed what you said with a nod. Joel still held your face in his hands before you turned around to see the body of the woman you had just killed on the ground.

“Nice shot” Tommy uttered low with a chuckle before stepping over her and out of the room. That’s when you looked back at Joel and for just a moment, a glimpse of the vulnerable fear he had just felt flickered in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” You caressed his face with your hand, your thumb brushing over his facial hair as he looked down at you.

“I’ll be fine, let’s get cha back home” as usual, you always being his main concern.

Once you were back home, Joel was surprised to see everything that had happened. Jesse and the other men keeping as much of the town together as they could but in that moment nothing mattered to you.

Nothing but Joel.

Aside from repeatedly asking you if you felt ok, he hadn’t said much of anything else since returning.

“Please come to bed, Joel” you walked to the doorway holding your robe tightly around you. Joel sitting on the porch like he usually did when he had a lot on his mind, guitar in hand.

“Get inside, doll. Too damn cold for you to be standin’ there”

“I don’t wanna go to bed without you” you sighed.

“Please” you whispered. Joel pressed his lips together and gave you a nod.

He didn’t say much when he first came in, he almost seemed to be avoiding eye contact but you knew him very well. Taking his hand you led him to the bedroom. Slowly helping him take off his coat and gloves, he didn’t say a word.

“Baby, talk to me” you took his face gently in your hands and made him look up at you. Eyes filled with sadness, worry, thoughts that you wish you could take away.

“We’re okay” you whispered as if you needed to remind him, you felt his hand on your stomach and looked down. The thought of him not being around to keep you both safe was one he couldn’t bear.

“Joel?” You spoke softly looking back up at him, a knot in his throat when he suddenly pulled you against his body. A breath of relief feeling your arms close around him. He closed his eyes feeling your body against him, he didn’t want to let you go.

“I love you so damn much, baby” he choked out making you tear up.

“I love you too” still, he held you and you let him. Your hand making swirls in his thick waves when you remembered Ellie.

“Joel,” he slowly pulled back hearing the tone in your voice.

“Before anything happened today…after you left…Ellie-“

“Tommy told me she’s fine” his brows furrowed.

“Yes, she is. Joel she was looking for you earlier,” you smiled knowing how much this would mean to him.

“She wanted to talk to you and needed your help with making somethin-“

“Her lights already out, maybe I can-“

“First thing in the morning”

You assured him with a smile.

“We all had a long day and need our rest. She said she’ll be waiting for you” you kissed him on the lips and turned to bed.

That night Joel slept in a way he hadn’t slept in a long time. He slept feeling at ease, thinking of Ellie, thinking of you and your baby..

(I can’t add more people to the tag it says no more than 50 I’m sorry)

@itsamandi @starry-eyes-love @theoraekenslover @psychoenergy @joeldjarin @heartpatch @baronessvonglitter @guelyury @mynameistokyo @harriedandharassed @locaparapedrito @untamedheart81 @rosaliedepp @illyanam1011 @hopefulatrocity @tikikiki @thewritermj @l0veang3l @manuymesut @katiemarieeee @unknownomgg @secretcheesecakenacho @missladym1981 @xmaykeca @dendulinka6 @wintersquirrel @malfoycassimalfoy @scorpio-echo @orcasoul @mysteryhexgirl @locaparapedrito @alloftheimagines @mystickittytaco

@ashleyfilm @justajoelsreader @lonely-ey3s

@elliesr1fle @ro-nahime-things @southernbe @dendulinka6 @laliceee @just-mj-or-not @iamtoriasworld @katwriteshardy @gwend0lyne @lily-mylove @antobooh @sukivenue @keileighr

@readingiskeepingmegoing

[damneddamsy]

falling | joel miller x fem!oc (part i)

EVENT HORIZON: The line crossed beyond which return is impossible.

summary: Joel Miller never expected much out of Jackson—just a quiet place to live out the days he had left. But when a baby’s cries lead him to a mother unravelling under the pressure of nursing her child she never asked for, he finds himself tangled in something he can’t walk away from—no matter how much he tells himself he should.

a/n: this is soft daddy Joel like you've never seen before. angst, angst, angst. just heart-wrenching, gut-clenching, bucket-full-of-tears kind of flow. but I promise, I swear to you, it's going to get good!

Joel had spent the past week trying to ignore it.

The sound was distant, quelled through the walls, but it was there—constant, sharp infant's cries slashing through the night, wounded, helpless. The baby never laughed, cooed, or made little, gurgling noises that kids were supposed to make. It cried, night after night, with the same pitiful wails, like it were fighting sleep and didn’t know how to be comforted.

And the mother?

Leela. That was her name. Tommy and Maria had told him her family had been here before them, before all of this, that she’d grown up in Jackson, that the big white house across from his had always been hers. He instantly believed it—her place didn’t look like the others. It was well-kept in a way that wasn’t just for show. The wood was aged, but it was polished, the porch steps stayed sturdy, and the windows were wiped clean even in the dead of winter. A home, not just a shelter.

Though it wasn’t warm.

Not with that sound in the night. Not when he never saw anyone else go inside, ever.

No one knew who the kid’s father was, and Leela never said. She wouldn’t even let people help her—not Maria, not the older women in town who had tried, not even the ones who had kids of their own and knew what to do. And now, at the end of another long day, that fucking baby was crying again.

Joel had tried to let it be. Had forced himself to breathe, stay in his house, shut the curtains, turn over in bed and pull the blanket over his head like some stubborn old bastard trying to pretend it wasn’t his problem.

But it was.

Because he could hear it. And it sounded fucking miserable, and he’d had enough.

When the cries began to get worse in the night, that was his last straw. With a frustrated sigh, he yanked on his jacket, shoved his arms through the sleeves, and stepped out into the cold, the door crashing shut behind him. The snow crunched beneath his boots as he crossed the road, hands tightening into fists, shoulders squared. The wind blew at him, biting into his skin, augmenting his edge, and when he reached her porch, he had half a mind to just bang on the damn door until she answered.

But—he hesitated.

There was still a kid in there. The devilkin, probably. A baby, nevertheless, and its struggling mother.

He exhaled through his nose, loosened his fingers, and reached for the old metal knocker instead. Three firm, unchanging raps.

A pause. A paddle of footsteps down the staircase inside, light and hesitant. A sniffle. A sigh.

The curtains fluttered from nearby—just a fraction, just enough for him to catch the glint of an eye in the darkness, shedding a blade of light onto the frozen lawn. And then the door creaked open.

The poor mother looked like hell.

Her eyes—pretty, brown, red-rimmed, heavy-lidded—held the kind of exhaustion that settled deep, beyond sleep, beyond fixing. Her cheeks were hollowed, her lips chapped to brown, her long hair falling loose from whatever attempt she’d made to pull it back.

And the baby—the cries hadn’t stopped. If anything, they were worse now. Closer, desperate. The sound reached him in waves, piercing, thin, rattling against the walls of the house and clawing at something deep in his chest. A familiarity.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she murmured. Her voice was raw, barely holding together. “I just…”

She trailed off as if the words had run out, or she didn’t have the strength to find them. Then the baby shrieked, and she flinched. A full-body recoil, like the sound had physically struck her. She turned away, pushing her wrist to her nose, shoulders curling inward, folding into herself as though she could disappear into the space she took up.

And Joel—well, he had been ready to lay into her. To tell her to do something, to figure it out, to stop letting that kid cry itself raw night after night. But looking at her now, standing there with her arms wrapped tight around herself, shaking from something that wasn’t just the cold…

He couldn’t do it.

Instead, against every instinct, every frustration, he surprised himself by saying—

“Let me try.”

X

Joel didn’t exactly wait for an answer.

Didn’t stop to think if he had the right or question if she would let him in, because the noise was still there, splitting the air, working its way under his skin like a thorn that wouldn’t come out. His jaw tightened once more, and the next thing he knew, he was pushing past her and her doorstep.

He wasn’t trying to be cruel. Well, he had been, just not anymore.

It was beyond audacity or desperation. A need to stop that noise. That noise had been giving him sleepless nights for a week now, and with it came the memories he’d spent years burying. He couldn't afford to let them resurface by the likes of this strange, terrible mother.

Leela's house smelled faintly of old wood, old cotton, dust, and a softness underneath—like sun-warmed linen, the lingering scent of a person who lived there and never once left. It was dark, too, save for the single glow spilling from a room upstairs. His boots were lumbering against the worn floorboards, his breaths crowding in his chest as he took the stairs two at a time. Nearly six doors on the second floor as far as he could see, but only one was open.

He stepped inside.

The first thing he noticed was the cradle, right in the centre of the empty room, definitely placed there on purpose, a meagre little crib mobile fashioned into wooden horses, dangling mid-air.

Old. The hinges were barely holding together. The wood had whittled away from time, its edges dulled, a possible relic that had been used for generations. The mattress inside was thin, its fabric stained with age, but the flowery sheets were neatly tucked and arranged properly. Everything was in its place.

This wasn’t neglect.

This was someone trying—failing.

And then the baby. The newborn, should he say. No older than a month, wriggling in its white nappy, legs kicking in frantic little bursts, tiny fists curled so tight they trembled. Tears slicked its cheeks, its face blotchy and red against the tanned skin, its mouth stretched wide in a scream so raw, so piercing, that it stole the breath straight from the lungs. It didn’t take a dumbass like him to know it was starving, wasting away with exhaustion.

But goddamn, if that wasn’t one beautiful fucking baby.

Biggest brown eyes he’d ever seen, glassy, glinting, wet and searching. A head full of thick, dark hair, clammy and curling at the ends like downy little question marks. But it wasn’t chubby the way babies should be. Not soft enough. Too small, skin drawn tight, movements restless but weak. Malnourished.

His jaw clenched. He barely registered the sharp footsteps rushing up behind him until the mother's voice cut through the noise.

“Hey, ‘scuse me, I didn’t let—”

He cut off her protest with an abrupt, “Boy or girl?”

She stopped short, her lips parting. She swallowed down whatever she’d been about to say.

“Girl,” she breathed.

Joel’s gaze flicked back to the baby. He noticed the slight bloating around her belly, the way she arched and curled, restless, like she couldn’t find a position that didn’t hurt. That explained the shrieking. Colic, for sure.

“You fed her anything?”

There was a thoughtful pause, and then, quietly—

“I—I’ve been having trouble with…” She gestured vaguely to her chest, gaze dropping, almost ashamed. “I tried some water... um... I don't know.”

Jesus Christ. Joel dragged a hand down his face, exhaling hard through his nose. Too late at night or too early in the morning—he didn’t know which, and at this point, it didn’t matter. His head ached. His body ached. And this baby girl—this poor, starving little thing—had been too hapless to be born to this fucking clueless, stubborn, dreadful mother.

“Need to call Maria,” he said under his breath.

Her eyes went wide. “I don’t need anybody’s help. I'm fine.”

He let out a sharp, humourless laugh, shaking his head. “You don't. Your girl sure does. And try saying that when this crib empties in the next week.”

She flinched, shoulders jerking.

He barely registered his words drawing blood. He was already moving, already slipping into old instinct, the one he assumed had died a long time ago.

Stepping closer, Joel reached into the cradle, hands slipping beneath the baby’s small, rigid spine. Carefully, he eased her onto her stomach, a shush falling from his lips, settling her against his forearm, palm spanning nearly the length of her body. Christ, she was so fucking small. Too small. Probably premature. A frail, small thing, light as air, fists still curled, breaths coming out in tiny, shuddering gasps between screeching cries.

Leela stood stiff beside him, her breath as uneven as her baby’s, arms wrapped around herself as though she wasn’t sure if she should step forward or pull away.

Joel didn’t look at her. His focus stayed on the newborn. On how her delicate limbs jerked, how her cries wavered like she couldn’t decide if she had the energy to keep going.

He started rubbing gentle, calming circles against her back, one that had been taught to him by a kind nurse in the maternity ward decades ago, and as the calloused warmth of his palm pressed softly but firmly over her fragile bones, he remembered. The old, terrible sentiment stirred in him—buried deep, and it twisted like a knife. He didn’t think about it. Didn’t let himself. He simply kept stroking, kept murmuring, low, quiet, syllables he wasn’t even aware of.

“Thatta, girl. There you go.”

“'Sokay, ssh. Ssh.”

“I got you.”

The wails started to waver, breaking apart in the middle, turning into stuttering hiccups, then snivels, a laughable baby burp that even had him breaking into a small smile. Then—

Silence. Oh, sweet, splendid silence.

Joel exhaled, keeping his touch measured as she shuddered against him, her tiny fingers twitching against the sleeve of his jacket.

“See? Just needed a little push,” he mumbled.

Leela didn’t respond. She was staring. Not at him, exactly, but at his hands, at the way he held the baby. Like she wasn’t sure what to make of it. Observing him, learning.

When he glanced down, she was blinking up at him, half-lidded, her breath slowing, her little body going limp with exhaustion. She made a wet, little noise, almost a soft coo.

“She got a name?”

When the silence lingered, he lifted his head, caught Leela’s hollow stare, and cocked a brow when she didn’t answer. Then, she silently shook her head.

Joel’s hands closed around an imaginary gun as he frowned. “You didn’t name your kid?”

And just like that, it clicked into place. The way she stood there, arms locked tight around herself. The way she hadn’t called the baby anything, not a nickname, no endearments. The way she hadn't moved a step close to protect her baby from this stranger. The hesitation in her voice as she held herself together, unknowingly accosting a struggle.

“She’s yours, ain’t she? Whole damn town knows.”

Her gaze flickered, a firmness rising. “She is.”

After a beat, she lifted the hem of her shirt, revealing the crisscross of stretch marks across her stomach, just above the line of her pants.

Joel sighed through his nose. His fingers ghosted over the baby’s small back before he finally let go, letting her rest in her mother's arms. It felt wrong—leaving the baby there like that—but he slipped his hand away, albeit unwillingly, and stroked her fine, dark hair once. Twice. Then forced himself to stop. Not mine, he assured himself.

He breathed out sharply, standing upright, rubbing a hand over his face. His patience was hanging by a thread. He had no business being here, no reason to care, but—

“Look,” he muttered, frustration leaching through, “you shouldn't have had a kid if you were just gonna sit around and do fuck all. Jesus, at least get yourself some help.”

Leela cringed, a barely noticeable flicker of movement, but he caught it. She turned her face away, tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear, and bit at what little was left of her nail, worrying it between her teeth.

The sight of it—it wasn’t what he expected. He had been bracing for an argument, for defensiveness, for anger. But there was nothing there. Only the empty gnawing of her thumbnail, the restless shifting of her fingers, all of which dropped an uneasy pebble in his stomach.

He exhaled sharply. “Maria’s coming in tomorrow,” he said, and as he did, he was setting it in stone. “Whether you like it or not. She'll know what to do with... the baby.”

That made her glance up. And for the first time, he really saw her.

Not just the flawed mother behind the exhaustion, the red-rimmed eyes, or the way she curled in on herself like she was trying to take up as little space as possible—but the fear. That deep, paralysing kind of fear that settled into a person’s bones, made a home there.

Then his eyes flicked downward, back to the baby. The baby girl had her mother’s eyes. Big, dark, and brimming with wildness, untamed endurance. But a fragility, caught on the verge of bolting. And in that moment, they both looked the same.

Wet. Trembling. Exhausted. Confused. Helpless.

Leela swallowed thickly, lips parting like she wanted to speak. But when she did, her voice barely made it past her throat. “Take her.”

Joel blinked. For a second, he thought he must’ve misheard.

But she was looking at him, explicit, plain—eyes wide and glistening, breaths erratic like she’d just sprinted a mile. And the way she was standing, trembling, fists curled into the fabric of her sleeves—this woman meant it. She was serious.

“You're right,” she whispered, voice barely there. “I might kill her. Just take her away, please.”

A slow, sinking dread pooled in his stomach. His fingers curled at his sides, restless, itching for a handle to hold onto.

The baby stirred weakly against Leela’s chest, small fingers twitching up to her mother's neck, dark lashes fluttering against puckered skin. She had gone quiet, her body motionless in that way newborns only got when they were too damn exhausted to keep crying.

His hands twitched at his sides. He knew exactly what he should do. He should take the kid off her hands. That was the right thing, wasn’t it? He should lift that baby girl into his arms, swaddle her in a blanket, turn on his heel, and walk out the door. Hand her off to Maria, and let someone who actually knew what they were doing step in. Hell, she’d been talking about trying to set up a proper nursery in town, get the kids what they needed—she’d figure it out.

But Joel didn't move; couldn't bring himself to move.

Because now that he was looking at her, from his conscience, he saw it—saw the fear clinging to her like a second skin. Not the blatant fear of Joel or the fear of what people might say. Fear of herself, as though he own conviction was a luxury.

Leela stood there, arms wrapped tight around her baby, herself, her body drawn inward like she was trying to make herself small as if shrinking could somehow erase the truth. The baby rested against her chest, silent now, as if sensing the displacement around her. Her mother's fingers barely touch her, hesitant, weak, the way someone might hold a delicate, jagged piece of glass they weren’t sure they could be trusted with.

Joel’s stomach turned.

“I—I'm not—I can’t do this.” Her voice was hardly above a whisper, frayed at the edges, raw like an old wound that had never properly healed.

A sharp and molten sense turned in his gut, rising fast—panic, maybe. Or that bone-deep realisation of what would happen.

“You ain’t givin’ her up.” His voice came out gruff, unwavering.

Leela let out a breathy, broken laugh, shaking her head. “Do you think I have a choice here?”

“Yeah.” His eyes stayed on hers, unrelenting. “I do.”

She sniffled, shaking her head again, but her fingers twitched against the baby’s blanket, gripping the fabric like she needed something to hold onto.

Joel had seen this before, known people like this. People who stood at the edge of something dark, looking down, unable to turn back. He’d been one of them once. It made that ugly, cruel knot crest back in his chest, and made him angry in a way that didn’t make sense, didn’t sit right.

Because this mother—this stupid, foolish, ignorant girl—had no business being like that. She didn't even know what kind of luck she'd struck with that baby girl. He would've killed to be where she was, even if it was for a moment. To hold a second chance, brand new, all his.

"You're a fucking coward if you're thinking about giving your daughter up.” The words left him, spired as arrows, before he could stop them. “You got plenty of choices, but you're too goddamn pigheaded to make the right one."

She flinched, as if he’d struck her with all his might, like he’d confirmed every awful thing she’d ever thought about herself.

Joel’s jaw locked. It was too late to take it back; the blood had been drawn.

He should’ve stopped. He should’ve taken a breath, let the words settle and left it at that. But there was something about this strange mother, the way she stood there like she was waiting to be knocked down, made his patience snap clean in half.

“Pull yourself together,” he bit out.

And with that, he turned and walked out the door.

The flurries of winter outside were colder than before, or maybe it only seemed that way. Snow scraped beneath his boots as he stepped onto the road, his breath coming sharp, ragged pants in the quiet of the night. His knuckles ached from the tight fists he hadn't been able to loosen, his pulse still hammering.

Stupid mother. That poor child. There was truly no rest for the wicked.

He was halfway across the street when that resentment shifted.

His anger thinned, the heat of it fading just enough for everything else to creep in—her threadbare voice, her hands fluttering, the way her arms had tightened around that kid like she was afraid of herself more than anything else.

He slowed, stopping in his tracks. The big, white house loomed behind him, dark except for that single upstairs window.

Joel looked up at the home.

The cries had started again. Thin, reedy wails carried through the cold, through the walls.

He stood there, staring at the lights flickering against the frost-covered glass.

This time, jaw tight, he turned away.

X

That being said, Joel hadn’t slept well.

Not that he ever did, but last night was worse than usual.

Every time he closed his eyes, it was the baby’s cries again. He saw Leela’s face, dark and hollow, eyes too big for her sunken frame. He heard her voice, raw and trembling, telling him to take the kid—like it was the only way. Like she didn’t trust herself to keep her alive, already grieving her.

Even now, as he tugged on his gloves and prepared for patrol, he kept seeing the way she had watched him with her baby. He remembered the way she desperately looked at him, waiting for him to take the baby from her, as if letting go was the only mercy she had left to offer.

Maria was there now. She had let herself in, just like that, hadn’t knocked or hesitated. And Leela had not met her at the door or even bothered to lock it after Joel had walked out last night.

He adjusted the rifle on his back and breathed out the concern.

Not his problem. He shouldn't be bothered with it. He’d done his part, in fact, more than his part. He had brought help in and gotten someone else to deal with it—someone better suited for this kind of thing. Maria would figure it out. She always did, it's why the town counted on her to run it.

Still, as he swung himself onto his horse and rode out for patrol, that damn house stayed in the back of his mind. The way it stood there, silent and old, while something inside was coming apart at the seams. He related to that insentient home more than most people. Or the way Leela had stood in that dim nursery, shoulders curled inward, appearing more like a ghost than a person.

He shook it off and went through the motions. Focus on the day ahead.

Patrol was long, tedious, and more of the same—checking the perimeter, clearing out old trouble spots down his trail, making sure everything was as it should be, and scouring supplies. A welcome distraction. When he stopped by Ellie’s as usual, she narrowed her eyes at him from behind her sketchbook, muttering about how he looked like shit.

“Didn’t sleep,” was all he said. And she didn’t bother to press. Ellie was another long, welcome, more pesky distraction.

By the time evening rolled around, he’d fallen back into his routine. Routine. That was what mattered. He groomed his horse, rubbing his gloved hands along its mane just to keep them busy. He cleaned his rifle, ensuring the gears weren't easy to jam, and stopped on the way home to pick up some new gear at the store. He grabbed a whiskey—alone—just to take the edge off, slowing down for a bit. Soon enough, he was lugging a whole bottle home.

He finished the evening like always, grabbing a boxed dinner from the mess hall, not bothering to make small talk. No one asked anything of him, and he didn’t offer anything in return. A night like any other. It was an expression he repeated to himself, to anchor himself to reality besides the weight of his breaking boots or the floor beneath.

Then he saw her. Maria was still at that house, waiting by the porch swing, face tense. She spotted him almost instantly and strode straight toward him.

Joel nodded at her in greeting, shifting the box under his arm. “You good?”

Maria didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Sure. Got a second?”

He tipped his chin toward Leela’s door. “All set over there?”

“Far from it.” Her voice was edgy, a sure point of contention. “I need your help.”

Joel scoffed. “What’s the punchline?”

But Maria didn’t laugh, or even crack a smirk. Instead, she followed him inside his house.

Joel’s 'home' was nothing special—functional, practical. Just a space to exist in. A couch pushed against one wall, which he used more than the bed upstairs, a table he used out of necessity, and a kitchen stocked with the bare minimum. Not much to look at, or even stay for long. It wasn't home, but it was enough. Certainly nothing like Leela’s home, where history bled through the worn floorboards, through the walls, a place that had been lived in.

Joel didn’t let himself think about that house too much. He dropped the box of food onto the table, turning to Maria with his arms crossed.

“Well?”

Maria sighed, staring out the window toward the street, and into his neighbour’s house. The porch light flickered weakly, and the house itself looked darker than it had last night. Like it had collapsed in on itself a little more.

“She’s not okay, Joel.”

Joel huffed, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve, pretending not to hear the implication behind those words. “Figured.”

“No,” Maria said, sharper now. “I mean it.”

She turned back to him, her eyes shadowed with a charge heavier than concern. She looked tired—unravelled—in a way that wasn’t merely about the town or the thousand responsibilities on her shoulders. It was personal.

Joel exhaled a breath, already feeling the walls closing in on this conversation.

Maria rubbed a hand over her face. “She’s more disturbed than the last time I saw her a month ago. I don’t think she’s had a proper meal in days. She’s having trouble breastfeeding, let alone keeping herself together enough to care for that baby.” She shook her head. “Look, I can’t be there all the time. I’ve got the whole town to run, a hundred things to look after. Tommy’s drowning in work. We're stretched thin as it is.” Her eyes met his, trusting and pointed. “You’re my last resort.”

Joel frowned, jaw ticking. “And do what, exactly? Pretend like I've done this dance before?”

“Just be there,” Maria said so positively, like it wasn’t the worst fucking idea in the world. “Make sure she doesn’t slip up with the baby. Help where you can. Just a few days—until Tommy and I can step in.”

Joel dragged a hand down his beard, letting go of an infuriated sigh. “You gotta be shitting me.”

