widowrecs

[widowrecs]

angel’s share | matt murdock x reader

summary: matt finds a new way to loosen eager!reader up.

words: 3k of gross porn with no plot okay.

tags: ddba!matt (dom, slightly mean), heavy intoxication, oral (m!receiving), some choking/gagging, thigh riding, wet & sloppy kissing, piv, degradation, praise, breeding. eager!reader who is mostly nonverbal.

dedicated to @lambmurdock and @jellyfishmurdock. gif by @faithbetryin.

the door unlocks with a quiet click, and you’re already moving before it swings open, bare feet padding across the floor.

he’s home.

matt steps inside. the scent of him is distinct—the crisp bite of his cologne softened by warmth, a trace of sweat mingling with something deeper, something unmistakably him—the lingering ghost of his day spent in court. a war fought in words instead of fists, but the same brutality thrumming under his skin.

“come here, sweetie.” his voice is warm, rich, and deep, but there’s something wry curling at the edges, amusement at how quickly you’ve come to greet him. like a puppy.

he sets his cane and briefcase aside, and then his hands are on you, catching you as you all but jump into his arms. you’re naked, pressed to the solid heat of him, your bare skin soaking in every bit of residual warmth from his day.

“eager,” he murmurs against your temple, a hint of reprimanding. his lips find yours and you sigh into him, hands grasping at his jacket, your lips parting for him before he even has to coax them open.

matt tastes like bourbon and the city. something heady and thick, the bitterness of old liquor still clinging to his tongue as it slides against yours.

“missed me, huh?” his hand cups the back of your head.

your hands slide down, over the firm planes of his stomach, over his belt, until your palm cups the bulge at the front of his slacks.

his grip tightens.

you let out a small sound of surprise, breathless as he pulls you closer, as he walks you back a step, then another. there’s a bite to his touch now, a shift in the way his mouth moves against yours.

he breaks the kiss with a soft, amused hum, his hand patting your bare bottom. “you wait for me like this?” he asks, voice thick with something between fondness and amusement.

“mhm,” you whine, baby-soft. 

and he knows what you want, your hand still placed insistently over his cock.

he chuckles, dry.

“come on. to the couch.”

heat licks up your spine at the command, and you don’t even hesitate. you turn on wobbly legs, making your way over. he settles into the cushions with an ease that’s almost lazy. obediently, you kneel between his legs. your body hums with anticipation, mouth watering before he even touches you.

he sighs, dragging a hand through his hair, his other resting on his lap, thumb stroking at your chin. “eager, aren’t we?”

“wanna cum, matt,” you whimper, impatient having waited all day like he’d asked.

he hums, seemingly contemplative, tapping your cheek twice. “then you have a job to do first, don’t you?”

“and we go slow. ah-ah, hands in your lap.”

“go on.”

you duck your head, letting him guide you forward with a hand in your hair, your lips parting as you nuzzle against his growing cock beneath the fabric. you mouth at it softly at first, dragging your tongue over the intoxicating shape of him.

matt hums. his fingers tighten, muttering something under his breath, something that sounds like ‘—good for me.’ 

you tilt your head up, chin pressing against him. your mouth parts, lips open, pink tongue resting there like an invitation.

he unfastens his belt with one hand, the metal clinking softly. his cock is half hard when he frees it, flushed and thick, the tip gleaming. your stomach tightens at the sight, and you instinctively start to reach—

his hand yanks your hair back, softly.

“ah-ah. what’d i say.”

his grip loosens, rubbing small circles against your scalp like an apology, but his voice stays firm. “in your lap.”

you obey immediately, folding them neatly in front of you, thighs squeezing together as you breathe through the ache of needing to touch him, needing to feel him.

and then he’s guiding himself to your lips, pressing the swollen head against your tongue. you immediately suckle, greedy, like it’s instinct.

he groans, low in his throat, hand tightening in your hair.

“god—”

but you don’t want to go slow. you want him now, want him deep—

his grip tightens suddenly, pulling you back just an inch, just enough to make you whine, blinking up at him with glazed, pleading eyes.

he smirks.

“eager thing,” he murmurs, and then he taps the head of his cock against your tongue, light, patronizing. “slow down. or this is going to be over in thirty seconds.”

his tone is even, patient, but you can feel the tension in his body, in the way his muscles cord under his skin, the way his breath shudders slightly when you swirl your tongue over the tip.

he lets you sink down slowly, guiding your movements with a firm grip in your hair, controlling how much you take, how fast, how deep. at first, he’s merciful, letting you adjust, letting you savor the weight of him on your tongue. but it doesn’t last.

his pace picks up, and suddenly he’s using your mouth the way he wants, the way he needs, pushing you down, holding you there until your throat flutters wet and constricts around him, then pulling you back up only to do it again.

“there we go,” he croons, dark.

your nails dig into your thighs, knuckles white. he’s panting above you, abs tensing, there’s a little stutter in his hips when you swallow around him.

and then, in a moment of desperation, you forget yourself—you reach up, fingers grasping at his thigh—

he yanks you off with a wet, obscene pop.

you cough wetly, drool slicking your chin. his cock glistens with your spit, a trail of saliva connecting to your lips.

he tuts, shaking his head slowly, thumb wiping the mess from your cheek before gripping your jaw.

“hands.”

your hands fly back into your lap.

“and—breathe, sweetheart.” a pause. then, more amused, “so desperate you forgot to, huh?”

“messy thing,” he mutters, almost in awe, with praise. “but you’re trying so hard for me.”

you lean into his touch, nuzzling against his palm, pressing small kisses to the base of his thumb. he chuckles, shaking his head.

he allows you forward again, your mouth closing around his cock again.

you take more and more of him until your throat tightens, until your breath catches. he groans, the sound deep and approving, and then his grip tightens, guiding you down further, until your nose brushes the well-groomed base of him, until he can feel your throat fluttering—wet and tight—around him.

and then as if speaking about you partly to himself—

“you can take more. relax.”

he says it like fact, not encouragement. like he knows your limits better than you do.

your throat protests, gagging as you try to take more. you whimper, the noise muffled.

he holds you there. just for a moment. just long enough for your lungs to protest. he groans dark, ragged, wild.

you spasm around him, pleasure sparking at the warmth of his approval, at the weight of him on your tongue, at the way he moves you—slow at first, letting you adjust, but then—

—and then his hips roll up, forcing you to take more, forcing you to gag on it, and you gasp, hands flying up on instinct, grasping at his thighs for leverage—

he yanks you off with yet another wet pop. you sputter saliva this time.

“maybe you need a little help relaxing.”

his voice is smooth but there’s something underneath it. something that makes your stomach clench with anticipation.

he reaches for the glass sitting on the side table—a deep, amber whiskey, rich and smoky.

“take a sip.”

you hesitate, just a second. but then he’s pressing the rim against your mouth, tipping it just enough for the first taste to roll over your tongue. the burn is sharp, spilling heat down your throat in one searing rush. you cough, blinking against the sting as the fire spreads through your chest.

his cock slides nudges your lips, a silent command. you open up, still dazed from the whiskey burning its way through your blood. your mouth is slick, your throat relaxed, but your head feels light, your skin hot, every nerve humming.

when he pulls you up again, the rim of the glass is waiting at your lips.

matt hums, low, approving when you sip and cough again. “swallow. there you go.”

but he’s listening. the quick flutter of your pulse beneath his fingers, the way your throat flexes, adjusting. his grip slides to your jaw, thumb pressing just below the hinge, feeling the way your muscles tighten, relax.

“good girl,” he croons, tilting your chin up. “breathe.”

you exhale shakily, warm and tinged with whiskey. he catches it, head tilting slightly, inhaling deep. he knows exactly how much has hit your bloodstream already, how it’s settling into your limbs.

not yet.

his cock drags against your parted lips. your breath stutters, but you take him deeper, no jittering, no clumsy struggle. just your lips sealing around him, the wet heat of your mouth drawing him in, deeper, deeper—

he exhales sharply, grip flexing against your scalp. “that’s it.”

another breath of air. another sip.

then he’s guiding you back down. the taste of whiskey still lingers, coating your tongue, blending with the salt of his skin, the deep musk of him.

he keeps feeding you. keeps fucking your mouth. his rhythm stays slow, but the weight of him presses deeper, nudging against the back of your throat.

another breath of air. another sip.

until—

hic.

your throat spasms, a sudden jolt, and your whole body tenses involuntarily. you choke, a wet, desperate sound, and his grip tightens immediately, yanking you back just enough to keep you from losing it completely.

he listens. assesses. tracks the way your muscles have slackened.

then he exhales sharply through his nose.

you’re at your limit.

he sets the whiskey aside. you blink up at him, lips slick, pupils blown wide. his palm cradles your jaw, tilting your chin up, thumb pressing lightly against your throat, feeling your pulse hammer under his touch.

“proud of you.” his voice is softer now.

—

your head lolls, time slipping, shifting. the heat changes—no longer burning, but pooling low, pulling you under.

you moan, before you realize you’re sitting astride matt’s bare thigh, your hips rocking helplessly against the hard, warm muscle beneath you.

“there you go,” he murmurs, voice rough like gravel. his palms slide slowly up your sides, calloused thumbs dragging against your skin, making you shiver. “easy does it.”

matt’s chest is bare beneath your grasping fingers, muscles slicked lightly with sweat, the thin sheen catching the dim glow of the city lights filtering through the window. his breath fans warm across your collarbone, mouth pressing open, hungry kisses along the curve of your throat. his tongue drags lazily against your skin, leaving hot, wet trails.

“that's it, sweetheart, keep moving just like that,” matt murmurs roughly against your jaw, chuckling softly. his calloused hands roam over your body with unapologetic roughness. his fingers dig into your hips, controlling your rhythm, dragging you forward then back, helping you ride his thigh in slow, torturous strokes.

“messy,” he says, amusement lacing his voice. you inhale deeply, dizzy from the scent of him—the crisp, fading spice of his cologne mingled now with sweat, whiskey, and a sharp, masculine heat that’s uniquely matt.

his thumb drags roughly over your nipple, rolling it and you jolt against him, thighs squeezing tighter around the solid muscle of his thigh. matt chuckles darkly.

“feel good, baby?” he whispers, tone playful. “grind a little harder.”

he punctuates the tease by sliding his hand down, thumb swirling slowly—achingly slowly—around your puffy clit. you sob his name.

“good girl,” matt whispers, breath brushing your mouth now, lips close enough that you can taste him already—bourbon and salt.

your fingers clutch at his shoulders, nails leaving faint marks in their wake. matt’s throat bobs visibly when you say his name. his silver cross glints faintly, catching your eye as his pulse visibly thrums in his neck, an oddly hypnotic rhythm that matches your pounding heartbeat.

you moan into his mouth, and then he’s kissing you, hard and deep, tongue sliding into your mouth. you’re pant against him, tasting the whiskey and him.

“open up more,” he orders softly. “give me that tongue.”

his kisses turn filthier, sloppier, tongues sliding messily, sharing air and saliva in languid motion.

his cock remains achingly erect against your thigh, flushed dark and slick with precum, twitching slightly whenever you move, smearing wet heat against your skin. you moan softly, almost dizzy from how badly you want him, how desperately you crave him filling you.

“matt—” you whisper, your voice rough.

his beard scratches gently against your skin. you whine softly into the kiss, hips grinding down harder, wetter, messier against his thigh, slick smearing everywhere as you chase the friction desperately. he pats your bottom in reassurance.

“soon. i promise.”

his palms slide roughly over your ass, kneading, pulling you tighter against him, until your swollen clit drags deliciously against his thigh. you’re so wet, slick smearing onto his skin, every movement sending sharp jolts of pleasure through your thighs. your breaths mingle harshly, sloppy kisses punctuated by panting, gasping.

“come on, sweetheart,” matt grunts against your mouth. “ride like you mean it—make me believe it.”

“m-matt,” you babble, hips stuttering.

then suddenly, you’re in the air—his hands gripping beneath your thighs, lifting you effortlessly, his strength an unshakable force even as your limbs go boneless. you let out a strangled gasp, thighs spreading around his waist as he maneuvers you exactly where he wants you, hovering over his cock, the swollen head pressing right against your entrance—so close, so close, but not enough.

“you want this, don’t you?” his grip tightens at your waist, fingers digging into overheated skin, holding you there, keeping you on that unbearable brink. his voice is so steady, so controlled, so infuriatingly patient despite the way his cock twitches beneath you.

“tell me, y/n. use your words.”

you whimper, clinging to his shoulders like they’re the only thing keeping you grounded. your whole body is pleading for him—every nerve singing, every muscle drawn so tight you think you might break if he doesn’t fill you now.

“please,” you sob, desperate, voice breaking as you writhe in his hold. “please, matt—need you inside—now—pleaseplease.”

the growl that rumbles from his chest is low and wrecked, his restraint snapping.

he thrusts up, driving into you in one rough, unrelenting motion, forcing you to take all of him at once. the stretch is instant, a deep, overwhelming fullness, punching the air from your lungs as he buries himself to the hilt.

you cry out, your body locking up, pleasure detonating like fire licking up your spine. the coil inside you snaps violently, your orgasm crashing over you, white-hot and unrelenting. you clench down hard around him, the spasms ripping through you in sharp, overwhelming waves.

matt doesn’t let up.

his grip on your waist tightens, holding you down against him as he grinds deeper, forcing you to feel every inch of him while you shatter. his hips roll up and up, dragging out every pulse, every aftershock.

“fuck,” he grits out, voice strained, control slipping, his hips snapping up harder, grinding against that devastating spot inside you that sends another wrecked, broken cry spilling from your lips.

he thrusts again, deeper, and then he’s gone—his body locking up beneath you, fingers bruising into your waist as a sharp, guttural groan rips from his chest. you feel him jerk deep inside you, spilling into you hot and thick, burying himself as deep as he can go while pleasure rips through both of you.

—

the world filters back in slowly—your skin fever-warm, your breath mingling with his, your body still trembling in the aftershocks of pleasure. matt holds you through all of it, broad palms smoothing over your back, tracing slow, grounding patterns into your skin.

his chest rises and falls beneath you, deep, steady, anchoring. outside, his city hums—greenpoint’s quiet streets thick with the scent of late-night takeout, the distant rumble of a motorcycle slicing through the stillness. the east river laps at the docks, a steady metronome beneath the occasional buzz of passing cars.

then, a soft kiss to your temple.

“you with me?” matt murmurs, voice raw, worn down by pleasure but still so gentle.

you hum sleepily, nodding, but his fingers tip your chin up, waiting.

“yeah,” you murmur, voice hoarse. “yeah, ‘m here.”

his hands roam, softer now—tracing your spine, checking you, mapping you all over again.

“c’mon, sweetheart,” he whispers. “let’s get you cleaned up.”

you groan in protest, clinging to him. “don’t wanna.”

he huffs a quiet laugh. but he doesn’t move, doesn’t pull away.

you nuzzle into his throat, pressing a lazy kiss there. his breath hitches, but his hands stay steady, one sliding into your hair, thumb stroking absently.

“you’re warm,” you mumble. “don’t need a bath. just need you.”

another deep inhale, another slow exhale.

“alright,” matt murmurs. “let’s stay like this a little longer, then.”

and so you do—wrapped up in him, safe, sated, time slowing to something softer. outside, his city keeps moving, slow and unbothered, streetlights flickering against old brick. but here, in his arms, the night stretches out like it belongs to you.

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[widowrecs]

Show Me How

pairing: joel miller x f!reader warnings: age gap | oral (f & m) | unprotected sex | dirty talk | praise | virginity loss | gentle aftercare | no outbreak word count - 5.7k summary - He’s told himself a hundred times it can’t happen. He’s too old, too close to your family, too careful. But now you’re standing in front of him, asking him for the one thing he swore he wouldn’t give.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

You’d always told yourself it was harmless.

The crush. The looks. The way your stomach flipped when Joel said your name or glanced your way for a little too long. He was older—older in a way that should’ve been enough to stop this before it started. He’d known your family for years. Helped your uncle redo the kitchen. Fixed your car once when it stalled in your mom’s driveway. Brought over soup when you got sick last winter and couldn’t get out of bed.

He was just… around. Always steady. Always quiet. Always Joel.

And somehow, over time, that steadiness started to feel like gravity.

You learned his habits without meaning to—when he left for work, what time he ran errands, how he always wore that same faded Texas Longhorns shirt to mow the lawn on Saturdays. You pretended not to notice the way he looked at you sometimes, like he wasn’t sure if he should be. Like maybe he wanted to look away but didn’t.

You never let yourself believe he could actually want you. Not really.

Which is why showing up at his house tonight felt like something you weren’t supposed to do. Like stepping out of line in a way you couldn’t walk back from.

But you couldn’t stop thinking about it. About him.

About the fact that you were tired of feeling like the only one who hadn’t done anything—hadn’t been touched, kissed right, wanted for more than a second. And more than that, you were tired of not knowing. Of being afraid you’d do it wrong. Say the wrong thing. Be too soft. Too quiet. Not enough.

And if you were going to ask anyone—

It’d be him.

Joel, who never rushed you. Who always noticed. Who fixed things with careful hands and never made you feel small.

That was what brought you to his door.

And the second he opened it—hair damp, eyes tired, wearing sweatpants and a shirt you’d seen a dozen times before—your throat locked.

He blinked at you. Didn’t speak right away. Then: “You okay?”

You nodded, fingers curled in your hoodie sleeves. “Yeah. I was just… out. I didn’t know where else to go.”

Joel studied you for a beat, then stepped aside. “Come in.”

The door shut behind you with a soft click. You stood awkwardly in the entryway, clutching the sleeves of your hoodie like they might anchor you. Joel moved past without a word, walking toward the kitchen.

“Want some tea or somethin’?” he asked, already reaching for the kettle. “Still got the kind you like, I think.”

You nodded, unsure if your voice would even work right now. He filled the kettle. Lit the stove. Moved around the kitchen like this was just another Tuesday night and not the most reckless thing you’d ever done.

The house was warm. Familiar. You’d been here before—birthday barbecues, a couple of holidays, quick visits with your family—but never alone. Never this late. Never when the windows were dark and the only light came from that little flickering candle on the counter.

Joel glanced over his shoulder. “You can sit, y’know.”

You did. Quietly, on the edge of the couch like your body didn’t know where to land. Your heart wouldn’t stop stuttering. You weren’t sure what he saw when he looked at you, but it didn’t feel like much. Not yet.

He brought over a mug. Set it down on the coffee table. Then took the armchair across from you and let out a low sigh.

“So,” he said. “You wanna tell me what’s really goin’ on?”

You looked down at the mug. Steam rising. Hands still tucked in your sleeves. “It’s dumb.”

“Doesn’t sound dumb.”

You let the silence hang for a beat too long. Then: “Can I ask you something?”

Joel nodded. “Course.”

Your heart climbed straight into your throat.

You stared at the mug, every nerve in your body buzzing, fingers twitching. It wasn’t that you didn’t know what to say—it was that once you said it, everything would change.

“I don’t have a lot of experience,” you said finally. Quiet. Careful. “Like… any.”

Joel tilted his head. But didn’t say anything.

“I mean, I’ve kissed people. But I’ve never really…” You swallowed hard. “I just feel behind. Everyone I know has—done things. They know what they like. What to do. And I just… don’t.”

Joel leaned back a little. His jaw worked once. Still quiet.

“I’m not saying this right,” you said quickly. “It’s not that I want to rush or that I feel like I have to, I just—” You looked up, finally, and your stomach flipped. “You’re the only person I trust to… to teach me.”

He stared at you.

Not with shock. Not with judgment. Just stillness. Like he was trying to decide if you meant it—if you even understood what you were asking.

“Sweetheart…” he started, then stopped.

“I’m not trying to make things weird,” you rushed. “And I know it’s selfish. And I’m probably not even your type or whatever, and I’ll never bring it up again if it’s weird, I just—”

Joel didn’t say anything right away.

You could hear the second hand ticking on the clock across the room. The silence felt like pressure on your chest. You weren’t sure what you expected when you showed up here—but it wasn’t this. This long, still moment where he just looked at you like he didn’t know what to do.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. Careful.

“You’re so young.”

It wasn’t harsh. It didn’t sound like judgment. If anything, it sounded like he was trying to talk himself out of something.

You stared down at your lap, throat tightening.

“I know,” you said softly, barely more than a breath. “You don’t have to say it.”

Joel sat up straighter.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said, quickly but still gentle. “I’m not—I didn’t mean it like that.”

You gave a small nod, even though you weren’t really sure what to say. Your fingers curled tighter around the sleeves of your hoodie. Your eyes stayed on the floor.

“I just thought...” Your voice thinned out. You cleared your throat, tried again. “I just thought maybe—never mind.”

Joel’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” you mumbled. “You’ve always been nice to me and I... I shouldn’t have ruined that.”

His heart dropped. He saw your hands shaking, saw the way you blinked too fast.

Then he saw it—your lashes catching just slightly, that faint shimmer in your eyes before you ducked your head.

You were trying not to cry.

“Hey,” Joel said, gently. “Hey, no—don’t do that.”

You shook your head, swallowing hard. “It’s fine. Really. I don’t want you to feel bad. Or like I’m putting you in a weird spot. I just—”

Your voice cracked. You turned your face away.

And that was it for him.

“Aww, baby,” Joel said softly, barely more than a breath. “Come here.”

You didn’t move at first, but he was already leaning in, hand reaching out slow, warm, careful. His palm cupped the side of your jaw, thumb brushing under your eye like he could erase the tears before they fell.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he murmured. “You hear me?”

You nodded—barely. Joel’s other hand found yours, steady and sure, lacing his fingers between yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I just didn’t expect it,” he said. “Didn’t let myself think about it. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you.”

Your breath hitched.

“I’ve wanted you,” he said, voice lower now, rough around the edges. “I just didn’t think I was allowed to.”

You looked up at him, blinking slowly.

Joel’s thumb traced your cheekbone.

“I’d take my time with you,” he said. “Make sure you felt safe. Make sure it felt good. I wouldn’t rush anything.”

You leaned into his hand just slightly—barely—but it was enough.

Joel’s eyes dropped to your lips.

“You still want this?” he asked.

You nodded, soft and breathless.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Okay, sweetheart.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. His thumb still brushed your cheek, your fingers still curled inside his. You were so aware of the space between you—barely anything, and yet everything. You could feel the warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing. It made you ache.

Joel hesitated.

“You sure you want me to kiss you?”

God, he really was trying. Still giving you an out, even now. Even when your whole body was already leaning in.

You nodded again, just as shy. “Please.”

That was all he needed.

Joel leaned in slowly—like he was afraid to startle you—and tilted his head just enough to brush his lips against yours. It was soft at first, barely a kiss at all, more like a question. When you didn’t pull away—when your breath caught and your hand tightened around his—he kissed you again, deeper this time. Warmer.

His other hand slid to your waist, grounding you.

You shifted closer without thinking, your knees brushing his thigh. Joel made a low sound in his throat, something surprised and almost pained. He pulled you gently, letting you settle in his lap with careful hands, like he didn’t want to scare you.

You felt so small like that. Not in a bad way. Just—held. His arms around you, his mouth on yours, the scratch of his stubble against your skin. Every inch of him was solid and steady.

He kissed you like he had time. Like he didn’t need anything else.

When he finally pulled back, his hand lingered on your cheek.

“You okay?” he murmured.

You nodded, a little dazed. Your lips tingled, your heart pounding. “I—I’ve never kissed anyone like that.”

Joel smiled, soft and a little crooked. “Yeah? You did real good, sweetheart.”

Your cheeks burned, but you smiled too. You felt warm. Safe. Wanted.

And you still wanted more.

Joel kissed you again, deeper this time, like he was trying to show you what he couldn’t say out loud. His hands were warm where they held your waist, steady even though you could feel how tense he was—like he was holding back something big. Something sharp.

“Alright,” he murmured against your mouth. “We’re not gonna rush. Just want you to feel good.”

You nodded, breathless. “Okay.”

He leaned back, just enough to look at you. “Tell me somethin’, sweetheart.”

Your heart skipped. “What?”

His thumb brushed your cheek. “What’ve you done before?”

You blinked, nervous all over again. “Not much. Just… kissing. A little touching.”

“Okay,” he said softly. “That’s good. Just wanna know what you’re comfortable with.”

You bit your lip. “I want this.”

“I know. But I still wanna go slow.” He paused. “Has anyone ever touched you? Down here?”

His hand slid gently along your thigh, stopping just shy of where you were warm and aching.

You shook your head.

Joel’s eyes flicked to yours, his voice low. “And you?”

Your cheeks flushed. You nodded. “Yeah. A few times.”

He smiled—gentle, not mocking. “Good. That’s good, baby.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your neck. “I’m gonna touch you now. Just with my hand. That alright?”

“Yes,” you breathed.

Joel moved with such care—his fingers easing between your thighs, slipping beneath the hem of your shorts. When he found you already soft and wet, he groaned low in his throat.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “You feel that?”

You nodded, shivering.

“This all for me?”

“Yeah,” you whispered.

“Shit,” he exhaled. “You’re soaked.”

His fingers moved slow, parting you gently. You gasped, your hips twitching.

“Too much?” he asked.

“No,” you said, breath catching. “Just… new.”

He kissed the side of your face, murmured, “We’ll take it nice and easy. You tell me how everything feels, alright?”

You nodded.

He stroked you carefully—exploring, learning. Finding the spots that made your breath hitch, your thighs tighten, your lashes flutter. His fingers circled your clit, featherlight at first, and you whimpered.

“There it is,” he said, voice husky. “That feel good?”

You nodded frantically, too overwhelmed to speak.

“You’re bein’ so good for me, baby. You let me take care of you, yeah?”

Your whole body was warm and buzzing, every nerve alive under his touch. When he slid one finger inside, slow and patient, you gasped.

“Okay?” he whispered.

“Yeah,” you said, breathless. “Feels… full.”

He smiled against your cheek. “That’s what it’s s’posed to feel like. Just one for now. Gonna get you used to it.”

He curled it—just a little—and you whimpered again. Joel groaned.

“You don’t even know what you do to me,” he rasped. “Look at you. All pretty and sweet, takin’ my hand like it’s the only thing you ever needed.”

You clenched around him, involuntarily. His eyes darkened.

“Shit. You’re squeezin’ me already.”

You whimpered. “I—I don’t mean to—”

“I know,” he said, kissing you again, slow and deep. “Don’t you dare apologize.”

Joel kissed you through it, his lips warm and slow while his hand moved between your legs—gentle but focused, like he already knew your body better than you did. He didn’t rush. He didn’t push.

He paid attention.

Your hips bucked when his thumb brushed over your clit again, light and teasing. You gasped into his mouth.

“That feel good?” he murmured.

You nodded. “Mhm.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you—his eyes dark, focused. “Yeah? You like when I touch you there?”

Your face went hot, but you nodded again, biting your bottom lip.

He smiled—soft, proud, dangerously patient. “Good girl.”

Then he went back to it. Circling your clit in slow, deliberate strokes while that one finger inside you pressed deeper, exploring every new reaction you gave him. You were trying so hard not to make noise, but your body betrayed you. Your thighs trembled. Your stomach fluttered. Your breath hitched and broke.

Joel noticed everything.

“Y’ever touch yourself like this?” he asked, voice low.

You hesitated. “Not… like this.”

He raised a brow. “Not like what?”

You swallowed. “Not this slow.”

Joel chuckled—quiet and warm against your skin. “That’s ‘cause you’ve never been taught right.”

His words hit low in your belly. You whimpered as he curled his finger again, hitting something deeper this time. Your legs jerked.

“There?” he asked, voice roughening.

You nodded, breath caught. “Y-Yeah—oh—there.”

Joel groaned softly. “Fuck, baby. You’re already close, ain’t you?”

You nodded helplessly.

“Think you can come for me? Just from my fingers?”

You whined. He took it as a yes.

His movements stayed slow, but more rhythmic now—his thumb drawing tight little circles, his finger pumping deeper, coaxing something out of you so carefully, so sweetly. You clutched at his shirt, fingers trembling.