“Joel, this is serious.”

“You want me to play babysitter to that terrible mom.”

Everything in him wanted to refuse. He’d done his goddamn part here, hadn't he? He didn’t owe that woman anything. She had a nice home, a pretty face, and all that space. She had her newborn. And if she didn’t know how to handle it, that was on her. That was the hand she was dealt. He wasn’t looking to take on another burden. Christ, wasn’t he supposed to be done with this kind of thing? Wasn’t he past the point of taking in lost causes?

But Maria didn’t appear to be giving him a choice. Her voice softened, dropped several octaves, and edged with meaning. “I don’t think she had this baby with someone she knew, Joel. I know she did not.”

Joel stiffened, every muscle aching. Maria’s expression didn’t change, but there was implicit significance there, solemn enough that it didn’t need to be stated outright. Still, it landed in his gut like a stone.

She let the silence stretch, let him fill in the gaps. And he did.

“I hope you understand what I'm getting at,” she continued. “I don’t think she wanted this at all.”

Joel clenched his jaw, staring at the floor, pretending like he didn’t hear them. He didn't ask how she knew, didn’t even ask what she’d seen in that house today that had led her to that conclusion.

Because he already knew. He’d seen it, too.

The way Leela couldn’t bring herself to name the baby. The way she looked at the child was like she was something fragile, unfamiliar, and that didn’t belong to her. The way she had looked at him—not with resentment at his venomous words, but with resignation.

As if she were handing over the baby because she genuinely believed it was the only way to save her. A fist of darkness coiled around his stomach.

Joel knew what it was like to lose a child. He knew what it did to a person, how it tore through you, how it hollowed them out from the inside. But whatever this was, it wasn’t grief. This was something worse. He prayed he would never have to deal with this.

This was a woman standing on the edge of the deep and the dark, staring down into it, wondering how much further she could fall before there was no coming back. And there was a baby—a fucking baby—at her feet. Yet, she was ready to take that fall.

Joel exhaled a slow breath, rubbing the back of his neck.

But the truth was, he’d already stepped in. Already gotten himself involved. Whether out of desperation or some obstinate, buried need to fix things that were beyond saving, he wasn’t sure. And now, if he walked away, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to live with the consequences.

Suddenly, the room felt smaller, the walls a little tighter. A long silence stretched between them.

Finally, reluctantly, he sighed. “This is a big fuckin’ mistake, Maria. I'm the last person who should be over there with her.”

Maria nodded, hearing only what she needed to hear, relief flickering across her face. “You’ll figure it out. I’ll be around if you need anything. Thank you.”

Joel didn’t answer. He didn't know what the hell he’d just agreed to, but something in his gut told him it was going to end real bad.

X

Dewy dawn washed over his neighbour's house, alabaster and frigid, as Joel made his way up the steps. It must’ve been the perfect oversized home once, costing north of at least five mil, back when the world was still whole—white clapboard, cavernous porch with a swingset, somewhere that had been waiting too long for someone to come back home. A place built to last. And maybe, before seasons and silence collapsed, it had.

But time had sunk its teeth in. The paint had started peeling in the corners, the wood of the steps groaned under his boots, and though the windows were clean, there was something hollow about the way they sat in their frames as if no one had looked out of them in a long time. It didn’t have the disrepair of a broken-down house, but rather the hush of a place that had lost its vitality.

And the front door was open again.

Joel clenched his jaw.

Maria had been right—that girl really didn’t have a single clue.

He pushed the door wider and stepped inside, cautious, not wanting to seem intrusive but unable to stop himself from taking in the room. It wasn’t what he expected.

Her home wasn’t cluttered, wasn’t in disarray, but there was something about it that felt… off. A life suspended mid-thought. A place inhabited by a mind too consumed to fuss over the details of living.

Against one wall, three blackboards leaned slightly askew, their surfaces dense with math—long, elegant trails of equations and symbols that curled and darted in sharp, decisive strokes, a handwriting that came from obsession, not care. At their base lay a scatter of chalk nubs and crumpled paper, some balled tight, others torn through in places, as if discarded mid-frustration into a wastebasket that stood nearby, perpetually missing its mark.

Shelves lined the walls with quiet precision—solved Rubik’s cubes, notebooks snapped shut with elastic bands, rows of empty pens jammed upright in a clay mug. Everything had a place, yet none of it did—more like artefacts left behind after long stretches of deep work. On the table, a coffee mug sat with dried stains at the bottom, an imprint of hands that had used it over and over, mindlessly, then set it aside without a thought.

Joel glared through it all, taking it in.

A fucking scientist. That was the last thing he’d ever have guessed about her. Dr Leela last-name-something, the resident nerd mom.

He didn’t know what he wished to see when he ascended the stairs, only that everything about the house still put him on edge. It wasn’t just the oddity of it—the blackboards filled with numbers, the pages of equations scattered like fallen leaves—it was the fact that none of it felt lived in. Clinical. Like the house had been built to serve a purpose, but never for a person.

He reached the top step just as he heard the baby girl’s soft fussing from down the hall. The sound made him hesitate. It wasn’t the sharp, desperate cries from the sleepless night before; this was more peaceful, almost a coo, the kind of sound that made that knot in his chest tighten before he could push it down.

Carefully, he strode forward, peering into the nursery.

Leela stood by the cradle, one hand rubbing slow, absentminded circles over the baby’s tiny stomach. It was almost an imitation of what he’d done the night before, but the difference was clear—where his movements had been practised, knowing, hers were unsure, a mimicry, like she was following a set of instructions she didn’t quite understand.

She looked different in the daylight. Dressed neatly in a long, thin nightgown that fell to her ankles, her black hair was left loose, unbrushed, hanging past her hips in uneven waves, obviously never having seen the business end of a pair of scissors. The exhaustion was still there—was part of her, woven into how she held herself—but her face was smoother, her shoulders less rigid, like she had settled into the shape of a mother.

The floorboard groaned beneath his boot. Leela darted a glance. She even tried for a small smile. A little, ghostly quirk of her lips.

“Hello, Joel.”

He didn’t respond. Something about how she looked at him, or maybe how she looked past him, disturbed him. He didn’t like feeling that way—not in someone else’s home, not when he was meant to be in control of the situation. Instead of answering, he stepped toward the cradle, glancing down at the baby.

The baby girl let out a high-pitched whine, stretching, her fingers curling and uncurling before she kicked her little legs. Then, as if noticing him, recognising him through her childish daze, her mouth widened into a gummy, toothless grin, her round face alight, untouched by the world’s cruelty.

Joel couldn’t help himself. His lips twitched, just slightly, before he shook his head.

“Managed to—?” He gestured vaguely toward her chest before pulling his hand back, curling it into an embarrassed fist against the cradle.

Leela caught on. Her fingers fidgeted at the pearly buttons of her nightgown. A small, involuntary movement.

“Oh… Maria told me to hold her close to stimulate… secretion, you know.” She hesitated, shifting her weight. “I fed her one of the bottles she gave me, too.”

Joel nodded. “And?”

Leela looked down at the baby. “She stopped crying.”

He frowned. “That’s it?”

Leela’s fingers tightened against her arms. “I… don’t know how to hold her without making her cry.”

The words made a darkness flicker through him; he didn’t have the energy to name it. It wasn’t quite anger, but it was close. Frustration. Exasperation. A sharp-edged bitterness he couldn’t swallow down fast enough.

Joel scoffed. “You can’t hold your own baby?”

Leela hung her head, her heart breaking in her eyes before she managed to mask it.

Joel sighed, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “It’s not all math. Just instinct,” he muttered.

He didn’t wait for her to answer. Instead, he reached into the cradle, slipping a hand beneath the baby’s head, cradling her against his arm, gingerly, gently. He eased her up, letting her body idle against his forearm, her head resting in the crook of his elbow.

The second she was in his arms, warm, beaming, the fault line inside him splintered.

She was tiny. So fucking tiny. Tinier than Sarah had been.

Joel swallowed, feeling the light weight of her against his chest. He hadn’t held something this fragile in years—hadn’t let himself. But muscle memory took over before he could stop it, before he could remind himself that this wasn’t the same. It was already clawing its way back to him. He rubbed a slow palm over her back, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her breathing. She was everything akin to bedtime and warmth, her tiny fingers twitching against his shirt.

For a second—a half a second—he let himself sink into it.

“Hi, baby girl,” he whispered.

The scent of her, like the faded remnants of old cotton, the delicate press of her body against his. A ghost of something long lost. A time when his arms had been full like this, when his days had been nothing but cradling Sarah against him, balancing a baby bag on his shoulder, and pushing a stroller down the sidewalk, loaded with groceries, with the Texas sun blistering overhead.

A different life. A different world. One he had no business remembering.

Joel forced himself to blink out of it. He cleared his throat, shifting, pressing the feeling down before it could take hold.

“And that’s it,” he said gruffly. “Ain’t that hard.”

Leela was watching him. Not like she was waiting for him to call her an idiot again—or she even expected him to. She was watching the way he held the baby, the way she settled so easily against him. Studying him, the way he imagined she studied numbers and equations, looking for a formula, an answer.

He breathed out. “Here,” he muttered, adjusting the baby carefully toward her. “You try.”

Leela didn’t reach for her baby at once.

Her hands hovered, hesitant, fingers twitching like she wasn’t sure how to move them. Joel could see it—the tension coiling in her shoulders, the stiffness in her posture. Her breathing shallowed, her chest barely rising, as if even that movement might disturb the delicate balance between her and the tiny life in front of her.

But finally, she forced herself to move.

Her hands, sporadic, cupped beneath the baby’s body as if she were handling something breakable, foreign. It was inflexible, too careful—unnatural in a way that the baby could sense. And sure enough, the second Leela pulled her close, her arms locked tight, all too unconfident, and the child stirred. A tiny whimper. Then a sharp, warning cry.

Leela stiffened, her grip faltering. The sound made her flinch, her breath catching, as though she’d been struck.

She barely lasted five seconds before her resolve cracked. She was already veering forward, pushing the baby back toward Joel, who carried her without hesitation.

“No, I can't.”

The crying stopped almost instantly.

Joel settled the baby against his chest, bouncing her gently, an informed movement. He didn’t have to think about it—his body just did what it knew, routine kicking in where hers faltered. The baby let out a soft, sighing coo, her tiny body relaxing, as if she knew she was back in capable hands.

Leela, however, looked shaken. Her hands curled into fists, pressing against her stomach like she needed to hold herself together.

Then, she winced.

Joel’s attention snapped, his gaze dropping to the way she clutched at her lower back, her body tilting forward ever so slightly like the pain had taken her by surprise.

“Hey.” His voice softened. “You wanna sit down for a bit?”

She nodded, barely. A tiny dip of her chin.

Joel glanced around. There wasn’t much in the nursery. Just the crib, a long wooden bureau, and a mattress on the floor pushed against the far wall. No chair, nothing to lower herself onto easily.

With a quiet sigh, he adjusted his hold on the baby and stepped closer, offering an arm. “C’mon.”

Leela wavered at the suggestion. Not out of pride—he could tell—but maybe out of uncertainty, like she wasn’t used to being helped. But when she tried to move on her own, another sharp grimace crossed her face, and that was enough to let him guide her.

Joel remained prudent, supporting her weight without making a big deal of it. The baby stayed nestled in the crook of his other arm, still resting peacefully, unaffected by the movement. It wasn’t easy—manoeuvring both of them at once—but it was instinctual.

He helped her lower onto the mattress, feeling the way her muscles tensed beneath his touch before finally giving in to the pull of exhaustion. Leela eased back against the wall and settled into the thin cushion. A long, quiet sigh left her lips, her posture unwinding slightly like she’d been holding herself taut for hours—maybe longer. But even then, she still didn’t entirely relax.

Joel watched as she lifted a hand to her face, brushing back loose strands of hair, her fingers pressing briefly into her temples.

“I'm sorry, Joel.”

His brows ticked down. “For what?”

She inhaled deeply. “It’s only been three... four weeks since I delivered. I’ve just been feeling out of it ever since.”

There was no shame in her tone, no self-pity. A quiet fatigue. A statement of fact.

Joel pressed his lips together.

Four weeks. Jesus. That explained a lot. The weariness, the stiffness in her movements, the way her body still seemed like it hadn’t recovered from what it had been through. Hell, no wonder she looked like a ghost of herself. The human body wasn’t meant to bounce back that fast—not without help. And from what he’d seen so far, she wasn’t the type to ask for it. No midwife, no warm meals, no one watching over her in those first brutal days. Just her and the baby and that awful, aching silence.

“She came too soon,” Joel murmured, mostly to himself.

Leela turned slightly, her gaze drifting toward him without fully meeting his eyes. “Eight months and seven days,” she said quietly. “That’s not normal, is it? That’s why she’s so small.”

Joel opened his mouth, but nothing came. What could he say to that? To her?

Leela waited a beat—just long enough to hope for something more—then slowly drew her knees up to her chest. She wrapped her arms around them, rested her chin on top, and looked past him.

She rubbed a tired hand into her eyes. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

There it was. No frustrations or helplessness. It was her calm, relinquished reality.

Joel glanced down at the sleeping baby, still curled against his chest, her little breaths unwavering and even. One tiny hand had fisted itself into his shirt, gripping instinctively—like she knew, on some level, that she had to hold on to something, someone, to stay safe. His grip on her tightened scarcely.

Leela’s words lodged in his chest like a thick splint. I don’t know how to hold her without making her cry. And now this—I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. He’d heard those words before, from sleep-deprived parents who hit the wall. Hell, He’d stood in that same darkness, said those same things to Tommy when the world felt like it was slipping past him. But the way she said it—flat, detached, mechanical—like she’d already stopped trying to fix it, the part of her that cared was fading out. And that left a mark.

Joel breathed out, shifting his arms so the baby settled more comfortably against him, and she felt so heavy all of a sudden.

Too much quiet, too many things unsaid pressing at the edges of his mind. He didn’t want to sit in it—didn’t want to acknowledge what it stirred in him. So, he broke the silence the only way he knew how.

“You could start by giving her a name,” he said, glancing at Leela. “Not that 'baby girl' is a terrible name.”

Leela blinked, then looked down at her daughter, studying her as if she were just now realising that, yes, she still had to name the kid.

After a thoughtful moment, she lifted her gaze back to him. “Do you want to pick one for her?”

Joel snorted. “Me?”

She nodded, entirely serious.

He shook his head immediately. “I think I'm gonna stick with 'baby girl.'”

Leela let out a small breath of laughter, barely there, but it softened that apathy in her face. She bit her lip, thinking of a name, then murmured, “I always liked the name Maya.”

“Maya?” He tested the name on his lips. “I like that. Maya. It’s pretty. Rhymes, too. Leela, Maya.”

Leela’s lips twitched at that, and she shifted forward, moving closer without thinking, drawn in by something unspoken. She leaned down, her head dipping toward the baby still bowed against Joel’s chest.

And for the first time since he stepped into this house, Joel saw it.

That fondness—subtle, but unmistakable. A faint, aching kind of love that didn’t ask for words. It lived in the way her fingers moved over the baby’s forehead, gentle, mindful, tracing the soft landscape of tiny wrinkles and delicate features. It showed in the subtle curve of her body, how she curled—almost unconsciously—toward her daughter. Even in her exhaustion, some part of her was always reaching, always drawn to protect.

“Maya, Maya, Maya,” she whispered, breathing the name into her daughter's ear as if speaking it into existence.

Joel watched her for a long moment, an unfamiliar phantom kick in his ribs. It was too much. Too close to something he didn’t want to touch, something that felt like the past reaching for him with cold fingers.

He should leave. He knew he should. Should’ve gotten up, handed the baby back, given some half-hearted promise to Maria that he’d check in later tomorrow, and then walked out that door.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he settled in a little more, stretching his legs out, arms still loosely cradling the baby girl. Maya.

He finally broke the silence with, “So, you’re some kind of scientist?”

Leela glanced up at him, a small, tired smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “I’m more towards math. Theoretician, perhaps.”

Joel couldn't help the roll of his eyes. Math. In a world like this?

People didn’t survive with numbers. They survived with bullets and knives, knowing when to run and when to pull the trigger. You either killed or died. You either protected or raided. You didn’t see too many folks walking around trying to save themselves with goddamned math equations—unless they were Fireflies with delusions of rebuilding the world. That was the kind of thinking that got you shot.

His gaze flickered back to the crib. What the hell kind of life was she leading before all this?

He leaned back against the wall. “And just how long have you been here alone?”

“A long time.” She didn’t elaborate. Just glanced down at the baby, adjusting the folds of the swaddle with careful fingers. Then, softer, almost like an afterthought—“Not anymore.”

Joel didn’t know what to make of that.

His gaze flicked toward the stacks of books on the baby’s bureau, thick with dust on the edges but well-thumbed through. He hummed. “And you do… math?” He made it sound ridiculous because it was.

She only nodded, unbothered. “Analytic geometry and lots of mechanics. My parents used to work at NASA. I took up their research once I was old enough to understand. They loved to teach me all about it. The Riemann Hypothesis.”

Joel blinked. NASA? Ellie would lose her little mind if she were here.

He studied her again, reassessing. She didn’t look like someone who used to be involved in something that big. Not now, anyway. Dressed in an old nightgown, her hair hanging in dark, tangled waves, bruised-looking eyes that made her seem older than she was.

He hesitated before asking, “And just how old are you?”

“I’m turning thirty soon.” She didn’t sound glad about it. Then again, no one ever did.

That number sat wrong with him, irked him. Twenty-nine. Maybe it was the contrast—how, for all her intelligence and clinical detachment, she looked so damn young beneath the weight of everything she was carrying. Or maybe because twenty-nine didn’t seem old enough to have gone through the kind of hell that made a mother flinch at her own baby.

Joel wanted to press further. Wanted to ask why she was alone, how the hell she had made it this long without the baby’s father, how a girl who could run equations for NASA ended up here—malnourished, exhausted, hunched over on a mattress like she was carrying the whole world on her back.

That was until Maya decided to stir.

A small, sleepy movement. Tiny fingers wriggled their way free from the swaddle, barely curled, stretching toward the air. The whimpering started softly, then built, that newborn cry that was both heartbreaking, needy and urgent all at once.

Leela straightened instinctively, her hands jolting toward her daughter. But this time, when she lifted Maya from Joel’s arms, she didn’t hesitate. She held her with a little more certainty, a little more care, cradling her close to her chest as if she were nestling something precious rather than foreign.

Joel let out a slow breath. Good. Progress.

Then, before he could so much as glance back up, Leela started unbuttoning her nightgown, the lapel falling open.

His eyes snapped away so fast it nearly gave him whiplash. “Christ.”

“Oh, god—! I’m so sorry, Maria said to try—”

“’Sall good,” he muttered, fixing his gaze firmly on the ceiling, the floor, anywhere but at her. “Just, uh—go for it.”

“I’ll cover up. Sorry.”

Joel nodded stiffly, still keeping his head turned. But in the silence that followed, his body didn’t quite relax.

He listened. Not just to her, but to everything. The rustle of fabric, the faint, uncertain exhale as she adjusted her hold, the wet, rhythmic sound of the baby nursing, the occasional tiny sigh. A noise so small it barely existed, but it filled the quiet all the same.

Joel let out a breath, sinking into himself, gaze flickering absently around the room. He took in the details he hadn’t paid much attention to before.

The crib—old, but sturdy. The mess of books stacked against the walls, as if she had been trying to build some kind of fortress out of paper and ink. The curtains were drawn too tight, like she didn’t want the outside world bleeding in. And the emptiness—the distinct lack of anything that made this place a nursery. No toys. No clutter. No warmth.

He knew that kind of space. Knew what it meant when a room felt temporary, even when someone had been in it for years.

“I’m decent now,” Leela offered.

Joel glanced over his shoulder. A blanket was draped over one of her shoulders, concealing both her and the baby beneath it. His eyes traced over her face, the way she was staring down at Maya—not with the ease of a mother who had done this a hundred times, but with the focus of someone trying to get it right. Like she was handling some delicate equation she couldn’t afford to miscalculate.

The baby suckled noisily, and Joel saw the way Leela’s fingers curled against the fabric, white-knuckled.

“Do you have many children, Joel?” she asked suddenly.

He stilled. The question—simple, almost offhanded—landed like a hammer.

His fingers curled into his knee, knuckles going white. It wasn’t the first time someone had asked, but something about hearing it from her—a strange woman he barely knew, cradling a baby no more than a handful of weeks old—cut deeper than it should have.

Did he have many children? No.

But he had one. Had. That word sat on his tongue, sour and heavy, pressing against the backs of his teeth. He could say it. Could let it out, let it breathe. But if he did, it would only linger, thick and unwelcome, in the air between them.

He grunted out, “Not your concern.”

Leela nodded once, quiet and accepting. She didn’t pry—just dropped her gaze back to Maya, adjusting the blanket with slow, careful fingers.

“I understand,” she murmured.

Joel wasn’t sure why, but he believed her. Maybe it was the way she said it—flat, simple, unbothered. Not some empty reassurance, not some half-hearted attempt at sympathy.

Silence patched their looks, lingering but not uncomfortable.

Joel exhaled slowly and turned his gaze toward the window, where pale morning light bled in through the edges of the curtain. The town was stirring—people rising, stepping into their routines, moving through the simple rhythm of another day. Normal. Predictable. But this—sitting in a quiet, half-empty house with a woman he barely knew and a baby who’d already been asked to survive more than most adults—wasn’t easy. This wasn’t anything close to normal.

Then, her voice—quiet, hesitant.

“Did your baby ever feel like a stranger?”

He turned to look at her, watching as she nursed the baby beneath the blanket. Her head was slightly bowed, her fingers absentmindedly rubbing slow, rhythmic circles against the tiny foot poking free. It was such a small, natural gesture—one he’d seen a thousand times from mothers who loved their children without thought, without hesitation. And yet, coming from her, it felt… disconnected. As if she were mimicking something she wasn’t sure she believed in.

The question slipped beneath his ribs and pressed, gently but insistently, against an old bruise.

“Never.” The answer came without thinking. Without doubt.

Sarah had never been a stranger. From the second she was in his arms, slick and tiny and furious at the world, she was his. He hadn’t known what the hell he was doing, but love—that complete astonishment had been instant, bone-deep. A gut punch. A freefall. A terrifying, irreversible thing. It had been impossible not to love his daughter.

That’s how it should feel. But Leela—she looked like she was still waiting to wake up from a dream. Or maybe a nightmare.

Leela exhaled softly, barely a sound, but Joel caught it. It hit him harder than it should have.

“I wish I felt that way,” she muttered.

That did something to him.

It wasn’t pity—not quite. Leela didn’t strike him as someone who wanted sympathy. No, it was a quiet understanding. The recognition of a loss that ran deeper than words, taken from her before she ever had the chance to claim it.

Joel knew that kind of grief. He’d carried his own version of it. And while this pain wasn’t his, it brushed up against something familiar, something he hadn’t let himself feel in a long time.

Leela had slipped back into that blank, distant sadness, like she was stuck in it, unable to claw her way out. And Joel wasn’t the kind of man who offered words where they wouldn’t make a difference, but Maria had asked him to help, and he’d told her he would. He wasn’t good at this kind of thing. He never had been. Words were never easy for him. Feelings even less so. But he knew how to read people, how to see what they couldn’t bring themselves to say.

So, he did what he could.

“She looks like you,” Joel mused, almost without thinking.

Leela hesitated, blinking at him like she wasn’t sure she’d heard right. “You really think so?”

He smirked, nodding toward Maya. “Look at that. The eyes, the nose, the hair. That’s all a mama’s girl.”

She glanced down at the baby in her arms, her fingers stilling against Maya’s tiny foot. For a second, that disregard in her expression wavered—like she was trying to see what he saw, trying to find herself in this child. “Mama’s girl,” she murmured, testing the words on her tongue as if they didn’t quite belong to her yet.

Joel felt a smile in his chest, just a little one.

Still, his eyes drifted over the room, taking in the stark walls, the empty corners. The mood in here was cold—not from the weather, but from the lack of anything. There was no sign of her in this space. No warmth, no comfort, no life. It felt transient, like Maya hadn’t put down roots just yet.

Or maybe she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to stay in this particular room.

He tipped his chin toward the crib. “Though, she’s gonna be real disappointed when she sees the state her mama’s kept her room in.”

Leela’s brows knit together as she looked around as if really seeing it for the first time. “I tried my best. Is it that bad?”

Joel huffed, shaking his head. “It could use a little more work.” He gestured toward the crib. “Fix another one of those.” Then to the bare space near the window. “Somewhere to sit. Some shelves there.” His gaze travelled to the walls. “Fresh coat of paint. Some new lights. Some toys, clothes, blankets.”

Leela studied him carefully, her lips pressing together. “I don’t want to impose.”

He shrugged, leaning back on his palms. “You won't. I like to keep busy.”

Leela gave him a look—one of those assessing, sceptical looks he was starting to recognise from her. The one that suggested she wasn’t sure if she could trust him yet. “Are you sure?”

Joel let out a short, dry chuckle. “I was a contractor before the world went to shit, sweetheart. This is a cushy job.” Then he cocked a brow. “And I’m fifty-six, not dead.”

Leela bit her lip to hide a teasing smile. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Joel levelled her with a look, but there was no real heat behind it. “You want me to take that crib back down?”

That did it. She laughed—an actual laugh. Not the polite kind. Not the uncertain kind. A real, full sound, one that cracked through the quietness of the room like sunlight breaking through clouds.

The motion jostled Maya, making her let out a startled cry of protest.

Leela immediately sobered, her expression softening as she adjusted the nursing baby under her blanket, tucking her closer. She began to coo under her breath, “Oh, I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry. Mama’s here.”

Joel caught it. That shift again. That slight change in her voice when she said Mama. Like she wasn’t quite sure of it yet, but it wasn’t just an obligation or just guilt, or uncertainty.

This time, it sounded like she meant it.

He didn’t say anything, only sat back and watched, letting her find her way.

X

Seventeen days.

That was how long he’d been here. How long he'd been wedging himself into a life that wasn’t his, in a house that wasn’t his, with a mother and child that weren’t his to take care of.

And yet, every night, when the baby cried, he found himself plodding up the stairs like it was instinct. He’d lean in the doorway, watching as Leela sleepily nursed Maya, her heavy arms curled around the tiny, wriggling body. Some nights, she fed her from the bottle, but as the days passed, that sippy cup gathered dust.

It was gradual. Subtle. She was feeding her baby more.

And Joel—well, he was still fucking here. He didn’t think much about the why of it because he figured if he did, it would only lead to questions he wasn’t ready to answer. All he knew was that it felt natural, falling into this quiet rhythm with them. Like it had always been this way.

The couch downstairs became his bed. It wasn’t particularly comfortable, but it didn’t matter much. As long as he didn't throw his back out. It was easier than going back to an empty house. Leela, for her part, never asked him to stay, but she never told him to leave, either. Maybe that was her way of saying she wanted him around. Or maybe she just needed him to be.

“You don’t have to—” she had started one night, catching him setting up his makeshift bed.

“I know,” he cut off before she could finish.

He kept his hands busy, too. That helped a lot.

The crib came first. A slow project, one he didn’t rush, because what else did he have to do? He sanded the edges and smoothed them down so there’d be no risk of splinters. He reinforced the frame, extended the width, and even managed to track down some pink paint to liven it up.

It was a stupid thing, but it made him feel like he was doing something. Like he was helping in a way that made sense.

Leela had caught him painting one afternoon, crouched over the crib with careful, measured strokes.

“Pink?” she’d said, standing in the doorway, one brow raised.

Joel had glanced up, brush still in hand. “What? You don’t like it?”

Leela had hummed, considering. Then, softer, “I think Maya will like it.”

It was the way she said it—like she was finally thinking about that, about what her daughter would like—made him grin to himself. He continued the long stroke of paint down the crib.

Then there was Leela. It had been easier, at first, to pretend he was only here for the kid. That his concern for her was secondary. But after the first week, it became clear—that wasn’t true.

She was unraveling.

Joel noticed it even when she thought he hadn’t. The unbearable insomnia. The way she startled awake, legs thrashing in a single jerk, pushing against some imperceptible force near her, like she was being wrenched from nightmares. The way her eyes stayed shadowed, dark-rimmed and tired, and how she never seemed to eat a full meal.

Just because he tried not to bother, didn’t mean he didn’t notice. She had once fallen asleep at the kitchen table, arms folded beneath her head. Joel had set a bowl of soup down in front of her, the sound making her jolt awake, eyes wide, gasping and panicked.

She blinked at him, disoriented, pushing her unruly hair out of her face. “I—I wasn’t sleeping.”

“Alright,” he said, pushing the bowl closer. “Eat.”

Leela wavered, nose scrunching. “I’m not—”

Joel shot her a look. “Eat.”

She sighed. But she picked up the spoon.

He didn’t bother to push or pry any further. He stopped himself there. Because what the hell was he supposed to say? He wasn’t Tommy or Maria. He wasn’t the kind of person people confided in. It was better off this way.

So he willfully ignored it. Turned the other way when she wiped her eyes too hard. Pretended not to notice when her shoulders trembled just slightly—barely enough to catch, unless you were looking for it. But Joel always saw more than he let on.

And he heard it, too. The way her sobs came muffled through the thin walls at night—quiet at first, like she was trying to bury them in her pillow, then deeper, harsher, like something inside her was breaking open slowly.

Every part of him—every part that still gave a damn—wanted to move. To cross that invisible line, to knock, to say something.

Instead, he stepped outside. Leaned against the doorframe. Let the cold night air scrape against his skin. Stared at nothing.

Leela cried harder.

And then—one night—the floodgates broke. Her sob, raw and sharp, now pronounced, tore itself loose on the way out. It wasn’t just grief anymore. It was wreckage.

Joel stood at the bottom of the stairs, jaw clenched, fists knotted at his sides. He stared up at the dark landing, every muscle in his body pulled taut, as if he just took one more step—

Never mind. He turned away. Walked out onto the porch and sat down on the cold wooden steps, elbows resting on his knees, breath fogging in the night. Let the chill dig into him like punishment. Good. He stayed there, still as stone, while the sounds from inside climbed and fell. That wasn’t his problem.

One unlucky day, the second he stepped into the stables, Ellie gave him a knowing, annoying look. "Jesus, what's worse than shit? Because that's what you look like."

Joel huffed, adjusting his grip on the saddle he was carrying. “Thanks, kiddo.”

Ellie narrowed her eyes, stepping closer and giving him a once-over. “Seriously, you look like hell. Where the fuck have you been?”

Joel grunted, busying himself with the straps, not looking at her. “Been around.”

Ellie scoffed. “What the hell does that mean? You've been busy playing house with the lady at the big cabin?”

His jaw flexed, and fingers tightened on the cords. And Ellie caught it. Her smirk sharpened.

“Oh my God. That’s exactly what you’ve been doing, huh?”

Joel shot her a look. “No.”

“Yes,” Ellie drawled, crossing her arms. “Dude. I knew something was up. You’ve been MIA. I thought maybe you finally croaked in your sleep, but nope—turns out, you’re off fixing pipes and babysitting.”

“I ain’t babysitting,” Joel muttered, too quick.

Ellie smirked harder and sang out, “Riiiight.”

Joel let out a long, slow exhale through his nose, shaking his head. “She needed help. That’s all.”

Ellie clicked her tongue, rocking back on her heels. “Hmm. Right. Just help. No attachment, no paternal instincts kicking in. Oh, definitely not. Not Joel Hardass Miller. He’s just the neighbourhood handyman now.”

He cut her a sharp look. “Ellie.”

She grinned, enjoying this way too much. “What? Just saying. It’s kind of adorable. Old man Joel, all domesticated. It's nice.”

Joel muttered something under his breath and turned away, ignoring her. Oh, but she was far from done.

“So, uh…” she cleared her throat. “How’s the baby?”

He hesitated.

He hadn’t realised how much he’d started watching that kid. Listening to her. He knew Maya’s different cries now—hungry, fussy, lonely. He knew the way she liked to be held, the way she calmed when he rubbed her tiny back. And he knew, without a doubt, that he would hear her tonight, whether he was there or not.

“She’s uh, good,” he said finally. Kept his voice level, unaffected. “Stronger. Sleeps better.”

Ellie studied him. “Bet she likes you.”

Joel shrugged, trying to play it off. “Babies like warm bodies, Ellie. Ain’t that deep.”

Ellie snorted. “Sure. And you're a warm bundle of joy.” And then, just when he thought she was about to let it go—“You’re gonna miss her after, huh?”

Joel's hands dropped to his sides. Ellie wasn’t teasing anymore. Her voice had gone softer, something knowing creeping in.

And he didn’t answer. Because he wasn’t about to start thinking about that. About leaving. About hearing those cries and knowing he wasn’t supposed to be the one answering them anymore.

Joel slowly adjusted the saddle and grunted. “You gonna stand there all day, or you gonna help me get this horse ready?”

Ellie sighed, shaking her head, but didn’t push. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, Dad.”

“Knock it off.”

But she was already cackling her goddamned head off. “This is rich. Daddy Joel.”

Still, Joel stayed in that big house. Just a few more days. And the more he stayed, the harder it became to keep his distance.

It had started small—fixing things around the house, making little adjustments to help Leela care for the baby, and bringing her food. He fashioned a sling for her out of an old scarf and showed her how to wear it. At first, she’d been rigid, reluctant. But Maya—baby girl took to it immediately, burrowing into her mother’s chest, small fingers grasping at the fabric.

Joel wasn’t sure what it was, exactly, but something about that moment had stuck with him.

Because for the first time, he saw Leela hold her. Not just carry her.

And then there was Maya herself. The little ray of sunshine was growing, filling out. No longer that fragile, underfed thing he’d first seen in the cradle. Her limbs weren’t so thin anymore, her eyes brighter, more alert. She’d started watching things with intent—fixating on his hands when he worked, tracking his movement around the room, watching the light filter through the window, making little fists and clumsily bringing them to her mouth.

She smiled more, too. At him, all the time. And it did something to him. It shouldn’t have.

He shouldn’t have felt that warm pull in his chest every time her tiny mouth curled into something resembling a grin, flashing her gums. Shouldn’t have liked the way her whole body wriggled when she was excited. Shouldn’t have let himself get used to the small weight of her when Leela, in her exhaustion, wordlessly passed her to him, and he found himself rocking her without thinking.

But it had happened, slowly and without permission. And now, when he held her, it felt natural.

Maya knew him. Trusted him.

That realization unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

And then, on what must’ve been the third week, Tommy and Maria showed up at the door. Joel knew it the second he opened it—that this was an extraction.

Tommy stood there with that damn smirk, the same one he used to wear when Joel got him out of trouble—except this time, it wasn't his brother who had been looking for a way out.

“You're officially relieved of duty, big brother.”

Joel grunted, letting his brother pull him into a quick hug. He clapped him on the back, but his grip was just a little too firm. A little too final. “Didn’t know I was on duty.”

Maria stepped in next, squeezing his shoulder, her eyes warm with something Joel didn’t want to name. “Thanks a lot, Joel.”

He didn’t say you’re welcome. Didn’t say anything at all. Just gave a small nod, because that was easier than acknowledging the importance of what he’d done. No need to attach importance to what he was walking away from.

He felt Leela before he saw her.

She stood behind them by the front door, her arms loose at her sides, watching but not interfering. She was dressed in a warm sweater and pants this time, although he liked seeing her in that long nightdress of hers, the one with the pearl buttons.

She didn’t say anything. And neither did he. Because there was no point in goodbyes.

Instead, he gave her a nod—brief, almost impersonal—and then he turned, stepping off the porch, his boots heavier than they should’ve been.

Maria’s voice, quiet but clear, carried behind him as she spoke to Leela like she was approaching a wounded deer. “You feeling okay, baby? Come on, let’s talk.”

Joel kept on walking. Crossed the street.

And for the first time in seventeen days, he realised—he didn’t want to go home. Because home meant silence. Home meant absence.

Home meant walking into a house where there was no tiny, fussy cry in the middle of the night. No bleary-eyed woman fumbling with a bottle, no soft, small weight curled against his chest when exhaustion finally won out.

For seventeen days, he had fallen into something. A tempo. A system. A purpose. A role. And now, as he stepped through his own front door, into the empty space that used to feel routine, Joel realised he’d done something reckless. Something he never should’ve allowed.

He’d let himself care.

X

[I really like this one, so much! I love how sweet it turned out, how JOEL of him it is, and how Leela is just that sweet, confused mother. I think I'm going to really love building on this one! ]

[ taglist : @cuntstiel , @bubblegumpeeeach , @evispunk ]

[lazysoulwriter]

grumpy and irresistible - joel miller. (pt 2)

read the part one first! - moodboard. / requested! hope you like it, baby!

---

The first time changed everything.

You both pretended it didn’t. At first.

After that night, nothing was said. No what does this mean?, no should we talk about it?—just another morning, another day of walking, another city to pass through.

But things were different.

Because it happened again.

And again.

And again.

It was never planned, never talked about. Just something that built between you, something thick and heavy that neither of you could hold back. It happened in the dead of night, in the soft glow of a dying fire, in the cramped spaces of abandoned houses, in moments when exhaustion and tension cracked open just enough to let something else slip through.

Joel never said much, but his body spoke for him. The way he held you down, the way he groaned your name into your skin, the way he fucked you like he needed you—like he couldn’t stop himself.

But it wasn’t just sex.

That became obvious in the little things.

Like how he let you sleep against him afterward. How his hands, rough and calloused, ran up and down your spine absentmindedly. How, instead of pushing you away in the mornings, he started waking up with his arm still around you.

He didn’t talk about it. Didn’t try to define it. But he didn’t stop, either.

And neither did you.

Joel was different now.

He still sighed when you wandered too far ahead. Still grumbled when you talked too much. Still muttered, pain in my ass, under his breath when you teased him too hard.

But his touch had changed.

He was always touching you now.

Not just when you were tangled together under a blanket, not just when his hands were gripping your waist, pulling you down onto his cock, not just when his fingers were buried in your hair as he kissed you senseless.

But all the time.

His hand on your lower back when he guided you forward. His fingers brushing against yours when he handed you something. The way he sat closer now, close enough that his thigh pressed against yours.

And he didn’t seem to realize he was doing it.

Like tonight.

The fire was burning low, crackling between you, and you were both full—for once. Joel had managed to hunt a rabbit earlier, and now, with warm food in your stomach, with the stars hanging low and bright overhead, everything felt softer.

Joel sat against a tree, his legs stretched out, his arms resting on his stomach. He looked relaxed, eyes half-lidded, watching the fire dance.

You sat beside him, knees pulled up to your chest, the warmth of him just inches away. You could feel his body heat radiating toward you, familiar, steady.

You sighed, leaning your head back against the tree. "Feels nice," you murmured.

Joel hummed in agreement, his fingers twitching slightly against his stomach. Then, after a moment, he shifted, stretching his arm out behind you—casually, like he wasn’t thinking about it.

But you knew better.

You hid your smirk, letting your head tilt to the side, just enough to rest against his shoulder.

Joel didn’t move. Didn’t tense. Didn’t pull away.

Instead, his fingers moved. Light, slow strokes along the back of your neck.

Your chest tightened.

You let your eyes flutter closed, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath you.

"Joel," you whispered, teasing.

"Hm?"

"You’re touching me again."

A beat of silence. Then—

"Shut up."

You grinned, biting your lip. "You like touching me."

He sighed heavily, fingers still trailing lazily over your skin. "Pain in my ass."

But it didn’t sound like an insult. It sounded like something else. Something softer.

And then, it happened.

You shifted, stretching your legs out, moving even closer. You turned your face into his shoulder, pressing a small, absentminded kiss to the fabric of his shirt. Just a little thing. Nothing serious. Nothing big.

But Joel froze.

Just for a second.

Then, so quietly you almost missed it—

"Baby."

Your breath caught.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, your heartbeat suddenly loud in your ears.

Joel was staring into the fire, his jaw clenched slightly, his expression unreadable.

But you saw the way his fingers tightened on your shoulder.

The way his throat bobbed when he swallowed.

The way he knew what he just said.

"Joel," you whispered, a teasing lilt to your voice, because you had to push him. "What did you just call me?"

"Don’t." His voice was gruff, warning.

You ignored it.

"You called me baby," you pressed, lips twitching into a grin. "You never call me that."

Joel sighed, running a hand over his face. "Jesus Christ."

"You did!" You laughed now, nudging him with your shoulder. "You called me baby!"

"Shut up."

"Say it again."

"No."

"Joel." You turned your body toward him now, hands braced on his chest, climbing onto his lap, straddling him. His hands immediately gripped your hips, his fingers pressing into your skin like muscle memory.

"Say it again," you whispered, your nose brushing against his.

His eyes flickered to your lips.

You watched his throat move as he swallowed.

And then—softer this time, like he wasn’t even aware he was saying it—

"Baby."

Something warm, something impossible, spread through your chest.

Your smile softened, your fingers tracing over his jaw, feeling the roughness of his beard beneath your touch.

"You’re getting soft on me, Miller," you murmured.

His hands squeezed your hips, his lips twitching. "The fuck I am."

You grinned, tilting your head. "Liar."

Joel exhaled sharply, shaking his head. But he didn’t deny it.

Didn’t push you away.

Didn’t stop you when you leaned in, pressing your lips to his, slow and deep, his breath hitching just the way you loved.

Didn’t stop himself from kissing you back.

And when you pulled away, when you traced your fingers over his chest and whispered, Say it again, he didn’t even hesitate.

"You're my baby."

And that’s when you knew.

He was yours.

---

[fairylights-throughthemist]

he looks like he works with his hands and smells like marlboro reds 🎀

[fartthepart]

a baker and his little tots

mwa mwa

(made him back in 2023 or 2024 if i remember, it was in a server with a couple of old friends)

[mountainsandmayhem]

Pairing: Millionaire Joel Miller x Female Reader

Rating: 18+ 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️

Updated Word Count: ~90k

Series Summary: After recently graduating from university, your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. It’s only temporary and a good way to save money for when you go back to get your law degree. That’s what you’re promised at least. Easy. Simple. Mundane. That is, until one of your clients is home and everything that you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.

Content Warning: In order to avoid spoilers I will not be warning you of everything. This story will contain sexually explicit material around the world of BDSM. Please remember that even with the age gap betweeen Joel and Reader, they are both legal and consenting adults. Although my intentions are never to trigger anyone, you are solely responsible for the content you consume. That being said, as a survivor of sexual assault none of this story will contain dubcon or consensual non consent. At the heart of it all, this is a love story.

AN: I figured that @mermaidgirl30, @littlevenicebitch69, @burntheedges and @joelmillerisapunk are all sick of me yelling at them about this story so I should start sharing! Thank you to the 4 of you for all your kind words and encouragement. To the 800+ of you that follow me, thank you for being such beautiful souls and encouraging me to work on my craft. I hope you love this series as much as I love each and every one of you. Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5 - Part One

Chapter 5 - Part Two

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Epilogue

Follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates and turn on notifications for updates.

[mssalo]

access

You and your husband, Joel, share a deep understanding - your body is his, to fuck and taste whenever he desires, without question or hesitation.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, free use dynamics, oral (f receiving), somnophilia (woken with head), getting fucked awake, rough possessive sex, Intense dirty talk, breeding kink, light choking and nipple play, cum play

5k, smut, one shot

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

The room was bathed in a soft, golden glow, the first rays of early morning sunlight slipping through the cracks in the curtains. Everything was still, the kind of quiet that comes just before the world begins to stir.

The air was warm, thick with a sense of calm, and the only sound breaking that silence was the slow, steady rhythm of your breathing as you lay beside him, deeply asleep. You looked peaceful, the blankets tangled loosely around your legs, your hair spilling across the pillow.

You were completely unaware of the storm building beside you.

Joel lay next to you, half-propped on one elbow, his gaze fixed on your body. The soft rise and fall of your chest as you breathed, the curve of your hips barely hidden beneath the sheets, the way your lips parted ever so slightly as you exhaled—all of it stirred a deep, familiar hunger in him. His eyes moved over you slowly, tracing every line, every curve, like he was memorizing the sight of you, though he had done it countless times before.

His cock was already hard, pressing insistently against the fabric of his boxers, the ache intensifying with every second he spent watching you. The urge to reach out and touch you, to feel your warmth beneath his fingers, was overwhelming. He wanted you, needed you, in that primal, all-consuming way that had woken him up in the first place.

You were beautiful—peaceful, serene, utterly unaware of the effect you had on him. But the heat building in his belly, the tightness in his groin, was becoming too much to ignore. His desire for you had grown with every second, and the free use pact you shared meant that he didn’t need to hold back. You were his to take whenever the need struck, and right now, that need was impossible to resist.

His hand hovered just above the sheets for a moment, hesitating only long enough to savor the anticipation. Then, slowly, he let his fingers brush lightly over the curve of your hip, the warmth of your skin seeping through the thin fabric of your sleepwear. His touch was featherlight at first, testing, waiting to see if you stirred. But you remained blissfully asleep, your body soft and pliant under his hand.

He grinned to himself, the heat inside him intensifying. His fingers traced a slow path down the length of your thigh, parting your legs ever so slightly, making space for him to take what was already his.

You shifted slightly, a soft murmur escaping your lips as his hand crept higher, brushing against your soft pussy. He groaned quietly, his breath hitching at the contact, his fingers exploring further. He could already feel the wetness gathering there, your body responding to him even in your sleep, and it sent a shiver of anticipation through him.

The room was still quiet, bathed in that soft morning glow, but the tension was palpable. Joel’s body was tense with desire, every nerve alive with the need to take you, to feel you, to bury himself deep inside you. And with the way you lay there, so peaceful, so completely his, there was no reason to wait any longer. You were his, and this morning, he was going to claim you all over again.

Without making a sound, he moved down the bed, the covers slipping away as he positioned himself between your legs. His eyes lingered on the way your thighs pressed together, how peaceful you looked in your half-awake state, blissfully unaware of what he had planned for you. He could already feel his cock twitch in anticipation.

Slowly, gently, he eased your legs apart, his hands warm against your skin as he spread you open, revealing the soft folds of your pussy glistening faintly in the dim light.

He didn’t rush, savoring the moment, his lips hovering just above your heat, close enough to feel the warmth of you but not touching yet. His breath ghosted over your skin, and you stirred lightly, but you didn’t wake, your body still pliant under his hands.

He grinned to himself, eyes dark with lust as he lowered his mouth to your cunt, his tongue darting out to taste the very tip of you.

The first contact was light, barely more than a teasing flick against your folds, but the taste of you already had him groaning softly against your skin.

His tongue flattened, dragging up the length of your pussy with slow, deliberate strokes, the heat and wetness of you making him dizzy with need.

He didn’t stop, his tongue swirling around your clit, flicking and sucking gently, each movement sending jolts of pleasure through your sleeping body.

You stirred again, a soft moan slipping from your lips as your hips shifted slightly against his mouth, but you still didn’t wake. He could feel you responding, feel the way your body was starting to tremble under his touch, and it only drove him wilder.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your soaked folds as he spoke. His voice was low, thick with lust, and the sound of it sent vibrations through you. “So fuckin’ sweet… always so perfect for me.”

He buried his face deeper between your legs, his hands gripping your thighs as he spread you wider.

His tongue slipped between your folds, licking deep into your heat, fucking you slowly with each stroke. You whimpered in your sleep, your body responding to the pleasure even if your mind was still clouded with sleep.

He groaned as he tasted you, his tongue delving into your slick, warm cunt, savoring every drop of arousal he coaxed from you.

“You’re already so wet for me,” he growled, his voice muffled as he sucked your clit into his mouth, teasing it with slow, wet kisses. “Even when you’re sleepin’, baby, your body knows what it wants.”

He licked you harder, his tongue swirling over your clit before dipping back down to flick against your entrance. He alternated between sucking on your sensitive bud and thrusting his tongue deep inside you, his lips and tongue working you over with practiced ease.

He could feel the tension building in your body, your thighs trembling around his head as he devoured you, his mouth relentless in its assault on your pussy.

He didn’t stop, didn’t slow down. His lips closed around your clit again, sucking harder now, his tongue flicking rapidly against the swollen bundle of nerves. Your hips bucked against him, a breathless moan escaping your lips as you finally started to wake up, the pleasure pulling you from the haze of sleep.