“Joel,” you gasped, barely able to breathe. “I—I think I’m—”

“That’s it,” he said. “Let it happen. Let me feel it.”

And then you broke.

It hit you like a wave—sharp and hot and overwhelming. Your body seized around him, legs clamping tight as the pleasure surged up and through you. You cried out, loud and wrecked, and Joel caught it with his mouth, kissing you hard while his hand worked you through every second of it.

“Goddamn,” he muttered. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty when you come.”

You were shaking when he finally pulled his hand away—slow and careful. He kissed your forehead, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.

“You okay?”

You nodded, dazed, still trembling in his lap. “Mhm. Just… I’ve never felt anything like that.”

Joel smiled. “You’ve got a lot more to feel, sweetheart.”

He kissed you again—longer this time. Slower. But now there was something heavier beneath it, something hungrier.

When he pulled back, his voice was deeper. Rough.

“Can I show you more?”

You looked up at him. Your limbs were still jelly, your heart still racing, but all you could think was yes. You trusted him. Even like this. Maybe especially like this.

You nodded.

“Yeah. Show me.”

Joel smiled when you said it. Not cocky—just warm. Soft around the edges, like the tension in him had finally given way to something sweeter. He tucked your hair behind your ear with a gentle hand, his other still cradling your bare thigh.

“Alright,” he murmured. “Then lie back for me.”

You nodded, breath still shaky. Your skin was buzzing—still oversensitive, still warm, but already aching for more.

You obeyed without a word, heart thudding as your spine met the mattress again. The air felt cooler now against your flushed skin, your body still buzzing from the first time he touched you like that.

Joel moved with you, settling between your legs without urgency. He leaned down and pressed a kiss just above your knee—then another, higher up. It was careful. Unrushed. Like he wanted you to feel every second of it.

“I want you to tell me if anything doesn’t feel good,” he murmured against your skin. “You just say the word, alright?”

You nodded.

“Words, baby.”

“Yes,” you breathed. “I will.”

“Good girl.”

His hands spread your thighs, slow and sure. Not to expose you—at least, not just that. More like reverence. Like unfolding something precious.

And then his mouth was on you.

Not forceful. Not greedy. Just… exploring. His tongue traced slow, soft circles, tasting you like he was learning something new and didn’t want to miss a detail. Every shift in your breath made him hum a little deeper, adjust, draw it out.

“Doing so good,” he murmured, pausing only to kiss the inside of your thigh again. “You let me know if it’s too much.”

It wasn’t.

It was everything.

You tried to be quiet, but your body had other plans.

Joel’s mouth moved with slow, deliberate rhythm—tongue tracing lazy circles that built heat like kindling. He didn’t rush you. Just stayed right there, steady and patient, until your hips started to lift, chasing every pass of his tongue like it might save you.

And he noticed.

“Yeah,” he murmured, voice barely a rumble. “That’s it, sweetheart. Let me have it.”

His hands slid under your thighs, pulling you just a little closer, anchoring you in place like he was afraid you might float off. And maybe you would’ve. Your hands gripped the sheets, searching for something solid as your breathing turned erratic.

“Joel—” you whispered, and it cracked.

He groaned low in his throat—like hearing you say his name like that did something to him.

“Feels good?” he asked, and when you nodded too fast, too desperate, he just hummed against you. “Thought so. You’re so fuckin’ sweet down here.”

The tension coiled again—hotter this time, faster. Your legs started to tremble, and Joel didn’t let up. Just flattened his tongue, applied more pressure, and listened to you fall apart.

“Don’t fight it,” he whispered. “Let it happen.”

You came with a sound that barely made it out—a soft, broken cry, thighs clamping around his head as you shook through it. Joel didn’t stop. Didn’t even think about it. He kept licking you through every wave, gentle and relentless, holding your hips like you might slip away otherwise.

Only when your body finally gave out—hips twitching, breath coming in shallow little gasps—did he pull back. His mouth was shiny, lips wet, beard damp. And his eyes…

Like he’d just seen something holy.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then leaned up slowly, palm cupping your cheek.

“There she is,” he murmured, voice like honey and gravel. “That’s my girl.”

Your lashes fluttered. You felt soft all over, unraveled, held together only by the weight of his gaze.

Joel smiled, just a little.

“You did so good for me, baby. So fuckin’ good.”

He leaned in before you could even catch your breath.

One hand still cradled the back of your head, the other brushing your thigh, grounding you. His mouth met yours in a way that felt earned—soft at first, just lips to lips, letting you settle into it.

You tasted yourself on him immediately.

Warm. Humid. Faintly salty. It made your whole body shiver.

You pulled back, eyes fluttering open like it surprised you. Joel didn’t move far. His forehead rested against yours.

“Sorry,” he said, voice a little rough.

You shook your head. “No. I just… I’ve never…”

His thumb stroked your cheek. “It’s alright.”

You blinked up at him, still a little dazed. “That was… nice.”

Joel huffed a soft laugh, like he wasn’t sure what to do with that word. “Nice?”

You nodded, suddenly shy again. “I liked it.”

His smile turned quieter—almost reverent.

“Good,” he murmured. “That’s all I wanted.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time. Your fingers found the hem of his shirt, pushing it up slowly, and he let you. Let you explore his skin, the soft stretch of his stomach, the trail of hair leading down beneath his jeans.

And still, he didn’t rush.

Just kept kissing you—until your body relaxed fully beneath his, until the last of your nerves melted into heat.

Joel pulled back just enough to look at you, his thumb brushing under your eye.

“You alright?” he asked, quiet.

You nodded. “I want to… I want to do something for you.”

His brow creased, surprised. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

Your voice didn’t shake that time.

Joel hesitated like he was going to argue again, but then his gaze softened, and he gave the smallest nod. He leaned back against the pillows, watching you carefully—curious, cautious, but clearly affected.

You sat up slowly, heart pounding. Reached for his waistband with trembling fingers, giving him one last glance for permission. He lifted his hips, helping you ease his jeans down until he was bare to you.

Joel’s eyes darkened, but his voice stayed low. “You ever seen a man before? Like this?”

You shook your head, heart thudding. “Just… in pictures.”

He chuckled, more breath than sound. “Yeah?”

Your cheeks burned. “Not those kinds of pictures.”

He smiled, slow and fond. “Didn’t say they were.”

You swallowed. Then curled your fingers around him.

God—he was warm. Heavy. Hard already. You inhaled sharply as your hand moved, just a little, feeling the weight of him against your palm.

Joel groaned. Quiet. Barely restrained.

“Jesus, baby…”

You looked up, eyes wide. “Did I do something wrong?”

He shook his head fast, eyes pinched. “No. Fuck, no. Just—been holdin’ back too long.”

You smiled, nervous but proud. Then you started to stroke him—tentative at first, just trying to feel out the rhythm.

Joel let out a soft, broken sound and tipped his head back.

“Just like that,” he muttered. “You’re doin’ so good.”

Your confidence grew with every soft grunt he made. Every time his hips twitched or his hand gripped the edge of the couch harder.

“You wanna try your mouth?” he asked, voice rough with restraint.

You blinked. “I… yeah. But I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Joel’s eyes locked on yours—hungry and warm all at once. He cupped your cheek. “That’s okay, baby. I’ll teach you.”

You shifted down between his legs slowly, your knees pressing into the couch cushions as your hands settled on his thighs. He was already breathing heavier, watching you with those dark, heavy-lidded eyes that made your stomach flip.

“Start with your hand,” Joel murmured, voice low and coaxing. “Get comfortable first.”

You nodded, wrapping your fingers around him again. The weight of it still shocked you. How hard he felt. How hot.

You gave him a slow stroke. Then another.

“That’s it,” he breathed. “Just like that. You’re doin’ perfect.”

The praise made your cheeks burn.

You looked up at him, a little shy. “Tell me what to do.”

Joel groaned. “Jesus, baby.”

His hand moved gently to your hair, not pushing, not guiding—just resting there. Steady.

“Kiss the tip,” he said softly. “Start there.”

You leaned in and pressed a hesitant kiss to the flushed head of his cock. His breath hitched. You did it again, slower, then let your tongue flick out to taste him.

“That’s it,” Joel said. His voice had gone hoarse. “Just your tongue, nice and easy.”

You licked a slow stripe up the underside, watching his stomach tense. He was biting back a sound, jaw locked tight.

“You can put it in your mouth now,” he said, rasping. “Only as much as you want.”

You parted your lips and wrapped them around him—just the tip at first. He exhaled sharply, hips twitching. You stilled, looking up at him in alarm, but Joel shook his head fast.

“Don’t stop,” he said. “You feel so fuckin’ good.”

You sank a little deeper, hollowing your cheeks. He groaned, one hand tightening slightly in your hair, still not pushing.

“Use your hand too, sweetheart,” he said. “You’re so good, baby. So fuckin’ good for me.”

Your hand stroked the base while your mouth worked the rest. You tried to keep a rhythm, breathing through your nose just like he told you.

When he swore under his breath, you felt it in your chest.

“Look at me,” he said.

You did. Eyes wide, lips stretched around him, cheeks flushed.

He groaned—deep and wrecked. “Fuck, that’s it.”

You took him deeper, feeling your throat tighten, your eyes sting. But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t—not with the way he was looking at you.

“You okay?” he managed to ask, even through the haze.

You nodded around him, and he growled.

“Goddamn. You were made for this.”

You pulled off slowly, a little breathless, a string of spit catching between your lips and the tip of his cock. He was flushed, panting, hands clenched into fists beside him.

“Holy fuck,” he said, voice blown out. “You sure you’ve never done that before?”

You laughed quietly. “I told you I’d be a fast learner.”

Joel leaned forward and pulled you into his lap again. His hands were everywhere—your back, your thighs, the side of your neck.

“You still sure about all this?” he whispered.

You nodded. Quiet. A little nervous. But you didn’t look away.

His hand brushed down your thigh, then between your legs—stroking over you slowly, making sure you were ready. “Feels like you are,” he whispered. “But I need you to tell me.”

“I want you to,” you said, barely louder than a breath. “Please.”

He exhaled like that did something to him. Something deep.

“Okay,” he said. “I’m gonna go slow, alright? Real slow. You just hold on to me.”

You nodded again.

Then he lined himself up, hand guiding, the heat of him settling right where you were softest. “You let me know if it’s too much.”

The pressure started before you could prepare for it—warm and wide and stretching you in a way you didn’t expect. You gasped, instinctively grabbing his arm, nails digging in.

Joel stopped instantly. “Too much?”

“I—I don’t know,” you whispered. “It just—hurts a little.”

He leaned down, kissed your forehead, your cheek, your jaw.

“I know, baby,” he murmured. “You’re doing so good.”

His hand found yours, threading your fingers together. Then he kissed you again—slow and deep, distracting, stealing your focus from the tight pull of your body adjusting to him.

Bit by bit, he eased in further, pausing when your breath hitched, pressing kisses to your mouth until the discomfort dulled to something else. Something warmer.

When he was fully inside you, Joel didn’t move. He just held himself there, breathing hard against your skin. “You okay?”

You nodded, stunned by how full you felt. “I think so.”

“God, you’re tight,” he whispered. “So fuckin’ perfect.”

His hand brushed your hair back, and he kissed you again—gentler this time, slower. “Tell me when I can move.”

You blinked up at him, dazed, breathless. “Okay… now.”

Joel started to move, just barely. A gentle pull back, then a slow press in, rocking his hips with an almost reverent kind of care. He didn’t take his eyes off your face—not for a second.

“You’re doin’ so good,” he murmured. “Feelin’ okay?”

You nodded, still a little overwhelmed. The stretch still lingered, but there was something else starting to build beneath it—heat, pressure, something that made your toes curl when he pushed a little deeper.

He felt it.

“Yeah,” he whispered, voice rough with restraint. “There she is.”

He moved again, a little more confident this time, keeping his pace slow and steady. One hand stayed laced with yours. The other braced at your waist, thumb stroking gently over your skin.

Every inch of him felt impossibly warm. Full. You couldn’t believe how close he was—how real it was. And yet he still treated you like you might break.

“You okay?” he asked again, quieter now.

You bit your lip. “It… feels weird. Good. But—intense.”

His eyes darkened a little, smile soft at the corners. “Yeah? Gonna get better, sweetheart. Promise.”

He leaned down, kissed the side of your neck, murmuring something you barely caught—so tight, so sweet, can’t believe I’m inside you. The praise made your cheeks burn, made your hips tilt up without thinking.

He groaned. "Fuck, baby. Careful—you keep doin’ that, I won’t last long."

You looked up at him through half-lidded eyes, heat buzzing through your chest and down your spine.

“I don’t care,” you whispered. “I just want to feel you.”

Something about that must’ve broken the last of his resolve, because Joel kissed you again—messy this time, like he needed to feel your mouth while he kept moving inside you, slow but deep.

You gasped into the kiss when he hit a spot that made your whole body jolt.

“There?” he asked, voice low and strained.

You nodded fast. “Yes—God, Joel—”

“That’s my girl,” he murmured. “Just let go. I’ve got you.”

He kept hitting that spot, rhythm just right, hand tightening around yours like he could feel every wave of heat building inside you. You were shaking, thighs trembling, nails digging into his shoulder—

And then it happened.

You came with a breathless cry, body locking up around him, vision going hazy at the edges. Joel groaned, burying his face in your neck as he lost it too, hips stuttering, voice rough against your skin.

You must’ve dozed off at some point, warm and aching and curled into Joel’s side, barely able to keep your eyes open.

He didn’t fall asleep.

You stirred when you felt his hand brush your thigh—gentle, coaxing. Not trying to start something again. Just checking. Making sure you were okay.

“Hey,” he murmured. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”

You blinked, disoriented, but nodded. He helped you sit up slowly, one hand steady at your back. You winced just a little, hips sore, thighs still trembling—and he saw it.

“Easy,” he said, voice softer now. “I got you.”

Joel guided you to the bathroom, flipping on the dim light. He grabbed a towel, ran the tap until it was warm, and knelt in front of you like it was the most natural thing in the world. You watched him in the mirror—his face focused, his touch careful as he cleaned you up with slow, steady hands.

“Still okay?” he asked, glancing up at you.

You nodded, a little breathless. “Yeah. Just… sore.”

“That’s normal,” he murmured. “First time’s not easy. But you did real good.”

You looked down, cheeks burning.

He noticed that too. Stood up. Pressed a kiss to your forehead.

When he walked you back to bed, he helped you lie down, then disappeared for a second. You heard the fridge open, the sound of water filling a glass.

Joel came back with a bottle of ibuprofen and handed you the water. “Take a couple. You’ll be stiff in the morning.”

You gave him a sleepy smile. “What, no post-sex pancakes?”

He grinned. “Tomorrow.”

He climbed into bed beside you again, tugged you into his arms like he needed you close to sleep. You let your body settle into his chest, warm and safe and still humming from everything that happened.

His fingers traced your spine, slow and rhythmic.

“Get some rest,” he said. “M’not goin’ anywhere.”

You believed him.

And for once, that was enough.

[widowrecs]

obsessed with this series!! incredible

Capitol Punishment Masterlist

Haymitch Abernathy x Reader ~ Completed (before SotR)

Summary: The Capitol continues to torture it’s victors no matter how long ago they won through punishment, exploitation, and worst of all; their relationships. 

A story in which Haymitch’s lover is a plaything for the Capitol. 

Warnings: Canon level violence, , inconsistent with SotR lore, rape (though not explicit at first), alcohol, murder, systemic poverty, exploitation, rebellion (?), more reliance on movie than book, suicidal thoughts, swearing, pregnancy, miscarriage

The 67th Hunger Games

Prologue | Prologue (II)

The Hunger Games: 

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V

Catching Fire:

Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X

Mockingjay:

Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII | Part XIV

[widowrecs]

haymitch abernathy | until sunrise

words: 1.7k warnings: MINORS DNI. off-page sexual and physical abuse, blood, suicidal ideation, alcohol, drugs, angst, hurt/comfort description: You’re the Capitol’s plaything. All he can do is clean you up after a particularly terrible night.  I just finished Sunrise on the Reaping and had to get out some Haymitch brainrot.

A knock on his door is never a good sign. When Haymitch is in the Capitol for the Games, he keeps to himself when he can, lost in the fog of drink where he can convince himself that nothing can touch him. 

But there’s one exception. You.

You’re the only reason he opens the door at all. A fresh victor of District 12, it’s been your turn to serve the Capitol over the last couple of years. Last Games, they still had that thing in your ear, keeping you drugged and controlled to establish you as the Capitol’s docile little darling. This year, you’ve spent every party either in a cage or satisfying potential sponsors behind closed doors. It makes him sick, so he drinks more and more and more, but it never makes it easier. 

Now, in the hallway, you’re more gaunt than ever. Barely there at all. There are cuts all over your skin, blood dribbling down your temple, your neck, even your damn legs. 

“I need…” you whisper, and the words are slurred. Unlike him, it isn’t a choice. Your clients like you better when you’re inebriated, not able to fight back. You’re theirs to do with what they want. 

You frown as though you’ve already forgotten what you need, but he knows. 

“Come in, sweetheart.”

When you step forward on buckling legs, he has to catch you, just barely holding you up. His white liquor breath mingles with your sour one as, somehow, this quest for stability becomes something more. He’s holding you tight while your head lolls against his shoulder, because it’s the least he can do and it isn’t nearly enough. He feels responsible. He helped you win those games. After years of following the rules, learning the hard way that rebellion got people killed, he’d seen a spark in you. A spark that could have destroyed the games if he was just smart enough to figure out how. 

Snow had seen the flame. Snuffed it out. It pains Haymitch to think it, but he would have been better off letting you starve without sponsors. Letting you die in the arena. This… This is his fault. He cared for something again, somebody, and now it’s killing you both. 

“What’d they do to you?” he whispers when he’s shut the door behind you. A stupid question, born from horror rather than a genuine need to know. With the bite marks, bruises, and slashes across your skin, he can imagine. The Capitol are almost as genetically mutated as Mutts these days, so many of them resembling animals with sharp-filed teeth among other hideous implants.

“Got one… with fangs n’claws,” you mutter. 

He looses a jagged breath, half-rage, half-despair, and guides you carefully over to his couch. The apartment is still in darkness, lights too bright for his ever-pounding head. Besides, the view of the Capitol illuminated under the stars yawns outside his window, a beast not quite slumbering. Never does. The city never stops; night just casts a blanket over their depravities, but there are holes in the velvet that keep the place lit dim.

Curtains aren’t allowed. He already asked. 

With you slumped on his pillows, he can get a better view of your state. Regrets looking immediately. Glittering dress the colour of grey doves has been torn by greedy hands. Where your skin isn’t bloody, it’s black, blue, green, your very own kaleidoscope of pain. It’ll be worse in the morning, but right now, you at least have the detachment the drugs grant you. Not like him, who feels every fucking mark on you. 

He rubs a hand over his unkempt stubble. Tries to figure out where the fuck he should start. If you were cognisant, he’d have led you straight to the shower, knows how unclean you feel after a night like this. But you’re not, and he’s not going to be another monster who strips you bare without you knowing. 

“Gonna clean you up best I can, okay?” he finally decides. “You rest now.”

Your mumble is unintelligible, but it still pierces another needle through his chest. How can the two of you keep going like this? How can you mentor more tributes, knowing that an arena death would be kinder than this slow torture?

Turns out his liquor comes in handy for more than just getting wasted. He grabs a cloth and his half-drained bottle from the kitchen along with a bowl of warm water, then returns to you, kneeling on the carpet at your feet. 

“I got you now,” he whispers, then starts on your sprawled legs. You whimper when he reaches the first gash, right below your knee. “‘M sorry, sweetheart. Know it stings.”

You bite your lip, fingers curling into the velvet arm of the couch as he keeps going. “Haymitch.” It’s a croaked whisper, barely audible at all, but he hears it like an alarm bell.

“I’m here,” is all he can reply as he wrings the blood from the cloth. Goes again. Where your dress is bunched towards your hips, he sees bite marks on your inner thighs and feels nauseous. He sucks in a sharp breath. Leans back to press his fist into his mouth so that he doesn’t yell, or sob, or do something. He’s had his time, his punishment. It’s your turn now, and all he can do is be there at the end of the night. He takes a swig of the liquor in his hand, but it just makes the burn in his throat worse. So bad he has to step away, just for a minute, to collect himself. 

He doesn’t know your lazy gaze is watching his back, waiting for him to return. The only person who keeps you safe in all this, or at least rides out the devastation with you. Without him, you wouldn’t be here. You don’t know if that makes him a blessing or a curse. 

“Gonna get you some water,” he decides. 

Don’t go, you think, but you don’t dare say it. Even now, you’re afraid the Capitol will see just how much you rely on him and take that from you, too. 

He comes back quickly, helps sit you up with a gentle hand on your shoulder as he tips the cool glass to your cracked lips. “That’s it,” he coaxes. “Thatta girl.”

Your face crumples as though it tastes foul, and he draws it back to dry the excess from your chin. “When’s… it gon’ end?” you ask.

“When we’re dead and buried,” he replies softly. “Till then, you try to stay with me, okay?”

Your hooded eyes glisten as you finally look at him. It isn’t easy, being this vulnerable. You’ve been used and abused all night by evil, depraved men. Men with weapons on their fingers, in their mouths, everywhere, not because they like to fight, but because they like to bleed people like you dry. You shouldn’t want to be anywhere near him now, but where else can you go?

He’s all you’ve got. Some nights, it just isn’t enough. “Don’t w’na do this anymore.”

“I know.”

“Could end it.”

“They wouldn’t let you. You know that.” His voice is gravel; pain. You hate you put it there with your dreams of death, but they feel closer now than ever. What if he didn’t tend to your wounds, didn’t keep your hydrated and fed and awake? What if he let you drift off the way he hadn’t been able to in the arena?

And he’s right. Even if he could let you go, the Capitol would find some way to get you back, whether they’d use your sickly corpse or find somebody to masquerade as you to keep up appearances. You’d just be making it worse, even if not for yourself. 

And he needs you. He’d never say it, but he does. The only other victor here, all you have is each other. Back in District 12, you sit in your grand house in the Victor Village for hours, listening to him shuffling on the other side of the wall. His presence always a frayed thread to grasp onto with both hands. You clean him up when he’s passed out on his doorstep, or sometimes, you get drunk together on your couch. Only then do your bodies intertwine the way you want, both of you too past consciousness to care whether somebody sees. You don’t know what he’d do without you. Choke on his own vomit, maybe. Drink until he drowned. You rely on each other — and it’s the most dangerous thing in the world. But also the only thing that keeps you going. 

Your tongue is heavy in your mouth, and his face is fading in and out of the blackness now as he tends to some of the scratches on your face and neck. 

“Haymitch,” you whisper again, because if anybody can save you, it’s him. 

“Right here, sweetheart. Not going anywhere.” He’s so gentle against your raw skin you barely feel it at all, only moaning when he reaches tender spots. Finally, it stops. 

“Couch or bed?” he asks just as you’re sinking into the dark. 

“Couch.” Beds are where terrible things happen. Beds are where this happened.

“Lie down then, sweet. That’s it.” He guides you down to the cushions of the couch, a hand brushing the matted hair off your cheeks. You can’t tell if it’s comfortable or not. Your body isn’t yours to decide that, these days. He drapes a blanket over you, and it eases your shuddering limbs. Had you been shaking like that the whole time? You barely noticed. 

“You’ll stay?” If you were capable of it, it would have been a plea. 

He gives you the same answer as ever: “Where else am I gonna go?” And then, when you don’t reply, he takes your hand and gets comfortable on the carpet. He’s never, not once, tried to do more than that after nights like this, knowing too much touch will bring it all back. “Gonna be right here till sunrise, okay? Always gonna be another sunrise.”

It should be a comfort, but it feels like a death sentence. Doing this all over again tomorrow… 

But he’s here. He’ll always be here. The only good thing this world has ever given you. 

[widowrecs]

Bread, Stew, and Tears

Character: Haymitch Abernathy

Requested: No but I saw a clip of Katniss asking Haymitch to save Peeta and needed to write this.

Type: Angst/ Fluff (Lol I just love angst)

Summary: After hearing Snow’s announcement about the Quarter Quell, you instinctively turn to your only true comfort—cooking. But as the weight of reality settles in, you realize not even that can save you this time.

Haymitch Abernathy x Victor! Female Reader

A.N: Not part of the 'A Pawn Once More' universe. Also I haven't read Sunrise on the Reaping, so please, No Spoilers.

********

Coping mechanisms are strange things. They wear different faces for different people. Some drown in liquor, some run until their legs give out, and some unravel completely—mind, body, soul.

Yours was quieter. Softer. Safer. Yours was cooking.

It had always been your anchor, your escape hatch, the only way to keep your hands busy when your thoughts threatened to devour you. Baking pies, roasting chickens, chopping onions until your eyes stung from something other than tears. It didn’t matter what you made—it only mattered that you were making something. Creating, when the world around you was constantly tearing itself apart.

And today... today, you needed it more than ever. You didn’t want the distraction. You needed it. You needed to drown in it. To be consumed.

Because the words were still echoing in your mind, sharp and cruel: “The tributes will be reaped from the pool of existing victors.”

Over and over, like a broken record slicing through your skull.

You’d heard it live, sitting next to Haymitch on the worn-down couch in his house. The two of you had been tense, uneasy, as you waited for the President’s address.

You had a bad feeling. You knew the Victors’ Tour hadn’t gone unnoticed. You could feel the Capitol’s eyes narrowing, feel the shift in the air. Katniss and Peeta had become more than just victors—they had become threats. And threats, in the Capitol, didn’t last long.

Still, even with all that dread festering in your gut, you never imagined this.

Shock didn’t even begin to cover what you felt when the words were spoken aloud. It was like the floor had caved in beneath you. Like you’d been hurled into ice-cold water, lungs filling with something heavy and impossible to breathe.

Dread and anguish clawed their way up your spine, wrapping around your throat until you could barely move. You slapped a hand over your mouth, the instinct to scream cut short by sheer disbelief.

You’d won your Games at eighteen. The 56th Hunger Games. You could still see it, still feel it under your skin. Haymitch had been your mentor then—twenty-two years old and already unraveling at the seams. You’d come out the other side shattered but breathing. He’d barely looked at you at first, too drunk or too bitter or maybe both. But you stuck around anyway.

You always stuck around.

After the Games, you fell into the role of caretaker almost naturally. Haymitch pushed you away, again and again, snarling and drinking and pretending he didn’t need anyone. But you stayed. You always stayed.

Even after everything, there was still a softness to you that hadn’t been burned out by the arena. A light he didn’t understand. A part of him—one he’d never admit out loud—sometimes wished you had died in those Games. Just to spare you this. Just to spare you him.

But you were stronger than he gave you credit for.

He still remembered the first time he saw you after your Victory Tour. You’d shown up at his door with a pot of soup—too much for one person, just enough for two. You smiled, awkward and hopeful, and he hadn’t had the strength to tell you to leave.

You latched onto him like a leech, he’d joked more than once. But somewhere along the line, he stopped trying to shake you off.

He grew to love you for it.

Nothing was ever official between you. No labels. No promises. But you both knew what it was. There were kisses sometimes, soft and rare and meaningful. Hugs that lasted just a little too long. Touches that lingered.

You were more than friends, even if neither of you had the courage to say it aloud.

Haymitch was terrified. Of letting you in. Of letting himself care. Of losing you. The Capitol had taken everyone else from him—family, friends, lovers. But you? He wasn’t sure he’d survive it.

He never said those things. But you knew.

You always knew.

You remembered the sound of his glass shattering when the announcement aired. It jolted you from your frozen state. His scream cracked through the silence, guttural and raw.

You rushed to him, wrapped your arms around him, held on as tight as you could. Your tears soaked into his shirt as his fury trembled beneath your hands.

At some point, exhaustion pulled you under. You woke up curled on the couch, head resting in his lap, his hand loosely tangled in your hair. He was already deep into his second bottle of whiskey when your eyes opened.

Then Peeta walked through the door.

And just like that, you knew it was time to go.

Haymitch needed to focus, to pull himself together—for them, for what was coming. And you needed to do the only thing that ever gave you peace.

You needed to cook. 

After hours in the kitchen, surrounded by boiling pots and the scent of fresh bread, you finally packed everything up. You’d made enough food to feed a battalion—stew, bread, potatoes, something sweet for afterward.

But none of it was really for you. It never was.

You headed to Haymitch’s house, balancing the food in your arms, knowing without a doubt he hadn’t eaten a damn thing all day. Maybe Peeta was still with him. Maybe Katniss should be there too. You were all caught in the same storm, walking the same nightmare in different shoes. The least you could do—the only thing you could do—was feed them through it.

As you lifted your foot to kick the door open, too burdened with containers to knock, it creaked open from the inside. Katniss stood there, coat on, about to step out.

“Katniss,” you breathed, a little surprised. “Hi. You're not staying for dinner?”

You adjusted a heavy dish nearly slipping from your grip. “You should. Bring Peeta, too. I cooked enough to make the Capitol jealous.”

She offered a faint, weary smile. “I was just heading out. But thank you.”

You studied her face—tight, drawn, eyes a little too empty. You knew that look. You’d worn it yourself.

“I’ll send some leftovers,” you said gently, lowering your voice. “After I deal with the old grump inside.”

She gave a soft huff, amused but sad. “Thanks,” she murmured, stepping aside to let you in.

Before she left, you paused.

“I’m not going to ask if you’re okay,” you said, eyes meeting hers. “Because that would be insulting. But I want you to know—I’m here. Whenever you need me.”

Katniss nodded. “I know,” she said softly. And then she was gone.

You nudged the door shut with your foot and carried the food into the kitchen, setting it all down with a relieved sigh.

“Mitch? I made way too much bread,” you called out. “And lamb stew. Still need to finish the potatoes, but—”

You stopped. Your words died as your eyes landed on him in the living room.

Haymitch sat slumped on the couch, a glass of liquor hanging from his hand, already halfway gone. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes were heavy with something that felt like resignation.

“Hey,” you said carefully, “what did Katniss and Peeta want?”

He didn’t look at you right away. Just took a long, slow drink.

“Peeta came to ask me to protect Katniss,” he finally muttered. “And Katniss… she asked me to save Peeta.”

Your stomach twisted. You stepped closer. “Save him how?”

He looked at you then—really looked at you—and shrugged like it meant nothing.

“If his name is drawn, I’m volunteering.”

The words hit you like a slap. You blinked, not understanding at first.

“There’s no way in hell you’re volunteering,” you snapped. “Are you serious? They both asked you to die for them?”

His silence was answer enough.

“Haymitch,” you hissed, voice sharp with disbelief, “you can’t be serious.”

“I promised her,” he said, so quietly it was almost a sigh.

You stared at him in disbelief. Rage and fear tangled inside you, hot and suffocating. You stormed toward him, snatching the bottle from his hand and slamming it on the table.

“You promised me, too,” you snapped. “Years ago. After my Games. You promised you wouldn’t do anything reckless. And guess what, Haymitch? You’re keeping that promise.”

His jaw clenched, but he didn’t yell. He didn’t even try to take the bottle back.

“Sweetheart,” he said, quiet and tired, “it’s not that simple.”

“It is that simple.” Your voice cracked as tears welled in your eyes. “You can’t volunteer. You can’t go back. You can’t leave me.”

He stood abruptly, glass forgotten, and crossed the room in three strides. His hands came up to cradle your face, rough and trembling.

“I’m not losing you,” he said, eyes burning into yours.

“What?” you whispered, barely able to speak.

“I told Katniss I’d volunteer for Peeta,” he said. “But only if she swore to volunteer for you if your name is called.”

You froze. Tears slipped down your cheeks. “You… what?”

“You’re not going back in that arena. Not while I’m breathing. I won’t let them have you again.”

You were his first tribute. His first win. His first reason to feel something again after his own nightmare. And now, the thought of losing you—of watching you walk toward another arena—was something he physically couldn’t bear.

“You don’t get to decide that,” you whispered, voice shaking with anger and grief. “You’re being a hypocrite. You’re not playing fair.”

“Nothing about this is fair,” he snapped, his own voice raw. “But I don’t give a damn about fairness. I care about you. And keeping you out of that arena is the only thing I care about right now.”

You were shaking. “How could they even ask you to do that?”

He gave a bitter smile, small and broken. “Because they know the truth. I don’t have anything left. If I go, no one will care.”

Your heart shattered. “I’ll care,” you sobbed, gripping his shirt. “You have me. You can’t leave me. I won’t survive it, Haymitch. I can’t—”

He pulled you into his chest, arms wrapped around you like iron, grounding you, keeping you from unraveling completely.

“Shhhh, sweetheart,” he whispered, his own voice cracking. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise. I’m right here.”

Your body trembled in his arms, his warmth the only thing tethering you to the earth.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, hands still cupping your face. His eyes were misted over, his thumb brushing away a tear you didn’t even realize had fallen.

His guilt lingered, heavy, but your safety outweighed it all. If there was one thing he knew he'd never regret, it was protecting you.

He pulled back slightly, his hands gentle as they cradled your face. “You know what?” he said softly. “I could really go for some chocolate cake. Let’s bake one.”He said it because he knew cooking calmed you, grounded you.

You let out a watery laugh through your tears. He was trying to make everything feel normal. Safe. Familiar.

But in that moment, for the first time in a long time, you didn’t want to cook.

You didn’t want distractions. You didn’t want stew or bread or cake.

You just wanted him.

I'm working on some requests! Should be out in a few days!!!!

[widowrecs]

The Star-Crossed Lovers Of District 12 (Part 3)

Haymitch Abernathy x Wife!reader

Summary: Y/N continues trying to find balance in her ‘new life’ while grappling with the loss of her memories. Implied sexual content and past sexual trauma. SoTR Spoilers!

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2

Y/N spends her days going through the motions and her nights running from dreams of loved ones past.

“I can’t do this anymore, Haymitch.” She wails, pressed tightly to his chest. “I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“You’re ok,” Haymitch whispers, worry seeping into his own voice. “Shh.”

“Please help me.”

“I’m right here. I’ve got you.” Haymitch brushes his lips against her forehead. “I’ll help you, I’ll help you.”

Y/N paws at him, clinging to something that is real.

“You need to sleep, angel.” Haymitch gentles her back beneath the covers.

“I can’t, I can’t.” Y/N’s sobs are muffled in the fabric of his shirt.

“Shhh,” he hushes her. “In the morning we’ll go down to see Dr. Aurelius and get something to help you sleep.”

Her head pounds, pain radiating down her neck as she cries herself to sleep.

There’s nothing Haymitch can do but hold her. Whispering that she is safe and loved. They’ll figure this out. Massaging the back of her aching skull and wishing the pain away.

————————————————————————

Dr. Aurelius is not expecting to find Y/N in the hospital wing, Haymitch in tow, before first meal. “Good morning.”

“We need just a minute,” Haymitch says. Shooting Katniss a smile, to ease her concerned eyes, through the doorway of her room.

“Y/N.” She croaks out, anyway.

Y/N gives Haymitch’s back a pat before excusing herself. “Hi, honey. How are you feeling?”

“Good.” The neck brace is long gone. “They’re releasing me tomorrow.”

Has it been that long? “Just in time for the wedding.”

“I think it was intentional, they’re gonna broadcast it and they want Snow to see us there.”

“I’m sure we can manage that.” Y/N grins.

“Are you here to see Peeta?”

“I’m actually here to see Dr. Aurelius. I’m still having some issues.” Y/N lifts a shoulder, “I won’t be much good to anyone in a state of psychosis so-”

“Good call.” Katniss deadpans.

“I can come tomorrow though, what time do you get released?”

The corner of the girl’s mouth twitches, “they said in the morning.”

“I’ll be here tomorrow morning,” Y/N nods.

“And when you see Peeta, can you tell him that I…” Katniss breaks off, defeated.

“We’re working hard to get Peeta back to his old self. He’s responding really well to our sessions together. But it’s going to take time.” Y/N reminds her, “there’s layers to it, because of the fear conditioning.”

“Did they- do you remember if-” Katniss forces the words past her lips. “Did they torture you?”

“Once.” Y/N admits, softly. “I haven’t told Haymitch, he’s suffered enough.”

Katniss lowers her gaze, bobbing her head once in understanding.

“I realized what they were doing, how they wanted to twist and play with my mind. I knew I’d be better off dead.”

Katniss blanches.

“That was one time with trackerjacker venom. Peeta was there for months.” That poor, sweet, tortured soul. “He’s come a long way.”

————————————————————————-

Haymitch settles Y/N in Aurelius’ office, prepared to leave but she’s got a death grip on his hand. He stands beside her chair somewhat awkwardly.

“Please, sit.” The doctor motions to a second chair, a few feet away.

“I’ll stand.”

“As you wish.” Aurelius sighs, “what brings you in today?” It’s not their weekly session.

“It’s getting worse.” Y/N tells him, “I can’t sleep, I can’t eat. My head hurts all the time. Nothing works.”

“We’re more than willing to prescribe a higher dose of morphling, but you’ve always been adamant about keeping all medications to the bare minimum.” Dr. Aurelius flips through the notes on her chart.

Y/N scrubs a hand across her forehead, “I’m still adamant. Is there nothing else we could try?”

“If I may be so bold, according to both of your accounts, prior to Y/N’s injury, physical intimacy was often used as a form of comfort and co-regulation. I would go as far as to call it psychological pain management.”

“You think sex’ll do it?” Haymitch chortles.

“Well we have to try something,” Y/N blinks up at him.

Haymitch shakes his head.

“But if that’s off the table for you, I understand.”

“I would do more for you and worse,” Haymitch grumbles. “I just don’t want to cross a line that screws up your head worse than it already is. That’s my only concern.”

“I worry about that too.” Y/N nods. “Not my head, but yours. I can’t imagine being on your side of things.” Are you in more pain than Katniss?

“Don’t worry about me, angel.”

“All I do is worry about you, because I care about you. I don’t want to lose you or hurt you in someway I don’t understand, because I tried to bash my own skull in.”

Haymitch kneels, meeting her at eye level. “You never have to worry about that. What we have, is something I never thought I could have with anyone.” Not after Lenore Dove. “You couldn’t mess it up anymore than I could, and lord knows we both did our damndest.”

Y/N rests her hand against his cheek.

“There is nothing you could say or do to change the way I feel about you. I won’t leave you alone in this.”

“Because you’ll be mine and I’ll be yours.”

Haymitch nods, “you remember that?”

“I want to remember more.” Y/N’s glossy eyes search his.

“You will,” Haymitch turns his face into her hand, kissing her palm. “You will. We have time.”

————————————————————————

When Haymitch wakes it is not to Y/N screaming, but to a hissing in his ear. “Haymitch.”

“Shhh, she’s finally sleeping.”

“Why do you think I’m yelling directly into your ear?” Madge barks.

“Madge?” Haymitch pulls the top sheet up higher around Y/N’s shoulder.

“You asked me to watch the baby so you could do this?!?” She scolds, in a whisper, “I thought you were taking her to see the doctor.”

“I did take her to the doctor and he suggested it.” Haymitch informs her.

Madge gags.

“It’s called ‘co-regulating.’”

“That’s worse somehow.”

“Listen, if it works; it works.”

Silence as Madge contemplates her next move, “I’m going to pick your children up from school in an hour, they can hang out with me for the night so she can get some rest.”

“Thank you, Madge. Best sister-in-law ever.”

“You’re welcome.” Madge storms out of the room.

————————————————————————

By the next morning Madge is in a much better mood.

Y/N looks like herself again, coming to collect the children early. “We’re going to meet Katniss, they’re discharging her from the hospital.”

“Where’s Haymitch?” Madge wonders.

“He went down to see Peeta. He told me you got into it yesterday, by the way.”

“I just want to make sure you’re ok. That’s all I care about.”

“I am,” Y/N nods. “If I’d known it was such an easy fix I would’ve-”

Madge holds a hand over her sister’s mouth, “do not finish that sentence. Ever. I’m begging you.”

Y/N laughs, moving her hand away. “Ok, ok. We’ve gotta run, but I’ll see you at the wedding, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Madge shifts between feet. “Pollux asked me to go with him.”

Y/N smiles and nods. Pollux? “I should know who that is.”

“I can reintroduce you later, but you used to work together shooting propos, before the accident.”

“I’d like that,” Y/N taps her younger sister’s chin. “See you later, Madge Pie.”

“I’m really glad to see you’re feeling better.”

“Thank you for all your help, couldn’t do this without you.”

“You’re welcome,” Madge waves her off, “and I know.”

————————————————————————-

Annie is a vision in her white gown. Finnick cleans up nice too.

Y/N and Haymitch have a perfect view of the ceremony. Everest and Arista are a few rows up with Prim and the other kids.

Daisy prefers Y/N over anyone, and at almost six months old, she doesn’t really give a shit about the wedding. Content to be in her mother’s arms.

Annie’s dress is beautiful.

Annie’s dress is…

Annie’s dress…

Annie’s dress is different than mine.

She wants to be in it.

My dress is a prison.

‘I’m going to unzip your dress.’

Her mind is warping it, twisting it into something awful. She tightens her hold on Daisy as the floor falls away beneath her, with only Haymitch keeping her upright. “They put Katniss in my dress.”

“You’re ok,” he murmurs.

Her breath comes in short, unsteady bursts. “You know what happens in that dress.”

Of all the things to remember… Why this? “You’re not there anymore.” Not in that dress, not in that room. “You’re not there. Katniss is fine. The dress is gone.”

‘Just a little pinch.’

The scene plays out before her, in its entirety. She’s trembling; all but panting. Haymitch doesn’t move, doesn’t draw any unnecessary attention, he just holds her. He’s always holding her. Making sure it doesn’t hurt. Kissing it better when it does.

“Can’t take me anywhere, huh?” Y/N attempts a jest.

“Just breathe.” Haymitch sighs, “you don’t need to laugh it off. Not with me.”

“I don’t wanna hurt you anymore, Haymitch.”

“You won’t.” Haymitch whispers.

“I made your life hell. Snow was always punishing us; hurting me to hurt you.”

“That was not your fault.” Haymitch insists, “he had it out for me long before you.”

“Because you…” I want to break the board. “You tried to break the board.”

[widowrecs]

Sleeplessness

Haymitch Abernathy x Reader

Summary: Life just isn't the same after winning the Hunger Games.

Warnings: heavily implied SA/non-con prostitution, angst, suicidal thoughts, nightmares, nudity (no smut), mentions of alcoholism, established relationship, hurt-comfort fic

Request: Could I get an angst/comfort fic with Haymitch? Reader is under the same contract with the Capital as Finnick-but is much more fragile after her games and lives with Haymitch to help take care of him and clean around to drown out her problems-added with the help of sleeping pills she takes. Both care about each other but maybe she hits a point where she breaks down after what the Capitol keeps doing to her.

A/N I'm so sorry this took so long, I got really busy

Word Count: 1.5k

Masterlist

Stumbling into the kitchen I found it a mess, just as I usually found it after spending a few days in the Capitol. The fatigue of the last few days was wearing on me as I considered whether I should go upstairs or not. But the racing thoughts in my mind immediately made the decision for me. I didn’t want to go upstairs and lay in dark silence, thinking about my most recent trip to the Capitol. So rather I picked up a plate, placing it in the sink as I started to tidy up.

Maybe any other night I would’ve taken more care to be quiet but the thought of silence made me want to scratch my own eyes out so I let the sound of running water and clinking dishes occupy my mind. I allowed myself to get lost in the task, scrubbing dishes rather than putting them in the wash. Letting the water just scald me rather than turn the temperature down.

I was only brought back to the present when I felt arms entwine around my waist and a head rest on my shoulder. A part of me immediately wanted to be released, reminded of all I had endured. But a second of consideration of my circumstances told me it was just Haymitch.

“I told you, you don’t have to clean up for me anymore,” his sleepy voice came.

“I don’t mind, I find it soothing.”

Initially after my games our relationship was purely symbiotic. Part of my victory came with the entertainment of my sponsors. Immediately after I was released from the arena—still in the Capitol—some Peacekeepers had ripped me from bed in the middle of the night to deliver me to a sponsor’s home. I had spent days after that terrified to sleep, not for fear of the nightmares from the arena, but for fear of being dragged out of bed only to end up in some wealthy guy’s bed. I had cried in my mentor’s arms for the entire rest of the time we were in the Capitol and on the train back to Twelve. Despite the big, new home waiting for me directly across from Haymitch’s, I had begged him to let me stay in one of the guest rooms for fear of being taken in the night with no witnesses. He had agreed, so long as I earned my keep so I had spent the last three years taking care of him. Even when our relationship became more than symbiotic, I still took care of him.

“I’ll hire one of the Seam kids to clean up,” Haymitch insisted, his fingers stroking through my hair. “Let’s go to bed. There’s more of your medicine if you want.”

I paused for a moment, just staring at the soapy glass in my hand. I didn’t want to shut my eyes—it truly was the last thing I wanted to do. I hated those pills, Snow gave them to Haymitch to help me sleep but I think they’re just another avenue of continued torture. Rather than help my sleep, they just trap me in my nightmares. Even being beside Haymitch I dreaded the nightmares that would inevitably plague my mind.

“That’s okay,” I dismissed. “I’ll be up in a few.”

When he sighed I knew that he saw right through me. We both had sleep issues, as was typical of victors. But he had managed to find peace in drunken hazes—another factor when it came to me caring for him. I had refused to touch the stuff after my games, terrified to wind up with nothing. And Snow’s pills were enough of a deterrence away from any other sort of substance.

Pressing one last kiss against my temple he pulled away reluctantly. “Okay,” he agreed, although he didn’t sound convinced. As he retreated I remained practically frozen until I heard his steps, heavy with exhaustion and liquor, reach the top of the stairs.

Returning to my mindless task, I tried to let my mind go blank. I found that I could do that sometimes, it felt like the only time I could truly relax. As I fell back into a systematic routine, my mind began to wander rather than stay still in murky nothingness.

Shivers went down my spine as I swore I could feel the hands of Capitol citizens on me. Increasing the speed of the water, I stuck my hands under the flow as I cleaned, trying to let the real feeling replace the phantom ones. Trying to dissociate again, I was dragged out of my peace by false noises. I could’ve sworn I heard noise at the front door, my hand snapping out to slam the faucet off. I didn’t dare move as I carefully listened for the sound of Peacekeepers outside my door. But after five minutes of just standing there in silence, I finally realized there was no one there.

Giving up on trying to distract myself, I headed upstairs. The kitchen was mostly clean anyways. But as I reached the landing, looking into the dark abyss of my bedroom—the door to which was slightly ajar—I found myself dreading sleep. I knew what waited for me in my dreams. The arena, the Capitol. All things I was supposed to be able to get away from when I came home. But I was robbed of peace the second I was born into this district rather than a life of luxury in the Capitol.

Turning to the bathroom, I decided to try to overwhelm my senses with a hot bath. At least the one solace I took in being a victor was access to hot water and a nice home.

~

Haymitch stirred as soft sobs penetrated his sleep. He was almost immediately awake as he processed what he was hearing. The sounds of his lover’s cries were quite possibly one of the worst sounds he had ever heard. Aside from her screaming for him when Peacekeepers dragged her out of their home and others were holding him back.

Scrambling out of bed, he saw the light in the bathroom was on. Reaching for the door, he found it locked, the handle not moving. “N/n?” he called through the door, the nervousness clear. “Can you open the door for me?” Hearing nothing, he got more nervous. “Y/n? Can you hear me?” Still nothing. “Look, if you don’t open the door I’m gonna break it down,” he warned, his tone becoming more frantic.

Finally, he heard water sloshing as she stepped out of the tub. He heard the lock click and his hand immediately flew to the handle, wrenching it open. Fortunately for her she had already backed away from the door and was now sinking back into the tub.

Haymitch just stared at her for a second as she was turned away from him. Only her upper back and her hair was exposed to him as she hugged her knees to her chest, trying to preserve her warmth in the already cooling bathtub.

“Hey, what’s going on?” he asked as he carefully rounded to the side of the tub. He took in her fragile figure, horrified to see a bite mark on her shoulder and light scratches on her arms. He dreaded to see what the rest of her looked like although he had seen her look worse after a trip to the Capitol.

She just sniffled, burying her face into her arms. They sat in quiet solitude for a moment, Haymitch just staring at her in concern. “‘M just so tired,” her words came out slurred.

Her mentor sighed, knowing just how much she had been struggling with this. “I know you don’t like them but-” he couldn’t even finish his sentence before she retreated further into herself, her body shaking with sobs.

“I can’t,” she cried. “I can’t take them anymore. I can’t take any of this anymore! I wish I died in there.” Her voice raised as she continued into desperate sobs of anguish.

“Hey,” Haymitch tried to interrupt her. Not caring about getting his sweatpants or t-shirt wet he reached into the tub, tugging her towards him so he could wrap his arms around her. He pulled her into him, angling her so she could bury her face in his shoulder. “Hey,” he tried to soothe, a hand rubbing against her bare back, careful to avoid her shoulder. “You’re okay,” he tried to assure, pulling away enough to press a kiss to her head before pulling her into him once again.

“You’re okay,” he repeated, wracking his brain for the right words to say. “I know you’re tired, I know it hurts, but don’t ever say that again,” he murmured softly. “I cannot lose you. I’m so sorry the games happened to you. I’m sorry about what’s happening to you. But I need you here with me. I love you.”

Masterlist

[widowrecs]

hi! is there any way you can write a pt 2 of a pawn once more? maybe turn it into a series? i just read it and LOVED it, your writing is beautiful!

Ask and you shall receive!!!!!

A Pawn Once More (2)

Character: Haymitch Abernathy

Requested: Sorta??? Lol I've been seeing all the love it's been getting.

Type: Angst/ Fluff

Summary: You're trying to figure out if you should listen to your heart or follow your head.

Part 1: Here

Part 3: Here

A.N: I haven't read Sunrise on the Reaping, so please, No Spoilers. It's a Female!Reader. Age Gap: Haymitch is 41 and Reader is in her 20s (preferably 25)

I honestly wasn’t expecting this to get so much love — thank you all so much! I've seen a lot of people asking for it to become a series, and the truth is, I actually started this one-shot right in the middle of everything. There’s so much more I can write — backstory, missing context, and I could even take it all the way through Mockingjay Part 2 and beyond.

Let me know what you want to see, and I’ll gladly make it happen!

My inbox is always open and y'all I love your comments! Soooo please comment!!!!!!

You couldn’t breathe.

It wasn’t just the bodysuit—though it clung too tightly to your ribs—but the panic.

The cold, creeping panic of being back. The fear you thought you'd buried, the ghosts you thought you'd left behind—they were all clawing their way back to the surface.

How unlucky were you, really? To be given a second round of memories. A cruel encore.

"Breathe. Breathe. Breathe." The words barely made it past your lips, more breath than voice, a desperate mantra as you stepped into the Chariot Staging Area.

You just needed to find Haymitch.

If you could hear his voice, meet his eyes, feel his presence—maybe then the terror would loosen its grip. Maybe then you could breathe.

“You look stunning!” your stylist chirped, smoothing your hair and flicking back a few stubborn flyaways. Her hands were quick, practiced, and utterly unaware of the storm brewing inside you.

You were dressed in a sleek black bodysuit, tailored like a second skin. Woven into the fabric were delicate fiber-optic threads that pulsed in slow, elegant waves, mimicking lightning bolts across your body. A walking storm.

“This beautiful number responds to movement,” she said proudly. “The lights will shift and pulse with every gesture. I’ll be operating the pattern controls—you just need to wave and look pretty.”

You nodded absently, your attention already drifting, eyes scanning the room like sonar.

You needed to find him.

“Little bird looking for me?” You turned, and there he was—Gloss, standing with that signature smirk, arms crossed like he owned the room.

“You look breathtaking,” he said, eyeing the suit with an appreciative nod. “I swear, you’ve got enough power in you to light up all of Panem.”

A genuine laugh escaped you, small but real, and you stepped forward to pull him into a hug. “Flattery will get you nowhere,” you said, voice lighter. “But it’s good to see you, Glossy. Where’s Cash?”

“Here I am!” a familiar voice called.

You turned to see Cash striding over, flanked by Enobaria and Brutus. A wave of warmth surged through your chest. You moved quickly, gathering them all into a hug.

These weren’t just allies. These were your people. Friends who understood the weight behind your eyes. The ache in your chest. The blood on your hands. Because they were the exact same way. As broken as you were.

Once, when you were young, it seemed impossible to be asked to kill strangers. And now? Now you were being asked to kill your friends.

“How are you all?” you asked, voice soft. “I’m sorry I missed the last hangout. I had food poisoning. And I’m even sorrier that this is how we’re seeing each other again.”

You gave them a sad smile. The kind that meant more than words ever could.

“This was definitely a turn of events,” Enobaria muttered, rolling her eyes.

“Never thought I’d have to set foot back here as a tribute,” Cash added, shaking her head.

Everyone nodded grimly. You all had the same unspoken thought: peace was promised. And then peace was stolen.

Brutus looked across the room, tipping his chin toward the group. “So? Should we expect you and Mason to join us?” You raised an eyebrow. He went on.“I doubt we’ll offer that to District 4. I love Mags, but this isn’t about friendship. It’s about survival. Or are you planning to side with the newbies for your husband’s sake?”

You met his gaze, firm and unflinching. “You already know the answer to that, Brutus. Those kids? They’re basically his. Which means… they’re mine, too.”

Enobaria let out a slow sigh, stepping closer. “Just don’t put their lives above your own. And don’t forget about Mason. You have to think about him. Plust those kids…” Her next words hit harder than you were ready for. “--they’re the reason we’re here. If just one of them had died... we wouldn’t be back in this arena and we all know it. And look at us we’re stuck here once again and now we have to kill each other.”

The silence was immediate and suffocating.

No one spoke.

Because she wasn’t wrong.

It was the truth everyone avoided speaking out loud—but now that it hung in the air, you all had to face it.

Bitterness curled in your stomach, uninvited but undeniable. You hated feeling it. Hated that it made sense.

“Hey,” Cash cut in sharply, eyes narrowing at Enobaria. “Stop. Whatever happens, happens. We keep it fast. We keep it painless. Right?”

Everyone nodded. Even Enobaria.

Then Cash turned to you, her voice lowering.

“I would really love for District 5 to join us,” she said. “We love you. And we love Mason. But I get it. You’re looking out for your husband. That’s not cowardice—that’s loyalty. It’s love. Just… if anything changes, you’re always welcome here.”

She gave you a tight hug and stepped away. Gloss winked and followed. Enobaria gave you a rare side hug. Brutus patted your shoulder, rough and sincere, before the group slipped into the crowd.

And then you were alone again. Not alone in the room—but alone in the way that mattered.

Your eyes scanned once more, heart pounding harder now.

For him.

And then you saw her—Katniss. Standing with Peeta. Not speaking. Not blinking. Just... watching.

You hadn’t spoken yet. You and Haymitch had always kept your relationship quiet, tucked away where the Capitol couldn't twist it. Mentors by day. Lovers by night. The other victors knew. Your families knew. But to the Capitol?

It had to stay hidden.

Some things were too sacred to put on display.

Last night had nearly shattered that wall. You’d broken down behind a closed door, only to feel their eyes on you through the crack—Katniss, Peeta, and even Effie.

But Haymitch had pulled you away, shielding you from their stares. From their pity.

And now, Katniss was watching again.

You met her gaze, steady and calm, and offered a soft smile. A small nod.

She mattered. They both did.

You needed her to trust you.

Because Haymitch did. And you saw it—how he cared for them. The soft way he spoke to them. The cracks in his armor, carefully hidden but real. He was letting himself feel again.

He was learning to love. Openly. Fiercely. Just like you had always wished he would. And because of that, you would do whatever it took to protect them. By your life… or by your death.

Katniss gave you the smallest of nods. Then turned away.

You exhaled—slowly, shakily.

A small victory.

Maybe the only kind left.