Your eyes fluttered open, and the first thing you felt was his mouth on you, his tongue licking and sucking with a desperation that made your toes curl.

Your body jerked in surprise, but he held you down, his hands gripping your hips firmly as he continued to eat you out like a man starved.

“Mornin‘, baby,” he murmured against your folds, his voice dripping with lust. “You’re gonna cum for me. I’m not stoppin’ until you do.”

You gasped, your fingers tangling in the sheets as he licked you faster, his mouth working you over with a precision that had you seeing stars.

His teeth grazed your clit lightly, just enough to send a sharp jolt of pleasure through your body, before he soothed the sting with his tongue, swirling it around your swollen bud until you were trembling beneath him.

He groaned, the vibrations of his voice sending shivers through you as he buried his tongue inside you again, fucking you with it in slow, deep strokes. His nose brushed against your clit, the friction making you cry out, and he growled against your pussy, his fingers digging into your thighs as he held you open for him.

“Fuck, baby,” he panted, his voice thick and rough as he licked you harder, faster. “I can feel how close you are. You’re gonna cum all over my tongue, aren’t you? Gonna soak my fuckin’ face.”

You whimpered in response, your body writhing beneath him as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak. His mouth was relentless, his tongue flicking against your clit in quick, sharp strokes that had you gasping for breath, your hands clutching at the sheets as your orgasm surged through you.

He moaned against you, his mouth still working your clit as you came, the taste of your release flooding his senses.

He didn’t stop, didn’t let up for a second as he licked you through your orgasm, his tongue swirling over your sensitive bud until you were a trembling mess beneath him.

“That’s it,” he growled, his lips brushing against your folds as he spoke. “Cum for me, baby. So fuckin’ good for me. I could eat this pussy all day.”

You were still trembling from the intensity of your orgasm when he finally pulled away, his lips and chin slick with your arousal as he moved back up your body. You barely had time to catch your breath before you felt the hard press of his cock against your entrance.

“Time to wake up, baby,” he whispered, his voice thick with need. “I’m not done with you yet.”

His cock slid inside you slowly, stretching you open as he filled you completely, the sensation overwhelming. His hands gripped your hips with possessive strength, holding you in place as he began to thrust, each deep, deliberate movement sending a shock of pleasure through your body.

His gaze darkened with lust, the intensity in his eyes making you shiver.

“You feel that?” he growled, his voice low and rough, his hips grinding into yours. “That’s my cock inside my perfect wife. You’re not just sweet —you’re mine to fuck, my own personal slut. Made for this.”

The way he said it, the ownership in his voice, made your body tighten around him, clenching his cock as if to keep him inside.

He leaned down, his chest pressing against yours, his breath hot against your skin.

His mouth found your nipple, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud before sucking it deep into his mouth. He bit down just hard enough to make you gasp, the sharp jolt of pleasure-pain only heightening the sensation of his cock pounding into you.

His other hand cupped your other breast, fingers pinching and rolling your nipple between them, the roughness driving you wild.

“Such perfect tits,” he groaned against your skin, his teeth grazing the swollen bud again before sucking harder. “These belong to me too—just like this pussy. I love the way your body reacts to me, how you beg for more without even saying a word.”

He shifted his hips, slamming into you harder, the rhythm relentless now, his thrusts deep and rough.

The bed creaked beneath the force of it, your body jolting with every powerful movement, and all you could do was moan, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through you.

“You love being mine, don’t you?” he rasped, releasing your nipple with a wet pop before moving to the other, biting down just enough to make you shudder. “You love knowing that I own you. My sweet little wife on the outside, but behind closed doors, you’re nothing but my filthy fuck toy.”

His words were so filthy, so degrading, but they only made your arousal spike higher. The dirty talk sent a rush of heat through you, your pussy squeezing around him as if begging for more.

“That’s right,” he growled, his pace quickening as he fucked you harder, his cock slamming into you with a raw, unfiltered intensity.

“I’m gonna fuck you until all you can think about is how good it feels to be filled by me. This is what you were made for—taking me, being mine, every inch of you.”

He shifted his weight slightly, freeing one hand from your breast to grab your throat, squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch. “I love seeing you like this,” he whispered against your ear, his voice rough and ragged.

“Begging for my cock, letting me use you however I want. You love being filled by me, don’t you? You love being my perfect little girl.“

His hand tightened around your throat as his thrusts became erratic, harder, more desperate.

He was close, you could feel it in the way his cock twitched inside you, the way his breathing became heavier, more labored. “You’re gonna cum for me again,” he commanded, his thumb brushing over your nipple in time with his thrusts.

“You’re gonna milk my cock while I fill you up, baby. I’m gonna breed you, fill you with every last drop.”

His cock throbbed inside you as he pounded relentlessly, the wet sounds of his body slamming into yours filling the room. His hand tightened around your throat, while his other hand gripped your breast, his fingers pinching your nipple hard, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through you.

He leaned down, biting at the soft skin of your neck before dragging his lips to your ear.

“You feel so good, hm?” he rasped, his voice dark and dripping with lust. “You love being owned like this. My perfect little girl, taking my cock like the slut you are for me.”

His thrusts grew deeper, harder, making you gasp with every movement, each one hitting the perfect spot inside you that made you tremble.

His lips wrapped around your nipple, sucking it deep into his mouth, his teeth grazing the sensitive bud before he released it with a wet pop. He moved to the other breast, repeating the rough treatment, his eyes flicking up to watch your face as you moaned helplessly beneath him.

“You want me to fill you up, baby?” he growled, biting down gently on your nipple. “You want me to breed you, to fuck you full of my cum until it’s dripping out of you.”

The filthy words sent heat flooding through your body, your pussy clenching tighter around him, making him groan deep in his throat. His thrusts became more frantic, his hips slamming against yours as he fucked you harder, deeper.

“I’m gonna make you a mommy,” he snarled, his voice rough with lust. “You want that, sweet girl? You want me to fuck a baby into you? Want me to be your fuckin‘ daddy?”

His words made your mind spin, and you whimpered beneath him, the idea of him filling you, making you his in the most primal way, sending a fresh wave of arousal crashing through you.

“Yeah, you do.” he growled, his cock pounding into you with brutal force.

“You want me to fuck you so deep, to breed you, make you a mommy with my cum. You’re gonna take it all, every last drop, and I’m gonna fuck you until I’ve filled you up. You want a daddy to fuck you, huh? You want me to give you my baby?”

You couldn’t speak, could barely breathe, the pleasure overwhelming as his dirty words pushed you closer and closer to the edge. His hand tightened around your throat just a little more, and his pace quickened, his hips slamming into you with wild desperation.

“I’m gonna breed you, baby,” he growled, his breath hot against your ear. “I’m gonna fill this tight little pussy with my cum, make you mine forever. Gonna be your daddy and fuck you full until you’re dripping with it. You’ll be swollen with my baby, and you’ll love every second of it, won’t you?”

The tension snapped inside you, your orgasm hitting you like a wave, your body convulsing around his cock as you cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders.

Your pussy clenched hard around him, milking him for every drop, and he groaned deep in his chest, his cock twitching as he finally let go, his release crashing over him.

“Fuck,” he growled, his voice strained with pleasure as he buried himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he came hard, filling you with his cum. “Gonna make you mine, baby. Gonna fuckin’ make you a mommy. You’ll be carrying my baby, swollen with it.”

He stayed there for a moment, buried deep inside you, both of you panting as the aftershocks of pleasure washed over you. Slowly, he pulled out, his cum already starting to drip from your swollen pussy, and he watched with satisfaction, his hand sliding down to gently rub your lower belly.

“You’re gonna look so fucking perfect with my baby inside you,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before whispering, “You’re mine. And I’m gonna fill you up again and again, until you can’t think of anything but being my good little wife… and the mother of my children.”

Joel stayed buried in the moment for a few more seconds, his hand gently stroking your belly as if imagining what it would be like to see you swollen with his child.

His touch softened, his expression turning from the raw lust that had consumed him moments before into something much more tender, loving. His thumb brushed lightly over your skin, his eyes full of warmth as he looked down at you.

“Think it’ll stick this time, baby?” he asked, his voice quiet, but filled with hope.

You smiled softly up at him, reaching up to stroke his face. “I hope so, baby,” you whispered, your voice teasing but full of affection. “You’re certainly doing your best to make sure of it.”

He chuckled, leaning down to kiss your forehead, the sweetness of the gesture making your heart swell. “You enjoyed every second of it, huh?” His tone was playful now, the intensity from earlier fading into something much more comfortable, more intimate.

“Every second,” you replied, biting your lip as you added teasingly, “Daddy.”

A low growl rumbled from his chest, but it was playful, his hand swatting your thigh gently. “You’re gonna make me start all over again, talkin’ like that.” He leaned down, nipping at your neck in a way that made you giggle. “Stop it, I need to get to work.”

You laughed softly, still catching your breath from everything, and wrapped your arms around his neck for a brief moment before letting go. “Can you grab eggs on your way home later, baby?” you asked, the domestic request slipping easily into the conversation, as if nothing about the morning had been out of the ordinary.

Joel grinned down at you, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips before pulling back. “Of course, sweetheart,” he said softly. “But first, let’s get some coffee in us. Come on.” He gently nudged your legs apart and got up, offering his hand to pull you with him.

You accepted his hand and climbed out of bed, feeling the warm, comforting domesticity settle between you both like a cozy blanket. As the two of you headed to the kitchen, Joel kept one arm around your waist, holding you close as he moved about, getting the coffee started.

“Can’t believe I’ve got to leave this behind and go to work,” he said, shaking his head as he looked you up and down with an affectionate smile. “All this bliss - my woman teasin’ me with her ‘daddy’ talk, and I gotta put on a construction hat.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes as you nudged him playfully. “You’ll be home before you know it. Maybe we can pick up where we left off.”

Joel gave you a sly grin, pulling you into his chest for a brief, but warm kiss. “Don’t tempt me, sweetheart.” His voice was teasing but full of affection as he kissed the top of your head. “I might just quit and come back early.”

“Don’t you dare,” you laughed. “We need those eggs.”

Joel chuckled, reaching for the mugs as the coffee finished brewing. “Alright, alright, eggs it is. But tonight—” he leaned down to whisper in your ear, his voice a playful growl, “we’re pickin’ up where we left off. No escapin’ that.”

You smiled up at him, your heart full as he handed you your cup of coffee. “Wouldn’t dream of it, baby.”

· · ───

After Joel left for work, the house grew quiet, filled only with the soft hum of daily life. You went through the motions—cleaning up the breakfast dishes, folding some laundry, and putting away the little things that needed tidying. As the day passed, you couldn’t help but think of Joel, out there working hard, pushing through the long hours, his body no doubt aching from the labor.

You knew that when he came home, he would need you. That’s how it was with him—he carried the weight of the day on his shoulders, and by the time he stepped through the door, he was ready to let it all out.

By late afternoon, you decided to unroll your yoga mat in the living room, letting the warm light of the setting sun fill the space as you moved through your poses. The deep stretches pulled tension from your muscles, and for a moment, you were completely lost in the rhythm of your breathing, your body relaxing into the poses.

You didn’t hear the front door open, didn’t notice Joel coming home early. You were in a deep bend, eyes closed, when you felt the familiar presence behind you.

Before you could straighten, his hands were on your hips—firm, possessive, the way they always were when he came home after a long day. He didn’t speak at first, just a low, throaty grunt as he tugged you back into him.

You could feel the heat of his body, the intensity rolling off him like a storm, and before you could even process what was happening, he yanked your leggings down in one swift motion, leaving you completely exposed.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Joel muttered, his voice rough and thick with that familiar drawl. “You have no idea what kind of day I’ve had.”

His hands slid roughly over your hips, gripping you tightly as he leaned down, his breath hot against the back of your neck.

You didn’t have time to say a word before he freed himself from his jeans, pushing them down just enough to press his hard cock against your entrance. The anticipation made your body tighten in response, and you could feel your own arousal building as he held you there, hovering just at the edge of control.

“All damn day,” he growled, his voice low and strained, “all I’ve been thinkin’ about is gettin’ home, bendin’ you over, and takin’ you like this.”

With that, he thrust into you, filling you completely in one rough, deep stroke. You gasped, your body arching as he stretched you wide, his cock slamming into you with an intensity that made you dizzy. Joel didn’t ease into it—he took you hard, his hands gripping your hips and pulling you back against him with each brutal thrust.

“Goddamn,” he groaned, his voice tight as he drove into you again and again. “This is what I need. All day, bustin’ my ass, and I come home to this tight little pussy waitin’ for me.”

The words were filthy, but there was a rawness to them, a desperate need that you could feel in every thrust of his hips.

He was letting everything out, the tension of the day pouring into you with every stroke of his cock. You could barely breathe, the pleasure and intensity of it all overwhelming as he used your body, his movements relentless, demanding.

“You’re always so fuckin’ perfect for me,” Joel growled, his hands sliding up your body, rough fingers grazing your skin as he yanked your tank top down, exposing your breasts.

His hands moved to your chest, grabbing your breasts roughly, his thumbs brushing over your nipples before pinching them hard. The mix of pain and pleasure sent shockwaves through your body, and you whimpered beneath him, completely at his mercy.

“Look at you,” he muttered, his voice low and dark as his hips slammed into yours, his cock filling you over and over.

“Always so good for me. I work my ass off all day, and this—this is what I need when I come home. My sweet girl, just lettin’ me take what’s mine.”

There was a tenderness hidden beneath the raw desire, the way he spoke to you like you were his safe haven, the one place where he could let go of everything. But his actions were anything but soft.

He gripped your hips tighter, pulling you back onto his cock with a force that made you moan, your body trembling as the pleasure built higher and higher.

“You don’t know how much I need this,” Joel groaned, his pace quickening as his cock slammed into you harder, deeper. “You, here, ready for me every damn day. Letting me fuck you just like this. I don’t deserve you.”

You whimpered in response, the intensity of his words and his movements driving you closer to the edge. He was rough, unrelenting, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you with every thrust. The tension in your belly coiled tighter and tighter as his hands roamed your body, his grip possessive, his touch demanding.

“Goddamn,” he grunted, his voice rough as his pace became even more frantic, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.

“Gonna fuckin’ fill you up, baby. Gonna empty my fuckin’ balls inside you until you’re dripping with me.”

His words sent a shiver through you, and your body responded, tightening around his cock as the pleasure built to a peak.

You couldn’t hold back anymore—the tension snapped, and your orgasm crashed over you, your body trembling as you came hard around him. Your pussy clenched tight, and Joel groaned, his grip on you tightening as he felt your release.

“Fuck,” he growled, his thrusts becoming erratic, more desperate. “I’m gonna fill you up so good, baby. You’re mine.”

With a final, deep thrust, Joel buried himself inside you, his cock throbbing as he came, spilling his hot cum deep inside you. The warmth of it spread through you, and you shuddered, still trembling from your own release as he held you there, his chest pressed against your back, both of you panting.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. Joel stayed inside you, his breathing ragged, the rough edges of his desire finally softening.

But when he pulled out, his eyes darkened again, watching as his cum started to drip from your swollen pussy, a low, filthy groan escaping his throat.

“Don’t you dare let it go to waste,” he muttered, his hand suddenly firm on your lower back, pushing you down slightly so you were exposed to him fully. “Push it out for me, baby. Let me see it.”

You whimpered, your body still trembling from the intensity of everything, but you did as he said, pushing his thick cum out of you, feeling it leak from your entrance. Joel’s eyes were locked on the sight, his gaze filled with raw hunger.

“Good girl,” he growled, his hand sliding down to gather the dripping cum on his fingers. Without warning, he pressed two fingers back into you, forcing his release back inside, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips as you gasped at the sudden sensation.

“You’re gonna keep it in there,” he commanded, his voice low and rough as he slowly pumped his fingers in and out, spreading the warmth of his cum inside you again.

“I’m not done with you yet. Not until I make sure you’re filled.”

As you clenched around his fingers, still sensitive from everything, he pulled them out and raised them to your lips. His eyes locked with yours, dark and full of intent. “Open,” he ordered softly, pressing the cum-covered fingers to your mouth.

You obeyed, parting your lips and letting him slide his fingers inside, the taste of him filling your mouth as his thumb brushed over your bottom lip. “Suck ‘em clean, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice both tender and commanding, watching as you did exactly that, his gaze softening just enough to make your heart flutter despite the intensity.

“Good girl. You don’t know how good you are to me,” he said quietly, his voice now a mix of gratitude and desire as he watched you.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, the roughness from earlier replaced with a deep, tender affection.

You smiled softly, his fingers still in your mouth as your eyes met his. “I’m always here for you, daddy.”

He chuckled low in his throat, pulling you closer into his chest, his breath warm against your hair. “Don’t know what I’d do without you, baby.”

After a moment of stillness, Joel slowly helped you up, his hands gentle but firm, lingering on your skin with a touch that made your body tingle. His eyes softened as they met yours, and the intense hunger from earlier melted into something warmer, more intimate. He guided you toward the bathroom, that teasing smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Come on,” he said, his voice low and affectionate. “Let’s get you all cleaned up, darlin’. Can’t leave my girl like this.”

You smiled, leaning into him as you walked, feeling the heat of his body still close to yours. Once inside the bathroom, you couldn’t resist a playful grin as you remembered the errand you’d sent him on. “So… did you get the eggs I asked for?”

Joel chuckled, his deep voice vibrating against you. “Yeah, fresh from the farm, just like you wanted. Thought of you the whole damn time,” he added, his tone dropping suggestively. “All I could think about was how you were gonna thank me for ‘em.”

You bit your lip, feeling the familiar heat return between you as he stood close, his fingers brushing your hip. “Well, I can’t wait to try that new recipe. You’re gonna love it.”

Joel leaned in, his lips grazing your ear. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll love whatever you’ve got cookin’. But let’s not pretend I’m not thinkin’ about that other way you thank me, baby,” he murmured, his voice dripping with that familiar, playful growl.

His hand slipped around your waist, pulling you closer as he added with a grin, “But first… let’s get you cleaned up. I need you fresh and ready for later.”

You laughed softly, your body warming under his touch, even as you let him guide you into the shower. The water was warm, cascading over your skin as Joel’s hands followed, his fingers gentle but still teasing, touching you with an ease that made your heart flutter.

His hands slid over your body, but every once in a while, he would pause—his touch lingering just long enough to make you tremble.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he said, his voice softer now, filled with affection as he washed away the day from your skin. “Don’t know what I’d do without you here to come home to.”

You smiled, leaning your head back into his chest.

Joel let out a small hum of satisfaction, his lips brushing your shoulder as his hands continued their slow exploration of your body. He wasn’t rushing, savoring every second of the intimacy between you, even as you could feel the undercurrent of playfulness in his touch.

His hands slid down your stomach, stopping just short of teasing you further, and you let out a playful whine.

“Not yet, darlin’,” he whispered with a chuckle. “We’ve got dinner to make first.”

As you stepped out of the shower, Joel wrapped you in a soft towel, pulling you close for another lingering kiss. You could feel the warmth of his love in every gesture, even in the way he gently brushed the wet strands of hair away from your face.

“So, what’s this recipe that’s got you so excited?” he asked, his voice light and teasing as he led you toward the kitchen.

“A new quiche recipe,” you said, feeling your excitement return. “I’ve been wanting to try it for a while.”

Joel grinned, his eyes sparkling with affection and mischief. “Quiche, huh? You sure you ain’t just makin’ it so I’ve got something to eat after I’ve worked you up again?”

You laughed, rolling your eyes at him. “Maybe it’s a little of both. I’ve got to keep you satisfied one way or another.”

He stepped up behind you as you pulled out the ingredients, his hands sliding around your waist, pulling you back against him. “You know I’m already more than satisfied,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the side of your neck. “But I won’t complain if you keep spoilin’ me.”

You leaned into him, your head resting back against his shoulder. “Well, you deserve it after a hard day’s work.”

“That I do,” Joel whispered, his hands roaming again, teasing but not pushing. “But I can’t wait for dessert.”

You laughed, swatting him playfully. “Patience, cowboy. Dinner first.”

Joel chuckled, his breath warm against your neck. “Yeah, yeah,” he teased, stepping back to let you work, though his eyes followed your every movement. “But later… you and me, baby. Quiche ain’t gonna be the only thing I’m devouring.”

You glanced over your shoulder with a smirk, the playful heat between you always simmering, always alive. “I’ll hold you to that.”

As you continued to prepare dinner, the warmth between you two lingered in the air. It wasn’t just in the way he looked at you with that teasing grin, but in the domestic ease you both shared—the simple joy of being together, of teasing and loving one another, no matter what the day had thrown your way.

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

[lokischocolatefountain]

Warning || Men Like Me

Masterlist

Fandom: The Last of Us Pairing: Joel Miller x Virgin!Reader Rating: 18+ Warnings: girth age gap, virgin!reader, eventual loss of virginity (not in this chapter), gratuitous descriptions of Joel Miller's body, somewhat creepy!Joel, fetishization of youth, dom!Joel, breaking and entering, playboy magazine, objectification, fingering, sexual discoveries. Word count: 6.2k Summary: Joel's warnings about what men like him would do to girls like you only makes you want him more. A/N: Back in the depths of hell again, you guys. Now this isn't the most depraved thing I've written by any means but it's up there. Come say hi in my chat or inbox, I'd love to talk. Keep a look out for follow up parts and pleeeeease give me comments. I am very very desperate.

Joel Miller was a bad man. That much he knew. 

Even as he fixed taps and renovated houses that were falling apart, he could see the blood on his hands. The very hands that packed lunches for Ellie snapped necks, pistol whipped men, stole from a starving child so he could feed his grown brother. But there were lows even he didn’t stoop down to. 

Not that he didn’t have the opportunity. Men always did. And in this world, opportunities had only tripled. Even the Boston QZ, as strict as it was, had an underground brothel. He knew Tess to frequent it and never asked questions. Sometimes she needed to bury her face between a good pair of thighs and wrap her lips around a pretty pussy, and this wasn’t something he could give her. There was a lot he couldn’t give her.

Being in Jackson should’ve civilized him. It did in many ways. He’d reverted to the southern gentleman with table manners. ‘Yes, Ma’am’ spilled out of his lips effortlessly when he spoke to women. He held the door for anyone walking in after him. He even went to Church– sorry, the multifaith house of worship–to help renovate. 

That was where his troubles began. 

There was no point in him going where people prayed. Being back in civilization did not erase his decades of disbelief in a cruel God who would take his baby and keep him on this accursed Earth. But he did because he was back to being a contractor and Tommy asked him to go fix up the pews instead of him. He didn’t have much time, being a new dad and all.

He was on his knees checking out the rotting wood and evaluating how much wood he’d need for building new ones when he was confronted by a pair of legs and a sweet voice. Yours. 

“Lemonade, Mister Miller?” 

He looked up, his eyes traveling up your legs, bare until he got to your knees where the hem of your flowery skirt sat. Pure, unblemished knees, never taken a fall, didn’t fucking creak, and never knelt before anyone but God. You looked down sweetly, eyes wide and innocent like a newborn cow. Everyone had a kind of darkness about them in this world. Everyone except the kids who didn’t know a world outside the insular walls of Jackson. And you, it turned out, even though you weren’t a kid.

He wiped his sweat off with the greasy rag he carried and looked up at you once again. You had a pitcher and an empty glass in your hands. A sweet smile on your lips and hair falling down your shoulders and reaching your breasts. A yellow ribbon sat in a bow where your neckline dipped between your breasts, adding to the innocence of your look.

“Yes please, Ma’am. Thank you,” he said, giving you a nod. Your pretty plush lips curled up, a giggle escaping them as you poured him a glass of lemonade. 

His hand brushed against yours as he accepted the glass, his hand too large to curl around it without making contact with you. You giggled again before retracting your hand and occupying it with adjusting your hair. 

“I’m younger than you, you know? Don’t have to call me Ma’am.” 

“Just being polite. Ma’am.” He took the glass to his lips, mindful to take only a small sip instead of downing it in desperation. Another adjustment to make when food was no longer a scarcity. Sweet, sour, and salty danced on his tongue before it glided down his throat. Just a sip refreshed him. And the sight of a nice girl didn’t hurt the cause either. 