A warm hand caught your arm. Mason.

“You ready for this?” he asked, helping you up into the carriage.

You nodded. “Smile and wave,” you said softly.

The chariots began to roll and the sound hit like thunder. A roar of applause, cheers, screams. Your lungs tightened. The noise pressed in from every side. Your hands trembled. Sweat gathered along your brow. You felt like you were drowning in the sound.

Mason’s grip on your hand tightened. He could feel your fear. But he wasn’t the one you needed.

You needed Haymitch.

His voice. His eyes. His strength.

You scanned the audience, heart hammering wildly. Too many faces. Too much light. Too much noise.

And then—there.

You found him.

He stood behind the others, half-hidden, quiet as always. But his eyes were on you.

Only you.

You felt your shoulders drop. Your breath returned. You smiled softly

And he winked.

Just like that, the panic loosened. The thunder of the Capitol became background noise. The trembling in your fingers eased.

You could do this.

You could finish the parade.

Because he saw you. Because he was there.

And that was enough.

*******

You hated looking at yourself in the mirror. You always had. Especially after the Games.

Back then, at sixteen, you’d stare at your reflection and search for something—someone—you recognized. But all you ever saw were the eyes of the people you killed, their final moments etched behind your own. 

You didn’t see a girl. You didn’t see a victor. You saw a murderer.

And now, nearly a decade later, here you were—twenty-five years old, staring into the same damn mirror, in the same damn room, waiting to face the same horrors.

Except this time, you weren’t naïve enough to believe you’d make it out.

You knew the moment you volunteered.

This was your end.

A knock at the door snapped you out of your thoughts. “Darling, we need to go,” Mason’s voice called gently from the hall. “We need all the training we can get.”

You looked at yourself one last time.

A murderer. A lunatic. A dead man walking.

You blinked away the tears, jaw tightening. Then you tied your ponytail higher—tighter—like it might hold you together a little longer.

You stepped out to meet Mason.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice laced with that familiar worry. He always worried. Especially about you. You were the little sister he never had—and now the two of you were walking into hell all over again.

“Well enough,” you replied, offering him a small smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “But it’s fine.”

He didn’t believe you. But he nodded.

You were grateful, at least, that you’d never really stopped training after your Games. You were constantly on edge, and staying active had become your only way to keep the nightmares at bay. The gym had always felt more familiar than your own home.

The Training Center was exactly how you remembered it: the scent of metal, sweat, and Capitol sterilization. Clean and gleaming, like death dressed up in a ballgown. Everything here looked expensive. Perfect. Soulless.

You and Mason stood shoulder to shoulder on the rising platform. The doors opened, revealing the training floor—wide, cold, and humming with tension.

Tributes filled the space, moving like restless ghosts. Silent, watchful, already assessing one another like it was the arena.

You tensed immediately. The smell. The sound. The weight in the air. It all pulled you backward, to the first time. The fear. The blood. The moment everything changed.

You scanned the floor, searching for him. For Haymitch.

But he wasn’t here.

Mason nudged you gently. “He’s probably hungover. He’ll be down in a minute.”

You nodded, but your mind was still spinning. You didn’t want to be here. Not really. You didn’t want to spar or strategize or throw knives at holograms. You wanted to find Haymitch. You wanted to hold his hand and talk about nothing. You wanted to remember what it felt like to be alive before the arena took everything again.

But the odds were never in your favor.

“I say we stick with the Careers,” Mason murmured, arms crossed over his chest as he nodded toward the familiar pack from Districts 1, 2, and 4. “They’ve got numbers. They’re predictable. We know how they move, how they think. We get in, stay close, bail when it gets ugly. And hey—if we do die, at least it'll be quick and painless.”

You didn’t respond immediately.

Your eyes drifted across the floor, landing on Katniss and Peeta as they entered the room. Their posture was stiff. Guarded. Haymitch still nowhere in sight.

You sighed. “We can’t.”

Mason’s brow furrowed. “We can’t what?”

“We can’t team up with the Careers.”

You turned to him fully, voice steady, even as your heart pounded. “We need to stick with District 12. With them.”

He stared at you like you’d lost your mind. “Are you serious? Y/N, come on. They’re kids. They won out of dumb luck.”

You met his stare. “We all won out of luck.”

“You know what I mean.” He stepped closer, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “Everyone here won. They’re strong. Dangerous. But you want to team up with the wide-eyed girl and her boy toy? Compared to the Careers? Darling, please.”

“I’m not asking you,” you said quietly. The edge in your voice cut sharper than you meant it to. “I’m telling you. I’m staying with them. You can make your own call.”

There was a pause. Not anger—just tension. Thick with history. With grief.

Mason’s jaw clenched. “This isn’t like last time, Y/N. This isn’t your Games. This isn’t about heart or honor or—whatever the hell you and Haymitch have going on now. This is survival.”

You looked him straight in the eye. “Exactly. And it’s their survival I’m fighting for.”

His voice dropped. “And what about you?”

You hesitated, but he caught it. Your silence was louder than any answer.

“Look,” you began, softer now, “I’m not asking you to follow me—”

But he cut you off, stepping closer.

“You don’t have to! We’re partners. I’m sticking by you. I always have.” His voice cracked, just slightly. “I just want you to think. Really think, before you throw yourself into a losing bet. There’s a smarter play here. You know that.”

“I do,” you said. “But sometimes the smart play isn’t the right one.”

He exhaled harshly and scrubbed a hand over his face. “You want to help Haymitch. I get that. I do. But we both know it was luck that those two made it out. Pure, stupid luck. But you. You can win. You can make it back to your family. I’ll help you get there.”

You were about to say something to Mason—something half-formed and already losing shape in your mouth—when you heard his voice.

“Y/N! Mason!”

Your head turned faster than your heart could catch up. And there he was.

Your husband.

That familiar flutter of your heart. Like it always did. You hadn’t seen him in a day? But even now, with him just a few feet away, it felt like a lifetime had passed. You missed him deeply.

Trailing behind him were Katniss and Peeta.

“I want to formally introduce you to my victors,” Haymitch said, stopping in front of you. “Katniss and Peeta. Guys, this is Y/N and Mason. District 5.”

“Hey,” Mason said, flashing that strained, too-polished smile he always wore around new people. He gave your shoulder a quick pat. “I’m gonna go see what Gloss and Brutus are up to. Grab me when you’re done.”

Then he leaned in, low enough for only you to hear. “Please… think about what I said.”

You nodded, not trusting your voice. He gave you a look—worried, conflicted—and walked off.

You turned back to the trio.“Sorry about him,” you said with a soft exhale. “He’s… under pressure…but aren’t we all?”

Your gaze lingered on Haymitch for half a second longer than it should’ve. You didn’t need to explain more. He already knew.

Then you looked at Katniss and Peeta, offered a small smile, and reached out your hand. “I’m Y/N. I’ve heard a lot about you both. What you did—how you handled everything—it was impressive.”

Peeta was the first to move. His handshake was firm, warm. His eyes kind. “It’s good to meet you. We, uh… we watched your Games last night.” He hesitated, then smiled a little. “You were incredible. And also… slightly terrifying.”

You actually laughed. “Don’t worry,” you said. “If things go well, you won’t have to be scared of me.”

Haymitch cleared his throat, arms crossed, already watching the storm gather in Katniss’s face. “I was telling them you and Mason would be good allies. They seemed open to it.”

Katniss turned sharply toward him. “No, we didn’t.”

You blinked, trying to keep your expression neutral, but her words stung.

She folded her arms, looking you up and down like she was trying to see beneath your skin. “How are we supposed to trust you if you’re still with him? He clearly wants nothing to do with us.”

Your voice was quiet but steady. “I can handle Mason. He’ll follow my lead. He won’t be a threat.”

“Yeah, well,” she said, turning away, “I don’t trust you either.” And just like that, she was gone. Peeta followed, his face apologetic but silent.

You stood there for a beat too long, your hand still halfway raised before you let it fall.

Haymitch ran a hand down his face. “She’s scared,” he muttered. “She’s trying to protect him. She’s paranoid—on edge.”

You shook your head, arms wrapping around your chest like armor. “I get it. I really do. But if she won’t trust me, Mason’s going to dig in even harder. He’s already eyeing the Careers, and they really want us. They’re not taking District 4.”

Haymitch glanced toward where Mason was sparring with Brutus, the clang of metal echoing through the air like thunder. He winced.

“You thinking of going with them?”

You turned back to him slowly, locking eyes. “You really asking me that?”

Silence.

“I’m here,” you said. “With Twelve. With you. That’s not changing.”

He nodded, but you could see it—the guilt. The weight of what he was asking from you. Of what he couldn’t promise in return.

“I’ll talk to her,” he said finally. “I’ll get her to see reason. But you’ve gotta keep Mason from jumping ship. We don’t win this if he flips.”

You followed his gaze. Mason was grinning now, laughing at something Brutus said. “He can go if he wants,” you said quietly. “I told him. But my alliance is here. I made that choice.”

For you. You didn’t say it out loud. But Haymitch knew.

The noise of training continued around you—grunts, shouts, weapons clashing—but for a second, it all felt muffled. The pressure building behind your ribs was harder to ignore by the minute.

You looked at Haymitch again and tried not to let the fear show. But he saw it. He always saw it.

And that was part of what made this so unbearable.

“How are you feeling?”  He asks the question softly, like it’s the only one that matters. You know his eyes are tracing the lines of your face, trying to read the answer that you’re not saying out loud. The panic attack you’d had with him still lingers in his mind — a tightness in his chest he can’t shake. He’s scared, just like you are. The separation, even this small distance between you, feels like a raw wound. Every second without you feels like it’s eating at him from the inside out.

You shrug, doing your best to sound nonchalant. “I’m fine enough. Haven’t had another panic attack... yet. But it gets close sometimes.” You try to offer a half-smile, but it’s hollow. You can feel it — the weight of everything about to happen. And it’s suffocating.

His fingers twitch, almost as if he’s reaching for you before realizing he can’t. The frustration is written all over him. He needs to touch you. Needs to hold you, but everything feels like it’s out of his reach.

“You’ve only got a few days left until—” He doesn’t finish. He doesn’t need to. You both know what’s coming. The suffocating fear. The arena. The uncertainty. But for a second, you don’t want to hear it. Not from him.

“I walk into my death?” You let out a shaky laugh, trying to break the tension with humor that doesn’t quite land. “I promise to make it as epic as possible.”

You turn to look at him, but his eyes are hard, like he’s trying to hold it all together, and he doesn’t like what you’re saying.

“What?” you ask, but you already know.

“Don’t say that.” His voice is low, urgent. His brow furrows as he steps closer, his gaze sharp. “Never say that.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, a dull pain spreading through you. “I’m sorry.” The words fall out before you can stop them, but it feels too late to take them back.

“I need you out of that arena.” His voice is raw, like it’s the one thing he can cling to. “I don’t know what I’d do if you don’t.”

You know that’s the truth. You can see it in his eyes, that quiet desperation. He’s already lost so much. He can’t lose you too. But you’re not sure how to make him understand that you’ve already made peace with the reality.

You turn your body toward him, not daring to reach out because of the eyes on you both. But this — this moment — this conversation, it’s just between the two of you. You need him to see you, to know you’re still there, even when it feels like everything is about to come crashing down.

“Haymitch,” your voice is softer now, the lump in your throat growing. “We’re going to be fine. No matter what happens, okay? In sickness and in health. In better or for worse. Death won’t do us part.” Your breath hitches, and you try to hold back the tears, but they spill anyway. “I love you more than you’ll ever know.”

There’s a tremor in his eyes, like he’s holding something back. But it’s his voice that cracks this time, just a little. “And I love you,” he says, his words lingering between you both. “Which is why I don’t like that you sound so defeated.” His voice is a whisper now, almost lost in the space between you.

It’s true. He’s only seen you three times. And all those times, you’ve looked at him like you’ve already accepted your fate. And that’s the part he can’t handle. The part that tears at him in a way he’ll never be able to explain.

“It’s not defeat.” Your voice is stronger now, though it still trembles. “I’ve accepted it. I won’t be as lucky as I was the first time around. And honestly, I don’t think I want to be. Not with them.” You gesture to the others around you — the tributes who would be in the arena with you. “And definitely not if it’s against your kids.”

He bristles at the mention of them, his expression hardening in that way you’ve come to know well. “They’re not my kids.” His tone is sharp, defensive.

You roll your eyes, though the sadness creeps back in. “You’re letting them into your heart, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.” You smile, but it’s bittersweet. “It’s such an honor seeing the light shine back into your eyes.”

His gaze softens, but his voice drops, rough and honest. “I’ve had light from the moment we kissed. You are my light. And that’s why I need you to stop talking like you’ve already lost.” He steps closer, his hand hovering like he wants to touch you but is afraid to. His breath is ragged. “The Abernathy’s don’t give up.” He’s trying, trying so hard to convince you both. But the truth is, you’ve already decided.

“They don’t.” You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “And that’s why, whatever happens, I’m going to need you to remember that.”

How could you still try to take care of him when you were the one who needed the comfort? You were supposed to be the one being held, not the other way around. But he was still trying to do it — trying to take care of you in whatever broken way he could.

“I’ll figure something out,” he says, his eyes burning with determination. “Trust me, okay? I’ll figure something out. And both you and the kids... you’ll be okay. I’ll make sure of it.” He reaches for your hand quickly, squeezing it tight. You can feel the heat of his palm, the raw, frantic pulse beneath his skin. His eyes meet yours for just a second, and he gives you a wink, a shaky attempt at something like normal. “Now, I have to go find where that girl ran off to. I swear, she’s becoming more of a pain in my ass this time around. And Peeta’s following her like a lost puppy.”

You chuckle softly, the sound breaking the tension between you both. “But you love them.” You smile up at him.

He shakes his head, his smile small but real. “But I love you more.”

And in that moment, you know he means it. Even if you’re both standing on the edge of an abyss. Even if you don’t know how you’ll survive the next few days, or if you’ll survive at all. Haymitch’s love is the only thing in this world that feels like it might be enough to hold you together.

But you can’t say that. You can’t say anything. Because the truth is, you’re terrified.

And you’re not sure you can be brave enough for both of you.

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Taglist ( I hope I did this right)

@nikki-is-a-nerd , @quantumorquanta, @starvedhoe, @it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream , @andthevillainshallrises , @how-am-i-serpose-to-know , @honeybunnyboobear , @dedicatedfangirl2001 , @godwhyamionhere , @yoursrosie , @darylmysavior , @crossfandomslut , @passionkillerphil , @fallout-girl219 , @ramennudel , @onlyrealjoy , @narliesstuff

[widowrecs]

Endure and Survive

prompt: ( x4 ? requested ) you need Joel to survive after enduring the unimaginable.

pairing: Joel Miller x female!wife!reader -> only height mentioned: you're shorter than Joel

fandom masterlist: HBO's The Last of Us

word count: 12k+

warnings: obvious spoilers, S2E2 reader insert, Fix It Joel, Joel Miller survives / lives, AU timeline, cursing, mentions blood and injury, guns, dead bodies, parentified!reader, wife!reader, found family obviously - Ellie calls you 'mom'. mentions of explicit material: marijuana / weed, the horses have names idc, established relationship, angst, hurt / comfort, drama, depiction of anxiety and panic attacks, not edited, Lord's name in vain, single Spanish word. imagination, caution, and maturity required. happy but abrupt ending, possible (past) morally grey!reader, petnames.

You woke earlier than your husband as usual, humming in the first streaks of morning light; stretching minimally as to not wake the man beside you, whose bare legs were tangled with yours. However, try as you might, the arm coiled around your waist constricted to a bruising strength; which caused your lips to stretch in a bemused grin.

"Sun ain't up," his gruff, gravely voice grated in your ear.

"Mh," you hummed, "but it is."

"Not if you shut your eyes."

"Still work that needs done."

"C'mon, baby, can spare another hour."

With a sigh, you laid your arm over his, "You know today's not the day for delay." He huffed, knowing you were right. "You know," you turned over in his embrace to greet the lightly tanned face aged with freckles and faint liver spots, decorated with few scars, "should ask Ellie t'go on patrol with you this mornin'."

"Baby."

"Joel."

"She's... Still a bit pissed."

"Okay, but what teenage daughter isn't?" You snickered.

"She ain't mad at you."

"'Cause I let her fight her own battles."

"Oh, so, now it's my fault for wantin' to protect her?"

"I didn't say that," you sighed with a patient smile. "But Ellie's not that vulnerable, green 14-year-old we met in Boston, baby. And... Look, I'm not saying Seth ain't deserve it, but they were walking away. You and I could've gone a different route, you know?"

"As her parents - "

"It's our right to protect our kid," you insisted. "But consider the circumstances, I think you embarrassed her a little."

"How?" You just offered him a knowing look, making Joel groan, "Fine, all right? Fine, I know, it was public - "

"So very public."

"And she was gonna say her own piece... But if not then, when the fuck am I supposed to step in? What he said was homophobic, doll, if we let him get away with it, would've opened the door for him or anyone else to run their mouth."

"We beat the shit outta him in an alley, of course. Or, you know, maaaybe we go out on patrol together and maaaybe they don't come back?"

"Yeah, yeah," he groaned, "but I ain't think."

"That's one thing I love about you - you act first. It's very noble, like you just have this inherent sense of right and wrong. Never really need time to think."

Joel chuckled, "It's too early for the sweet talk."

"It's never too early - especially when you're protectin' our girl. It's hot..."

"You just said - "

"I never said you were wrong, I'm just trying to take Ellie's perspective into account. Look, she's at that age where life feels invincible, where she's been through more than we can truly fathom - so, she feels twice the age she really is. But she's still young, still a trigger-happy-moron and will never stop needing her parents. She just wants to feel like she's a bit of independence, like we trust her to fight her own battles and handle her own shit. I think we're supposed to just... I don't know, keep watch and jump in if she can't handle it. You know? But we gotta give her the opportunity to do it on her own in the first place."

Joel offered you a side-ways glance, "You been talkin' to Gail?"

"Fuck off," you snickered, trying to sit up but being wrangled back into the sheets. "Joel," you laughed, "we gotta get gone. C'mon, you heard what happened last night - "

"Just ten more minutes, baby, please."

"You really wanna risk Maria siccing Benji on us again? I'm pretty sure we traumatized him last time, Maria said he kept asking if that's where babies come from."

You swore his cheeks bloomed brightly, but it was quickly hidden as his face shoved into your neck with a gruff sort of whimper. "Guess not..."

Taking pity, your hands shot into his salty locks to rake your nails over his scalp soothingly. "Ten minutes, handsome, then I gotta get to the stable."

Ten minutes with Joel turned into 30 easily, but it was worth the reprimand from Maria just to be able to get extra time in his arms and peacefully have coffee together before a long day. She asked you to send Ellie to her before she left on patrol, then requested you go with her - if only for your own peace of mind, knowing she's safe. After the previous night's report of a horde of Infected lying in wait under the snow and about 30 other frozen Infected used as insulation, she felt better sending you with the two young adults.

However, during your morning chores in the stables, you were surprised to see Joel, Dina, and Jesse enter together; asking for their usual mounts as the young man leaned on the stall beside you.

You shot Joel an annoyed look, but he just sighed, "I wanted t'go with her, baby, swear; but Ellie had a long night, you know? Should let her sleep a bit."

"Joel."

"It's all right, Dina said she'd go instead."

Your head shook, "Fine, but we're having family dinner tonight - no exceptions. Y'all gotta talk this shit out, okay? The tension's drivin' me insane."

"Me too," Dina quipped with a small smirk.

"Me three," Jesse chimed in, snickering when you and Joel pinned him with looks; only yours was out of amusement and his, out of annoyance.

"Family dinner, kid," he repeated.

You chuckled with Jesse and Dina, asking the young man, "Whatcha need, bud? You goin' with them, too? We sending trios now?"

"Nah, Maria said I'm going with you and Ellie," Jesse informed, and only Dina clocked the way Joel's shoulders released from the perpetual tension they were haunched in.

"Yeah, all right, cool," you agreed with a small sniffle. "Lemme get these two up and out - I'll get our horses after."

"Baby," Joel stepped up, "let Ellie sleep a bit more."

"We'll have her up for 8 o'clock patrol," you nodded, wrapping your arms around his waist to hang off his form and for hands to squeeze your hips. "Now, what're y'all gonna do?"

"Radio in."

"How often?"

"Every 20 minutes, doll."

"And?"

"Stay safe."

"And?"

"Don't be reckless."

"And?"

"Am I forgettin' one of your rules?"

"Mhm, I literally just said it - "

"Oh! I know, I know!" Dina waved her hand in the air, grinning, "Be home in time for family dinner!"

"That's my smart girl," you praised, making the girl preen with pride.

Joel chuckled, "Yeah, sugar, we'll be back in time. Channel 7 for us, right?"

"Exactly," you breathed, sudden nerves spiking to make your face fall as your eyes swept over his face. "Listen to me, don't play hero, Joel, y'all are just scoutin' the area, all right? You get the fuck outta there if something's up, don't try t'fight."

"I know, honey."

"And bring my Dina home in one piece, please. Preferably, fully thawed and unscathed."

Joel smirked, "Always do. You stay safe, too, baby. Hey - keep an eye on my wife, kid," he directed at Jesse.

"She's the one with a quick drawl, usually saves my ass," he mused.

"Then don't need saving," Joel warned in a growl.

"Yes, sir."

"Okay, that's enough," with a chuckle, you patted Joel's waist and released him. In an effort to help you all identify one another when out there, you informed, "Dina, you're on Butterscotch, Joel, I got you on Cooper. Jesse, you're gonna be on Dewey, I'll put Ellie on Bean, and I'm taking Luxor."

Dina smiled as she approached her horse, "Thanks, Y/N. We'll be back soon."

"Yeah, I'll grab Ellie and meet you at the gate," Jesse agreed.

"Oh, uh, Maria wants a word before we go - so, can you make sure Ellie sees her?"

"Yes, ma'am. Where at?"

"Uh, probably the cantina - Tommy's gonna address the people, she'll be there with Benji."

"Right. On it," he offered you his fist to bump before heading out of the stable to do whatever he needed prior to patrol.

"Hey," Joel muttered, earning your attention, "you look worried. You good, baby?"

"Yeah, just... Something in the air, I guess." You glanced at Dina a few stalls up, lowering your voice, "It's remindin' me of KC, you know? Them fuckers lying in wait underground?"

"I know, baby, me too."

"And after Ellie's report, sounds like they're evolvin'. Joel, just... Be careful out there, all right? Don't take any chances, please, and just - look, I know you're not one to run from danger, but things are different now. You don't always gotta be so brave and tough, sometimes it's for the greater good to just run."

"I'll keep Dina safe, we won't take no risks, sweetheart. Promise."

"Good," you sighed. "C'mere, besos, please."

"Lessons with Tommy payin' off, I see," he grinned with pride. "Love hearin' you talk like that, baby, does somethin' t'me."

"I know, that's why I'm learnin'," you whispered, lifting to your toes in order to press a kiss to his lips. "Love you, handsome."

"Hm," he kept you close, stealing another kiss, "love you more, sweetheart. You be careful, too. We got dinner plans."

"Exactly. Now, go on, get gone, the sooner y'all head out, sooner you'll be back, right?"

"In theory."

"Make it in practice," you snipped, smirking into one final kiss. Joel sighed and released you, turning to grab Cooper. You left Luxor on cross ties to walk the pair to the front gate; hand laced tightly with Joel's as the three of you made mindless conversation about whatever you planned for dinner. You gave Dina a leg-up into her saddle, bidding, "Stay safe, kid."

"Always am," she smiled.

"Fuckin' liar, just listen to Joel, please, c'mon," you snorted, making her laugh as you turned for your husband.

"I'll see you soon," he assured, pecking your lips before hauling himself to Cooper's saddle. You frowned and kept pace with his side, calling for the gates to open. "Love you, baby," Joel hushed as he nudged his horse forward.

"Love you," you called, keeping the nerves out of your tone; watching them through the gate as the air turned poignant. You couldn't pin point it, but something felt... Strange. Off. Odd. Unsure and disproportionate. You heard the gate guards announce their departure, watching them for only a few moments before gesturing for the door to close up.

You missed the way Joel turned in the saddle to catch the last fleeting glimpse of you before the wood cut off all sight. Dina smirked, "Dude, you're whipped."

"Got a lady like mine, you would be, too. Now, c'mon."

Ellie pinned you with an unamused glare as she and Jesse approached about an hour later, taking hold of Bean's reins while snipping, "Really? You tell Seth to fucking apologize?"

"What's that?" You blinked.

"You said Maria wanted to talk to me - it was so Seth could apologize or whatever."

"Oh. Hm..."

"You didn't know?"

"Nah, kid, Maria just told me she wanted a word before we left," you informed, letting Jesse take the reins of his horse, Dewey. "I've learned my lesson 'bout askin' stupid questions. Usually, questionin' Maria is stupid."

"Right," she sighed, watching you from her own saddle as you mounted Luxor. The three of you moved together out of Jackson's gates, hearing the guards announce the departure, and venturing into the vast, open nothingness. Ellie eyed the grey skies wearily, asking you, "Are we worrying about that?"

"Nah, should just be up in the mountains," Jesse answered for the both of you - but for an unshakeable reason, you couldn't agree.

"Fucking hope so," Ellie mused. "Ten seconds in, I already can't feel my ass."

"You get some breakfast, babe?" You asked, eyeing Ellie.

"Huh? Oh, uh, no, but I'm all right."

"Fuck that," you sighed, reaching for the saddle bag. "Here, I got, uh... It ain't much, but eggs are good protein."

"Oh..." Ellie accepted the two hard boiled eggs you produced; unwrapping the cling wrap to hand back. Supplies were few and far between, everyone saving whatever material they could for repeat use after cleaning it. "Thanks, Y/N." You nodded, nudging Luxor into a trot. "Hey, uh... You let Joel and Dina go alone?"

"'Let'?" You snorted, "C'mon, honey, you know either of them to do anything I say?"

"Joel, yes... Dina... Not so much."

You and Jesse chuckled, turning off towards Cottonwood as a harsh, bitter wind swept over the three of you. It felt like the hand of Death; doing what you could to ignore your anxiety.

Amy's radio transmission barely reached you as the blizzard had rolled over the town you trotted through. She called for all patrols to return to Jackson, but the wind, snow, and frigid temperatures prevented your escape; already a couple hours from home base. Naturally, you were the decision maker and informed Amy you'd shelter in place until the worst of the storm had passed, leading Jesse and Ellie towards one of the cleared-out garages you knew of in the ghost town.

The horses were left with a supply of hay, knowing they needed rest and fed before attempting to brave the weather back to Jackson. You were familiar with this particular area after clearing and securing it just that past fall with Jesse, the two youngsters following you at a jog for the usual convenience store patrol members had commandeered. You yanked the door open, met with the sweeping smell of stale weed and seeping snow; panting as you slammed the door and dropped your pack almost instantly.

"You good? You all right?" You checked the kids, watching Jesse nod as Ellie was stalking around the rows of growing marijuana plants.

"Am I fucking hallucinating?" She asked gleefully.

"Maybe. Do you see a 7-Eleven full of weed?" Jesse mused, trailing after you towards the radio.

"Yep."

"Then no," he sighed, kneeling before the wood stove. "Hey, Y/N?"

"Yeah, honey?" You asked, turning the radio dial with a single headphone pressed to your ear.

"Whatchu want me to do 'bout this?"

Glancing over, you tried to wrack your memory, "Nothin' viable in there?"

"Some but not much."

"Try to light what you can," you nodded. "There's spare wood in the back. With luck, it's still dry."

"All right, yeah," he panted, the cold blistering as it seeped into all bones and cracked drying skin.

"How'd you know about this place?" Ellie wondered, still admiring the stoner's paradise.

"Eugene," Jesse answered with an undertone of remorse. Ellie's face fell, recognizing the name from the many times Dina had mentioned the old man. "He was my first patrol partner. One day, he showed it to me, said he found it a year earlier when he was on a solo patrol. Swore me to secrecy. Said Maria wouldn't be supportive of his, uh, farming."