It’d been so long since he had a nice refreshing glass of lemonade. Summers meant worse infestations of infected, not the barbecues, lemonades, and swimming of past. When surviving each hour was under threat, small luxuries like this became out of reach of even one’s dreams.

“Well, guess I should call you Sir then,” you said, leaning against the wall. You held the pitcher up to your chest and the tails of the ribbon on your chest dipped into it, the soft shiny yellow turning dark, tainted.

His mouth watered and fucking hell, it wasn’t the lemonade you just gave him. He took a sip of the drink and licked his lips, imagining how you’d taste if he wrapped his large hand around your neck and pressed his chapped lips to your plush ones. Better yet, if he held your legs apart and devoured you other pair of lips until you were leaking down his mouth. Would you call him Sir then? His cock twitched in his jeans as he pictured you bent over one of these pews, your skirt pushed up and his hand in your hair as he slid his cock in your hole. 

Jesus fucking Christ! What the fuck was wrong with him? 

“Made the lemonade yourself?” He asked,  groaning as he managed to get himself back up on his feet. His knees creaked like the floorboards of the houses he renovated, but ultimately supported him as he stood. He towered over you, making you appear smaller, more fragile. 

“Depends. Do you like it?” 

“It’s wonderful, of course. Hot summer day like this…I really needed it,” he said, raising the glass up a little before taking another sip. 

“Well then yes, I did make it.”

He chuckled, feeling himself pulled in by your easy charisma. It was nice to have normal conversations like this once again. No agenda, no need for establishing himself as someone who wouldn’t hesitate to beat someone up if even mildly threatened. It was just…normal. 

“It’s very sweet, Ma’am. Like you I assume,” he added, mentally dusting off the part of his brain where he stored skills for conversing with pretty girls.

You laughed, holding your free hand up to your mouth to cover your lips that widened and revealed your teeth. 

“Is that the southern charm that I hear our townspeople talk about?” 

“They talk about my charm? I didn’t hear.” 

“Oh yes, they do… Joel Miller, charming pants off of everyone in town.”

“Pants? Well that’s disappointing. I was hoping I’d charmed some pretty skirts off.” 

“Lots of experience with that, Mister Miller?” you asked, sliding your hand over the soft fabric of the skirt of your dress. Such delicate fabric. He could fist the hem and give it one tug and it’d rip right off.

“More ‘n what you got for sure,” he said, loath to hint at how infrequent his encounters had become in the recent past. Tess died, he did a cross country hike with an annoying kid, he needed to maintain a good reputation in his new town. One buried after the other. Enough to leave a man with nothing but his fist and his imagination. He would kill for a fucking Playboy magazine. Literally. He’d killed for less.

“What do you know about how experienced I am?” 

“Been experiencing longer than you’ve been alive, Ma’am.” 

“Oh well. Nothing I can’t learn.” 

He laughed nervously and stuck his hand in his jeans pocket. Surely you couldn’t be flirting… Why would a young thing like this flirt with him? He was in his late fifties looking like mid sixties and you were… He didn’t know. Young.

“If you could teach me, Mister Miller. Give a girl some experience?”

“I’m sure you can find someone else.” 

“Oh. Not your type, am I?” you asked, and he deluded himself thinking you sounded disappointed. No chance. 

He didn’t have a type. Long time since he thought of frivolous shit like that. But you shouldn’t be his type. 

“There’s much more eligible men in town is what I’m saying,” he said, suddenly hesitant to lie. Lying had never been an issue for him. The right thing was to lie, say you weren’t his type so he wouldn’t cross lines. It’d been a long time since he did the right thing.

“I’ll be the decider of that,” you said with a shrug of your shoulder before taking the empty glass from him. “Have a good rest of the work day, Mister Miller.”

Later that night, he wrapped his fist around his cock in the privacy of his room. His mind flooded with images of you spread out for him, sweet lips and a sweeter pussy milking him. He couldn’t even recall the last time he was with a woman. It was Tess, of course. Sometime before she got thrown in FEDRA jail for the last time. Too fucking long ago.

Surely it was only because it’d been a long time since he got his dick wet. He’d never, in his entire life, pictured a woman so much younger spreading her legs for him. Sucking his cock. Crying out his name. How old was she even? Not past mid twenties for sure.

It was wrong, he knew, as white hot spend spurted out of his cock and covered his hand. A sour tang took over his mouth as the fog of unadulterated lust cleared up to reveal the ugliness in his head. He shuddered, feeling like something had crawled under his flesh. He hadn’t felt guilt like this in so long. 

Wrong, wrong, wrong. 

You weren’t even as old as his kid would be had she been alive. 

He’d known men like that back in the day. Grays in their hair and skin like old leather, but pretty young things old enough to be their daughter hanging off their arm. It was obvious that none of them kept these girls around for love or for their personality. It was always sex and the feeling of self-importance when a sweet young thing paid attention to balding heads, beer bellies and limp dicks that needed a blue pill to get up. 

Fucking disgusting. 

He began avoiding you whenever you happened to be in the same space. At the house of worship, the town clinic where you interned, trading days when people exchanged what they had for what they wanted. His eyes never met yours and he always quickly looked away when they stared too long at your uh…feminine features– pretty legs, cute ass, round tits. Where the fuck did you get sundresses anyway? Who kept that shit around in this world? 

He didn’t know that when he avoided you, you took note of him. When he took glances of your features, you memorized his for later in the night when you buried your head in your pillow and pushed your fingers inside your pussy to simulate what it must be like to be with a man. 

He was older. That much you knew from his grey hair, sun-damaged skin, and gait that exuded bone-deep weariness. You knew Tommy had just turned fifty. Hard to miss occasions that meant a free slice of cake from the canteen. Joel had to be in his mid-fifties at the very least. At first glance, he wasn’t what you’d consider handsome. There were younger men in town. Fit and muscular. Didn’t groan and scrunch up their faces when they got up. Didn’t have lines on their foreheads. No bags under their eyes. 

Yet there was something about Joel that was more entrancing. 

After your first meeting when you offered him lemonade, you made sure to visit under the guise of worship. You didn’t know much about religion and were conflicted about embracing a god. The only faith you had rested in your medical instruments and the medicines the town’s chemist concocted. But it was a nice place to meet people, to check on healing patients.

The visits were worth it for a glimpse of Joel’s large hands wrapped around his carpentry tools. When the sun was the hottest, he sometimes stripped down to his tank top, giving you a show better than any film played in the community theater. His broad back looked masculine enough in his flannel shirts. But you didn’t know desire like the first time you saw him in a white tank, showing off his muscular arms as sweat dripped down his tan skin.

When you pleasured yourself in your room, it took time, imagination, your fingers, and a lot of effort to make slick pool in your pussy. That day, all it took was the sight of Joel Miller working. You sat with your thighs pressed together, rubbing them against each other in the most inconspicuous little movements. 

Could it be blasphemy if the God who was supposedly orchestrating everything made this man take his shirt off in front of you?

It made no fucking sense. Joel was old. He looked like he woke up on the wrong side of the bed every goddamn day. He had been chewed up and spat out by whatever the fuck was outside Jackson these days. Hardened expressions, graying patchy beard, hands calloused from carpentry and decades of using weaponry. Features that only indicated a long life lived, not attractiveness.

You were supposed to be attracted to the soft, sweet ones like the guys in the worn out copies of romance stories that the previous inhabitant of your house stashed in the basement. Even his little brother would be a more reasonable target for your lust. Younger, taller, softer, head full of dark, silky hair with few grays. But you wanted Joel Miller with his rough graying beard that would prick your skin were you to cup his cheek like the women on the novel covers. 

Something about him just screamed Man. Something that none of the other guys in town had. There was nothing wrong with any of the other Jackson men, but none of them made you want to take the plunge and lose your virginity. It wasn’t the lack of offers, per se. You’d gotten looks from many eligible Jackson bachelors. You had drinks with a few of them. Dinner with fewer and shared a kiss with more than one. Alright, two. But anything beyond that had you trembling in anxiety. 

It wasn’t anything precious to you, virginity. But you’d waited so long. Focused so long only on survival and then helping to build this town and now training to become a doctor. Whatever passed for doctor these days. With all your life dedicated to everything but your love life, you simply had no experience. What if you messed up and they laughed? You knew anatomy, but that didn’t translate to practical stuff. What if you couldn’t make them feel good? You’d have to see the guy all the damn time in the small town. There would be no escaping the awkwardness.

Sure it was counterintuitive to keep pushing away sexual encounters because you had no experience. But you didn’t know what else to do. You were too old already to not have done anything. But each day that passed with you rejecting perfectly nice men meant you were getting even older for your first time. 

You didn’t know where Joel fit into your need for exploring your sexuality, but it didn’t hurt to stare. God knew everyone else in Jackson did. 

So you stared. Work with his carpentry tools. Riding on horseback into Jackson after patrol. Helping with the fucking sheep. Walking around with Tommy. Carrying his nephew around town. It should be inappropriate to be fantasizing about a man when he was doing something as innocent as carrying a baby. But seeing his large hand cradling the baby’s little head made you want to scream into your pillow and kick your legs. 

“You alright, sweetheart?” 

Your heart fluttered and you let out a nervous laugh at being caught. You smoothed out the wrinkles on your clothes just to make it look like you were alright. Unfortunately you were wearing a pair of fucking jeans. You didn’t even want to know how awkward you looked. 

“‘m alright, Mister Miller.” 

“Joel’s fine,” he said, rocking his nephew in his arms.

Oh fuck, his fucking arms!

“Oh I don’t know,” you said, fidgeting with a belt loop on your jeans. “Wouldn’t want to be impolite addressing you by your first name like that.”

He smiled, recalling your conversation from the house of worship when you called him Sir and had him fucking himself in the shower to the memory. “Ah. ‘cause I’m an old man,” he said, more as a reminder to himself to fucking behave. 

“You’re not that old…” you trailed, looking him over in a way that set fire to every inch of skin that you laid eyes on.

Behave, Miller. You’re out with your nephew. 

“That so?” he asked, eyebrow raised. 

“Mhmm. You don’t look a day over seventy.” 

He snorted, making Miles stir in his arms just a little. That stung a little. It shouldn’t. Your estimation of his age, whether you were serious or not, was reminder enough that he was too old to be lusting after you.

“Thanks. I’m actually eighty-two.” 

You giggled your pretty little giggle, lowering your gaze to the ground and looking back up only when it had turned into a wide grin. “How old are you actually?”

“Old. Fifty six.” 

“Fifty-six isn’t that old…” you trailed as you brought a hand up to his bicep. Joel gulped, praying to the non-existent God that you would stop before praying to the same God that you would keep your hand right there. God answered his second prayer. You squeezed, licked your lips and looked up at him with your doe eyes.

“Checking if the hardware is still working, Doctor?” 

“I’m not a doctor yet.” 

“When do you become one then? Ain’t no Harvard handing out medical degrees in this town.”

“Howard?” you asked, squinting at him. Ah, of course you didn’t know. Harvard didn’t mean the same thing to you. Now it was just like every other building in Boston. Run over by infected. These ones were just the nerdy kind with glasses on.

“That was a thing, too. But I said Harvard. They were big universities back then.”

“Ah. Did you go there?” You asked, with no malice or bite. Oh, bless your heart. No one expected a dummy like him to have gone to university at all, much less Harvard. No one in his family had gone. Sarah was meant to be the first.

“Yeah. Traded some oxy and threw molotovs at clickers in the campus.” 

You rewarded him with a giggle and that was incentive enough for him to keep going. “Guys like me didn’t get into Harvard. Or Howard. Didn’t even go to community college. I finished high school and got a job in construction.” 

“You didn’t go to uh…construction college?” You asked, cocking your head and raising an eyebrow as though testing out the term.

“No such thing. Well, there were civil engineering programs, but I just learned on the job.” 

“Like me.” 

“Guess so. I see you reading from all those fat medical books. But there’s no need to study any books in construction. ‘cept if you wanna be an engineer or architect or something, which I’m not.” 

“Maybe you should write one. We could all do with some knowledge from before. It’s important to document it, pass it on to Ellie and little Miles over there.” 

“I ain’t writing books, sweetheart. Don’t think I even remember how to write much. I’ll just keep to fixing things up in this town. So, if you need some help with your place…I’m happy to help.” It was the least he could do. Maybe as some kind of penance for having impure thoughts about you. Or as a fucked up trade for starring in the mental images he conjured to jack off in the shower.

“There is something, actually. But I don’t have anything to trade for, so I’ll wait until I do,” you said, clasping your hands behind your back and swaying in place in an endearing manner.

“Nonsense. You patched me up just last week. You’ve done enough for the town’s health to not have to trade for anything ever again.” 

“Well, no. That’s not how it should be… It’s people’s health. Can’t put a price on that.”

“Believe it or not, health had a steep price back in the day. Cost four thousand something just to give birth. Double that if they had to cut you open.” And that was just how much it cost when Sarah was born. He was sure it had only gone up by 2003. If he hadn’t worked his ass off, there was no way he could’ve escaped debt. It helped that his Ma and his then wife’s parents helped with childcare. Would’ve been even more expensive without that.

“Damn. I don’t know how much that is, since…y’know we don’t have money now. But that sounds like a big number. It shouldn’t cost anything just to be born.” 

“Tell me about it,” he said, shaking his head. “But listen. Anything you want fixed, I’ll help out. You can give me something later if you’re worried. I know Ellie’s always on the look for new books to read and you seem to have a lot of them.” 

“Nothing Ellie would like. Not like the special limited edition of Savage Starlight or anything. Just medical textbooks and romance novels.” 

“We could trade for the lemonade from that afternoon,” he insisted, desperate to do something for you. Take care of you as you took care of everyone who walked into the clinic be it papercuts or a fucking knife in their abdomen. 

“Alright. Trade for the lemonade it is then,” you said, giving in to his pressure.

“Now tell me. What d’ya need fixed?” 

⌘⌘⌘

It had been a few days since Joel promised to fix your shower for you. Each time he came by and rang your doorbell, you hid somewhere away from your windows. When he caught sight of you in public, you quickly walked away or engaged in conversation with someone else. You didn’t need shit fixed. Everything in your house was perfectly alright. Tommy and his guys had given the place a complete makeover just a couple months before Joel and Ellie arrived. 

You were no paragon of honesty, but you didn’t make lying a habit. There were a few white lies here and there and this was meant to be one of them. It just didn’t fucking hit you that if you lied to a contractor that your shower was broken, he would eventually come over to fucking fix it. All your desperate sex starved brain wanted that day was for Joel Miller to come use his tools in your room and flex those muscles while at it.

So invested were you in that particular fantasy that as you unwound after a long shift at the clinic, it was with Joel’s beefy arms in mind. You stood in front of your mirror, taking in your reflection. One of the magazines you’d found in a box under your bed laid open on the dressing table. Playboy. Entertainment for Men. Each had a scantily clad woman on the cover. And many more inside. 

You made comparisons to yourself and the woman in the center page of the issue.

She stood in front of a dressing table too, but much different from how you stood. Her legs were on either side of her dressing table chair and her hands on the top of it. Between her arms were breasts, big and round and with smooth skin. They didn’t have any marks on them like yours. No moles, no stretch marks. Just plain. And she just stood there, soft brown hair down, tickling the top of her breasts and her lips parted as she gazed at you. No, at the men she was meant to entertain in this men’s entertainment magazine. All she had on was panties that went high up to her flat belly that connected to high transparent socks.

You reached behind your back and unclasped your bra, wishing that you had something nicer like the woman on the cover of another one of the magazines. Bright red and showing off her breasts wonderfully, but pulled down to reveal almost everything. What was the point of a bra then if it didn’t cover or support anything? Entertainment, you decided. Men seemed to be very entertained by breasts. 

Many a man had stared at yours even though you had them behind layers of fabric unlike the naked women of the magazines. Many had conversations with them instead of your face. Some brushed up against them ‘accidentally’. Joel thought he was being covert, but you felt his brown eyes rove all over them. You thought maybe that he too would brush up against it sometime, but he never did. Maybe entertainment stopped at just looking, as in the magazines. 

You wondered if Joel sought out men’s entertainment magazines like this. He was from before everything went to shit, so it was very possible that he did. Did he like the women in these pages, sticking their asses out and looking through the pages at him? Would he be entertained if he saw you like this? 

You didn’t know that if you turned your head to your bedroom door, you would have your answer. Joel’s cock strained against his already tight jeans as he stood awestruck by your figure. He swallowed as you held on to the top of the chair and lifted your knees, one after the other and placed them on the plush seat. You arched your back, a little too much at first before reducing the curve. Your ass stuck out enticingly and he didn’t know whether to grab, squeeze, slap, or spread your cheeks apart and fuck your ass. 

He should leave. 

It was stupid of him to walk into your house with a box of plumbing tools to fix your shower when you hadn’t yet given him a date or time for it. Plus you were avoiding him. Running away with your little friends and picking up stuff to hide your face from his view. He was plenty sure that when he’d rung your doorbell, you weren’t always away from home. 

He should leave. 

Fixing the shower could wait. He could confront you some other day. 

But you were putting on such a pretty little show in nothing but your panties and he was only a man. A bad one. 

His boots stayed put on your hardwood floors as you enjoyed yourself in front of the mirror. You spread your knees and let your fingers between your thighs, eyes closed, lips parted and low whines escaping your lips in just a few minutes. He palmed his growing erection over his jeans, consequences of being caught be damned. He was a foul beast already. What bad was another sin on the list? Besides, you were the one who’d left the fucking door open. 

Your soft whimpers grew into moans as you brought yourself closer and he forced his feet to stay put despite their urge to walk up to you and give you something to really moan about. 

“Fuu– mmm Joel, pleeease.”

He let out a gasp, all his restraint flying out the window as soon as he heard his name from your lips. You couldn’t actually be doing this… There had to be another Joel in town. Younger, better looking, smarter.

Your voice grew needy and the pitch higher as you kept at it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Gimme it, Sir.” 

No, it couldn’t be anyone else. 

Joel toed his boots off and took quiet steps towards you, emboldened by the filth that spilled from your lips. If this old man was what you wanted, he wouldn’t stop himself from reaping the benefits. He wasn’t a goddamn saint. Never was. 

He stopped in front of you, surprised you still hadn’t sensed his presence. As though the universe heard his thoughts, it had you open your eyes. You gasped as soon as you saw him and buckled off the chair, but Joel caught you. You shuddered, unable to cope with the sudden touch. 

“J-Joel?” 

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he said, touching your cheek with the back of his hand. You whined, your body molding itself against his chest. You brought a hand to his arm, feeling the rock hard muscles underneath his sleeves and your other hand worked between your legs.  

Your fingers no longer felt adequate as you felt his large fingers on your cheek. “Want you, please,” you whined, desperate to return to the edge where you had been right before you saw him. 

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me…” he spoke dangerously, soft brown eyes clouded with a kind of desire you had longed to see in him for weeks. 

“Want you…want you to be with me,” you repeated stupidly, your desperation clouding your senses too much for you to say anything else. While in the past you only wanted to get rid of your virginity, your goals had become more specific with his arrival. You wanted him. You wanted his big hands and broad shoulders, to hold on to them as you rode him. To watch his grumpy expressions turn to ecstasy under you. 

“Tell me not to touch you,” he said, his tone low and almost threatening. Any other threat from him, you would’ve heeded. But not this one. 

“Touch me!” 

It was as though something in him snapped at your words. While darkness only loomed over him before, it now completely took over.The hand that previously only caressed your cheek now wrapped itself around your neck. Before you could completely process the move, his other hand slapped yours away. He replaced two of your puny fingers with his middle finger, eliciting a strained moan from you. 

“Touching yourself to a Playboy magazine, huh?” 

You only nodded, unable to form words now that a fantasy of yours had finally come to life.

“Dirty little thing…Thought you were a nice girl and all. Helpin’ out at the clinic, head buried in books all the time. Turns out you actually got your head in dirty magazines.” 

You whined, your pussy clenching and gushing around his finger at the way he was speaking to you. The same man who insisted on calling you Ma’am despite your protests was calling you a dirty girl now. The veil of respectability seemed to have floated away at the sight of you naked and pleasuring yourself. Had you known that this was all you needed to get Joel Miller to touch you, you would’ve done it much sooner.

He added another finger, the girth of him enough to stretch you more than you had done for yourself. You brought a hand up to his shoulder and fisted his shirt, needing something to anchor yourself to. 

“You ever been taken by a man, sweetheart?” He asked, his tone too cool and casual for what he was doing to you. You shuddered, partly from his phrasing– taken, he said. Taken. Like you were a thing. Like the women in the magazines positioned so uncomfortably just so their breasts could look a certain way for the picture. Printed on the cover page with the words Entertainment for Men written on top. You shook your head, feeling small as you confessed it for the first time. 

“Any man?” 

“N-no,” you managed to breathe out, whimpering at the way the bulge beneath his jeans twitched at your simple answer. He took a step to position himself behind you, letting you lean your back against his chest. The angle at which he touched your pussy changed, opening your world up to a wonderful new kind of pleasure. 

“A virgin. Pretty young things like you ain’t for men like me,” he whispered in your neck, making you shiver. His thumb roamed between your legs as far as they could reach, caressed you gently, his softness with you contradicting his warning about men like him. The hand around your neck slithered down your torso, cold air forcing you to face your new desire of having your breath kept hostage. 

He took your left breast in hand, squeezing the flesh like someone starved would hold on to a piece of bread. It felt more like a punctuation to the warning he issued than a part of sex. Just then, his thumb between your legs stopped its search, stopping a little above the fingers inside you.

A moan you didn’t recognize as yours at first filled the room and you buckled forward. Blunt nails sunk into the flesh of your breast as he saved you before you could fall. He hauled you back up, making you collide against his chest. 

You gasped and quickly grabbed the hand between your legs, the sensation too intense for you to know what to do with. His thumb kept on, rolling over something there that set your person on fire. 

“Fuuuck! Joel– I– I– hnnng–”

“I know, sweetheart,” he crooned, keeping at whatever the hell he was doing to make you feel this way. 

“Please… I don’t– what was that?” 

You felt his chest rumble before you heard his laughter. Heat rose to your face and your throat felt strained though there was no hand around it anymore. 

“Never touched your clit? Do you even know what that is?” He mocked, the cruelty somehow not repelling you from him. He forced you to look up at him. Your heart lurched at how close you were to his face. You could see every gray hair, every minute blemish and line.

“Don’t know your own fucking body but you want a man? You don’t know what you’re handing me on a silver platter. I ain’t like the other guys in town. I walked across the fucking country and lemme tell ya, there’s no pretty things like you out there. I’m starved.” 

“Take me, then,” you begged, using his own words from earlier. “Please. Whatever you– a-aaah!” 

He ramped up the pressure on that spot– your clit– and with it, took your ability to speak coherently. It was as though he’d done it on purpose. You hated it. To be so bereft of control. To be a puppet in someone’s hand. For someone to acquaint themselves with parts of you that you didn’t know of. But it was too much to fight, so you let go. Let him play with you. Take you. Like a thing.

You renounced control of your lips too, his name slipping out effortlessly like it did when he caught you. Then you renounced what was left of your dignity and began begging relentlessly. For what, you didn’t know. In his hand, you’d gone from woman to pupper, your strings pulled by a man, your voice now his. Sounds that would be indiscernible from that of a wounded animal emanated from somewhere deep within you. 

Perhaps none of this was real. Why else did your own voice grow so distant from you? Why did your vision become blurry? Your thighs shook uncontrollably and your heart felt like it was beating out of your chest. Your eyes clenched shut, depriving you of your blurred vision. Your toes curled. You wanted to shrink into yourself, shrink away from all this goodness. You went higher and higher, soaring like a bird. Every nerve ending in your body felt electrified, awoken like one switch turned on every light on last winter’s Christmas tree. 

You let out a loud cry, the soaring bird in you reaching its peak before beginning its fall to the ground. You could hear your breaths again, labored but doing everything to stabilize itself. Your thighs still shook. Your chest rose and fell. A hand caressed your hand. Behind you, something strong supported your back. Kept you from falling backward. 

“Joel…” 

“I know, I know…” he whispered into your head. You opened your eyes and looked up at him, surprised to see a softer visage. He picked you up off the chair like you’d seen him lift giant logs before. With ease. You didn’t protest as he carried you. Didn’t protest when he laid you out on your bed. 

He bent down and picked something up. No questions, no instructions. He simply spread your leg away from the other. Cold air touched the gushing mess dripping out of you and you shivered, feeling a sudden need to cover yourself but unable to defy him. His hand was on your pussy again. His hardened, calloused fingers behind a soft fabric this time. He wiped upwards, collecting the mess he made out of you. When he lifted the fabric up, you realized it was your panties. 

He tucked it into the pocket of his jeans and then looked back at your face, the intensity of his gaze making you want to run. Problem was your weak legs wouldn’t take you anywhere. You didn’t screw your eyes shut. You didn’t pull your blanket to conceal yourself. You looked back at him, defiant. Like you were trying to prove something. I can handle a man like you. 

“Be a good girl from now.” 

That and a condescending pat on your pussy and he was gone.

⌘

Part 2

[cinnxmxngxrl]

Imagine Joel teaching you how to go down on him

Pairing: Jackson!Joel x f!Reader

Joel’s Masterlist

WC: 3.3k

Tags/Warnings: smut, minors DNI, porn with no plot, unspecified but big age gap, oral (m!receiving), virginity, unprotected piv (just the tip), daddy kink, baby-talking, young and innocent reader, condescending joel, terms like baby girl, sweet little girl etc.

You two had started slow, like always. You were curled into his chest on the old couch of his house, legs draped over his lap, while the fire crackled. Joel’s arm was heavy around your shoulders, his hand warm against your thigh, thumb rubbing little circles into the cotton of your sleep shorts.

“Y’cold, baby?” he murmured, voice all gravel and syrup.

You shook your head against him. “No… m’alright.”

“You’re shiverin’.”

“M’not,” You whispered, even though you definitely were, but it wasn’t because the cold.

He chuckled low, the kind that rumbled from his chest into yours, and then he kissed you slow, like he had all the time in the world to taste you, making you moan softly against his mouth, fingers curling in the flannel of his shirt.

It always escalated the same way, his hand sliding under your shirt, rough fingers toying with your nipple until you gasped into his mouth, letting your hand press against the hard bulge in his jeans, and God, the way he groaned when you rubbed him, the way he’d mutter, “Atta girl… jus’ like that,” until he got so worked up you’d feel him twitch and pulse in his jeans, cumming from nothing but your hand over denim... you loved knowing it was you doing that to him.

But tonight… You were hungry for me more, eager to please him, to show him you were a big girl.

Joel pulled back from the kiss, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek, looking at you like you were some fragile little thing he couldn’t quite believe he got to hold.

“You alright, baby?”

You nodded but your throat was tight with the words you were trying to say.

“Tell me,” he said softly, eyes never leaving yours.

You swallowed. “I wanna… I wanna try somethin’. But I need you to teach me.”

He arched an eyebrow. “What kind of somethin’?”

You blushed, you were so shy you couldn’t meet his eyes right away. “I… wanna go down on you.”

Joel didn’t move for a second, he just stared at you, and then his lips curled into that lazy, crooked smirk you knew so well. You, his little baby, asking him to teach you how to blow him, it was a wet dream come true.

“Oh, baby girl…” He said it like it was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard, but then he leaned back slightly on the couch, spread his legs just a little, and his hand cradled your jaw, thumb brushing over your lips. “You wanna suck my cock, huh?”

The way he said it, teasing, condescending, like you were some precious little thing begging to be taught, made your thighs rub against the other.

You nodded, biting your lip. “Will you show me how, Joel?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he breathed, voice already thick with arousal, “you ask real nice, don’tcha?”

He reached for his belt, undoing it slow like he wanted you to watch every single step of this, like he needed you to see what you’d been touching all this time.

“You sure ‘bout this, honey? You don’t gotta do nothin’ you’re not ready for.”

“I want to,” you whispered. “I want you to teach me.”

Joel exhaled like he was trying to calm himself, jaw clenching for a second before he cupped the back of your head to guide you down, gently, until you were kneeling between his spread thighs.

“Look at you down there… christ, you look like you were made for this.”

Your cheeks burned but you couldn’t look away from him, from the way he sat there, jeans undone, cock hard and straining in his briefs.

“Take him out, baby,” Joel murmured, his voice lower now, husky. “Nice and slow.”

You did, fingers shaking a little as you tugged his underwear down. And there he was, just like you'd expected, thick, flushed, twitching, leaking at the tip already, making your mouth go dry.

“C’mere, wrap your hand around me.” Joel said, his hand curling gently around yours, guiding your fingers to wrap around his shaft, it was huge compared to your tiny hands, which could barely wrap all the way around him. “There we go. That’s it. Hold him just like that.”

He tilted his hips, the weight of him heavy in your hand.

“Start slow,” Joel murmurs. “Yeah, like that. Just stroke it. All the way up, then back down.”

You move your hand like he told you, up and down, watching his face, his eyes flutter closed briefly, his hips twitch.

“Good. Now—“ His voice drops to a groan. “Use both hands. One at the base, one near the tip. Gentle twist when you go up, yeah thassit.”

You do as he says, and his head falls back against the couch.

“Jesus, baby…”

Your confidence builds with every sound he makes. You twist your wrist slightly, slide your palm over the slick head, he bucks just a little, jaw clenched.

“That part’s sensitive,” he pants. “Just a little pressure there, not too much. You’ll know when it’s too much ‘cause I’ll start beggin’.”

You grin. “I like that idea.”

“Lick the tip, baby,” he said, almost gently. “Just a lil’ taste. Like a popsicle.”

You obliged instantly, letting your tongue flick out shyly against the fat mushroom head, in responde Joel groaned so deep it made you clench your thighs together tighter.

“Fuck, that’s it… Good girl.”

You did it again, this time slower, flattening your tongue against the head, tasting the salty precum as you swirled it around. It all felt so filthy, you there on your knees, giving him soft, teasing kitten-licks on his huge cock. Joel was drinking it all in, savoring the sight, trying to burn the image into his memory. No doubt that the man would be jerking off to this whenever you weren’t around.

“Goddamn, you’re good at this already. Natural little cocksucker, huh?”

His words made you whimper, you felt dizzy, your cheeks were hot, maybe because of your shyness, maybe because of how aroused you were. He found it endearing, how innocent you looked and yet how eager and willing you were to please him. It was almost ridiculous, really: that soft, delicate face beneath him, while his thick, veiny cock stood proud right in front of you.

Joel guided you again, thumb brushing your cheek as he spoke.

“Open your mouth now. Wider. That’s it. Just the tip, baby, just take the head in. You’re not ready for the whole thing yet, just enough so I can feel that warm little mouth.”

You almost wanted to whine, to tell him, “I’m a big girl, Joel. I can take all of it.” But if Joel said you weren’t ready, then you trusted him, he always knew better. You wrapped your lips around him, sucking gently, and he hissed, head falling back against the couch. His cock stretched your lips just a little, the taste of him is salty and clean on your tongue.

“Fuck, yeah, thassit baby… nice and easy. Don’t rush. Savor it." He breathes.

He was so gentle but filthy at the same time, his hand petting your hair like you were the sweetest thing while he fed you his cock in tiny increments.

He’d never had anyone suck his cock so gently before, he fucking hated when women just dropped to their knees and deep-throated from the first damn second. The best part of this was getting to mold you to his pleasing, to teach you how he liked it, so you’d only ever do it his way.

“Use that hand, sweetheart,” he coaxed. “Stroke what you can’t fit. That’s it. Just like that.”

Once again, you obeyed him, your hand working in rhythm with your mouth, hollowing your cheeks just like he told you.

“Good fuckin’ girl.”

“Look at you, makin’ Daddy feel so good.”

“Such a sweet mouth on you… you were made for this, weren’t you?”

His hips started moving just a little, it was insane how much just seeing you, his cock stuffed deep in your mouth, was driving him wild. But the way it felt, the warmth and softness wrapped around him? That was a million times better.

“Tell me if it’s too much, baby. Don’t wanna hurt that pretty mouth.”

You shook your head, taking more of him in, loving the way he gasped, the way his thighs tensed under your hands, he was slowly but surely unraveling, you could see it in the way his jaw clenched, the way his hand gripped yours tighter where you stroked him.

“Try takin’ a little more,” he murmurs. “Only if it feels okay.”

You inch down, slow and careful, taking more of him, your lips stretch, your tongue pressed under the weight of him, and you hummed around him when he filled your mouth a little deeper.

“Nghhh yeah, move just like that,” he pants. “Use your hand with your mouth and keep it slick. Little twist when you stroke. Fuck, you’re a fast learner, baby..”

You’re dripping now, feeling the ache between your legs just from how wrecked he sounds, yet you go slow, listening to every sound he makes, the low curses, the clipped gasps, the murmured praise.

“Look at me,” he rasps.

You glance up with your mouth full of his cock, lips swollen, eyes wide, the look you give him makes Joel groans like it’s physically painful.

“Sweetheart, you look so fuckin’ pretty like that.”

You moan softly around him, and his hips twitch, he gasps and pulls back slightly.

“Shit—baby—hang on—”

You blink, lips shiny, confused, if it felt so good, why was he asking you to stop? Were you doing something wrong?

“I’m—close,” he says. “Real close. You probably don’t wanna—”

Silly Joel thought you wouldn't want his cum filling your mouth? You were gonna prove him wrong now, you were gonna get your mouth full of it. You lean forward again, and you take him back in, without stopping.

“Fuck,” he groaned, voice rough and ragged. “You really gonna let me cum on that sweet lil’ face, darlin’?”

You moaned around him, and that was all it took.

“Fuck—oh fuck, baby girl,” he groaned, hips jerking. “Take it, take it, take all that cum for me—”

He spilled hot and thick into your mouth and onto your tongue, groaning like he hadn’t cum that hard in years. You swallowed instinctively, messy and clumsy, and some of it still dripped onto your chin. It felt thick and sticky down your throat, a little salty, unlike anything you’d ever tasted before, but it was Joel’s seed, and that made it feel… special.

He watches you swallow it, stunned, his whole body shudders through the last few spurts and you stroke him gently through it, hand slick, mouth soft.

Joel pulled you back gently, cupping your cheeks as he caught his breath. “Jesus Christ, baby…” he murmured, leaning down to kiss the corner of your mouth, tasting himself on your lips. “You’re somethin’ else.”

You looked up at him, breathless, dazed, and buzzing. “Did I do okay, daddy?”

Joel laughed softly, wiping his thumb across your lip where some of his cum had landed.

“You did fuckin’ perfect, baby. I’m so proud of you. That mouth, Jesus, you just about ended me.”

You curl into his chest, flushed, heart pounding, and he cradles you like you’re breakable.

“You okay, baby girl?”

I nodded, eyes wide. “Yeah… m’good.”

He smiled. “Yeah? That sweet mouth tired now?”

A giggle slipped out of your lips. “Not really…”

He chuckled low, but something about the way he looked at you changed then, his eyes were still hungry. “You want me to treat that pussy real nice too, baby? I bet she's achin’.”

“I…” you hesitated, chewing on your lip.

Joel tilted his head. “What is it?”

You looked down, then back up at him through your lashes. “I wanna try somethin’. But you gotta promise to be careful.”

Joel immediately froze. “Talk to me.”

You felt your heart pounding. “I just… I wanna try the tip,” you whispered. “Just that, but not all the way.”

His jaw clenched. “Baby…”

“Pleeeease?” You said, hand on his chest. “I trust you. I wanna know what it feels like, just the tip.”

Joel stared at you like he was trying to memorize you, like he was weighing the pleasure against his fear of hurting you. He was still hard again, painfully so, and he was dying to know what being inside you felt like, but he was still a gentleman afraid to hurt his sweet little girl.

“You’re still a virgin,” he said softly. “That’s not nothin’. I ain’t gonna take that from you unless you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” you said. “As long as you go slow, I want to feel you, please Joooeel.”

He muttered a curse under his breath, low and southern and filthy. Fuck, what the hell were you even doing to him? He was a grown-ass man, and here he was getting all worked up over just getting his tip wet, like he was some desperate teenager all over again in the back of a car at the drive-in, ready to lose it from a single stroke.

“Fuck, baby girl… you say it like that, I’m gonna lose my fuckin’ mind.”

Joel kissed you hard, then he stood and scooped you up in his arms like you were made out of feathers, carrying you to his bedroom, the one you've been before a couple of times, with the old quilt and the creaky floorboards. He laid you gently on the bed like you were made of glass.

“You tell me if you want to stop,” he said, voice tight. “I mean it. I’ll pull out in a second. Ain’t nothin’ we gotta rush.”

“I know,” You whispered, reaching up to touch his face. “I want this.”

Joel undressed you slow, kissing every inch of skin as he bared it, your nipples were already hard when he pulled your shirt up, making him groan as soon as he saw them.

“Look at these pretty tits,” he murmured, sucking one into his mouth. “Still can’t believe these are all mine.”

You arched under him, gasping, thighs clenching as he trailed kisses down to the hem of your shorts, and when he peeled them off, he found you soaked, so soaked through your panties, making the cotton stick to your folds.

“God damn,” Joel muttered, pressing his thumb against the wet spot. “This all for me, sweetheart?”

You whimpered. “Yes…”

He quickly tugged the panties off slow, baring your aching, needy pussy, then knelt between your legs, staring at you like he wanted to devour you.

“You’re drippin’, baby,” he said, thumbing through the slickness between your pussy lips. “She’s beggin’ for me.”

He made you whimper when he pressed two fingers to your entrance, not pushing in, just teasing you.

“You’re so tight,” he murmured, sucking in a breath. “You sure you want me to put this cock in you, baby girl? Even just the tip?”

You nodded desperately. “Please, Joel. I need it.”

He groaned. “Fuck. Okay. Get up on the pillows for me, yeah? Gotta be real careful with you.”

You did as he said, like every single time, obeying like a good girl, lying back and spreading your legs open for him. He stroke his thick cock, now fully hard again, the head swollen and leaking precum. Joel lined himself up to your entrance, brushing the tip through your folds, making you jolt in anticipation.

“Gotta open up for me, baby,” he murmured, voice condescending and sweet. “Let daddy in just a lil’. That’s what you wanted, huh? Just the tip?”

“Y-yeah,” you breathed. “Just the tip.”

Joel pressed the head of his cock against your entrance and pushed in slowly, stretching your cunt wide with just that first inch, your breath caught at the invation, it burned, but it also made you clench, hips twitching as your body tried to pull him in deeper, as it tried to accomodate him inside you.

Joel cursed everything and everyone, just the fucking tip inside you and it was already better than every goddamn woman he’d ever fucked. Tighter. Hotter. Wetter. Like his cock had finally found where it belonged, like it had spent his whole damn life searching and now it found his home, nothing had ever felt like this, no one had ever felt like you.

“Fuuuck,” Joel groaned. “You feel that? That’s just the tip, baby girl. Just this fat head stretchin’ that virgin pussy. You takin’ it like a good girl.”

You moaned, thighs shaking. “Joel…”

“You like that?” he asked, leaning over you, still holding himself back. “You like bein’ stretched open like this?”

You nodded frantically, tears pricking your eyes, it hurted, yes, but it felt delicious like nothing you've experienced before in your life.

“Yeah, you do,” he cooed. “You’re squeezin’ me so tight, baby. You’re so fuckin’ small… and I ain’t even in yet.”

He pulled out just a little, then pressed back in with just the tip again. “Look at that,” he murmured. “Pussy so greedy, she don’t want me to leave.”

You gasped, arching your back. “It feels… so full…”

“This ain’t full, baby,” Joel growled. “This is just a taste. You let me in any deeper and I’ll ruin you.”

You whimpered. “I want it.”

“You want what?”

“I want you to ruin me.”

Joel growled low in his throat, dropping his head to rest against yours, hips moving just enough to slide that swollen tip in and out of you, teasing your entrance, fucking you with just the head, over and over.

“God, you don’t even know what you’re sayin’, baby. You ain’t ready for the whole thing yet. I’ll split you open.”

“I don’t care,” You whispered, gripping his shoulders. “I want it all.”

Joel groaned like he was in pain, pulling out again to rub his cock through your slick folds, smearing his precum and your wetness together, nudging against your clit until you writhed. You had no right to look so fucking pure while moaning for him to split you open, begging for more cock.

“Not tonight, baby,” he said, kissing you hard. “But soon I’m gonna take this pussy for real. Gonna fuck you so full you’ll be ruined for anyone else. You hear me?”

“I need more,” You moaned. “Pleeease, Jooeeel.”

“You ain’t ready for more,” he growled, but there was no edge in his voice, just hunger. “You think you can take all this cock? I’m a grown fuckin’ man, baby, not some boy.”

Joel rubbed the tip against your entrance again and slid it in once more, slowly, deeply, groaning like it was killing him to hold back, like he was fighting his whole body not to shove deeper. And you were so wet, so full already, you couldn’t stop squirming under him, clenching around the small stretch he gave you, chasing more with every desperate roll of your hips.

“Easy, baby,” he grunted, voice rough. “You’re squeezin’ me like a goddamn vice. You keep doin’ that and I’m gonna blow already.”

His hands gripped your hips like he was holding you still for dear life, his forehead dropped to yours, breath warm and ragged against your skin, and he just stayed there, buried with just the tip inside, grounding his hips against you, just enough to make you cry out, over and over.

“You’re doin’ so good, baby girl,” he whispered in my ear. “Makin’ daddy proud.”

He rolled his hips and ground the tip in deeper, just a shallow push that was barely an inch, but it was enough to make your back arch and your thighs tremble.

“F—fuck,” you gasped, fingernails digging into his shoulders.

“That feel good, sweet girl?” Joel cooed, baby-talking you again. “That lil’ virgin pussy likin’ how daddy’s tip feels stretchin’ her out?”

I nodded frantically. “Feels so good, daddy. Don’t stop, please—please don’t stop—”

“Oh, baby, I ain’t stoppin’,” he said, grinding his hips in slow, tiny circles, keeping that swollen head inside you while the rest of his length throbbed against your soaked folds. “Gonna fuck you like this, gonna make you cum on it. Gonna teach your pussy who she belongs to.”

“Y-yeah,” you breathed. “So big… and you’re not even all the way in…”

“Damn right I’m not,” he said. “You’re too fuckin’ tight, baby. You’ll take me when I say so, not before.”

Part of him was fucking feral over the fact that it was the first cock you’d ever taken, and the only one, he’d make damn sure of that. Seeing you cry from just one fucking inch? One single inch stretching that tight little pussy open for the first time? Christ, Joel would get this moment tattooed onto his chest if he could, nothing had ever made him feel more like a man.

His hands left your hips and slid down, thick fingers slipping between your bodies, parting your folds and rubbing soft and tight circles against your clit as he stayed buried in you just that inch.

“Joel—oh my God—!”

“You gonna cum for me?” he murmured. “Gonna let daddy make this sweet little cunt cum for the first time with a cock in her?”

You nodded wildly, you were so close, your whole body tense and trembling, thighs shaking around his waist.

“Look at you,” Joel groaned. “You don’t even need me all the way inside, do you? You just need this big tip grindin’ right into that little hole…”

He gave a shallow thrust, just a nudge forward, barely anything, but it hit something that has never been touched before, and you cried out in pleasure.

“Oh my God—Joel!”

“That’s it,” he rasped, fingers working faster against your clit. “Let it happen, baby girl. Let that tight little pussy cum for me. So fuckin’ good—my good girl—”

You came with a sob, back arching off the bed, thighs clamping down around his hips as you clenched and fluttered around the tip of his cock. Your whole body went tight and then loose all at once, like you'd been holding your breath since the moment he touched you, or like you've been holding your breath your entire life before this moment.

Joel growled like an animal, hips twitching once, twice, and then he cursed, his voice breaking. “Fuck—baby girl—fuck, I’m gonna—”

He spilled inside you, hot and sudden, still buried with just the tip. He didn’t move, didn’t thrust, just stayed there, pressed against you as thick pulses of his release coated your walls, leaking out around the base of his cock, making you both gasp through it, panting, foreheads pressed together, bodies still intertwined.

You both stayed like that for a long moment, his tip twitching inside you, your cunt still fluttering around him, warm and full and messy between your legs.

Joel kissed you softly. “You okay, baby?” he whispered. “Talk to me.”

You nodded, dazed. “Yeah… yeah. That was… that was…”

He smiled. “Yeah. That’s what just the tip feels like.”

You laughed breathlessly, still flushed and trembling. “So what’s the rest of it like?”

Joel’s smirk turned dark. “Oh, sweetheart. You ain’t ready for that answer yet.”

Read Joel taking your virginity here

A/N: Hope you enjoyed it!! I’m planning a little series of one-shots with Joel teaching the reader different things, so lmk if you’d be interested in that. As always, your support means the world to me🩷🫶🏻

dividers by: @/diviniyae

[missadangel]

Two Wrongs, One Right

Joel Miller x Immune F! Reader

1 - The Man Who Saved You

Season 1 trailer series masterlist next chapter

Summary: Before the 2003 outbreak, the Cordyceps virus was a secret government project led by your father, a dedicated scientist. After realizing his mistake, he discovered your immunity following a bite at age 10. Desperate to make amends, he made deals with Fedra and later with the Fireflies, while you chose to escape instead of sacrificing yourself. Years of evading capture ended when you were eventually caught and taken to a hospital in Salt Lake with another immune girl. They thought two hosts would boost their vaccine chances, unaware that Joel was ready to take them all down. Unbeknownst to him, he had saved both you and Ellie. Now, you set out on your own, hoping to find your saviour again, leaving the rest of the Fireflies behind in your hospital scrubs. It wasn't long before you unexpectedly encountered him in Jackson, but he had no idea who you were or about your immunity. Chapter W.C. 10,5 k. It's an introductory chapter, so stay tuned for more about Joel in the next one! Warnings: guns, outbreak, Infection, post-apocalyptic theme, FUCKED UP SHITTY WORLD, language, profanity, cursing, attempted rape, blood, SLOW BURN, slow build, idiots in love, hate to love, arguments, cold behavior, selfishness, TOMMY, ABBY, ELLIE, DINA, WLF, FEDRA, FIREFLIES, sexual tension, abuse, trauma, nightmares, violence, injury, betrayal, murder, teasing, hate or love?, angst, maybe smut, fluff and romance stuff later not sure yet...age gap: Reader 30 Joel is 55 authors note: Each chapter will have its own music and warnings. Thank you all for your support, and have fun! my masterlist

Chapter Songs...

**Prologue.** 

You are her.

The girl that Fedra, Fireflies and the WLF chased endlessly but could never pin down. Somehow, you always managed to slip away. 

EVERY SINGLE TIME. 

That’s you.

You are among the first witnesses to see the world turned upside down with the arrival of this chaotic new reality, where everything familiar crumbled due to the cordyceps virus that transformed life as we know it. You stand out as a unique individual, an extraordinary person navigating this virus in a way that defies all expectations, possessing an incredible immunity that sets you apart from the rest.

That’s you. 

“Humanity's only hope, the sole potential source of a cure, the chance to develop a vaccine that may never be found again.” 

Yeah, those after you see it that way. As a thing, a lab rat, a test subject—disposable, without dreams or feelings... 

But honestly, you shouldn’t be surprised.

From the moment you came into the world, a profound sense of distance from others has surrounded you—something you never had a choice in. It all began when your mother was bitten by one of your father's test subjects while she was pregnant. That incident marked the onset of a global crisis—the day the virus escaped from the CDC and rapidly spread across the globe. Growing up in a laboratory, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being out of touch with what most people would consider home.

Your dad and his team dedicated years to creating something remarkable for humanity—yeah, they really believed in it—while dabbling in something perilously risky, only to realize they had made a grave mistake. They managed to keep it under wraps, but they could never quite eliminate the problem, always falling short.

From 2000 to 2003, your dad and his crew poured everything they had into combating a virus known only to a select few in the government. By August 2003, the number of test subjects had skyrocketed past a thousand, sparking outbreaks in Indonesia and other key grain-producing areas.

And that’s when the world went to hell. 

The sound of boots echoes on the floor as a figure strodes through the entrance of the building.

The man has “F.E.D.R.A.” emblazoned in large letters across his back, indicating he is likely a Fedra soldier or commander. Everyone in the room avert their gaze, casting guilty looks as if they had just been caught red-handed. Those sitting on the floor, some sporting visible injuries, quickly get up, heads bowed—not just out of respect, but from sheer shock and fear. They keenly aware that trouble is looming, for this man only appeared during significant events. He is one of Fedra's elite, irreplaceable in his role.