"What about you, Y/N?"

You just shrugged, "I know everything, kid. Was a young thing in the '90s, I know what's up."

Jesse snickered as Ellie went quiet; making the lad look up in curiosity only to spy her at a spare table, examining an old medallion similar to a dogtag. He asked, "You okay?"

She paused, then breathing, "Yeah."

"Y/N, you got a lighter?"

"Uh, should be one or eight around here, kid," you answered, still receiving only static over the radio.

"Right," he sniffled, rummaging around to locate one with enough lighter fluid.

He got the fire going at last as Ellie questioned, "Eugene was a Firefly?"

"Yup. Just early on, though."

"Served with Tommy," you piped up, sparing a small glance and a smirk over your shoulder before refocusing.

"He quit back in 2010," Jesse continued.

"How come?"

"He said he was tired of killing people. I think he was in Vietnam."

"Oh."

Jesse grabbed a spare blanket, handing it to Ellie and nodding at you while taking a seat before the stove. She stood from where she'd sat on the side of a cot, unwrapping the wool to drape around your shoulders for you. "Thanks, baby girl," you muttered, barely aware of the added warmth.

"Come sit by the fire," she mumbled, squeezing your shoulders before returning to her seat.

It was quiet, the two sat in contemplation. Jesse spoke with bitterness over the haunting memory, "That was a raw deal. Joel having to put Eugene down..."

"Hey," you snapped, looking at him with a fierce side-eye. "Know y'all were friends, but Joel ain't do nothin' but deliver mercy. Eugene had a fuckin' stroke, wasn't easy for anyone involved."

Jesse nodded in agreement, "Just a fuckin' shame. Guy makes it through a war, end up goin' out like that." He sighed, "What are you gonna do? Like Y/N said, couldn't be saved."

"Yeah," Ellie breathed. "Hey, Y/N? ... Y/N? ... Y/N!"

"I got it, I got it!" You cried, radio clearing for a moment. You grabbed the CB, "Joel? Joel? Come in, Joel!" You waited a moment, sliding the headphones over your ears, readjusting on your knees and trying to dial the signal into anything stronger. "Joel, come in! C'mon, baby, answer the fucking radio!" But you only earned more static. "God fuckin' damnit! Told him to check in with me on channel 7 - right, Jesse?"

"Yeah, right, every 20 minutes, ma'am," he shared a nervous look with Ellie. "Look, I'm sure they're doin' the same - sheltering in place - "

"Joel!" You tried again, growling in frustration, "This fucking storm, man, I can't get through - it's all fucking static. Joel! C'mon, come in! Joel, Dina? Hey! Someone fucking answer me! Please!" But there was no answer. "Fuck!" Your fist banged on the bulky machine.

"Try Jackson, we might be in range," advised Ellie, the cold seeping into her lungs to make her voice quake.

You sighed, changing the channel and trying again, "Jackson, come in, Jackson. This is Cottonwood, come in... Tommy? Hey, come in, Jackson! This is Cottonwood... Amy! Amy, can you hear me? Over."

"Think we're gonna be here a while," Ellie mused to Jesse.

"Yeah. Hey, Y/N. C'mon, come get warm - leave the channel open, they'll radio in when they can."

But you were switching back to channel 7, "Joel? Hey, come in Copper Mine, this is Cottonwood. Someone fucking answer me! Joel! Dina! Come in! C'mon, I need to know y'all are okay! Come in, Copper Mine! This is Cottonwood..." But the static mocked you. "Joel, it's Y/N, please, fucking answer! Come in! Joel, please! Over..." You switched back to Jackson's channel, "Jackson, this is Cottonwood. Please, someone, come in! I-I can't get ahold of Copper Mine, please, come in... Amy, Tommy, I can't get ahold of Joel, come in! This is Cottonwood, we're sheltering in place - please, answer! Over..." This continued for another hour before you were gritting your teeth and leaving the channel open, still dialing, calling over the waves every so often - hoping someone, even another patrol group, would check in. But the wind and snow fucked everyone's radio transmission.

Ellie leaned over to Jesse, muttering, "Should we pack her a bowl? Sounds like she needs it."

Jesse snickered and nudged her shoulder, Ellie grinning as she stood to begin snooping; leaving the lad to stretch out on the cot. He watched you for a little bit before slowly shutting his eyes as the wood stove soon warmed them.

"Jesse," a muffled voice leered.

"What?"

"Check it," Ellie encouraged. When you looked up from your place by the stove, finally taking refuge by the heat, you discovered Ellie wearing a refurbished gas mask with a bong attached to the mouth piece.

You couldn't help the bark of laughter, shaking your head as Jesse scoffed and looked away from the sight.

Ellie giggled, yanking the mask off, "Did he make this?"

"Yeah."

"I'm taking this with me."

"Uh, no, ma'am, you're not," your smile dropped.

"Oh, c'mon," Ellie whined.

"Listen to your mom, kid," Jesse leered in a bored tone. "You're not taking that."

Instead of correcting him that you weren't her mother (by birth), she just sighed, "Yes, I am. And as much weed as I can shove into my pack."

"Ellie," you scolded.

"You said yourself, you did this shit in the '90s."

Your eyes rolled, "It was a different time."

"I'm still taking it, if the apocalypse isn't the time to get high, I don't know when is."

"Nope," Jesse now chimed, "leave it, Ellie."

"Dude, you're gonna be in charge of Jackson one day, we all know - but that day has not yet come."

"Y/N has superiority, she said - "

But Jesse cut himself off when the radio finally fucking came to life, the static clear - but Amy's voice cutting in and out as she tried to reach your party. He watched as you scrambled to your feet, leaving the wool blanket in place on the floor, and rushed to drop before the machine; knees nearly cracking from the impact.

"Repeat, Jackson?" You called over the CB; trying to carefully enhance the signal.

"Copper Mine, do you copy?"

"Hey! Hey! This is Y/N, you're barely there... Amy? Do you copy? This is Cottonwood. Over."

You waited only a moment, finding a sweet spot to hear the distorted reply, "Y/N, have - Joel or Dina?"

"Repeat? Jackson, come in, you're breaking up! Repeat last message!" You turned the dial with tears slowly gathering out of pure nerves and anxiety.

"Have - heard - Joel or Dina?"

You pieced the message together, nervously replying as Ellie slowly approached your shoulder, "No, why?"

"They haven't checked in," Amy answered. "Are - you - Copper Mine?"

"Fuck," Ellie hissed over your shoulder.

"Amy, repeat?" You pleaded. "Amy!" But the static was back. "Amy, come back!" You released the transmission to growl, "Fucking fuck, fuck, fuck!" Trying again, you begged, "Amy!"

But there was no answer, making you climb to your feet. "Woah, hey, Y/N! Y/N, wait!" Jesse yelped as you snatched your pack from the ground and rushed around the hideout. Ellie was on your tail.

"We're not far from Copper Mine, let's fucking go! We can't leave them out there like this! C'mon!" You barked, hearing him sigh and follow swiftly without protest. Ellie and Jesse followed you out the door, sprinting towards the garage and yanking the nearly iced-closed door up.

"Y/N, hang on a second - "

You snarled, "Fuck that! My husband's out there, Jesse, I'm goin' after them! We don't know how far they got, but they're not back home and they're not radioing in!"

"I know," he agreed as you and Ellie reached for your horses. "Look, the route's an oval around the mine. We gotta split up and come at it from both sides. Northwest and northeast. You two go together, we meet up in the middle."

"We'll take northeast," Ellie agreed, trio leading the horses towards the open door. "How much time do you think we have?"

"Go, c'mon," you directed them, Luxor trained enough to stand as you gave Ellie a leg-up. Jesse was mounting on his own as you answered her question, "If the wind holds steady, maybe 20 minutes."

"You gotta get to the mine by then," Jesse picked up, his authority ringing clear, "Ellie, Y/N, whether you find them or not."

"Yeah, you fucking too, Jesse," Ellie snarled, spurring her horse into the blizzard.

"Go! And be careful!" You demanded, smacking Dewey on the flank to send him and Jesse into the storm. You paused only to pull the garage door back down, Luxor already walking forward; making you jog to keep pace and hop to catch the stirrup. He was breaking into a canter by the time you were seated, spurring the ebony mount after Ellie and Bean as Jesse was cutting to the side.

"Y/N!" Ellie hollered over the wind.

"I'm right here, baby!" You cried, eyes squinted in the stinging, whipping, frigid air. "Don't stop, don't stop, I'm here, just go! C'mon! Stay with me, Ellie! C'mon, cut this way!" You directed Luxor, hearing Bean change direction after you. "We don't stop!" After several minutes, you checked, "Baby girl? You still with me?"

"I'm here!" She called from behind you.

"Keep going!"

"Y/N! The fucking snow - it's too thick! I can't see shit!"

"Don't fucking stop, we'll make it! Just stay with me, baby, c'mon, let's go! We're all right, we gotta make it!" By a stroke of pure luck, you heard a chatter over your radio. "HOLD!" You cried to Ellie, Luxor whinnying in protest as you skidded to a slippery halt; wrangling your hand radio from your belt. In time, you heard Joel, "Y/N? Y/N, come in! C'mon, baby, fucking answer me!"

"Joel!?"

"Y/N!"

"Joel, Joel, I-I copy! I copy!"

"Good t'hear your voice, baby."

"Where the fuck are you!?" You cried, Ellie looking relieved for a split moment before light static was heard instead of his deep, Southern accent. Yet... Something told you this wasn't just silence, but something else. Something worrisome. "Joel? Joel! No, no, no, come back! Joel! Answer me! JOEL!"

"The storm!" Ellie reminded.

"It's not the fucking storm," you panted, confusion marring your usually pleasant expression. You tried again, "Joel, come in! Do you copy!? Joel, please! Baby, fucking ANSWER me!"

Unknown to you, Joel heard your desperate pleas but couldn't answer as Abby and her mini militia had taken a frostbitten Dina hostage; gun to her temple, semi-automatic pointed at him in threat.

"Joel, where are you? Where are you, Joel, fucking come in!" You begged, shaking your head at Ellie as the silence was deafening; own automatic rifle suddenly burning into where it was latched to your saddle, pressing to your thigh. "Fuck! We keep moving - "

"Where?"

"North, c'mon, there's better signal outta the fucking trees. Let's go, baby, keep up!"

"Go! I'm right behind you!"

As a last ditch effort, you held the reins in one hand as the other radioed, "Joel, where the fuck are you!? Please!" You prayed the further north you got, the better signal. "Come in! Baby, please, please, we're fucking worried! Come in, please! JOEL! For fuck's sake!" No response, but you found something in the snow... Tracks. "Ellie! Ellie, follow the tracks - don't lose 'em! They're still fresh!"

You galloped forward, still trying in vain to reach Joel; who was wailing in pain as Abby bludgeoned his blown-out knee to the sounds of your frantic cries of his name. It was almost as if you could sense what was happening, wanting to be there with him in his end Abby promised to bring.

"Y/N, LOOK!" Ellie called, pulling her horse to a rearing-halt, eyes in the distance from mid-hill you climbed. "FUCKING STOP AND LOOK!"

"Ellie, we don't got time! The snow's gonna cover - "

"LOOK!"

You yanked Luxor to another halt, whipping him around towards Ellie - but seeing where she pointed. Through the valley, you could make out the sight of Jackson from miles away, mouth agape to gasp, "Oh, my fucking God."

"What the hell is that?"

You blinked back tears, "J-Jackson. Fuck, the Infected, they must've found 'em."

"Wh-What do we do? What the hell do we do, Y/N?" You had to think fast, fear seizing hold of your heart. "Do we go back? Or move on?"

You sniffled, "Tommy's got Jackson - that's the fire, see? We... We move on! We find Joel and Dina, these have gotta be their tracks, baby, we're so close now. We can't stop."

"Y/N..."

"You go back if you want! Back to the fucking 7-Eleven, but I'm not leaving without Joel! Are you with me?"

"What if they're not alone?"

"Then I fucking pray for those stupid fucking souls," you snarled, both hoods drawn in the thick, blinding flurries. "Now are you with me, baby girl?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fucking with you. Let's go."

You spurred Luxor around and followed the fading-fast tracks left in the blanket of crunchy snow. After several yards, you called, "C'mon, keep pace with me, Ellie - don't tire them out too bad, we gotta make the trip home!"

"I'm right here!"

Up the hill, you let Luxor and Bean canter at their set, desired pace; taking your own advice not to tire them too greatly. As you got up to a semi-even outcrop, you saw something over the treetops. "Ellie? Ellie, you see that?"

"What the fuck? What's up here?"

"Lodges? Ski resorts?" You guessed, encouraging Luxor faster.

"Y/N, there! There, look!" Ellie gasped, horses snorting with exertion when you halted once more. "Is that...?"

"Cooper and Butterscotch," you breathed. "Joel and Dina must've taken shelter - c'mon!"

"Why're they here? Copper Mine's back down - "

"I don't fucking care why, Ellie, they're here!" Realizing your tone and how it made the nervous girl frown, you apologized, "I-I'm sorry, baby girl, I'm just - I don't know what's going on. Okay? Something ain't right. Now, c'mon, please, Ellie, c'mon." You eyed the building, an old ski lodge some richie-rich must've owned before the Outbreak. "Hey, hey," you hushed, coming to another halt behind the tethered horses, hand held up with warning, "you see anythin'? Any movement?"

"No?"

"The windows, Ellie. C'mon, honey, use them young eyes for me."

She squinted in the sideways snow, but the reflective windows didn't show anything inside, no movement; making her head shake. "N-Nothing, I don't see anything."

"That's not exactly a good thing," you noted. "Dismount, we go on foot."

"What's the plan, Y/N?"

Your boots crunched into the snow, quickly binding Luxor's reins to the broken-down privacy fence surrounding the lodge's perimeter. Your breath came out in a puff of air, telling her as she followed your actions, "We go in smart. Check the first floor, we move up," you unlatched your rifle from the saddle. "We don't know what the fuck's inside. Don't shoot any movement on sight, we don't know where Joel and Dina are."

"Should you try the radio again?"

You gazed up at the windows, something sickly bubbling in your gut, "No... No, we go in - what if... What if?"

"There's Infected? Joel's got it - "

"C'mon," you worried, nodding at her after you, "I'm not willing to fucking wait."

"Right," she hurried after you.

"Quiet, quiet, quiet, shhh-hh-hhhh" you hushed, racking your rifle in favor of your handgun; reaching for the still in-tact door. It opened easily as if recently accessed, Ellie stepping silently inside after you and catching the door before it slammed shut. You nodded in praise, side-stepping over yourself as the ground floor appeared as just abandoned construction.

Ellie grabbed your sleeve, your worried eyes turning to her, but she silently pointed up towards the ceiling. You tuned in, hearing muffled thumping and feeling all air deflate from your pinched lungs. Worried that it wasn't the usual erratic sound of a feasting Infected, thinking it sounded too timed and planned, you looked back to Ellie - intent to whisper a plan - but she was surging ahead of you.

"Ellie! Stay together! Ellie! Don't!" You hissed, huffing as she disappeared around a corner as the sounds of distant screaming seeped from the floor above you. "Fuck's sake. I'm gettin' too old for this fuckin' shit." You peaked around the immediate corners, not finding any signs of life - but flinching when a gunshot echoed in the space around you. Taking cover, you realized the sounds were coming from up the stairs, gasping in worry for your adopted daughter, "Ellie!" To yourself, you hissed, "Fuckin' told you to stay together, fuck!"

The sounds of a squabble grew louder, Ellie's snarls ringing clear as you swiped the safety off. You followed her wet footprints, discovering an open door leading into the lodge's expansive living room - or perhaps, just one of them. You ducked when movement rushed in a flurry, catching sight of Ellie being wrangled to the ground; a stranger kneeling on her back. However, the worst sight was just beyond; before the vast windows showcasing Jackson's demise, one of the unknown forms moved aside to reveal your husband limp on the ground... Bloodied face seemingly staring out at you. His finger twitched, breathing staggered - and when his lips tugged, knew he saw you. Knew you'd always come for him. Even in a fucking blizzard, even when so worryingly outnumbered... But Joel wouldn't bet against you, no matter the circumstance.

He was overturned on his chest, blood pooling under him, immobile from his shattered leg, and there were at least four - no, no, five, you counted five - bodies inside. You barely remembered protocol, feeling something white-hot and feral burst in your chest upon hearing Ellie struggling and crying. Eyes cast back over Joel and you lifted your gun...

"JOEL!" Ellie screamed from the floor, whose fingers twitched with minimal recognition. "Joel! Joel! Joel, get up! Joel, FUCKING GET UP!"

However, one man roared at her, "Stupid fucking bitch!"

"No! No!" Two men struggled inside, distracting the others.

"Fuck you!" The man with a thin upper lip mustache shoved his companion aside. "The bitch fucking cut me!" You smirked in fleeting pride, amusement dropping when he stomped up to Ellie and swiftly kicked her in the ribs; causing her to choke on the air stolen from her lungs. You flinched at the sound of her cracking rib; Joel's eyes locked on you. The stranger lifted his foot again as if to stomp on her, but his friend - with sandy locks - intercepted him and shoved him back several feet. "I'll fucking kill her!"

"She ain't who we want!"

They all - minus Joel - missed the way you silently stepped in. A hunter, a solider, a mother and wife dead set on protecting her loved ones. You aimed at the most obvious threat after a handgun flashed in one of the men's hands as if to aim at Ellie.

You were well-aware of the dire situation but took a steadying breath and squeezed the trigger, bullet piercing directly through the back of the dark sandy-blonde head; sending a splatter of blood over the ebony haired man's face. "One," you counted.

There was no time as the man looked up at your voice; barrel aimed at him, trigger sounding in a boom. "Two," you counted.

From the shock of your appearance, Ellie managed to wriggle away from woman pinning her to the ground as your sight turned to the other two women across the room. When one lifted from her seat near the fireplace, eyes wide and a plead on her lips, your gun popped off another bullet despite her hands held in defense; catching her in the chest, sending the young girl to her back, choking on her own blood. "Three," you counted.

"MOM!" Ellie screamed, her having been disarmed as the girl with a bald head proved equal strength. Plus, with her ribs, Ellie wasn't much of a fight anyways.

You didn't need to think, gun turning towards her. "Get the fuck off my daughter, bitch," you snarled, the girl with a septum ring's eyes widening at the sight of your angry threat. Another bullet fired, piercing directly between her eyes. "Four," you counted, turning to the last assailant. She was on her feet, handgun pointed at you; but her hands trembled as Ellie scrambled for her gun then found her feet. You sidestepped in front of her, "No, no, all eyes on me. Joel? Joel? Hey, you alive? C'mon! Fuckin' show us you're alive! JOEL! If you're dead, I swear to God - "

He whimpered; relief flooding your system.

"Who the fuck are you?" The girl in a long-sleeve, grey Henley demanded; trying to step around Joel's legs to get a clear shot of Ellie - but you moved with her.

"Aht, aht! Stay right there, don't move." She narrowed her eyes as you asked, "Ellie? With me, baby girl?"

"I'm - I'm here," she wheezed, laying a single hand to your waist.

"You hurt?"

"Yeah," she whispered.

"Hm," you growled, fingering the trigger.

"I asked, who the fuck are you!?" Abby roared, her desperation making her raw and unpredictable. You didn't want to rock this boat too much, not when the threat to your family was alive and real.

"Lookit, darlin', I don't think you're in the position to ask any questions," you warned. "Now... Step away from him. Nice and slow, please. I'm askin' you nicely - "

"No!" She snarled, gun turning to the back of Joel's head; heart leaping to your throat. "You take one step, either of you make a fucking move, and I'll blow his fucking brains out."

"And I'll blow yours," you warned evenly.

"Doesn't matter," she seethed, "'cause I would've done what I came here to do."

"Oh, yeah? What's that? Kill an old man?"

She chuckled ruefully, "Exactly that."

"You wanna tell me why? C'mon, now. I don't wanna have to shoot you, kid, got a real long life ahead of you." When her hands shook with more definition, you snapped, "Hey! Hey! Eyes on me! Back the fuck away from him right now and maybe I'll let you live."

The room's occupants knew it was a boldfaced lie.

Abby panted, quickly glancing around the dead bodies that fell by your hand; giving you a single moment to note the shattered golf club left to the side of Joel, then to the state of him. It didn't take a rocket scientist to piece together what she'd done. "Y-You killed them," she whispered, glare turned back to you; tears in her eyes, upper lip snarled. "You killed them! Mel wasn't armed and you fucking shot her, you bitch!"

"Bet your ass, I did. Didn't even hesitate, now, did I? Y'all were hurtin' my husband."

"'Husband'?" She repeated, scoffing. "Of fucking course. You're who was on the radio, weren't you?"

"That's right. Now... I'll tell you only one more time. Back. The fuck. Away from him. Now, please, I ain't known for my patience!"

"Just fucking shoot her, Y/N!"

"No, Ellie," you growled, aim narrowing. She sobbed behind you, protected by your body; only able to look between the stranger and her adopted father.

"She did that to Joel! FUCKING LOOK AT HIM!"

"I know, I got eyes t'see, honey, but she's just a kid - like you, Ellie," you didn't shift your gaze from the bitch with a braid; knowing no matter what, she was going to die today. By your hand or Ellie's, you didn't know - nor care. You continued, "Tell me why, darlin'. Why're you doin' this? Huh? The fuck could he've done? Hey? C'mon, now! Answer me!"

"It doesn't fucking matter why, Y/N!"

But you were trying to play for time, well aware of the gun pointed at Joel that would only take a fraction of a second to fire, not a whole lot of pressure needed to trigger the bullet. There was a good chance that if you opened fire, she could easily take Joel out; the exact opposite of what you were trying to accomplish. You needed a fleeting opening, anything; just a single moment - a nanosecond - to make your move without jeopardizing Joel's life. Or Ellie's. Or yours, for that matter.

"It matters, Ellie!" You barked. "She's got a reason, I wanna hear it. C'mon, darlin', tell me why! Why're you doin' this?"

"He's a fucking monster," she trembled.

"All right, good, that's a start. What'd he do? Huh?"

"Does it matter?! You're both coldblooded murderers, you don't need any reason!"

"You got a point, yeah. But you obviously got your own. Tell me what that is."

Abby took an unsteady breath in, shaking her head as tears leaked in pathetic trails down her ruddy cheeks. "He killed him..."

"Who?"

"My father - he killed my father and 18 soldiers!"

You breathed, "Oh, yeah? When?"

"Five years ago," she grit her teeth. "In Salt Lake!"

"The hospital?"

She seethed, "He was an unarmed doctor! Shot dead like a fucking animal!"

Her gun straightened at Joel, making you chant, "Hey, hey, hey, yeah, yeah, I remember that, I remember. But you're negating from the fact that they had our daughter." Abby's eyes shifted over to Ellie behind your shoulder. "Hey, eyes on me! Look, I fucking promise you, kid, it wasn't in cold blood - we had real good reason. You with them? You a Firefly?"

"They're all gone, you dumb bitch! Didn't you hear?"

"You all that's left?"

"No," she seethed, "there's more of us... Many more in Seattle, but your little family won't get a chance to see them."

"Sound real certain of that."

Joel groaned from the bloody floor as if trying to call for you. Abby snarled, "I'm the one with a gun to your husband, remember? You fucking blind!?"

"Oh, I'm aware, darlin'. But I don't think you're gonna kill him."

"Why the fuck not? You just killed my friends!"

"'Cause he ain't who you want."

"Oh, yeah?" She scoffed.

"We left them nurses alive, I bet they're who told you 'bout us. Right? Am I right?" Abby's jaw steeled, only inclining her head in confirmation. "Yeah, that's right. You came all the way here from Seattle on a mission to kill him. But here's the thing, darlin', Joel ain't kill your daddy."

"I know he did!"

"He didn't pull the trigger! Your witnesses got it wrong, but that's okay - happens during fits of panic. They don't see the whole picture."

"He shot my father in the head! Like he was nothing! Stepped over him like he wasn't even there and walked out the fucking door! Why shouldn't I do the same!?"

"No, darlin'," you smirked, seeing the rage building in her eyes. Good. It's what you wanted - needed. "No, see, Joel didn't fire the kill shot. I did."

"You?"

"Me," you agreed, chuckling - hoping to blind her with anger from your amusement. "Yeah, I shot your daddy - and just like your li'l friends, I ain't hesitate then, neither. What? You look shocked... You surprised I had the gull to do it? I'll tell you somethin' else, darlin', I didn't even look at him - " Abby cracked with a sob and it was the opening you needed. "C'mon, darlin', take your best shot. Or would you prefer I just shoot you now? Can reunite you with dearest daddy real easy."

The girl laughed, arm shifting a fraction as if debating turning her gun on you, "Like you could make the fucking shot, you old hag - "

Your gun recoiled slightly from being fired, striking Abby in the head; and you counted, "Five." Quickly, you shoved the weapon into the holster on your hip, sprinting across the room to where Joel was somehow still breathing. "Hey, hey, hey, baby, hey," you slid on your knees, Ellie charging in a limp after you, "you still with us? Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. C'mon, Joel! Gotta hang on for me, all right? I-I know you endured so much, baby, but hang on a little longer. Please!"

He made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, making you heave a whimper. "Joel? Joel," Ellie sniffled from her knees at your side, "hey, y-you gotta get up. C'mon, get up - "

"No, no, not yet," you prevented, nodding to the shattered golf club. "Took a fuckin' beatin', Ellie, probably has internal bleedin'. We move him, might make it worse."

"Well, what the fuck do we do, Y/N!?"

"We do nothing - you probably got broken ribs, baby. Fuck," you breathed, looking around the room - something catching your attention. "All right, all right - shit, hang on, stay with him."

"Y/N?" Ellie worried as you found your feet; but her eyes drifted to the movement on the floor. The unarmed girl, Mel, was trying to army crawl through her own blood, sobbing when you stood over her.

"Hey!" You barked, flipping her onto her back, demanding, "Y'all brought med supplies? Right? RIGHT!?"

"Fuck you," she spat.

"You tell me true, doll, I'll help yah."

"Y-You - bitch."

"All right, I'll find it myself," you scoffed, gun back in hand, aiming at her forehead, and firing once. "What were you? Four? No, no, three."

"Y/N!" Ellie sobbed, "He's got a fever!"

"Hang on, Ellie, I got it," you rushed, kneeling at one of the packs - noting the embroidered wolf. There was no questioning it, overturning the pack and rummaging through the contents. Not finding what you needed, you did the same to a second pack; then a third, gasping when it was full of medical supplies. You shifted through it before noting another body in the room right next door. "Shit - Ellie!?"

"What?" She sobbed over Joel.

"Got another body!" It was quiet as you stood with your gun in hand again, aimed at the body before dropping it. "Oh, fuck! It's Dina!"

"WHAT?"

You knelt at her side, checking her pulse and sighing with relief. "S-She's alive! Just knocked out. I got her!" Holstering your gun once more, you grunted and took hold of her wrists to tug the girl into the main room. "All right, honey, just - fuck, stay there, be back for yah." You returned to the medical supplies, tears leaking without consent. "Ellie, here - catch!" Using the hardwood floor to your advantage, you slid supplies her way; not bothering to check if she caught them all or not.

"What do I do?" Ellie whimpered.

"Get over here and check Dina, I got Joel," you scampered across the floor; pair of you switching places. "Hey, hey, do me a favor - get on the radio, get ahold of fucking anyone. You hear me? Use channel 7 to try to get Jesse..." You prayed the lad was smart enough to tune in on the private channel you and Joel used after separating. "All right, all right," you sniffled, caressing your husband's bloody cheek, "baby, hey, hey, can you hear me? Just - Just squeeze my hand, honey, c'mon." When his broken hand squeezed yours, making you sigh, "All right, good, hey, you're - you're gonna be all right. I gotcha, baby, just, um, just hang on for me. Okay? Can you do that?" He squeezed again. "Good boy."

Perhaps his lips twitched in amusement, perhaps not. You didn't notice either way, sorting the supplies - discovering a half-used vial of milky white substance.