Major Gibson's furious, disappointed eyes scans the room, his anger swelling with each wounded soldier in sight.

One of the soldiers steppes forward, visibly nervous, and offeres a salute. “Sir.”

“What’s the situation, lieutenant?” Gibson inquires, his voice steady yet charged.

“Sir, we’ve managed to corner the target inside the building.”

Gibson narrow his eyes, disappointment dripping from his tone. “You’ve managed?” His gaze shift to the injured soldiers sprawles across the floor, some with bandages on their heads and limbs. “Is this what you call 'manage'?”

The lieutenant loweres his head but, despite his recent failures, a flicker of hope ignites in his eyes—tinged with a dash of determination. “The girl is wounded. She can't escape from the building. All entrances and exits are secured by my men.” She points to the building plan spread out before them, indicating the girl’s possible location.

Without looking up from the map, Gibson asks, “A girl. Is the one responsible for putting your men in this sorry state just a girl?"

Taking a deep breath, the lieutenant steadies herself and replies, “With all due respect, sir, you don’t know her yet. We have clear instructions to capture her alive. It's challenging since she’s exceptionally well-trained—"

“I may not know her, but I do know the orders. How old is this girl again?”

The lieutenant hesitates but answers carefully, “Twenty, sir.”

A grim smile spreads across Gibson's face, as if he expected this. He looks at the soldiers around him, counting them.

“Interesting,” Gibson says with angry smirk. “Twenty men can’t handle a twenty-year-old girl. How fuckin' ironic.” The soldiers bow their heads again. “Alright, listen up! We need to capture this girl before sundown. With the Fireflies closing in and everything going to shit, we can’t afford to let that girl get away. Get your fuckin' shit together! Let's do this!"

“As you command, sir.”

“Yes, sir,” the soldiers echo, rallying around him as Gibson pulls out a red phosphorescent pen and starts marking the building plan. “We’re going to follow my plan for the capture,” he says, and the mood shifts, filled with a sense of purpose.

“Fuck,” you curse under your breath as you press your hand against the bullet wound just above your knee. They’re definitely trying to cripple you without killing you, aimlessly targeting your legs, but some of them must not know what they’re doing. Trying to find first aid supplies in this building is like digging a well with a toothpick—practically impossible. Ignoring the pain, you stagger forward with your automatic rifle in hand, scanning every inch of the corridor for anything that might help. At the far end, the dark elevator shaft catches your eye. You can’t tell if the cabin is just stopped or stuck somewhere below, but your mind quickly races to plot your escape. The elevator doors are two-sided, and if you can exit from the other side, you might make it to another building. But with your leg like this, it’ll be painfully slow, and you know that once they figure out where you are, they’ll be right on your tail.

You’re certain of it.

Think, think, think. 

Your eyes dart around the crumbling, half-destroyed building, reeking of mold and decay, and then you spot the kitchen area. Just then, a strong, deep voice calls your name from outside. You don’t care; you know what’s coming next, so you head to the stove, checking the gas cylinders in the kitchen.

“Surrender immediately! I repeat, surrender immediately. I’ll count to three, and my team will enter. We know you’re wounded; there’s nowhere left to run. You’ll be the one who gets hurt.”

You snort, partly at his threat and partly at the thrill building up inside you as you realize the kitchen gas cylinder is still functional. Suddenly, a plan forms in your mind. “We’ll see about that, motherfucker,” you mutter, turning all six knobs and quickly tying a bandana around your neck to cover your mouth.

As the gas begins to fill the room, you can hear him counting down.

“You cocky show-off,” you whisper, pulling a lighter from your pocket. With the cigarette you snagged from the dead man's bag on the street last week, you light it up and take a long drag. The smoke is heavy, old, and scratchy, burning your lungs, but it carries a familiar comfort. You brace one of the doors closed, waiting for the gas to spread. This is a gamble you’ve never taken before—something that could very well backfire—but you don’t care. You’re smart enough to wrap a fire blanket around yourself. With the cigarette burning down, you hear the soldiers’ footsteps getting closer. Adrenaline surges through you, your heart pounding. You bite your lower lip, take a deep breath, and grip a piece of stone from the floor—probably debris from the wall blasted in an earlier explosion. You wrap the blanket around your entire body, feeling every heartbeat like a drum demanding action.

As you check your cigarette, watching it burn almost to the end, you spot the soldiers approaching. Counting them as they appear: one, two, three, and...

Now, it’s go time.

You prepare to toss the burning cigarette with a flick of your thumb and middle finger. With the stone in hand, you smash the glass of the door and step into the elevator shaft, ready to jump to the other side, both physically and mentally. The smell of gas rushes into your nostrils as you hurl the cigarette into the shaft, cover yourself with the blanket, and brace for impact.

Then all hell breaks loose.

It’s not the sharp explosion of a grenade you might expect—rather, it’s slow but utterly devastating. First, the flame from the cigarette ignites the gas fumes, and then pressure causes everything to explode outward with a haunting roar. A shard of glass grazes you, stopping you just short of your escape. In that heartbeat, you realize the mix of brilliance and recklessness in your move. Tossing the cigarette this close was a mistake, but the blanket shields you from the fire's fury, saving your skin. It all transpires in mere seconds, but the intensity is overwhelming.

With the noise pulsing in your ears, you gather your strength and take a few steps back to jump. Your rifle bumps against you, but the shock dulls the sensation. You sprint forward as fast as possible, launching yourself into the air. You land and roll to your feet, recovering swiftly while scanning your surroundings. Did something -infected- hear that blast? Did a soldier figure out your scheme? Nothing moves. A grin spreads across your face, despite the chaos—you’re a mess, but you’re unstoppable. Adrenaline floods your system. It’s as if your blood has transformed, energizing you as you soak in the thrill of your narrow escape.

This section of the building is calm and quiet, but it's unnervingly dark. Frustrated, you flick on your flashlight and move forward, visualizing your plan with every step, recalling the silhouette you spotted from outside. As you make your way down the stairs, you steer toward the likely location of the fire escape. Fortunately, the lower floors are bright, the walls have cracks that let in sunlight, and nature's touch is visible with overgrown grass surrounding you. The area around the fire escape door is unobstructed, and you’re nearly ready to make your escape. The soldiers' voices are now barely audible, a distant clamor filled with shouts and even some pleading. All of it because of what you've done. All because of you. Strangely, it doesn’t scare you like it once did, nor do you feel the same weight of guilt. Not anymore. You have your reasons, and they’re all too valid.

But this isn’t the time to dwell on the past. You are neither the hunted nor the hunter; you exist within a rigid philosophy. Kill or be killed. Eliminate anyone who stands in your way. That’s the new order—a law, a constitution, a moral code to live by. After all, who can hold you accountable? No one bears the blame; everyone is a victim except one. It’s all his fault: your father. And that’s exactly why you’re on the run, and why you must keep moving.

The destruction you’ve caused is staggering; most of the soldiers are likely dead, the rest wounded and spent. That’s a relief; they won’t be pursuing you for a while. At least until you find a vehicle and make your way out of Boston for good.

**Prologue ends.**

10 years earlier. 

September 26, 2003... 

It was too late. There was no corner of the Earth untouched by the virus. The CDC had gone quiet; its energy spent, its resources depleted, and a grave mistake had occurred.

At just ten years old, you suddenly became significant in your father's eyes—a girl who had once been seen as unimportant until you were bitten by one of his test subjects. Just like your mother.

When your father, a dedicated scientist specializing in infectious diseases, finally looked at you—really looked at you—you felt a rush of excitement. With the innocence of your ten-year-old mind, you might have thought his sadness stemmed from the fact that you were going to die soon, like your mother, your friends, his friends, coworkers and countless others struggling to survive out there.

But you were mistaken; they were mistaken.

You weren't infected.

You didn’t die.

You didn't change.

The bite mark remained—the wound became infected like any ordinary scratch, but eventually, it healed.

It passed.

This was incredible, impossible even, but it happened. That night, your father and his research team aimed all their efforts at studying you. Yes, you were the new test subject. But unlike the others, you were unique, challenging the very limits of reason and logic.

In a way that defied everything your 40-year-old father had seen, learned, taught, and discovered throughout his life, you were alive.

Your situation flew in the face of biology, science, and medicine. It felt like the final flicker of hope, a fleeting thought—a brief breeze.

You were, quite simply, an impossibility.

You were unreal.

You were a miracle.

Yes, "miracle" was the first word that came out of your father’s mouth when he finally smiled into your eyes. It was the only positive thing he had said, but it wasn’t a genuine compliment. It was just a reaction, the moment he realized you hadn't undergone a visible transformation due to the virus—that you were still human.

Miracle.

That single word would shatter whatever had already been broken.

You despised that word with every part of your being. Even now, it’s still a curse, an insult. Because from that moment on, the worst chapter of your life began.

Nothing would ever be the same again after you heard that word. Things were already bleak, and then they took a turn for the worse.

November 29, 2003.

The old world had vanished; everything was now under the army's control. Before the Cordyceps outbreak, it was just an ordinary emergency response unit, handling floods, earthquakes, and other crises. But when the Cordyceps brain infection spiraled out of control, transforming people into infected monsters, FEDRA seized complete control of civilian life. Despite your father being a scientist involved in top-secret projects, it wasn’t solely his influence that mattered. The world had become such a disaster that, regardless of who you were—celebrity, politician, millionaire, or even the president—you were all in the same sinking ship. Rank, fame, and reputation meant nothing; survival was all that counted. The only reason they took your father seriously, listened to him, and placed you—all the lab staff—in safe areas was because of your unique situation. Very few were aware of this, not even Fedra's top brass. Only one of their higher-ups had a clue, but that was just a facade, a distraction they could no longer afford to focus on. Proof was necessary, and it couldn’t be simply about showing your bite mark.

It required scientific data and hard evidence.

Yes, the procedures still continued in this chaotic world.

First, they needed to find a secure place to carry out laboratory activities, but Fedra didn’t prioritize that. It had only been a year since the outbreak started, and hospitals had become some of the most dangerous places around. Soon after, the Fireflies' uprising complicated matters even further. As people worldwide succumbed to the epidemic daily, transforming into lifeless creatures, discussions about a vaccine faded into mere chatter. This was largely due to the failed attempts at developing one. Fedra was reluctant to accept it, while your father was desperate to convince them—but there was simply no way to prove him right. All he had were your blood samples, X-ray results, photos of the bite mark, along with video and audio recordings.

Living in the quarantine zone meant you had to conceal your bite mark, located right on your calf, since there were no guarantees of special protection for you. Instead, they pushed you to take part in self-defense training.

To put it more accurately, your father forced you.

You hated him for it.

You had never been fond of him, but pushing you into intense military training was the final straw. His apparent happiness, as if someone else were to blame for the outbreak, only added to your frustration. Yet, only you, your father, and one other surviving team member were aware of the truth—William. Unlike your father, who never seemed to take the blame, William lamented the role he played in this global catastrophe. Their constant bickering drove you mad, especially when everything around you was already in disarray.

A few months later, the Pittsburgh quarantine zone, where you had been temporarily living, was attacked by a group known as hunters, forcing an urgent evacuation. Hospitals were also being targeted, smuggled by the hunters or raiders. Your father's hopes were dwindling, and the situation was growing more dire by the day.

October, 2009. 

Six years had come and gone since everything changed. First, the quarantine zone in Pittsburgh crumbled, falling into the hands of hunters. The remaining civilians in Pittsburgh joined their ranks, and those who dared to voice their opposition were swiftly silenced by the hunters' ruthless leader.   

The U.S. military pulled back their search efforts from all areas beyond ten miles of established quarantine zones, a decision clearly outlined in a letter from the U.S. Attorney General. Meanwhile, Boston had emerged as one of the most secure quarantine zones, successfully fending off firefly attacks. That’s where you were now—until Fedra's elite unit transferred you to a secret location. 

At last, what your father had been longing for had occurred: a fully equipped hospital had been discovered and cleared from infected, and you would soon be escorted there.

As time went on, the cordyceps continued to evolve. The first group infected in the second stage began transforming into the terrifying third stage known as clickers. This made survival outside the quarantine zones increasingly perilous; the only means of communication left were radios and announcements. 

When the convoy set off from Boston, transporting you to the hospital, they didn’t reveal the destination. Perhaps they kept it from you for your own good. Suddenly, an unexpected attack happens—fireflies, the rebel group you’d only heard about but never encountered. Your father and William urge you to stay in the vehicle for your safety as the sounds of fighting erupt outside. The Fedra military vehicle you were in offered some degree of protection, but as a teenager, you were still grappling with feelings of frustration and rebellion, dismissing everything around you. Your disdain for your father had reached new heights, and little did you know that these emotions would soon morph into something far more complex—raw rage.

The firefight intensified, and before you knew it, they’d eliminated all the Fedra soldiers. The door of your vehicle swung open, and a dark-skinned woman with curly hair stepped between two firefly soldiers, commanding you to exit. Your father and William nodded in approval, but hesitation gripped you. William gently pulled you to your feet, standing protectively by your side. You dropped down from the vehicle, shoving your hands deep into your hoodie pockets, embodying the angst of a teenager, looking like you were a million miles away from being the world's last hope.

You relished the sight of your father looking vulnerable, hands raised in surrender. You remained indifferent to the armed soldiers surrounding you—this was a scene you had grown all too familiar with. But your father’s face, etched with desperation, was a different matter entirely, and you couldn’t help but find it amusing.

“Please, we’re only doctors,” he begged, which only made you smile with a hint of cruelty.

"We know exactly who you are, Doctor Clouser," one of them says, carrying a tone of authority. It was the woman with curly hair who spoke up.

“Oh, shit,” you muttered sarcastically. William shoots you a disapproving glance, but you brush it off. 

The soldiers turned their attention back to your father, who seemed caught between fear and resignation. “You’re coming with us,” the woman asserted. Reluctantly, your father conceded. What other choice did he have anyway? If they intended to kill you, they would have done it already. 

As you walked toward their vehicle, you cast one last glance at the lifeless bodies of Fedra soldiers sprawled on the ground—an all too familiar sight in this grim reality. Your father went on about how Fedra would come looking for you, how they wouldn’t let you go easily, emphasizing your importance.

But no one seemed to pay him any mind. 

The journey felt endless, and by evening you arrived at the University of Eastern Colorado, one of the fireflies' bases. The woman leading the group introduced herself as Marlene. Your father was wary of her, and only you and William knew why. When they took you into a triage tent, leaving you alone with Marlene and her two men, you sensed that you were not the only one aware of the truth. 

"I wonder why Fedra is keeping you alive? After all, you’re to blame for everything, aren’t you, Dr. Clouser? Nobel Prize-winning scientist in molecular biology and genetics. And you, Dr. William Devane, microbiology expert, also an award-winning scientist. Two geniuses responsible for the outbreak that fucked everything up."

Your father and William tensed up as Marlene’s companions exchanged shocked glances. Marlene’s expression shifted from anger to an almost hopeful curiosity. “So tell me, why does Fedra help you? Is there a chance for a cure or a vaccine? Is that their goal?” 

A cure, a vaccine—those words you almost hear every fuckin' day. Turning your gaze to the side, you spotted a 9mm pistol on a table nearby. Grabbing it in a quick motion crossed your mind—thanks to those teenage hormones—but that was a dumb idea; there was no way you could take on all those soldiers outside. They had no clue about your immunity and wouldn't think twice about taking you out and you didn’t want to risk William’s life. Yeah, you cared about him more than you did for your father.

When your father and Marlene were inside the tent talking, you waited outside, aware that Marlene's men were eyeing you with obvious hostility. Who could blame them? Anyone would think the same way, knowing the truth: they were responsible for the world’s downfall and and the one in charge was your dad.

Soon, Marlene and your father emerged, and all eyes turned to them. The moment your father's gaze met yours, you instantly grasped what was being discussed.

What a surprise.

Marlene cast a meaningful glance at her men, called them back to her side, and you returned inside. Your father looked directly at you. “Show them, it’s okay.”

You shot him a glare. “I’m wearing freaking jeans.”

He glared back. “I told you to show them.”

William stepped in, using a gentle voice as he called your name and placed a hand on your shoulder. “Let me help you.” The bite mark was on the inside of your calf, which is why it made you tense. William positioned himself in front of you, creating a barrier as you unzipped your pants. “Okay, sweetheart?”

You rolled your eyes. “Like it would even matter if I said I wasn’t.” You pulled your hoodie down to keep your underwear hidden; luckily, it was long enough to cover your backside.

When William finally stepped aside, the bite mark came into view, looking like a tree branch etched into the skin. Marlene bent down, switched on her flashlight, and leaned in to inspect the mark closely. Remembering how you got this bite, the moment you got bit by an infected, you fought the urge to kick her while she gazed down at the mark. “When did this happen?”

She directed the question at you, but your father chimed in, as usual. “I’ll do the talking; you just stay quiet.” It was his go-to line.

“Six years,” he replied.

Marlene raised her eyebrows in surprise. Your father continued, “Yes, it coincided with the outbreak.”

“How come the vaccine hasn’t been produced until now?” she asked.

And just like that, your father launched into an explanation about the early days—how Fedra couldn’t get you to the hospital, the lack of facilities, and so on. As you pulled your pants back up, you muttered, "That’s enough staring, I guess."

“Salt Lake,” Marlene said firmly. “That’s where we’ll be taking all the supplies after the unsuccessful vaccination attempt by the Biologists we brought in from San Francisco. The hospital is large and has everything you might need, but it’s not exactly clean. Infections are widespread, and cordyceps has infested even the operating rooms. Cleaning it up will take some time. For now, you’ll stay here until I send you there. And remember, this stays between us.” Your father and William nodded, then she turned to her men, giving them a meaningful look without uttering a word.

“Don’t worry, Marlene,” they reassured her in unison.

Marlene locked eyes with you, cautioning you not to say anything about your situation and to behave, having caught on to your rebellious attitude. That look.

The same gaze that flickers in the eyes of everyone who learns your secret—the look of hope you despised. Thankfully, Marlene didn’t use that word; perhaps she was a realist and not a believer in miracles. That might be the only thing you liked about her.

The only damn thing.

February 2012.

Failure, every scientist’s worst nightmare, lingers like a shadow over your father. As promised, Marlene and her team clean the hospital and ensure you’re placed there. He and William have everything they need. It’s impressive that they’ve managed better than Fedra. Yet, failure stares them down once more, especially after the 186th attempt. Each failed experiment begins with the hope that maybe this time it will succeed. Everyone in the hospital is exhausted, sleepless, and on the brink of despair, but no one cares about you—except for William.

The number of blood samples taken from you has left you anemic, your body desperately fighting the threat of it. Your arms are mottled with purple marks; your complexion is pale and wan. But you persist through your training, benefitting from the special meals prepared for your health. They’re concerned about you, but it’s not out of pity; it’s for a larger purpose. Anemia would reduce the number of red blood cells in your blood, which directly impacts the vaccine’s efficacy, leading to more failures.

When your father scolds you for this, you realize you are no longer surprised. It doesn’t even sting anymore. Even the lieutenant trains you treats better than him—strong and tough but quick to applaud and congratulate you when you finally beat her in a spar. Your father doesn’t offer the same. You’ve been a failure in his eyes since birth, and the reality remains unchanged; only the direction has shifted.

For a fleeting moment, you wish he would successfully create the vaccine—not for humanity’s sake. In your eyes, humanity is a lost cause. You’re curious to see if his attitude toward you would change if he succeeded. Maybe he’d look at you with love or admiration. But let’s be honest: deep down, you know that wouldn’t happen.

You’ve spent so long in the hospital that you’re itching to get out. The day you finally break free feels exhilarating. You think about taking a brief detour to escape the suffocating confines; however, before you can get far, you encounter an infected individual. In your surprise, you realize too late that a network you’ve never seen before lies right at your feet, one that sends out vibrations to all nearby infected. Yes, your skills have improved over the years; you can handle various weapons, but when faced with a horde, those arms are useless.

A cacophony rises from the cracked asphalt roads blanketed by green grass—one voice, then two, three, five, eight, and more. Your blood runs cold as you see a horde rushing toward you. Being immune won’t protect you; they’re driven solely by their primal need for nutrition.

You are the prey.

You sprint back toward the hospital, even though you know it’s futile, cursing yourself for stepping outside. Just then, a group of fireflies arrives in military vehicles, opening fire on the infected. As one vehicle pulls up to you, it takes out a runner just behind you, but there are more closing in. Suddenly, another runner lunges at you.

You struggle beneath this dreadful creature that sounds horrifying and looks even worse. With all your might, you attempt to raise your gun, but it’s useless. That’s when you got your second bite, right below your shoulder. The pain is overwhelming, consuming your senses entirely. All you can focus on is the location of the bite—the crushing pressure, the excruciating pain. You scream until your lungs feel like they’re on fire, convinced for a moment that your flesh is being torn apart. The agony spreads through your veins, radiating throughout your entire body. Since the pain dominates your attention, you don’t even notice when the soldier who shot the infected lends a hand to pull you up; you simply let him.

But more are coming—hundreds—relentlessly charging. The soldiers around you cast you bewildered glances, clearly aware of what just happened.

Once you’re taken back to the hospital, soldiers guide you by the arm to a different room in the emergency wing, just to be safe. One even gets scolded by a commander for aiming at you; it’s a rare sight for them. None have seen someone bitten before who hasn’t turned into one of those monsters.

The wound appears serious, likely deeper than the first, meaning it will take longer to heal.

Yet, you remain human—what luck.

The next day, your father brings you to the lab for more blood tests. To your surprise, he seems almost pleased about your new bite, showing no rage for your reckless escape. But William is furious and incredibly worried about you.

It takes up to two weeks for the new bite's effects to show in your blood results, and you return to your monotonous daily routine.

Boring.

July 2012.

One morning, your father walks into your room in a surprisingly good mood, which usually signals trouble for you. He promptly calls William in for a private chat. You find yourself bored out of your mind with their vaccination chatter. Your only hope is that they’ll abandon the vaccine nonsense, leave you alone, and go back to living like normal people. You can’t help but envy the folks outside who are just trying to survive. It’s absurd to dream of living like them, but the truth is, at least they’re free. And when it comes time to die, you think you’ll finally be free too. This hospital feels like a prison. People treat you like a lab rat—they don’t even bother to make eye contact when they take your blood. They don’t ask how you’re doing, and it’s painfully boring.

As you’re sketching in your notebook late at night, William quietly slips into your room. You hold on to the hope that he’s brought something to lift your spirits—a fully charged Walkman or perhaps one of your favorite comic books. But when you see the troubled look on his face, you realize this isn’t going to be a light-hearted chat.

"Come with me."

It’s a good offer, and you can’t refuse it—not if it’s from him.

You glance toward the door. Two soldiers standing guard, poised to thwart any attempt you might make to escape. You’re so crucial yet an absolute headache. William leads you out of the room, and as the soldiers start to follow, he raises a hand to stop them. “It’s alright,” he says.

“Where are we going?” you ask, confusion bubbling up. He doesn’t answer; he simply keeps walking. His arm wraps around you protectively, but you’re not sure why. You step into a room you’ve never seen before, filled with various supplies. William closes the door firmly behind you, grabs a large, dark backpack, and thrusts it into your hands.

“What’s going on, William?” You’re taken aback.

“Just take it,” he insists.

As you check the safety on the revolver he hands you and slip it into the back of your pants, you are even more bewildered. “What the hell is happening?”

“We don’t have time, and this might be our only chance,” he replies, urgency lacing his voice. He throws the bag over your shoulders. “It’s packed with supplies—enough for a few months.”

You nearly stumble under the weight. “Okay, I get that, but I don’t see the purpose yet.”

William’s eyes darken with concern and anger. “Your father has figured out how to produce vaccines.”

You’re stunned. “Isn’t that supposed to be good news?”

“To make that vaccine, you need... surgery. But there’s no way you’ll survive it.” His words hit you like a punch in the gut. You tremble as he wraps his arms around you, his voice quaking with emotion.

“I can’t let him do this. I can’t let him kill you. Damn humanity. Damn the vaccine. I won’t, babygirl. You’re like my real daughter. I won’t lose you.”

You stand frozen, numb, as your heart aches.

“He,” you breathe out, unable to say “dad.” “He’s chosen to sacrifice me, hasn’t he?”

William's continued sobs and silence say it all.

Of course, he has.

He cradles your face in his hands. “Promise me you’ll survive. As long as you’re alive, I can rest easy knowing you’re out there, just breathing.”

“Please come with me,” you plead. “I don’t even know where to go…”

“I need to distract them so you can escape. There’s a map in your bag. I’ve marked possible locations for the Fireflies and the FEDRA, and noted safe spots and soldier routes. When I find you again, we’ll join another group together. Never reveal your immunity, your identity, your name—not even mine. You’re someone else now, can you understand? Stay off the main roads and avoid open spaces. It will be hard, but I know you’ll make it. You are strong. You're 19 now.”

You nod, determination in your voice. “I promise I’ll make it, but you have to promise you’ll survive and come too.”

He tries to assure you with a confident look, but you can see it’s a façade. “I promise. Now you need to go. They’ll be here soon to take you for the surgery. I can't buy you any time if they realize you’re missing from your room.”

You fight back tears, a lump forming in your throat. “I need to know one last thing before I go.”

William takes a deep breath, preparing himself for your question.

“Is there really no other way to produce the vaccine?”

“There has to be a way—there's always a way. But your father…” He swallows hard. “That bastard is just—“

“Enough,” you interject, your voice shaky but steadier now. “I have my answer.”

April 2024.

Ten years have gone by. You’re still on the run, but now you’re more experienced—a young woman who’s tough to stop or defeat. For all this time, you’ve managed to survive alone, witnessing too much—haunting memories that invade your dreams, scars that linger on both your body and soul. You’ve been bitten three more times in this span. William never showed up where he promised. You waited for him for months, even years, placing a sign over to one of those wrecked cars at your meeting spot. The doll from your childhood—the one he gave you for your sixth birthday—remained untouched every time you returned. But still, he never showed up. Maybe something happened to him on the way. Maybe he gave up or maybe he never intended to come back.

Who knows?

And who cares? You certainly don’t anymore, not after what they did and what you had to do.

Now, casting a desperate glance at the map, you contemplate your next route. None of the places William marked as safe are safe anymore. The map has changed, you’ve changed, and so have your aspirations and goals.

In the meantime, you found a companion. 

You named him Taxi. 

A German Shepherd. 

You met him while scavenging for supplies, trapped next to a wrecked taxi—likely caught in a hunter’s snare. He’d lost a lot of blood from an injured leg, and if you hadn’t intervened, he would have died. At first, you felt indifferent; you couldn’t access emotions like before. But when you looked into his eyes and heard his whimpers of pain, you couldn’t ignore him. You helped lift him from his suffering, and since then, he’s never left your side.

From that moment on, that dog turned into your best buddy. He was an amazing pal, warmer than any human you knew, a loyal friend cared for you in ways no one else did and stood by your side, ever ready to protect you.

“What’s up with this Bella girl? Is she torn between Jacob and Edward or what? Is love really that complicated?” you ponder, glancing from the novel *Eclipse* in your hand to the taxi as you carefully walk along the cobblestone. Taxi barks twice. You laugh, “Are you saying I don’t get it because I haven’t read the first book?” Looking at the other novels on the back cover, you shrug. “Dude, the library was crawling with Clickers. It's all I could scrounge up.”

Moments later, Taxi growls, pulling you from your thoughts. You spot a runner nearby, his back turned but movements erratic—likely infected just days ago. You crouch behind a junked car, and Taxi stealthily lowers next to you. “Shh, it’s just one. I can take care of it,” you assure, pulling out your knife. You set the book on the ground and move quietly, letting the pages flutter with the wind, then dive at the runner just in time. You take him down with a swift stab to the throat, his loud, ominous growl echoing as he collapses. You wipe the knife on his ragged clothes and then on the fabric of your sleeve.

No one else is around; it's a relief.

Just then, you hear the rumble of tires approaching. Whistling to Taxi, you signal it to come closer. “Quick,” you say, darting behind the wheel of a nearby gasoline truck. You wait as two military vehicles pass by without stopping. As you recalled hearing on the walkie-talkie that the Fireflies were moving to Utah a few days ago, you couldn't help but wonder: who are they now?

You exhale in relief as they drive on. Just when you think it’s safe, the vehicle behind the other one halts, and you freeze. “Damn,” you mutter as someone opens the door and sees the runner you just took down. 

“Hey!” the driver calls, raising his hand to signal the vehicle in front to stop. 

The taxi growls low, and your nerves spike. You instinctively reach for your gun, loading bullets from your pocket into the chamber and flipping off the safety. Two people step out of the vehicle, examining the runner and muttering to each other. One gestures for the others, probably telling them to search the area. Soon, they all nod and scatter, weapons drawn, just as you had feared. 

Eight armed, trained individuals. They’re definitely looking for you; any other group would have kept driving after spotting an infected by the road. 

You glance at Taxi and point him the opposite direction. He leaves immediately—you’ve trained him well—but worry clings to you. Time is of the essence. You pick up a rock from the ground and throw it to the far side of the truck. As two of them turn, you take a steady aim and pull the trigger, hitting both in the head. 

Bull’s-eye. 

“What the hell?”

"She’s here—" Taxi lunges at the screaming womans throat and you take down the other one as he finish her off. Two people near the vehicle duck behind cover. The other one next to the woman who just got tackled raises a gun and fires at him, but you take him out too.

The remaining one, clearly of higher rank, shouts a warning to the others: "Don’t shoot her! Remember, we have orders to take her alive!" Another voice calls out, "Surrender! Now!"

“Come and get it, motherfucker!” you yell back, quickly pivoting toward the vehicle, aiming, and letting loose with your shots. Thankfully, they hesitate to return fire, giving you the chance to roll into the nearby grass. Taxi crouches down beside you. You signal him to hang tight behind a rock. "They can shoot at you, but they can’t hit me. Stay put.”

It takes a few tense moments to crawl through the grass until you reach the front of the enemy vehicle. You hear a shot ring out in the distance—just a scare tactic—and aim carefully before shooting at the tires of the vehicle behind you. As they scramble, you fling open the car door, dive into the driver's seat, and crank the engine.

“Hey!”

Ignoring their frantic shouts, you open the side door and holler as you take off, “Taxi! Come on!”

Taxi barks in response, sprinting toward the car, dodging gunfire, and leaps into the passenger seat.

“Good boy!” you laugh, giving his head a quick pat as you slam the door shut and hit the gas.

You flash them the middle finger through the window, taunting, “Suck it, fuckers!”

“Shoot the tires!” someone yells from behind.

"Don't let her get away!"

“No, no, no, don’t shoot the tires,” you grumble to yourself. It’s hard enough to steer in a straight line without swerving all over the road. Soon enough, they open fire, and you instinctively duck, while Taxi hangs out the window, barking.

“No, buddy, get down!” you scold him, swerving to the right in a desperate attempt to shield him. Suddenly, you feel a thud as one of the rear tires bursts, and the steering wheel slips from your control. “Damn it!”

Before you know it, the car flips over in a chaotic tumble. Without a seatbelt on, you are jolted violently, your head smacking against something hard. The last thing you hear is Taxi's cries of distress and the screeching of brakes as everything goes dark.

As you slowly open your eyes, a wave of excruciating pain surges through your head and radiates throughout your body. Realizing you’re lying down and catching a whiff of antiseptic, you attempt to sit up, only to find yourself strapped to a stretcher.

“Hey, take it easy,” you hear a voice cautioning you. It must be a medic, though dressed in civilian clothes.

"Where am I? Taxi... Where's my dog?" you manage to ask, panic creeping in.

“You've taken quite a blow to the head,” he replies. “You've got two fractured ribs as well. So how about you just stay still for now?”

“Where’s my dog?” you insist.

He rolls his eyes. “I didn’t see any dog.”

“If anything happens to him, I swear—”

“What are you going to do?”

That voice—Marlene.

Damn it.

How long have you been gone?

When did she show up, and... where were you?

“You’d actually burn the hospital down just for a dog? That’s so you,” she says, stepping a bit closer. You notice the deep lines on her face that have only gotten stronger over the years. “After all that time running around by yourself, it's pretty impressive what you've been through. But here we are, years later, and all you care about is your dog. I’ve never met anyone quite like you, you know.”

You give her a sarcastic look. “The hospital... Another attempt for a cure? Marlene, you really don’t give up, do you?”

“Maybe we’re alike in that way. But not in others. What you did back there was selfish. I lost thirty good men because of you."

“Cut it out and get to the point. You planning to take my blood or what?”

“No, you’re not leading this time. You’re going to be... a substitute.”

You raise an eyebrow. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

“It means we’ve found another immune person.” You’re taken aback; that’s highly improbable. “Just like you, she adapted to the virus after being bitten. This time, we’re definitely producing that vaccine.” Her eyes sparkle with hope, reminiscent of your father’s once-hopeful gaze.

“Oh, congratulations. Looks like you should be up for a Nobel Prize, Queen Firefly.”

Marlene lets out a lazy chuckle at your joke, but a flicker of something deeper crosses her face—a trace of sadness, perhaps. "What we have endured all this time is finally going to mean something."

“Sounds more like a cover-up to me.”

This time, anger flares in her eyes as she meets your glare. “I wouldn’t feel too relaxed if I were you. If we successfully develop the vaccine thanks to Ellie, we won’t need you anymore—and there are plenty of men itching for revenge. You get that, right?”

You match her menacing stare, though deep down, fear coils within you.

“Now, I’ve got to go. She’s being prepped for surgery,” she says, standing up.

"You mentioned that her situation is similar to mine." Marlene pauses but doesn't look at you. Remembering the virus intertwining with the brain, you murmur, “You know she won’t survive this surgery.”

She glances at you from the corner of her eye. “Yeah, I know," she answers coldly before turning her back and leaving the room.

You watch her go, noticing two armed soldiers waiting at the door. You find yourself wondering how many days have gone and how they found that girl, and you can't shake off your worry about Taxi.

However, at this moment, you should only be worried about yourself.

Hours drag on.

Marlene never comes back to the room where you’re confined. Luckily, they untie you, but you still trapped. When a nurse enters to help you put on your hospital gown, you realize why they released your bindings. “Did the girl’s surgery go well?” you ask her. You don’t know her, but a bond forms from your shared condition, and a wave of sadness washes over you.

“It hasn’t started yet, but it’s almost time. You’ll be next,” the nurse replies.

You tense up. “Hey, what? Marlene didn’t say anything like that, I…”

The nurse explains, "Dr. Anderson believes that having two hosts increases the likelihood of creating a vaccine. They’ll start with her first, and then it will be your turn.’”

“You're going to kill us both,” you grunted.

The nurse stares at you, blankly. “You’re doing this for humanity and—"

You grab her by the throat. “If you utter anything about a ‘miracle’ or the ‘greater purpose,’ I’ll break your jaw.”

Her eyes widen as she pushes your hand away and calls out in alarm, “Open the door, I’m coming out!”

The soldiers at the door swing it open, weapons drawn, until she steps outside. They close the door behind her and stand watch. Through the frosted glass, you see her greet someone in the corridor. You strain to catch snippets of their conversation about the surgery.

“The girl’s been anesthetized; she’s ready.”

“Alright, prep the other girl. The nurses will let you know when it’s time. Today is crucial for all of us, so keep an eye out. Don’t let anything go wrong.”

“Good luck, doctor.”

From the clatter of voices and footsteps, you can tell you’re being held very close to the operating room. Tension fills your body. You have to act, or the fate you’ve been dreading for years will finally catch up to you—you’ll die.

And for a world so wretched.

Additionally, William previously mentioned that there is no guarantee the vaccine will be effective.

The room is small; they’ve stripped away your weapons and belongings, and the soldiers haven’t budged from the door.

You need a plan.

But what can you do? As you scan the room, thoughts race through your mind. Perhaps you could fashion a weapon from the syringes, but then what? How would you handle the soldiers?

Then, chaos erupts with the sound of gunfire.

“Shots fired! Shots fired!” someone shouts.

The commotion from the lower floors sends alarms ringing through the upper levels, yet the soldiers at the door remain on high alert, conversing amongst themselves. The gunfire continues, echoing louder. Whoever is responsible for this—could it be Fedra?

Yes, that makes sense.

"It's him!"

“Kill him! Kill him now!”

Him?

Just one person?

The sounds grow increasingly frantic, the shots puncturing the space, thinning the ranks of your captors. As each bullet finds its target, the noise fades somewhat. You feel a mix of relief and anxiety; the soldiers abandon their posts, heading into the corridor. Moments later, the air fills with the sound of bodies crumpling. The clatter of bullet casings and reloading comes closer, making you instinctively crouch down. You don’t dare open the door. Whoever it is, they move like a relentless machine, eliminating everything in their path.

After a brief silence, you cautiously crack the door open. You hear slow, deliberate footsteps, and when you catch a glimpse of the figure, you freeze.

A man in his forties or fifties stands at a distance with his back to you. Suddenly, he swivels his head, revealing his face in profile. His brows are furrowed in concentration as he grips an automatic rifle tightly. He moves forward with a skill, focus and calmness that’s almost savage. In that moment, you realize his intention. Perhaps the girl about to undergo surgery is this man's daughter or someone he really cares about.

Who else would go to such lengths for someone?

Cold-bloodedly killing fireflies one by one.

As the gunfire finally subsides, you push the door open a bit more and step out of the cursed room. You head to the other space where they’ve stashed your belongings. Just then, another gunshot rings out, followed by screams—woman’s screams, one of which sounds like the nurse came to your room earlier. You quickly grab your things and dart down the corridor. There's no time to change; you just need to escape the hospital as fast as you can. Though the backup team is supposed to be waiting, the silence is deafening. Bodies lie strewn across the floor, drenched in blood, as you navigate your way through the carnage.

You might have felt a twinge of sorrow for them if they hadn’t intended to kill you. But now, looking at them, there's no pity left in you. All you can focus on is escaping this place alive and finding your dog.

A short while later, you hear the voices of the team you were waiting for echoing through the hallways. As you descend to the lower floors, you start to map out your escape route. But just then, the sounds of running feet and shouting reach your ears from above, accompanied by a frantic radio transmission. “Crap! The doctor shot!” 

“Sir, the smuggler took one of the cars and got away with the girl!” 

“Damn! The other girl escaped too!” 

“Move to the lower floor immediately! Secure all exits!” 

“Find them! Hurry, hurry!”

Knowing you’re already on the lower floors, you sprint to the garage, praying to find a car there. If they managed to escape that way, maybe it could be your ticket out as well.

As luck would have it, there’s indeed a reliable car waiting for you. However, your peripheral vision catches something on the floor—a body. Damn it… it’s Marlene, shot multiple times with a pool of blood forming around her.

Once, this scene would have evoked pity for her, but not anymore. The trauma from your father has eroded any empathy you once had, leaving behind a hollow shell—a girl who is no longer innocent or naive.

Now, it’s time for you to do what you do best: running away.

Thanks to that man, you are alive and were able to escape.

June 2024. 

You're on the road again, running away once more. The car you "borrowed" from the fireflies barely lasted a month before you ran out of gas. Luckily, you stumbled upon your trusty dog Taxi near the hospital. He must have been waiting for you there, your only true companion in this harsh existence. The top part of one of his ears is torn, perhaps from the accident or maybe even a bullet. Regardless, he’s in decent shape, which is more than you can say for yourself.

About a week ago, raiders attacked, aiming to steal your supplies and worse. With your military training and the help of Taxi, you fought them off before they could succeed. You had a bullet lodged in your stomach that you managed to remove yourself. Even though you stitched the wound up, it’s become infected and is festering. You have no clue how much longer you can hold out without proper medical care or antibiotics. As the pain and fever drag you down, you stumble and hit the ground. Taxi licks your face, trying to nudge you back to your feet. “Don’t worry, old friend. I’m not ready to give up yet,” you gasp, struggling to breathe.

The heat is parching your throat, and there’s barely any water left. All that’s left in your bag is one last can of dog food you’ve been saving for Taxi. For three days now, you haven't eaten anything other than a meager portion of dried meat—so small it barely fits in your palm.

It’s the last you have. 

You've never encountered a situation this desperate, yet you refuse to throw in the towel. You press on, but worry about your condition creeps in. There must be something close by; you need to seek help or things will only spiral downward. Taking a moment, you pause to examine the map. While sipping the last of your water, you contemplate your next move. Heading straight north from SLC (Salt Lake City) seemed logical once then, but now you’re filled with doubt. This decision wasn’t only yours; William had marked an area around Wyoming on the map, but he never noted what it was. It’s not a safe zone or a Quarantine Zone, so what lies there? The marked region extends into Idaho and encapsulates Yellowstone Park. You find yourself at the edge of that circle right now. You have no idea what awaits you there, but you’re out of options. You’ve seen too much already—or so you hope.

What could be worse than this?

As you push forward, you spot a sign, half-destroyed, reading “Etna Village Estates” at the top. The rest of it is illegible, but you can barely make out the phrase “Single Family Home Sites.” Ironically, the word ‘Family’ is almost obliterated, leaving just the letter “y.”

As you venture down the road, you glimpse a few lodge-like houses and some wooden structures. A market sign catches your eye, and the horses tied up nearby bring you to a halt. Taxi starts growling; someone must be inside. You scan the area, but no one appears to be around. When you decide to sneak around back, a scream pierces the air, followed by a gunshot and more screams.

“They must be fighting off infected,” you mutter as Taxi barks anxiously. You look at him, remembering the hard lesson learned over the years: never help anyone. Every time you tried, you ended up hurt, regretting your choices. As you approach the horses, they grow restless; their owners are surely trapped inside—most likely in danger. Your first instinct is to take one of the horses and make a run for it. After all, one of them has a saddlebag filled with supplies; you could survive a little longer. But your conscience pulls at you.

“Damn it.”

You pull your revolver from your side and peer through a broken window of the market, glancing back at Taxi. “Let’s do this.” Taxi hops inside, clearly more eager than you are. “One day, my fuckin' conscience get us both killed,” you murmur as you enter. Gunshots fire from ahead, though not in a steady stream. Instead, voices spill out, and you inch closer, careful to assess who’s inside and their condition first.

“Where did it go?” 

“Damn it! What kind of infected are these?” 

“Behind you, behind you!” 

“Shoot! Shoot!”

Between the shelves, you spot two men, two women, and a little child. One of the women is pregnant, her belly noticeably protruding.

Shit.

These are the bastards you fear the most, more than the clickers themselves. You must come up with a plan immediately; you know you have to save these people since they stand no chance against them.

“Taxi,” you whisper, and he meets your gaze. You gesture, indicating to approach from behind. One of the stalkers stands right in front of you, his focus diverted to the others—it might be your only chance. Taxi growls softly in agreement and stealthily moves forward while you take the right side. There are more damn stalkers than you realized, prompting you to adjust your strategy. You decide to stalk them from behind, switching to your long-barreled rifle and attaching the scope you found last week for this critical moment. Climbing to a higher vantage point, you feel a sharp pain from the wound in your stomach, but you don’t care—you’ll deal with that later.

From atop the shelves, you take stock of the situation, knowing this drill well. You count five stalkers; the others have surrounded them, poised to attack.

Good.

You settle your rifle on your shoulder, positioning a cloth behind the butt to cushion the recoil, and focus on Taxi. You whistle to get him to pounce, and as he barks, leaping at one of the nearby stalkers, you take a deep breath, steady yourself, and aim. You take out one to the right of the pregnant woman and another behind the child. A third stalker flees between the shelves, but that’s fine—you’ll get it later. As one stalker approaches, you shoot before it can scramble up, dropping it instantly. That’s three down. You quickly dispatch the one struggling with Taxi, making it four.

It’s time to head down.

As people stare at you in disbelief, you grab the shotgun and notice another stalker closing in from behind. “Move!” you shout, aiming and firing.

The stalker goes down—five in total.

“Ugly bastard,” you mutter, eyeing the stalker’s shattered face as it crumples to the ground. The pregnant woman looks at you, a mix of nerves and caution flickering in her eyes as you lower your shotgun.

The others remain frozen in shock, their mouths hanging open.

“Who are you?” the pregnant woman asks.

“The one who just saved your asses.”

They exchange glances, weary and anxious, but a sense of relief washes over them.

“Thank you,” she says sincerely, glancing at the dog beside you.

Taxi growls softly; you shoot him a reassuring look. “Shh, calm down, buddy,” you say, gesturing for him to sit. He obeys right away, tongue lolling out.

“Smart dog,” the woman remarks looking at Taxi, then turning back to the group. “Is everyone okay?”

“Yes,” responds one, his voice shaky.

“Thanks to her,” adds another, nodding in your direction.

“Thank you,” another chimes in, eyes filled with gratitude.

You nod, but the ache in your stomach deepens, and you wince as you sense a stitch might have come undone.

“I’m Maria,” the pregnant woman says, extending her hand. “Our town is nearby. Come with us; we have a doctor who can take care of your wound. We owe you.”

Out of habit, you shake your head, trying to refuse. “No, I...”

Maria sizes you up. “You need help. Let us repay our debt. Thanks to you, these people can see their families again,” her hands resting protectively over her pregnant belly.

She’s right.

You need help—a shower, food, water. You couldn’t survive out here like this for even a day. Looking at Taxi, who seems to understand and barks, you can’t help but smile.

Finally, you turn back to Maria and nod. “Alright.”

“Welcome to our town—Jackson,” Maria says, glancing back at you from her horse. You are behind her, captivated by the towering, endless walls made of solid lumber and trees. You can't tear your gaze away. Taxi barks up at you from below, sharing your astonishment and you respond him with a smile. As you draw near, the gigantic doors swing open, and a chorus of voices erupts from inside the town.

“It's Maria!”

“She’s back!”

“Tommy! She’s here!”

“Maria’s back!”

The moment the doors part, you spot a crowd gathering, and a tall man with curly black hair rushes toward your horse. He’s focused on Maria, helping her dismount before wrapping his arms around her and kissing her tenderly. Placing his hands on her stomach, he gazes at her, tension evident in his face. "Ya wanna do me in, don't ya? How in tarnation could ya just up and leave like that?"

“Sorry,” she replies.

You watch as the others rush toward their families, worry etched on their faces, all bombarding them with questions. From your perch on the horse, you take in the scene—their expressions reflecting both joy and concern. You wonder if this is what family feels like; the warmth of being cared for is a foreign concept to you. It feels surreal, almost like a stark contrast to your own shitty life.

As everyone turns to regard you with curious eyes, a wave of dizziness hits. Pressing your hand to your stomach, you suddenly feel something warm spreading across your palm—blood. You groan. The chatter morphs into a buzzing background noise until one word cuts through it all.

“Joel! Help her!”

Despite your struggle to keep your head clear, the moment you lock eyes with him, everything around you blurs.

Damn.

It’s him.

Your fuckin' savior.

You’ve seen his profile before while dealing with fireflies at the hospital, but now his full face is before you. For a man his age, he’s surprisingly handsome—his features clean, but his brow still furrowed, and the look in his eyes is far from friendly, echoing that day.

You draw his face more times than you can count in your notebook, always hoping for the chance to meet him again.

Before you know it, you’re sliding off the horse. Maria is saying something, Tommy is yelling at Joel, and someone's arms catches you just before you hit the ground.

As consciousness fades, you gaze up at the person holding you.

It’s him.

He is hurriedly carrying you effortlessly in his arms. You don’t care where he’s taking you.

It’s strange. 

You feel safe in his arms.

You've never felt safe with anyone before, even with William.

In that moment, you experienced a sensation you never knew existed.

A warmth, but in a strange sort of way.

Or could it be the sensation of blood pouring from your wound?

Perhaps these are the last moments of your life, and your brain is not braining.

You can’t quite discern whether it’s the warmth of dying or the warmth you feel for this man.

But part of you thinks it would be nice to see such a face before you fade away.

But then something shifts, bringing you back to reality.

You’re alive—not dead, at least not yet.

As he notices you looking at him, Joel’s expression changes; a subtle frown appears on his face while he carries you.

You can't help but smile at his reaction. “I can’t die without meeting you, Joel,” you think to yourself, holding onto that smile.

Since it was the first episode, it mostly focused on introducing things. Sorry there wasn’t much Joel this time, but don’t worry—he’ll be all over the next ones!

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