"Fucking Propofol? The fuck they doin' with this?" You muttered to yourself, finding a clean needle and drawing it into the syringe.

"What're you doing?" Ellie sobbed, "Y/N? What is that?"

"Tryna save him, Ellie! Radio in! C'mon, baby, I know you're scared - I know that was fucking scary. But I need you to be brave for me right now, Ellie, please. Okay? I need fucking help! Get on the airwaves, all right? Radio anybody!"

"Right, okay, yeah," she sniffled, doing as you told from Dina's side. "Jackson? Jackson, come in!" But there was no answer. So, she switched channels, "Jesse!? Jesse, please, it's Ellie - "

"Ellie? Ellie!"

"Jesse!"

"Where are you!?"

"A-At a lodge! Some lodge, halfway up the mountain! We found Joel and Dina, but w-w-we need help! Like, fucking now!"

"I'm five out!"

You whispered, "I'm so sorry, Joel, I gotta turn you over, okay? I gotta see..." Biting your tongue, you braced Joel and turned him over, whimpering when he hollered in unfiltered pain. "Oh, I know, I know, I know, I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry, I know, baby, I know, but I gotta see." You quickly shed your outer coat and bundled it under his head, "You're gonna be okay, hear me? You just gotta hang on f'me, I'm gonna fix this. I'm so sorry, I know," you repeated as you were forced to shred his shirt and reveal the blackening marks on his torso; some turning sickly blue, indicating the internal damage. "Fuck! Okay, okay, all right... I-I can fix this, fuck me, how do I fix this?"

"Y-Y-Y/N..."

"I know, Joel, okay? I know - "

"Go," he croaked, "gotta leave me."

"Fat fucking chance," you snarled.

"'M not makin' it," he whispered, "but you still can."

"I'm not leaving you! You're gonna be okay, I'm gonna fix this!"

"Go, baby," he wheezed, delirium setting in, "take... Take care... Of-of our girl..."

"Fuck that, we're both gonna do that. You understand? Joel, you stay alive! El-Ellie? Hey, h-how's Dina?"

"Waking up, I think."

"Good - hey, here, here," you snatched up a canister and slid it across the floor. "Wave that under her nose, babe, it's smelling salts. Might help her come-to faster."

"Okay, yeah," Ellie sniffled, doing as you bid.

"All right, hey, I-I can't do shit for Joel here - we gotta get him back to Jackson!"

"How?"

"Shit," you sniffled, shaking your head, "I-I don't know. His leg, okay, I can - I can splint his leg - oh, fuck me."

"What?"

You examined the wound between tattered bits of denim, "Looks like they blew his fucking knee out with a shotgun, Goddamnit." Ellie whimpered as you scanned the room, movement in the snow through the window catching your attention. "Jesse's here - "

"What do we do?"

"We need help," you nodded, "yeah, yeah, so... We're gonna send Jesse back to Jackson for aid."

"What about us?"

"We stay here - keep Joel warm. Remember? After the university?"

"Yeah," sniffled Ellie. "Y-Y/N, I can't lose him."

"Me neither, baby, so we're gonna help him, right?"

"Do you know how?"

"I'm workin' on it," you whispered, looking around the room.

"Y/N!? ELLIE!?"

"UP HERE!" You bellowed through the open door, stumbling to your feet. With a grunt, you smashed a wooden chair to the ground; shattering it to pieces and collecting viable planks of wood. "Okay, okay, okay," you rambled, returning to Joel's side, "hey, Joel, baby, I-I gotta splint your leg. Okay? Oh, this is gonna fucking hurt, I'm so sorry."

"Y/N," he whispered hoarsely, "don't. Just... Go..."

You glared and shook your head, knowing your next move was a risky one. "Fuck that, you and I go out together. All right, I got an idea. Gonna put you to sleep, honey, but it'll be okay. Hear me?" You hovered over his swollen, bleeding face, "You're gonna be okay, I promise, you'll wake up. Just gotta get you outta pain - then we'll get you home. Okay?"

"Baby," he slurred, "please."

"Oh, I know, sweetheart, I know, but just trust me." Joel's hand twitched and you snatched it in yours, lifting to your lips and pressed a series of kisses to it. "Please, Joel, I need you to fucking survive. You don't get to leave me, I-I need you. Hear me? Okay? Just trust me, I'm gonna get you help. Endure and Survive, right? Remember? Endure and Survive, Joel!"

He nodded as best he could, eyes fluttering as Jesse came sprinting into the room. "Holy... Shit..." He paused to take in the sight of fresh carnage. "What the fuck happened?"

Ellie sobbed over Dina, who was finally waking; and you were pressing the needle to Joel's vein and administering the anesthesia. "You're gonna be okay, baby, I promise, I swear, can't leave me - not like this. You're gonna wake up," you whispered to him, watching as his eyes fully shut and he went slack with slumber. "Jesse! Get over here, man, I need help!"

"What the fuck happened?" He repeated, jogging across the floor while dropping his pack - shoes squeaking in halt when he caught sight of Joel's injuries. "Oh, my fucking God - "

"Help me splint his leg, please! Fuckin' please! C'mon, we don't have time!"

"Right, okay."

Together, you and Jesse constructed a splint out of the chair debris and a torn sheet from the other room. You knotted it where you could, watching Joel's face for signs of pain - but he didn't twitch, only breathed shallowly. Your eyes met the lad's and admitted, "I-I don't know what to do next. How do we get him back to Jackson, Jesse, please?"

"We ride like hell," Jesse answered.

"He shouldn't be upright and bouncing around!"

"We got another choice? I can ride back, but time's workin' against him. We could try to build a sled, but - "

"We search the house first and if there's nothing, he rides with me. Luxor and I are fastest."

"There we go," he agreed, already rocketing to his feet.

"Ellie! Watch them!" You commanded as you and Jesse set out to ransack the lodge for anything that you might use to tote Joel. By stroke of fucking luck, in the basement, you found what the previous owner's kids must've used to skate down the icy hillside; figuring it was good enough to use now. After locating Jesse, the pair of you assembled the shed and tug ropes behind Luxor and used found pillows and blankets to line it; then rushing back inside.

"We can both get him down the stairs," Jesse panted.

"We're gonna have to."

"I can help," Ellie stood, Dina leaning against the wall as she regained her strength.

"Fuck it," you breathed, waving her towards Joel, "let's go!"

It wasn't easy; Joel being a grown man of pure muscle and the three of you with only minimal strength. Yet your adrenaline made you feel like Bruce Banner; letting Ellie support his shattered, shot leg out straight as you and Jesse upheld his torso. Down the stairs and out the door, you drug Joel into the sled and immediately covered him with the blankets as Jesse went back for Dina. It wasn't perfect, but it was good enough - forced to leave Joel to help Ellie into Dewey's saddle.

"Wait, wait, wait - "

"Please, Ellie, don't fucking fight me, you're injured, baby, you ride with Jesse. Dina'll be all right, I promise - but we gotta go. Now, okay? Before the blizzard kicks up again."

Ellie nodded through her tears as the other two finally made it back. You explained to Jesse the plan and helped Dina into Butterscotch's saddle, ensuring her balance before telling them to get going. Leaving everything else behind including five corpses, you checked on Joel to make sure he was still breathing; kissing his forehead and muttering promises and apologies as you took your place at Luxor's side.

With a heavy sniffle, you begged the horse, "Don't fail me now, buddy, we gotta save him. C'mon - nice and easy, right? Together... Let's go."

You navigated the mountain on foot, keeping Luxor at an even pace while simultaneously ensuring Joel didn't slide away or topple over. It was frustrating to go so slow, but necessary; and the moment you were on level ground, doubled back to cover Joel's head before hoisting yourself into the saddle and spurred Luxor forward.

Snow was kicked up over Joel, but you had wrapped him tightly for protection; soon passing Jesse, Ellie, and Dina to gallop for the smoking town in the distance.

With shot nerves, you navigated through the makeshift hospital of Jackson; steaming mug of coffee in hand as your feet shuffled down the hall to the last door on the right. A voice called your name, making you pause and look back to spy Jesse approaching you with three wrapped plates stacked on top of one another.

"What's that?"

"Figured y'all hadn't eaten today," he eased.

"Hm."

"You all right?"

"Yeah, just fucking dandy, honey. You?"

Jesse frowned, "How's Joel?"

"Still asleep."

"You know, it's been two weeks..."

"What's your fucking point?"

"That you need a decent night's sleep - Ellie and Dina, too."

"I'll sleep when I'm dead, kid, thanks."

Jesse frowned, "We're just worried about'cha."

"Yeah? Well, I'm worried I killed my fucking husband 'cause he won't wake up. Guess we're all worried, huh?"

"Y/N," he sighed. "You haven't left his room since we got back. You can't just stop taking care of yourself, Joel's gonna need yah to help him - gotta have your strength."

"I'm fine."

"That why you look like fucking shit?"

"Don't push me, kid."

Jesse sighed, "Fine, but you gotta eat."

"I'm good," you held up your mug.

"Can't sustain yourself on fucking coffee. C'mon, I brought you all a plate."

"That's real nice of yah, thank you," you accepted the balanced to-go plates in your one hand; leaning them to your chest to keep hold.

"Just... Take it easy on yourself, okay? There's no way you could've known this would happen - "

"That's the thing, Jesse," you warbled softly, "I knew. He was beat t'hell, I knew the Propofol might've been too much, that he might not wake up... But the worst part? I promised him he would. I fucking lied to my husband and killed him in the same breath - "

"He's still breathing," Jesse snapped.

"Fine, then I put him in a coma. That better?"

Before he could retort, the last door on the right ripped open and Dina came toppling out, shouting your name. When she saw you just feet away, she sobbed, "He's awake!"

Three full plates and a mug of coffee shattered on the ground as you nearly tripped over yourself to race into the room. Inside, there was a single bed with a plethora of different machines all whirling and beeping obnoxiously; but there was Ellie, sat bedside, sobbing into Joel's tubed chest. "Hey, hey, hey, what's - "

"He's awake! Y/N, he's awake!" She wailed, forcing herself to lift up and reveal Joel's alert face.

"Holy shit," you heaved, eyes wide and chest hollow. "J-Joel?"

"Hey, baby," he croaked, wincing at the dryness of his throat.

In earnest shock, not even noticing Dina and Jesse behind you, your breathing turned choppy, "Oh, my God, Joel! Y-You're awake, Jesus fucking Christ!"

"C'mere," he mumbled, lips sticking together as Ellie removed herself as if to make room for you.

"No, no, uh," you sniffled, gesturing at Ellie, "you stay put, baby girl, I-I-I'll be right back."

"Where're you going?"

"To find Tommy," you backed up two steps; chest heavy and ready to cave in.

"I can do that - "

"I got it, kid, y'all keep him company f'me," you assured Dina, tears streaming as you stumbled out of the room.

"Hey!" Jesse followed you into the hall, door slamming shut. "Hey, Y/N! What the fuck was that?" But Jesse slowed when you collapsed into the wall, using it to keep upright as you tried to keep walking forward; slowly tripping over your feet and crashing to still-bruised knees. "Oh, my God, hey, Y/N. Hey, hey, hey, what's goin' on? You okay?" He worried, lowering to the floor. Noting the way your chest heaved up and down and how your breathing was rapidly shrill, he calmed, "You're okay, Y/N, hey, just breathe. You're panicking, you just - just focus on breathing. Hey, you're okay, you're not alone."

"H-He's alive," you managed breathed gasps. "He's alive, he's alive, he's alive. I-I didn't - he woke up, I ain't kill him."

"No, you didn't," Jesse chuckled in disbelief. "You saved his life, Y/N, just breathe. You're okay."

"I-I - "

"No, I know, but you just need to breathe f'me." You nodded and watched him, following his direction as he breathed with you - in and out, in and out, in and out. "All right, good, that's real good - just breathe with me. Good girl, c'mon, in, two, three, four; and out, two, three, four; in, two, three..."

The door opened again, Dina peaking out to discover the sight; catching Jesse's eye. He nodded with meaning, making the girl double back to grab Ellie; leaving you on the floor with the young man instructing your breathing. When the two girls exited, Ellie worriedly rushed for your side, questioning your name as she knelt, "What's happening? What's wrong? Are you okay? Hey! Oh, my God, talk to me, Ma!"

"She's having a panic attack," Jesse relaid, not commenting on her referal to you as something remotely motherly. "She's all right. Good, Y/N, that's real good - just breathe. Hey, look at me, look at me," he waited until your eyes lifted, "you're okay, I swear to you. Joel's alive, he's okay, he's awake - you didn't kill him, didn't put him in a coma. So, c'mon... You head back in, okay? Go see your husband, I'll get Tommy."

You sniffled and nodded, Ellie remaining in place as Jesse slowly got to his feet. "We got her," Dina assured, finally making him turn to head off. "Y/N? Hey," she squatted before you, "Joel's askin' for yah. Wanna head back in?"

"Yeah, yeah," you rambled, "I-I - yeah, ne-need t'see him. Need t'see him alive. J-Just needed - just needed a second. 'M sorry - "

"No, it's okay, you're good," nodded Ellie, "think you can stand?"

"Mhm."

"C'mon, I gotcha," she hushed, taking up your arm to help you clamber up the wall on trembling legs. "You okay?"

"Mhm."

"Right," she sighed. "Hey, c'mon, let's go in, he wants yah... I'm right here with you, I'm right here. We're all okay... You, me, Joel, Dina, we're okay, Ma, we're all okay - all alive."

"Y-You...?" Your eyes widened, holding onto her arms tightly for support. "Did you call me...? An-And back at the lodge, you did then, too, didn't you?"

"Well, yeah," Ellie shrugged as Dina giggled behind her hand, "I mean, is that okay? I don't have to call you - "

"No, no, no. It's so fucking okay, baby girl, good God," you gasped, yanking her into your embrace. In her ear, you sniffled, "I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it's just - I didn't know you felt okay with that - "

"I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it, or, uh, I-I guess, felt ready to say it."

"Gonna call Joel 'Dad' now or somethin'?"

"Woah, woah, woah," she chuckled, gazing up at you in wonder and gently reaching out to wipe your tear tracks as she's seen your husband do, "one step at a time. All right? Gotta see Joel first, everything else second. C'mon, now you just gotta put one foot in front of the other..." She encouraged you away from the wall, "There you go, you're okay. Now, deep breath... You good?"

"I'm okay."

"Good, all right. I got you, just... Open the door..."

As you reentered the room, Ellie and Dina hung back to allow your reunion to occur in privacy. You didn't notice, preoccupied by the sight before you; Joel awake and seemingly alert, his lips pulled on one side in a smirk. Despite the healing disfigurement, he was still the handsome, rugged, inherently and fiercely protective guy you married all them years ago. You hated the sight, but felt overwhelming relief he was awake, aware, looking at you with love, adoration, impression.

"Hey, there she is," he rumbled in greeting, haggard voice making you snap out of it to snatch up the cup of water on his bedside stand. "Where'd you - "

"No, no, hey, don't," you whimpered, bringing the lip of the cup to him, one hand around the base of his head, "just drink first, Joel, please."

Joel's gaze didn't tear from you as he accepted the water, choking minimally from the action he hadn't done by himself in two+ weeks. You determined what was enough, lowering the cup but keeping your one hand on the back of his head; twisting to set the cup aside before quietly turning back to him. "C'mere, baby," he whispered, casted hand twitching to pat his fingers beside him with indication. When your mouth opened to protest, he begged, "Y/N, please." So, you eased down beside him softly, careful not to jostle his injuries - but forced to take in the sight of his slowly-healing face. "Why'd you run? Not happy t'see me?"

Shaking your head, you admitted, "On the contrary, so Goddamn happy and relieved, I panicked for a second."

"Why?"

You sniffled, the tears cold against your dry cheeks, "Thought you weren't gonna... I mean, you were... Baby, I did this. I-I'm so sorry - "

"The fuck you mean? You saved me, sugar."

"No, you weren't waking up - I-I put you in a fucking coma - "

"That wasn't you."

"I took a risk with the anesthesia. I knew your injuries might've been too much, that too much damage was done and if I put you t'sleep, and you might not wake up, b-but I just - you were in so much pain and we had to get you back if you - "

"Hey, hey, hey," his fingers hooked around yours in an effort to take your hand. "Baby... You saved me. Ellie and Dina told me all what happened."

"They shouldn't've."

"I asked."

You sighed, shaking your head, "Joel, I..."

"Talk to me, baby, please."

Meeting his eyes again, you whimpered, "I didn't think you were gonna make it. That girl - Abby? Gabby? Whatever, she, uh, she... She used a golf club. You were more than fucked up, I thought you weren't gonna wake up - I mean, by all means, you shouldn't've - "

"But I did," he comforted, "because of you."

You sniffled again, "Don't say it like that, please. I just - I'm so fucking relieved you're awake. I'm sorry, Joel, I should've got there sooner."

"You got there just in time."

"Almost didn't."

"From what I remember, saved Ellie and I - again."

You shrugged, "I wasn't gonna lose you, either of you. You two are everything t'me that I just reacted, I didn't have t'think. I was so worried, but she - she had a gun at you, I had to stall for time."

"You did the right thing, Y/N."

"Then why do I feel so fucking guilty?"

"You shouldn't - you're a Goddamn hero."

"Don't feel like one."

"Maybe you will when I get up and movin'. Get us back to normal, right?"

"Joel, that ain't happenin' for a long time, baby," you informed quietly, glancing at his leg. His gaze followed, sighing deeply at the bulging knee the Jackson doctors managed to save under a warm blanket. "She had a shotgun..."

"I remember."

You winced, "You should get some rest - I'll-I'll grab the doctor - "

"Don't you dare leave me," he snapped, fingers lacing tightly with yours. "Just - c'mere, please, lemme feel you."

"Fuck no," you refused, "you're still healing and there's a limited amount of pain meds. She got you pretty good, Joel, you're real fragile."

"Enough that I can't hold my wife?"

"Enough that you can't hold your wife," you chuckled dryly. "But, um... I can sit here. I can stay - I'll stay. I'm sorry I left, I just couldn't believe after these weeks, you're awake. Made my heart feel... I don't even know - "

He sighed gently, just staring at you. "It's okay, baby, I understand. Know, you were the last thing I saw... But you look like hell right now, darlin', the fuck happened?"

"Haven't slept in weeks."

"You fuckin' eat?"

"When I remembered. Dina brings me most meals."

"Y/N Miller."

"I was just so worried," you whimpered, tears drowning you. "I worried you weren't gonna wake up, that I'd lose you at any moment. I wanted t'be here, just in case... I... Joel, I just..."

"I know, baby. Ellie said you haven't left this whole time. Hey," he breathed, earning your red-rimmed attention. "Need to thank you, sugar. F-For savin' us, savin' me."

You nodded, "Saved my ass plenty of times, now we're even."

"I heard you, you know? I heard you the whole time, it was all I could hang onto. But I heard you tell Abby you shot her father...? Risky move."

"I needed her to focus on anything other than you. She could've shot you, I wouldn't've been able to do anything and I needed to - I needed you to-to-to - "

"Endure and Survive?"

"Yeah, exactly. So, I lied, told her what I thought would piss her off enough to, you know, take the heat off yah."

Joel's lips twitched at the side again, "My smart fuckin' girl."

"Selfish girl, more like."

"How's that?"

You shrugged, "Didn't wanna be without you, Joel, I can't do this without yah. I need you, Joel, and I... I couldn't let her kill you. Bad enough I got there too late and she beat the shit outta you."

Joel's voice cracked with emotion, "It's not selfish, Y/N."

"No?"

"Nah, baby. The feelin's so fuckin' mutual, 'cause I need'jah, too, sweetheart, and I'll be damned to do this without you, either. You and I, we're gonna grow old - well, older, together, surrounded by our family, all of Tommy and Maria's kids - Ellie and Dina, too. We ain't gonna go out like that, we get t'die like we lived. Together."

"Yeah?"

"I promise," he swallowed tightly, eyes crinkling as he winced. "Can't get rid of me, baby, not that easily."

"Fuck you," you scoffed, "that wasn't easy, not t'see, not t'watch, not t'fight against. It was so fucking hard - I can't ever go through that kinda shit again. Hear me? Never again, Joel, I can't handle it - "

"Nah, nah, nah, never again, baby. I promise. I-I'll talk to Tommy, we're done with patrols - "

"No, you're fucking done," you snipped. "I'll earn both our keep, but you're done, Joel, I can't fucking go through that shit again."

"What if something like that happens to you - "

"I killed them all. There's nobody left that would come for us."

Joel's eyes flashed, "There's those in Seattle."

Your head shook, "Doubt they'd give enough of a fuck to avenge those bastards."

"We don't know that. So... So why don't we both retire, baby? C'mon, like we always said. You think you can't handle that again? Imagine how it'd fucking feel to learn something happened to you and I wasn't there to protect yah. Please, Y/N, we both retire - we don't run that risk no more."

"All right, deal," you agreed through your tears, leaning over him to hold his cheek and press several kisses to the corner of his mouth. "Fucking deal, all right, yeah - "

"Honey? You missed."

"Nah, you're still healing - "

"A kiss ain't gonna hurt nothing," he grunted. "C'mere, please. Don't make me beg... Besos, besos, besos." With a small, watery chuckle, you obliged and pecked his pouting lips - earning another groan. "That's not what I meant - mh!" You cut him off by pressing a prolonged kiss against him, careful not to press too hard and reopen his split lip. He hummed in content, free hand occupied by only an IV lifting to caress the back of your head in an effort to keep you in place. This time, when you pulled back, he mumbled, "Never again, sweetheart."

"Never again," you agreed softly, gently petting a salted curl from his forehead; hand drifting to gently trace the contours of his healing yellowing-skin. "I love you so fucking much, Joel. Don't do that to me again."

"I love you, too, darlin'. Never again - we're done. I swear, we're fucking done with all that."

"Good," you whimpered, glancing back to the usual seat you'd claimed the past couple weeks as you watched over him. "All right, hey," with a sniffle, you slowly lifted from his bed, "Jesse went to get Tommy, but you get some rest, all right?"

"Fuck that, been resting long enough. Just wanna be here with you, baby."

"Got a helluva long recovery ahead of yah, gonna need your strength."

"Think I'll walk again?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it - but we'll work on it together. You'll be okay... That, I can promise."

Joel nodded with a gentle sigh, watching you maneuver back into the armchair Dina had pushed into his room for you. He didn't let go of your fingers, eyes silently watching you as if to ensure you were there - but you did the same. After seeing him on the brink of death, you feared you couldn't look away from his living, breathing form ever again. Quietly, he garbled, "Don't leave."

"Never, baby. I'm right here, I gotcha."

requesting rules and masterlist

TLOU masterlist

[widowrecs]

Tommy Shelby x Reader: By Order of Blood

Summary: Tommy Shelby thought sending you away would keep you safe, until the carriage was intercepted. Now, as he cradles your trembling, broken body, he swears two things: he will never let you go again… and the men who touched you won’t live to see another sunrise.

Word count: 8.5k

Warnings: angst, violence, injury descriptions (mentions of blood, torture, SA), PTSD, nightmares, and panic attacks, emotional distress, and revenge-driven violence (also includes lots of hurt / comfort).

A/N: Lost all motivation to write my normal stuff recently, but currently rewatching peaky blinders and feeling all sorts of ways about my boyyy tommy shelby.

"Tommy, please. Don't do this." Your voice was barely above a whisper as the weight of the moment pressed down on your chest like a stone.

You reached for him, fingers trembling as they grazed the fabric of his coat. 

But he didn’t budge. He stood rigid, back straight, his jaw locked so tight you could practically see the muscle ticking underneath his skin. A cigarette burned low between his fingers, a thin wisp of smoke curling in the dim light.

His face was unreadable, a mask of cold detachment. It was the same one he wore when giving orders that decided life or death. 

"You’re leaving tonight," he said, his voice quiet but firm.

You shook your head before he was even finished speaking, your breath catching. "No– no, I don’t want to leave."

Tommy exhaled slowly, as if he was gearing up for a fight. "This is not about what you want."

Your throat tightened. "Tommy, please–"

"You’ll be safer away from me."

You let out a dry, hollow laugh. "Safer?" The word tasted bitter on your tongue. "Tommy, I’m safe when I’m with you. The further away you are, the less safe I’ll feel."

For a second, you thought you saw something flicker in his eyes. Hesitation. Regret. Maybe even doubt. But then, just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. Buried beneath layers of steel.

His shoulders stiffened, his fingers tightening around the cigarette. "You’ll have guards."

"I don’t want guards." Your voice wavered. "I want you. What if something happens, Tommy? What then?"

His breath hitched, but he remained stoic. "It won’t," he said firmly.

You searched his face, desperate for something, anything, that would tell you he wasn’t as sure about this as he was pretending to be. That this was tearing him apart, too. But all you saw was cold resolve. Complete certainty. 

A hollow feeling spread through your stomach as the truth settled in your bones. He had already made up his mind. And there was nothing you could say to make him change it.

Panic pressed against your ribs. You wanted to tell him that being away from him would be worse than any danger that lurked in Birmingham. But you couldn’t find the words.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, Tommy took one last drag from his cigarette before putting it out with slow, deliberate movements. When he finally looked at you, his blue eyes were unreadable.

"The carriage is waiting."

The words hit you like a blow, stealing whatever fight you had left.

You felt yourself nod, but you didn’t say anything. There was nothing left to say. Without another word, you turned and walked away, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the silence.

And Thomas Shelby let you go. 

…

The wooden seat beneath you felt cold and unforgiving. But not nearly as cold as the hollow feeling in your chest.

You sat stiffly, arms folded across your body. Your stomach churned– a mixture between fear, anger, and grief. Each emotion fought for dominance, and yet all you could do was stare blankly at the road stretching endlessly ahead of you, your surroundings blurring past the window.

You tried to rationalize his actions and remind yourself why he made the choices he did. But this didn’t feel like protection anymore. 

It felt like a punishment. 

The hours dragged. The rhythmic clatter of hooves and the occasional creak of the carriage were the only sounds filling the silence. You hadn’t spoken a word to the driver or to the men Tommy had sent to guard you. You refused. Who cared if they thought you were some entitled brat?

But then, suddenly, something in the air shifted.

You weren’t sure what it was at first. Maybe it was just a feeling, an unease that coiled in your stomach like a vice. But then you noticed the hooves come to a gradual stop. One of the guards riding ahead straightened in his saddle, glancing toward the dense trees lining the road.

Your pulse quickened, but before you could even part your lips to ask what was wrong, you heard the gunshot.

A sickening crack followed by shouting. One of the men slumped forward on his horse before crashing onto the dirt road in a heap. The horses screamed, rearing violently. The carriage lurched, sending you slamming into the side with a sharp gasp.

Another shot. Another thud. 

The second guard fell before he could even draw his gun. Then the driver let out a strangled yell, yanking hard on the reins. 

But it was too late.

Figures emerged from the darkness of the trees, their boots pounding against the dirt, moving fast. Panic seized you. Without thinking, you scrambled toward the door, heart hammering, fumbling for the latch. You could still get out, still run, still–

But when you threw your weight against it, the door didn’t budge.

The impact from the gunfire, the carriage rocking on the uneven road– it had bent the frame inward. The wood creaked, but the metal hinges were jammed tight.

"No, no, no–” you pleaded. You pushed harder, shoulders slamming against the door.

Then, the other door was yanked open violently, nearly ripping off its hinges. You barely had time to turn before rough, gloved hands grabbed you, wrenching you forward. You thrashed against them, kicking, clawing, screaming for them to let go. 

"Shut her up!" A voice snapped. 

And just like that, the back end of a gun slammed into your gut, knocking the air from your lungs. Your vision blurred as your body doubled over. Fingers fisted in your hair, yanking your head back so hard your scalp burned.

One of the men leaned in, his breath hot against your cheek.

"I guess Shelby should’ve sent more men."

Your heart pounded violently in your chest as the other men chuckled darkly.

Your hands shook as you tried to fight, but there were too many of them, too many voices, too many shadows closing in around you. You screamed again. 

Then, a final, crushing blow to the side of your head sent the world tilting. Your knees buckled. 

And then– total darkness.

…

The office smelled of whiskey and smoke as the low glow of candlelight flickered against the walls. Tommy sat behind his desk, fingers wrapped around a glass he hadn’t yet touched.

Across from him, Arthur was talking. Something about business, numbers, men needing paying, but Tommy wasn’t listening. He had been distracted all night.

His mind kept circling back to you. It didn’t matter how many times he told himself he made the right choice– that sending you away had been for your own good, that it was the only way to keep you safe. That image of you, eyes wide, pleading, your fingers brushing against his coat before he had forced himself to turn away remained at the forefront of his mind.

"Tommy, please," you had begged. 

He had ignored the way it made his chest ache, forcing himself to shut down the part of him that wanted to keep you close.

Because this was the only way.

Right?

But if it was the right choice, then why the fuck did it feel like such a fucking mistake?

"Tom?" Arthur’s voice cut through his thoughts.

Tommy blinked, setting the untouched glass down with slow, deliberate movements. His fingers tapped against the wood, a restless habit. "What?"

Arthur frowned, watching him closely. "You haven’t heard a single thing I’ve said, have you?"

A muscle in Tommy’s jaw twitched. 

Arthur exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. "Jesus, Tommy. Forget about it. You did the right thing, yeah? She’s safer out of Birmingham. You said so yourself."

Tommy leaned back in his chair, running a hand down his face. He shook his head, reaching for the cigarette pack on his desk, desperate for something to quiet his mind. But just as he struck the match, the door burst open.

Tommy’s head snapped up.

John stood in the doorway, breathless and pale.

"Tommy–" he panted, eyes wide with urgency. "The carriage– we just got word– it was intercepted–"

For a moment, the words didn’t register. A slow, heavy silence fell over the room. Tommy just stared at him, cigarette burning between his fingers, unmoving. Then, a sharp, cold wave of panic slammed into his chest.

His chair scraped against the floor as he shot to his feet. "What?" His voice was dangerously quiet.

John swallowed hard. "One of the scouts came back. The men– the guards you sent– they’re dead. Driver too."

The room tilted. A deafening ringing filled Tommy’s ears, drowning out everything else.

No, no, no. No. 

"Where?" Tommy demanded, his voice now urgent, raw, trembling with barely contained terror.

"We don’t know yet–"

Tommy’s chest heaved, his breath coming sharp and ragged. "Find out," he snapped, grabbing his coat. His hands were shaking. "Find out right fucking now."

Arthur was already up, grabbing his gun. "We’re going after her, Tommy."

Tommy ran a hand through his hair, pacing, trying to think, trying to breathe, trying not to fucking lose it.

He had sent you away.

He had sent you away.

His heart pounded violently, his throat tight with a kind of fear he had never felt before.

Not anger. Not fury. Not vengeance.

Fear.

Because if they had taken you…

If they had hurt you…

Tommy couldn’t finish the thought.

Because the moment he did, he wouldn’t be able to fucking breathe.

…

When you woke up, the first thing you registered was the pain. 

The deep, aching throb in your skull. The metallic taste of blood coated your tongue, thick and suffocating.

Your body felt heavy, your limbs sluggish as you tried to move, only to realize that you couldn’t.

Panic slid into your chest, sharp and immediate as you became aware of the restraints, of the rough, biting feel of rope digging into your wrists, binding them behind the back of a chair. Your breath hitched, vision swimming in the overwhelming darkness that surrounded you.

You struggled against the restraints, muscles screaming in protest, but the chair barely creaked beneath your weight. The air was damp, thick with the scent of rotting wood and stale sweat. Somewhere in the distance, you heard the faint melodic drop of water.

A basement. Maybe a warehouse. Somewhere completely forgotten.

A door creaked open and your breath stilled. There were footsteps– slow and leisurely. 

A shadow loomed at the edge of the room, then a man stepped forward, boots scraping against the concrete floor. The dim light of a lantern illuminated his features, dark eyes full of amusement, a smirk twisting his thin lips.

"Well, well," he drawled, tilting his head. "Look who's awake."

Your stomach coiled in disgust as he came closer, circling you like a predator playing with its prey. You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to stay still, to keep your expression blank.

The man stopped just beside you, tapping a finger against his chin, mockingly thoughtful. "You’re prettier up close," he mused. "Is that why Shelby keeps you so close? Well… not this time I guess."

A beat of silence. Then, his voice dropped into something colder, sharper. "Where’s he keeping his next shipment?"

You didn’t answer but his smirk only widened. "Playing the silent game, are we?"

He moved closer to you, and before you could react, a sharp, stinging slap cracked across your cheek.

Your head snapped to the side, your vision blurring with the impact.

"You’ll want to answer me," he said menacingly. "Or this is going to get a hell of a lot worse for you."

You clenched your teeth, forcing your breath to stay even. 

He let out a disappointed sigh. "Stubborn little thing, aren’t you? Brave, even?" He stepped closer, gripping the arms of your chair, leaning in until his breath was hot against your ear. "But tell me, sweetheart… how brave do you think you’ll be when we’re through with you?"

You refused to let him see your fear. But inside, terror clawed at your ribs, sinking in deep.  

The man stepped back, studying you. His smirk hadn't faltered, but you could see the frustration flicker in his dark eyes.

"Not talking, eh?" He exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as if this were some inconvenience, some tedious task he had to complete before moving on with his night.

Then, without warning, his fist slammed into your stomach.

Your body jerked violently against the ropes, a strangled gasp ripping from your throat as the air was stolen from your lungs. White, hot agony flared in your gut, the chair beneath you rocking from the force of it. You coughed, your body instinctively trying to double over, but the ropes held you upright, forcing you to endure it.

Still, you said nothing.

The man let out a humorless chuckle. "Tough girl, huh?"

Another blow. To your face again. You bit the inside of your cheek, swallowing the cry that threatened to escape.

"Tell me," he continued casually, shaking out his fist, "where the Peaky Blinders keep their weapons."

You lifted your head slowly, breathing heavily through your nose. Then, you spat blood onto the floor at his feet.

A muscle in his jaw ticked. And then, his hand fisted in your hair, yanking your head back so sharply you let out a strangled gasp.

"I was hoping you’d be difficult," he murmured, tilting his head. "It makes this so much more fun for me."

Deep fear curled around your bones like ice. Because you knew exactly what men like him were capable of. He let go of your hair abruptly, your head snapping forward from the force of it, pain splintering through your already throbbing skull.The next blow came before you could brace yourself. It was a heavy, brutal punch to your nose. Pain exploded behind your eyes, your body lurching sideways, nearly toppling the chair. Your ears rang, the room spinning wildly.

Your nose was dripping. It took you a second to realize it was blood, warm and thick as it trailed down your lips. Still, you didn’t speak. 

He let out a long, slow breath, tilting his head as he studied you. "I can do this all night," he said lightly, as if he weren’t already beating you bloody. Then, something darker crossed his expression. 

"But maybe," he continued, voice lower, silkier, more dangerous, "I could find other ways to make you talk."

Your stomach churned at the sight of his gaze, predatorial. Every muscle in your body seized as he took a step forward, one hand reaching for his pocket. Then, metal glinted under the dim light.

A knife. Not small, not discreet, but long, sharp, wicked.

He flicked it open with an almost lazy motion, rolling it between his fingers like a coin, as if the weapon was nothing more than a casual accessory to him. "You know," he mused, tilting his head, his eyes dragging over your bound, broken form with something close to amusement, "I've always wondered how many pieces a person can be cut into before they bleed out."

He crouched beside you, the blade dancing along his fingers, before slowly pressing the cold steel under your chin.

"Tell me what I want to know," he murmured, his voice almost gentle, like a whisper of silk against your skin. 

More silence. 

He smirked. A devilish grin spread across his face. “Maybe I'll start with the fingers."

Your heart pounded violently, every nerve in your body screaming at you to run, fight, do something– 

But what were you supposed to do? The ropes bit into your wrists, your limbs too weak, too battered, your breath too shallow.

"Think I'm bluffing?" he asked, watching your reaction. "Think I won’t carve you up, nice and slow?"

The knife dragged downward, grazing lightly along the column of your throat, just enough to prickle your skin, to remind you how easily he could cut deeper.

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your cheek.

"Because I will, sweetheart," he whispered, almost fondly. "And when I'm done, I’ll send the pieces back to Shelby. One by one."

“I don’t know where the weapons are,” The words spilled out before you could even think, desperate, shaky, but holding just enough bite to make them believable. “Tommy doesn’t tell me those things– says it’s not a woman’s business to know– that we’d break too easily if we got questioned.”

Your breath hitched, your pulse roaring in your ears as you held his gaze, willing yourself to look small, weak, unimportant.

He laughed. Low, dark, amused. He leaned in again, the overwhelming stench of sweat and smoke rolling off him in waves.

"You think I believe that?" His voice was smooth as he tilted his head, watching you with something cruel, calculating. Your breath came in short, shallow bursts, your hands twisting uselessly behind your back, fingers numb from the ropes cutting into your skin.

You didn’t answer. Because you knew better. Men like him didn’t want the truth. They wanted excuses to hurt you.

He sighed, feigning disappointment. "See, sweetheart, here’s the problem with your little lie." He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a scrap of paper, something smudged with dirt and blood.

"One of your guards had this tucked in his coat. An order from Mr. Shelby himself," he said, unfolding it with a lazy flick of his wrist. "Says to keep you safe. Says not to let you out of their sight."

The bastard grinned as he tossed the paper onto your lap. "Now, why would Thomas Shelby go through all that trouble for someone who doesn’t know anything?"

You felt cold all over. He knew. No amount of lying was going to save you now.

"Yeah," he murmured, standing upright. "That’s what I thought."

His hand shot out suddenly, gripping your jaw, forcing your head back. You winced, but didn’t look away. A cruel smile spread across his face. "That’s good," he murmured. "I like when they look at me."

Then, cold steel pressed against your cheek. You flinched violently, your breath stuttering, but he only grinned wider, his grip tightening, holding you in place. 

"You’ll tell me what I want to know," he promised, his fingers digging into your bruised skin. "Sooner or later."

The blade slid downward, slow, deliberate, tracing the delicate line of your jaw.

Then, it pressed in. A sharp, searing pain bloomed beneath your skin, and you gasped, body jerking instinctively, but the ropes held you tight, trapped.

A thin line of warm blood trickled down your cheek. He hummed in satisfaction. His thumb dragged across your bottom lip, slow, taunting. "Maybe I’ll give you some time to think about it," he mused, releasing you with a sharp shove.

…

Tommy paced the office like a caged animal, fingers tugging through his hair, his mind racing faster than his body could keep up.

The room was too small, too fucking suffocating, and the longer it took to get information, the more his chest tightened, the more his hands shook.

"Where the fuck is she?"

No one had an answer.

Tommy turned on John. "Who told you? Who gave you the fucking word?"

John swallowed, shifting on his feet. "A scout, one of our boys in Small Heath– he saw the wreckage. The guards, the driver… all dead, Tommy."

His stomach dropped.

Bodies.

But no mention of her.

He felt sick. Cold. A new kind of fear he hadn’t felt since the war clawed its way up his throat like bile. He clenched his fists, forcing himself to focus. If they had taken you alive, that meant they wanted something from you.

He had to find you. Now. A sharp knock on the door cut through the tense silence. Isaiah stepped in, breathless, eyes wide.

"We’ve got something."

Tommy’s head snapped up so fast his vision blurred.

"Where?"

Isaiah wiped a hand down his face, shaking his head. "We don’t know for sure, but one of the lads caught wind of a group setting up shop in an old distillery just outside the city– on the outskirts near the river."

"Who?" Tommy’s voice was deadly calm, but the way his hands shook slightly at his sides betrayed him.

Isaiah hesitated. "You’re not gonna like the answer, Tom."

Tommy’s chest tightened. "Say it," he demanded.

Isaiah exhaled. "Sabini’s men."

The room went deathly quiet.

Arthur swore, kicking the leg of a chair so hard it splintered.

Sabini.

That filthy fucking bastard had been waiting for an opportunity to strike, and Tommy had handed it to him on a silver fucking platter when he sent you away. Tommy felt his pulse roar in his ears, drowning out every other sound in the room.

He turned to Arthur. "Get everyone. We move now."

His brother didn’t hesitate. As Arthur stormed out, barking orders to the rest of the men, Tommy grabbed his coat, his revolver already in his hand.

He didn’t just want to kill them.

He wanted to wipe them from existence.

Because they had taken you.

And Thomas Shelby was going to burn the fucking city down to get you back.

…

Your wrists were raw from the ropes, skin rubbed red and torn from how hard you had fought– fought for nothing, fought for no one to come, fought just to survive another minute, another second.

You were too weak to fight anymore. Your entire body was screaming in agony, every nerve burning, every muscle aching with exhaustion.

Your stomach throbbed violently, a deep, searing pain radiating from one of the larger gashes that had been carved into your skin. You could still feel the sting of the blade as it sank into your flesh, the warm trickle of blood spilling down your ribs, soaking into the shredded remains of your clothes.

What was left of them, anyway.

Your dress had been ripped apart, torn from your body in jagged, humiliating shreds, exposing bruised, violated skin.

The men had touched you, their hands roaming, gripping, forcing you still, their laughter ringing in your ears as they stripped you down like you were nothing more than something to be used.

You had fought, God, you had fought, thrashing, kicking, but their hands had been stronger, crueler, unyielding.

Now, you could feel the cool air biting at your skin, the exposed places where they had left their marks– dark bruises, bloody scratches, shame carved into your very bones. Your arms shook, the fabric clinging to what was left of you, offering little protection, little dignity.

You felt disgusting.

Ruined.

And even though they had been interrupted before they could take it any further, the damage was already done.

The way they had laughed. Cruel, mocking, like your pain was amusing, like your struggle meant nothing.

"Shelby won’t want you now."

The words had sliced deeper than the knife, burrowing into your chest, your ribs, your bones.

"Damaged goods."

"Bet he won’t even look at you when we’re done."

It was all still there, burned into your mind, bleeding into your skin like an invisible brand you would never escape.

And your ribs– God, your ribs. Every inhale was a battle, every breath felt like knives digging into your sides, sharp and relentless. You didn’t know if they were bruised or broken, but the deep, throbbing ache that rattled through your chest made you certain that something was damaged beyond repair.

Even the slightest movement sent sharp, unbearable pain lancing through you, making your vision blur, making bile rise in your throat.

Your face was swollen, beaten, the metallic taste of blood thick on your tongue.

Your body flinched violently as hands roamed over you, rough fingers gripping, bruising, tearing fabric, exposing too much. A cruel chuckle ghosted over your ear.

"Not so tough now, are you?"

The words barely registered through the haze, but the hot breath against your skin did, the weight of a body pressing against you. Suffocating.

You turned your head, gasping sharply, choking on a sob as your body tried to shrink away, but the ropes held you firm, like an animal waiting for slaughter.

Another pair of hands gripped your thigh, fingers digging hard enough to bruise.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to disappear inside yourself, trying to will yourself into a place where this wasn’t happening, wasn’t real.

Then– footsteps, shouting.

Not inside the room, but outside.

The hands stilled.

More voices now, low, urgent, laced with something that sounded close to alarm.

"Go check it out," one of the men shouted.

A few of them grumbled, hesitating, as if reluctant to leave, but then another loud thud echoed from beyond the door, followed by the distant clatter of metal hitting the floor.

The man above you cursed, pushing off of you abruptly, leaving behind a nauseating heat where his body had been pressing against yours.

"Fucking deal with her," he ordered the one who stayed behind before storming toward the door.

You heard them shuffle out, their boots heavy against the floor, the door creaking as it was pulled shut behind them. One remained. 

Then– Gunfire. A sharp, brutal crack shook the walls. The man froze. Another shot. Then another. Shouts of panic cried outside the door, the unmistakable sound of bodies hitting the ground. And then the door burst open.

The man barely had time to turn, barely had time to lift his knife, barely had time to do anything, before a bullet tore through his skull, the shot echoing like thunder.

His body crumpled to the floor.

More boots pounded into the room. Your swollen, half-lidded eyes struggled to focus, your mind fading in and out, but you knew– you knew those voices. Someone dropped to their knees beside you.

"Fuck– It’s her." The voice was urgent, but familiar. "She’s alive. Love, it’s me– it’s John. Can ya hear me?"

He moved to untie you, but you let out a small, broken noise. Weakly, you tried to turn away, as if you could somehow hide your exposed body from him– hide from what had been done to you.

"Shit– someone get her a coat, something!" John hollered. 

More hurried voices. More boots scuffing against the ground.

Then a voice rang out. "Get out of the fucking way!"

The tone was raw, shaking with rage, sharp enough to cut through the chaos like a knife. Everyone moved aside instantly.

Tommy’s blue eyes locked onto you, widening as he took in the bruises, the gash on your stomach leaking blood, the torn fabric barely covering your body.

Then, under his breath, so low it was barely a whisper, he muttered, "Jesus Christ.” 

His coat was off his shoulders in an instant. He crouched down and carefully draped it over you, covering as much of your exposed skin as he could. The weight of it should’ve been comforting, should’ve felt like protection, but you flinched. The sudden movement sent a fresh wave of pain coursing through your body, making your breath hitch sharply in your throat. Tommy’s jaw tightened. His hands hovered, like he was unsure if touching you would only make things worse.

John knelt beside him, fingers moving to quickly undo the ropes. 

Your body swayed forward as the last rope fell away, your muscles too weak to hold you upright, but Tommy’s hands shot out instantly, catching you before you could collapse completely. He felt the way you tensed. The way your body tried to shrink away, as if you weren’t sure whether his hands were safe ones or not. 

“Can you walk?” His voice was low, controlled, but his heart was fucking pounding.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t even manage to look up at him– like you didn’t even register his question.

Your head hung limply forward, resting weakly against his shoulder. Your breath came in shallow bursts as the weight of exhaustion and pain dragged you down.

That was all the answer he needed. Without hesitation, he scooped you up into his arms. The moment he lifted you, a sharp, strangled cry tore from your throat as the wound on your stomach pinched.

“I got you,” The sound of your pain sent a violent shudder through Tommy’s body, his grip instinctively tightening. “I know, love. I know.”

Your head lolled against his chest, another small whimper escaping your lips as his arms adjusted their hold, careful but unrelenting. His breath was uneven as he stood, keeping you pressed tightly against him, shielding you as much as he could.

Your pain was his pain now.

Your suffering was his burden to bear.

And he was going to make every last one of those bastards suffer for what they had done to you.

The night air was cold, but Tommy barely felt it. His grip on you didn’t waver, his arms locking you against his chest, shielding you from the world as he carried you through the bloodstained corridors of the warehouse.

Every step he took was controlled, deliberate, but inside he was barely holding it together. You were too still, your body too limp in his arms. 

“Almost there," he murmured, his voice softer than he’d ever let it be, barely audible beneath the pounding of his own heart.

You didn’t respond. But when his arms shifted slightly, having to adjust his hold as he stepped over a body on the ground, you let out a small whimper of pain. His grip tightened instinctively.

"Shh," he soothed, his lips brushing against your temple, voice raw. "I’ve got you."

The car was waiting outside, its headlights cutting through the darkness, and the backseat door already open. Arthur was barking orders to the men, his voice clipped and deadly, but the moment Tommy stepped outside, all movement stopped. The others watched as he carried you– silent, grim, waiting.

They had seen Tommy Shelby furious before.

But this was something else entirely.

Without a word, Tommy laid you down in the backseat, before climbing in himself. He adjusted his coat so that it covered you again before guiding your head to rest more comfortably on his lap. 

The door slammed shut and the engine roared to life. The moment the car jolted forward, you let out another soft whimper, your fingers weakly reaching for him. 

"It’s alright," he murmured, as his hand brushed through your matted hair. "You’re alright."

You heard his words, but they felt far away… like a voice carried through water, muffled, distant. Your head shifted slightly against his lap as you forced your swollen eyes open. 

And then you saw it.

Blood.

Deep red, seeping through the white fabric of his shirt, thick and dark, staining the material all the way down to his waist. Your breath hitched. For a second, you didn’t understand. Your dazed mind struggled to catch up, struggled to process how he might’ve gotten hurt. 

Then it clicked. It wasn’t his blood.

It was yours.

Your fingers twitched weakly, brushing against the soaked fabric.

"Tommy–"

The word came out slurred, almost inaudible.

His hands tensed around you instantly. "I’m here, love," he said quickly, his voice sharper now, urgent. "I’m right here."

Your vision blurred. The world was tilting again. The blood, so much blood– 

"Tommy, am I dying?"

His arms tightened around you, his grip firm, protective, as if holding you together was enough to keep you here. 

"No," he said immediately, but there was something frantic beneath his voice now, something breaking. "No, you’re not dying. You’re alright."

You blinked slowly, the exhaustion dragging you down. 

Tommy turned his head sharply.

"Drive faster," he snapped, his voice thick with something close to desperation.

Arthur was already pushing the car to its limit, the tires kicking up dirt and gravel as they sped toward home. Tommy’s hand cradled your cheek, his thumb stroking gently along your skin, even as his grip shook.

"You’re alright. But you have to stay awake," he said, almost pleadingly. 

You tried. And really, you wanted to. 

But the last thing you felt before the darkness pulled you under was the way his fingers trembled against your skin.

…

You felt the car lurch to a stop, the tires skidding against the dirt, but the world around you was hazy, your body heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and pain.

You jolted further awake when Tommy shifted, pulling you onto his lap before he pushed the door open.

Then, a rush of cold air. Sharp as it bit at your skin. Tommy stepped out, his grip on you unwavering, unrelenting. There were voices, then footsteps. The sound of boots pounding against the ground. 

Polly’s familiar voice. "Oh, my girl," she gasped. “What have they done to her?”

You tried to lift your head, to focus, but your vision swam, the world tilting in and out of darkness. 

Polly was moving fast, her skirt rustling as she rushed toward you, her hands reaching for you before you even realized what was happening.

"Get her inside," she ordered, her tone sharp, controlled, but beneath it there was fear.

Tommy didn’t hesitate. You felt the urgency in his body, the tension coiling tight in his arms as he carried you up the steps, past the doorway, into the dim warmth of the house.

Everything was spinning. 

When he set you down, the wound in your stomach pinched and a warm rush of liquid poured from it. You clutched at it– felt the blood pooling between your fingers. 

"Tommy, put some pressure on that!" Polly’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and commanding.

Your breath hitched, your body already trembling from exhaustion, from blood loss, from the deep, horrible throbbing wrapping around your ribs like a vice.

Tommy moved instantly, his hands already reaching for you. You felt him brush your hands away before pressing a towel firmly against the open wound on your stomach. 

The moment the pressure hit, white-hot pain exploded through you.

You screamed.

 Your body arched off the mattress, hands flying to his wrist, gripping hard, your nails digging into his skin, trying to push him away.

"I know," Tommy rasped without budging, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like he might break his teeth.

You tried to twist away, but his hands didn’t move, didn’t falter, didn’t let up.

Your vision swam, a high-pitched ringing buzzing in your ears, agony coiling through your body like fire, licking up your ribs, burning through your spine.

Polly was moving fast, grabbing bandages, ripping fabric, preparing whatever she needed, but all you could focus on was the pressure, the unbearable weight of Tommy’s hands pressing against your stomach.

"Fuck," Tommy cursed under his breath. "Pol, do something. Help her–"

"I need supplies, Tommy," Polly snapped. "I need you to go get them."

You saw Tommy hesitate.

"Tom," Polly’s voice was firmer now, demanding. "Go. Now."

A beat. Then, the pressure on your stomach lifted as he moved away. The moment Tommy’s hands left your body, you felt the loss like a cruel snap of cold air.

Your breath hitched, your body instinctively tensing, but Polly’s hands were already there, replacing his. 

She pressed tightly against the wound, and fresh agony ripped through you, another strangled cry spilling from your lips.

"Shh, darling," Polly murmured, her voice softer now, gentler than before, but still edged with urgency. "I know, I know. We’re going to get you all fixed up."

You let out a soft, weak noise as Tommy moved, as if your body somehow knew it was losing its only source of warmth, of safety.

"I’ll be right back," Tommy’s voice was hoarse, raw, full of something broken.

And then, the door swung shut. 

Your fingers clutched weakly at the sheets, your body writhing slightly, trying to escape the searing pain, but Polly held firm. "Easy," she murmured, one hand moving up to smooth your hair back from your face, her touch gentle despite the blood coating her fingers. "Just breathe."

You tried. But every inhale sent sharp daggers through your ribs, every second felt like your body was tearing itself apart.

"That’s it," Polly encouraged, even as her hands remained firm, even as she continued pressing into the wound. "Just keep breathing, sweetheart."

Footsteps. A door swinging open.

Then, his voice.

"Here," Tommy said, sounding breathless as he stormed back into the room. His hands were full of supplies.

Polly barely glanced up. "Put them on the table."

He did, his movements fast and urgent. But the moment he turned back to you, his face fell.

His blue eyes flickered to the blood pooling around Polly’s hands, to the torn fabric soaked with red, and then, to your face.

Your body was trembling, your breath coming shaky and weak, your skin far too pale.

Tommy’s hands curled into fists. Polly looked at him before releasing the pressure on your wound.

"It’s not clotting," she said, flat, grim. Polly exhaled sharply, grabbing the needle and thread. "We’ll have to stitch it up."

His jaw clenched, his throat working around words he couldn’t say, his hands hovering uselessly at his sides. Without a word, he took his place back beside you, his hands finding your shoulders, his grip steady, firm, unyielding.

Polly met his gaze. "Hold her down."

And with agony in his eyes, he did.

A sharp, searing sensation that tore through your body like fire, ripping you from the darkness and into the cruel reality of the moment. Your eyes flew open, your breath catching instantly as a white-hot, unbearable sting shot through your stomach.

A scream tore from your throat before you even knew what was happening.

"Keep her from moving!" Polly’s voice was urgent, firm, cutting through the haze of pain and confusion as she clutched the bottle of alcohol she was using to clean your wounds.

Then, strong hands gripped your shoulders.

"Shh, love, I know, I know."

Tommy pinned you down, his weight pressing against you just enough to keep you still, but not enough to hurt you.

You fought against it anyway, your body thrashing violently, panic and agony blurring together as Polly’s hands worked quickly, pressing something sharp against your skin. Another wave of pain crashed through you, and you sobbed, gasping, your body twisting uselessly beneath Tommy’s grip. 

"Please–" Your voice cracked, weak and frantic, as the burning sensation only grew worse. “Please, stop–”

Tommy’s grip tightened, his breath harsh against your ear as he whispered, "I know,” he repeated. “You have to let her do this."

You couldn’t do it, couldn’t bear the pain, the sting, the relentless wave of agony pressing down on every nerve in your body.

But Tommy wasn’t letting go. His hands stayed firm, keeping you still as Polly continued, her voice clipped, professional– but you could hear the pain in it too.

"It’ll be over soon," she murmured, but it barely reached you over the sound of your own ragged sobs.

Another sharp pain seared through your ribs, and your body arched violently, another broken cry ripping from your throat. Your fingers latched onto Tommy’s arm, gripping him so tightly your nails dug into his skin.

He didn’t flinch.

His voice was hoarse, desperate, like this was hurting him just as much as it was hurting you. "I got you," he murmured, his breath warm against your temple. "I’m right here, love. Just hold on. Just hold on."

But you couldn’t.

You felt yourself slipping away, the pain too much, too unbearable.

Your sobs grew softer, weaker, until the darkness swallowed you whole.

…

Sleep clung to you like a heavy shroud, pulling you under, keeping you trapped beneath the surface.

But then… voices.

Low, hushed, urgent.

You weren’t awake, not really. But the words drifted through the haze, barely reaching you, like an echo through water.

"I don’t know what happened in that room," Polly said, soft but grave, laced with something heavy, unspoken. "But our girl was hurt beyond what the eye can see."

There was silence– so suffocating that you could feel it settle over the room like a funeral shroud.

Then, Tommy’s voice, low, rough, dangerous in a way you had never heard before.

"What are you saying, Pol?"

A pause.

"You saw the bruises on her thighs, Tommy. The way her clothes were torn."

The words barely registered before a deep, unbearable shame clawed its way up your throat.

You wanted to pull the blanket tighter around you– to disappear, vanish, sink back into the darkness where none of this was real.

But your body wouldn’t listen. Your fingers twitched, barely moving against the sheets. Another silence. Longer this time. Heavier.

Then, Tommy’s voice, but it was different now. Not sharp, not angry. Shaken.

“Jesus Christ."

Another pause.

Then, a sound you never thought you’d hear from Tommy Shelby. A shaky exhale, almost like a breath that had been trapped in his chest for too long, forced out in a way that wasn’t entirely controlled.

You wanted to open your eyes.

Wanted to reach for him, for Polly, for something that made you feel whole again.

But your body was too broken, and your mind was too tired.

…

The room was quiet when you woke up.

Not the kind of peaceful quiet that brought comfort, but the kind that felt hollow, empty, like something had been ripped away. Your body felt heavy, every inch of you aching, wrapped in a deep, throbbing pain that radiated from your ribs, your face, your legs.

For a moment, you didn’t move. Didn’t even breathe too deeply.

Just listened.

The soft crackling of the fireplace. The distant murmurs of voices downstairs. The faint scent of whiskey, tobacco, and something familiar lingering in the air.

Then, movement

Your eyes shifted, and that’s when you saw him.

Tommy.

He was sitting in a chair beside the bed, his head bowed, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together like he had been praying but never finished the prayer.

His hair was disheveled, his coat abandoned somewhere, his sleeves rolled up. He looked worn down.  Like he had been carrying too much weight for far too long.

Your throat felt tight. When you shifted slightly, trying to ease the ache in your body, the mattress creaked softly beneath you.

Tommy’s head snapped up instantly. His blue eyes locked onto you, and for a brief second they widened, raw and unguarded, before he jolted forward, hurrying to your side.

"Hey–" His voice was rough, low with exhaustion, relief, and something deeper, something broken. “Hey, hey, hey. I’m here. I’m right here.” 

You tried to speak, but nothing came out. Your throat tightened painfully, your lips parting as if to form words, but all that came was silence. Then– tears. Hot, silent tears spilled over your cheeks, streaking down your skin before you could stop them.

Tommy’s breath hitched, his face contorting slightly, as if the sight of you like this physically hurt him.

"Hey," he repeated, his hands reaching up, cupping your face carefully, his thumbs wiping away the tears as fast as they fell. "It’s alright. You’re alright."

But you weren’t. And you both knew it.

More tears spilled, your body trembling despite the warmth of the blankets, despite the fact that Tommy’s hands were steady, firm, and safe. You let out a weak, shaky exhale, your breath stuttering.

Tommy’s jaw tensed, the pad of his thumb still brushing along your cheek.

"You’re safe now," he whispered, his forehead nearly pressing against yours. "You hear me?"

You closed your eyes and nodded weakly, but the tears kept falling. They wouldn’t stop– wouldn’t slow, no matter how hard you tried to breathe through it, to swallow it down, to push it away like it wasn’t happening.

His hands never left your face, gentle, steady, as if he thought you might shatter completely if he let go.

He watched you closely, his expression tight, unreadable, but his eyes gave him away. They were soft. Without a word, Tommy shifted, slowly, carefully, and sat on the edge of the bed. His weight made the mattress dip. And then, he reached for you. Not all at once. Not suddenly. Just gently. One of his arms slid behind your back, the other under your legs, his movements slow, deliberate, giving you time to pull away if you wanted to. But you didn’t.  So, when he finally pulled you into him, when he gathered you against his chest, you just let him. Because the desire to be held so gently by him outweighed the pain in your stomach. 

A soft, shuddering sob broke from your throat the second your face pressed into his shoulder. His arms tightened and his chest rose and fell beneath you.

"I’ve got you," he said.

You just cried harder. Cried into his shirt, into his chest, into the only thing that felt remotely safe.

And Tommy just held you.

Like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

… 

The hands were everywhere. Gripping, clawing, pressing against your skin.

Hot breath ghosted over your ear, cruel laughter filling the darkness as rough fingers bruised their way over your body.

"Not so tough now, are you?" 

You thrashed, but you were trapped, bound, helpless. No matter how hard you fought, kicked, screamed, you couldn’t get away.

"Shelby won’t want you now."

"Damaged goods."

"Bet he won’t even look at you when we’re done."

No. No, please.

You screamed.

You jerked awake violently, gasping, drenched in sweat, heart pounding in your chest like it was trying to escape. The room was dark, shadows stretching across the walls, but the nightmare was still there, lingering, suffocating.

A figure moved beside you, reaching for you–  Too close. Too fast.

"Don’t fucking touch me!" The words ripped from your throat before you even registered them, your voice sharp, frantic, trembling with terror. 

"Hey, hey, hey. It’s me. It’s just me."

You sucked in a sharp breath, your pulse roaring in your ears as the terror began to splinter, reality bleeding through the nightmare. Your eyes darted to his face.

Not them.

Tommy.

A shuddering sob broke from your lips as you reached forward. Tommy caught you immediately, his arms wrapping around you, holding you firmly but carefully.

"Shh, you’re alright," he murmured against your hair. "You’re safe. I’ve got you."

His warmth grounded you, but the nightmare still clung to you like poison, lingering in your skin, in your bones. You inhaled, your cheek resting against the curve between his shoulder and neck. His scent wrapped around you, familiar and safe. He smelled of whiskey, tobacco, gunpowder, something darker, something uniquely him.

The fabric of his shirt was soft, worn, and beneath it, you could feel the subtle heat of his skin, along with the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It was faster than usual, uneven, like he wasn’t as composed as he wanted to be.

The silence stretched between you for a long time, a heavy, fragile thing hanging in the air.

Then, Tommy’s voice finally broke it. "What did they do to you?"

You stiffened. Every muscle in your body locked up, panic flaring hot in your chest. Your breath shook, your fingers twisting into his shirt as your mind raced, panicked, hesitated. 

If he knew, would he still want you?

"Shelby won’t want you now."

"Damaged goods."

"Bet he won’t even look at you when we’re done." 

The cruel messages from the men lingered in the forefront of your mind. You were damaged. Used. Broken. What if he’d see you differently now? What if he never touched you the same again? What if he’d– 

"Please,” he cut in. “I have to know." 

Slowly, you swallowed, your throat tight, aching, before you finally forced the words past your lips. "They–" your voice was barely a whisper. "They touched me, Tommy."

The air in the room shifted as Tommy stiffened. Then his jaw clenched, his breath sharp and ragged through his nose. Before you could process it, he was moving. Standing up and turning toward the door. For a second, your brain didn’t register it– or understand.

Then, it hit you. 

He was leaving… Heading straight for the door. Panic slammed into your chest, raw and frantic.

"Tommy–" Your voice broke, but he didn’t stop.

No, no, no– 

"I’m sorry, I– I tried," you choked out, your throat burning, your hands reaching for him but too weak to move from the bed. "I swear, I fought. I– I should’ve fought harder, I–"

Tommy froze in place.

You didn’t realize you were crying again, but the words kept spilling out, rushed and broken, desperate to keep him here, to explain how hard you fought. "I’m sorry," you gasped, barely able to breathe. "Please– please, don’t go– don’t leave me– I’m so sorry–"

Tommy turned sharply, crossing the room in two strides, and then, his hands were on your face, cradling you, forcing you to look at him.

"No." His voice was firm, steady, but his eyes… His eyes were shining, raw, and shattered. "This is not your fault."

Your breath hitched, but he didn’t let go.

"I should’ve been there," he whispered, voice thick with agony, regret, fury… at himself, at the men who did this, at everything. "You hear me? I should’ve been there. And I should never have sent you away. I was wrong. And I’m so fucking sorry."

A tear slipped down your cheek, and Tommy wiped it away with his thumb, his touch careful.

“I thought–” you stammered. “I thought you were going to leave.”

"Christ, I’m not leaving you love," he murmured, his voice so quiet, so broken it nearly undid you completely. "I just–" he swallowed thickly, his jaw tightening. "I want to go back there and kill every last one of those bastards for what they did to you."

You closed your eyes, your body shaking, exhausted, drained. But when you leaned forward, Tommy caught you instantly, pulling you into him, holding you tightly against his chest.

"Please stay," you whispered, your voice thin, fragile, desperate. "Please, Tommy– don’t go."

His hands tensed against your face, thumbs still brushing against your cheekbones, his blue eyes searching yours, reading every ounce of fear buried beneath the words.

"I’m not going anywhere, love," he murmured, his voice low, rough with emotion, as if saying the words out loud solidified them in stone.

A quiet, broken noise escaped your throat– not quite a sob, not quite relief, but something in between.

His hands slipped down, his arms gathering you close. Your forehead pressed against his chest, his warmth grounding you.

He dipped his head, his lips brushing against your temple, barely a whisper of contact, but the weight of it was enough.

"I never should’ve sent you away," he murmured, his voice softer now, but still laced with the guilt he would never forgive himself for. "And I promise you, love, I won’t make that mistake again."

Your fingers weakly clung to his shirt, your body melting against him as the last of your strength gave out. 

And Tommy held you together.

[widowrecs]

Knockout Masterlist

Boxer!Harry x You

*Contains Mature and Explicit content, so please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞*

~ Knockout* (Pt. 1)

The one where Harry is a handsome stranger who always comes to your diner covered in bruises.

~ Whiplash* (Pt. 2)

The one where Harry does something dangerous in the shadows, and he’ll do anything to keep you out of it.

~ Reckless* (Pt. 3)

The one where Harry secretly gets paid to fight, but you’re the one paying the price.

~ Uppercut* (Pt. 4)

The one where Harry is fighting everyone. Even you.

~ Outlawed* (Final Part)

The one where Harry just wants to fight, and you just want to love him.

The Extras:

~ Counterpunch*

The one where Harry comes back from a boxing match to find you overstimulated on the bed.

[widowrecs]

this is GORGEOUS wow the flip from arguing to protective?? insane

One Day*

Summary: An extra for 404*

The one where you still hate Harry, but turns out, you might be having his baby.

Word Count: 5.4k

Content Warning: 18+, smut, breeding kink, pregnancy kink, spanking, brief choking, slight angst (happy ending), mentions of pregnancy and babies! *Please be so gentle with yourself and only continue if you feel comfortable! 💞*

“I’m late.”

“For what?”

You huff. “I’m late,” you repeat, gesturing frantically toward your hips. “A week late. Which I know can happen, but…not really to me, so…I’m late. And I think we’re fucked.”

Harry blinks. Looks down at your stomach. Looks up at your face. “Oh.”

“Oh?” You rear back. “That’s all you have to say for yourself is oh?”

He lifts his left shoulder in nonchalant shrug before flopping down onto your sofa. “I don’t know. What did you want me to say?”

“I…I don’t know,” you huff. “I kind of thought you’d…yell. Or freak out or something. Or ask me if I’m keeping it.”

“Do you want me to freak out?”

“Well…no. Not really.”

“Do you want to keep it?”

“I…I don’t know, I don’t even…I’m not even sure if I am yet or not.”

“Okay.” He nudges his glasses up before crossing his arms. “Well did you get a test?”

You glance toward the pharmacy bag still sitting on your kitchen counter. It’s been mocking you ever since you picked it up. Staring you down, sticking out its tongue. One, tiny little box that’ll determine the next chapter of your life. It’s almost infuriating. 

“Yeah,” you mumble. “I, um…got one on the way home from work.”

“Okay. Have you taken it yet?”

“Not…exactly.”

His brow raises. “Do you…need help or something?”

You scowl. “It’s peeing on a stick, I think I’ve got it covered.”

“Yeah, well, knowing you, you’d find a way to fuck it up.” He smirks. “Sure hope our baby gets my brains instead of yours.”

You grab the pillow beside him and give him a firm whack. “That’s not funny.”

He laughs as he winces. “Good. I wasn’t being funny.”

“Then, stop it. And stop being so calm.”

“You just said you preferred calm—”

“Well…it’s scaring me now. So what gives?”

Another shrug. “I don’t know. I just don’t really feel the need to waste a reaction on something we don’t even know is happening yet. Take the test and then I’ll freak out if you’d like.”

“You say that like someone that’s had a lot of pregnancy scares.”

He snorts. “No, I say that like someone who knows freaking out won’t exactly help you right now. So just take the goddamn test, Tinkerbell. And we’ll go from there.”

Unamused, but somehow slightly comforted, you oblige and snatch the box from the table before retreating to the bathroom.

Once the timer has been set, you slowly make your way back to him.

He’s still sitting on the sofa. Calm. Unaffected. Watching you without a care in the world. Like his whole life isn’t about to change. 

It drives you nuts.

“Five minutes,” you tell him.

He nods.

Warily, you sit in the chair to his left, staring holes through your shoes as your heart races inside your chest. You’re not sure how you got here. Not sure where you could possibly go. You aren’t ready for a baby. Not…yet. Especially not one with…him.

“Hey,” he calls, pulling your attention up. “S’the matter with you?”

Your eyes narrow. “What the hell do you think?”

Another casual shrug that makes your teeth grit. “I thought you’d be happy.”

“Happy?” You lean back. “Why on Earth would I be happy about getting stuck with your DNA for the rest of my life?”

He smiles. “I don’t know. You just seem like the type of girl to want a lot of babies.”

You scoff. “Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I am not.” You don’t think.

“Really? Is that why you begged me to breed you?”

“I didn’t actually mean it. That’s just what you say in a moment like that.”

His eyebrow raises.

You hesitate. “Did…did you mean it?”

“Kind of,” he admits. “I mean, yeah, maybe I didn’t mean right this second, but…I don’t hate the idea.”

“You actually want to be a father?” You snort. “Bullshit. You hate kids. I’ve seen you.”

“I don’t hate kids, I just don’t care about them when they aren’t mine.” He throws his arm over the back of the chair and smirks. “I like my nieces, though. They’re chill.”

You blink. “You…you have nieces? Wait, you have siblings?”

“Yeah. One brother. He’s got two kids and they’re cute as shit.”

“Oh.” Your head starts to pound. “See? We can’t have a baby when I don’t even know anything about you.”

He chuckles to himself before nodding his chin at you. “All right, fine. Go ahead. Ask me whatever.”

“What?”

“Ask me what you wanna know.”

You think. “Okay. How often do you see your family?”

“Often enough. They live in California, and they work a lot. But we call every couple of weeks.”

“Oh. That’s…surprisingly nice. Uh…do you have a history of disease in your family?”

He grins. “Excuse me?”

“I need to know what I’m getting myself into.” You motion at him. “Answer.”

“This isn’t an interview—”

“Answer.”

“No,” he says. “Not that I know of anyway.”

“Great. Do you plan to be a deadbeat father?”

His eyes roll. “I’m not dignifying that with a response.”

“So, yes? You do? Oh, great—”

“No, because that’s not a fair fucking question—”

“It is a fair question. If I have to raise this baby alone, I want to know—”

“Of course you wouldn’t fucking be alone. Do you really think so little of me—”

“I don’t think about you at all. How am I supposed to know what you’ll do—”

“I wouldn’t leave you alone,” he nearly snaps. He takes a breath to calm himself before adding, “Even if it wasn’t my baby, I wouldn’t leave you alone.”

Your lashes flutter and you can feel your heart lodging in your throat. “Fine. Last question.”

He waits.

“Did you ever want kids…before? With…her?”

He doesn’t have to think for very long, but the mention of her makes him smile. “Nah. We talked about it, but we weren’t ready. We liked it being just us, you know? We had a bunch of shit we wanted to do. We were a long way from babies and a white picket fence.”

You try to blink back the tears swimming their way to your eye. You can still see that beautiful picture of her in his room. An entire future of love and life and adventures that he lost. Now…he’s stuck with you.

“Oh,” you murmur.

His brows furrow. “What?”

“Nothing.” You swipe your knuckle along your cheek. “So, you probably still aren’t ready.”

“I didn’t say that.”

You give him an incredulous look. “Harry, come on. You aren’t ready for a baby. I’m not ready for a baby. We…we don’t know each other, we don’t like each other…we can’t do this. You know that.”

“Do I?” He leans forward. “It’s a baby, not a bomb. I think we can handle it.”

“Well, I don’t. You don’t even like me. You can’t have a baby with me.”

“Why not? People do it all the time.”

“But not us.” You give him a firm stare. “Harry, we love our jobs. We want careers, not kids. So having a baby kind of gets in the way of that. There’s…there’s diaper changes, and teething, and potty training—”

“So?”

“So. We don’t work together well. In fact, it’s a rather well-known fact that we don’t get along. We can’t possibly raise a kid. We’d ruin it.” You study him for a beat, unnerved by the nonchalance in his tone. “Why do I get the feeling you actually want this to be real?”

Another shrug and you nearly lunge at him. “I don’t know,” he murmurs, resting his elbows on his knees while he glances at the floor. “I’m older now. Maybe it’s time to…think about settling down.”

Your face scrunches. “Ew. That doesn’t sound like you at all.”

He laughs. “Look, I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it, but…maybe it could be a good thing.”

You stand from your chair and pace the length of your small living room. “This is crazy. This is crazy. I can’t have a baby, I’m…I’m not ready. I’m too young, I…I don’t even know what I’d do with one. Or if I even have a maternal instinct.”

“Probably not,” Harry offers, smirking when you glare. “You won’t really know until you have one.”

“Oh, great.”

“Listen, if you feel like you aren’t ready…we can find another alternative,” he says, softening his voice. “Okay? There are plenty of other options and we’ll find one you feel comfortable with.”

A tad wary of his sympathetic answer, you eye him closely. “Yeah? And what if we disagree?”

“We won’t,” he says calmly. “Your body, your decision.”

“Right,” you snort. “I’m sure.”

“I mean it. I wouldn’t be the one having to carry it.” He nods as though to reassure you. “Honestly, Tink. This would be your decision, one hundred percent. It’s not mine to make. Just to support.”

The tears rush a little faster as you sniffle and step closer. “You say that now, but what if I decide something you don’t like?”

“I will like it. I promise,” he murmurs, standing up in order to move toward you. “If you want to keep it, great. If you don’t, great.”

“I…I…” You suck in a deep breath, unable to slow the wild racing in your chest. “Fuck, I can’t…I don’t know—”

“Hey, okay, easy. Easy, Princess,” he says, quickly reaching out to take you in his arms and ease you against his chest. “Relax. Okay? Just breathe. Breathe for me.”

“I…I don’t think I can—”

“Yes, you can. You are.” His lips press to the top of your head while his hand runs up and down your back soothingly. “I’m right here. Do you hear me? I’m right here. You’re not alone. You won’t be alone. I promise.”

You squeeze your arms together and hold on with everything you have. Right now, he feels like your only anchor in the world. The only person strong enough to carry you both through to the other side. And for the first time since you met him…you feel glad that he’s here.

The two of you stand in the middle of the room for a long while before he finally murmurs, “I think it’s been five minutes.”

Your eyes close and you grip his shirt in your first. “I’m…I’m not ready to look.”

“Okay.” You can hear the smile in his response. “Okay, we can wait.”

So, you do as the truth starts to build in your chest. Inescapable, no matter how hard you try to swallow it down.

Finally, you can’t help but whisper, “You know what scares me the most?”

“Hm?”

“…that maybe I’m hoping it’s real.”

The apartment falls silent again. He doesn’t push you to elaborate, but you can feel his heart beating just a little faster inside his chest.

“I don’t know why,” you continue. “I don’t…I really don’t think I’m ready, but…but what if I should be? What if…what if we met and we started this because…because we were supposed to do this?”

He considers this. “Like fate.”

“Yeah.” You roll your lips into your mouth. “Because I still hate you. I do. I just…I’m starting to get this picture in my head of us. Being a family. Having a big house in a good school district. Tucking them into bed at night and reading them stories. Which is…dumb.”

“No,” he mumbles. “No, it’s not dumb. I’ve been thinking about it, too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Because I meant what I said, I’d love to get you pregnant. You’d look really fucking hot.”

You chuckle. “Yes, so you’ve mentioned.”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Uh…okay?”

He smirks. “I never had a breeding kink until I met you.”

You lean back and swat your hand across his chest. “You’re so annoying.”

“What? I’m being serious.” He grins and those dimples pop free. God, you hope your kids have his dimples—

No. Nope. You aren’t going there.

You shake your head, ridding yourself of the thought. “Whatever. You’re just horny.”

“Maybe. But it’s still true.” His gentle gaze sweeps across your face. “If you wanna do this…we’ll do it. You and me. We’ll have this baby, and we’ll raise it to be really smart, and funny, and to not take shit from anybody.”

You laugh, brushing away a few more tears. “Maybe we can teach it to write code.”

“Oh, fucking obviously.”

The two of you smile before the excitement seems to fizzle and Harry’s brows pull together.

“You know I don’t actually hate you, right?” he says.

You blink. “What?”

“I know that’s our thing, and I know you said it earlier, but…I don’t actually hate you. This baby wouldn’t grow up with two parents that don’t like each other.”

“Oh…I…I know.”

“Good. Because I don’t want that to be one of the reasons you think we can’t do it. I’d fucking love that baby. And I’d love you for carrying it.”

Instantly, you both seem to still. The four-letter word sounds so loud inside such a small room.

I’d love you.

He clears his throat, shifting a bit as he glances toward the kitchen. “I mean, I’d…I’d appreciate you for carrying it—”

“No, yeah, I know,” you stammer. “I know what you mean.”

“Good. Yeah.”

The two of you fall quiet again before you softly admit, “I think I’m ready to look.”

“Okay.” He squeezes your hip. “I’m right here.”

You take in a deep breath before begrudgingly pulling yourself out of his arms. You already miss his warmth and the way he felt like home and your stomach turns as you slip into the bathroom.

With trembling hands, you reach for the stick that sits on the edge of your sink. And in those three seconds, an entire lifetime flashes before your eyes. 

The good, the bad, and the everything in-between. You see a house and a dog and a big backyard. You see two little kids rolling in the grass and jumping into the pool. You hear them begging for a bedtime story and crying when they scrape their knee.

You see a dozen birthdays and holidays and visits to the zoo. You see their heartbreaks and triumphs, their successes and letdowns. You see a million goodnight kisses and cuddles on the couch. 

And then…you see Harry.

In every picture, every moment. Taking them to their first baseball game and picking them up from their first dance. Sneaking them into R-rated movies even after you explicitly said no and feeding them far too much candy and popcorn.

You see him teach your son how to tie a tie and dance with your daughter as she stands on his feet. You see him cooking breakfast in the kitchen, flour all over his face. You see him curled up in bed, his head on your chest, your fingers in his hair. You hear him tell you how happy he is. How glad that he found you.

It’s a beautiful life. Even if it’s not the one you imagined for yourself. And in that moment, you decide that it doesn’t matter what the test says. If that’s your future, so be it. 

As long as you get to live it with him.

“So?” Harry calls from the hall.

You swallow thickly and slowly glance down.

Negative.

Negative.

No baby. No pregnancy. No white-picket fence.

You stare at the test for at least a full minute. You aren’t sure how you feel. Relieved. Disappointed. Upset. Thankful. Confused.

“Tink?”

You turn around. “Uh…it’s negative,” you report, handing it to him. “False alarm. I guess I’m just late.”

He glances over the stick with a rather blank expression before looking at you. “Are you okay?”

You nod. “Yeah. This is definitely the better outcome. I’m just…”

“What?”

“I don’t know. I guess I was just starting to get used to the idea.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, handing it back. “I know.”

You throw the test away. “Sorry for making you come all the way over here for that.”

“Hey, whoa—” He strides into the bathroom. “What the fuck are you talking about? Of course I’d be here.”

“I just…I wasted your time. I should have taken it before I called you—”

“Tink,” he sighs, taking your cheeks in his hands. “Stop. You can always call me for shit like this.” He looks at you, then amends, “You can always me. For anything. You know that.”

A tear slips from your eye without warning, and you suck in a sharp breath. “I don’t know why I’m so disappointed. This is what I wanted—”

“I know,” he says gently. “I know. It’s hard.”

“Yeah.” You hiccup. “But this is good, right? This is better?”

For a moment, he says nothing. He simply stares at you with a rather sympathetic expression. Or maybe it’s forlorn. Maybe he’s disappointed. Upset that you aren’t giving him what he wants.

Then, he dips down to kiss the tip of your nose. “This is good,” he whispers, and you know he means it. “We would have figured it out. And you would have been a wonderful mom. But I know you. And I know you aren’t ready. Not yet.”

You close your eyes and melt into the feel of his palms against your skin. Into the way he reassures you and protects you all in the same breath. You never thought you’d feel so safe in the serenity of his touch, but here you are. Wishing for him to hold you forever.

“And when we are ready, we’ll do it on our terms,” he says. “Okay?”

Slowly, you nod. “This is good,” you repeat to yourself. “It is. Really. Things are going great at work, I’m finally secure financially, and even you and I are…kind of getting along.”

He smirks.

“This is good. This is better.” You repeat the mantra until you really believe it. “Besides, I probably wouldn’t have been a very good pregnant woman anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. I feel like I’d be really cranky. Or needy. My ankles would get all swollen and I’d be hot all the time and nauseous and miserable. I’d probably try to kill you.”

“Oh, you’d definitely try to kill me. You try to kill me even when you aren’t pregnant.”

You gasp. “Rude.”

“What?” He chuckles again before his eyes slowly start to rake down your frame. “But I don’t know. I think it’ll be better than you think.”

You swat him again. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop trying to picture it.”

“Why? I told you, you’d look fucking hot.”

“Yeah…no.”

However, he only nods, moving in to subtly brush his lips against yours. “You would. Be so fucking beautiful carrying our baby. With your tits all swollen and your belly getting bigger every day.”

Truthfully, the image almost makes you grimace, but there’s something about the way he says it. The way he talks about you so reverently. A soft, sultry murmur that goes straight to your cunt. Because you know he’s not just saying it to say it. He means it. Believes it. Would do anything for it.

He tilts your head back, thumb brushing along your jaw. “And I think you like it,” he exhales. “I think you like the idea of holding me inside you. Having a part of me. Knowing that I did it to you. No one else.”

You suck in a soft breath, knees going just a bit weak. “Harry…”

“What, baby?” His mouth ghosts along your neck. “Are you thinking about it? Thinking about how pretty your tummy would look with me inside it?”

He’s evil. Absolutely evil, and you clear your throat in a desperate attempt to regain control of yourself. “Do you…have a pregnancy kink I don’t know about?” 

His lips quirk up. “Apparently.”

“Mm.” Your lashes flutter and the urge to kiss him grows stronger. “You know…some women get really horny when they’re pregnant.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Yeah. I don’t think you could handle it.”

He scoffs. “Oh, no?”

You shake your head. “I mean, do you really think you could keep up? Going for hours and hours on end? Trying to keep me satiated with your poor, limp little dick?”

He makes another noise, and you tsk.

“I mean, you can barely satisfy me now as it is. But if I was pregnant? Pfft. Forget it.”

Instantly, he’s snatching hold of your hips and yanking you against his chest. “Don’t fucking tempt me, Princess,” he nearly growls. “I’ll bend you over right now.”

“No, I don’t think you will,” you retort. “You’ve gone soft on me. Rubbing my back, kissing my hair. You wanna take care of me and honestly? It’s a little pathetic.”

His head cocks rather deviously and your pulse begins to skip. He could split you in half if he wanted to and you both know it. 

But that’s what you need right now. You don’t want to be coddled or looked after. You wanna be fucked. Tortured and teased until you’re begging for release.

You want an escape.

And in that moment, Harry decides to give you one.

He picks you up and carries you out of the bathroom while your legs quickly work to hook to his hips for stability and your arms snake around his neck.

He ignores your squeals and teasing huffs of annoyance, instead dropping you onto your mattress with a soft thud.

You glare and push up onto your elbows. “You know, you don’t have to manhandle me—”

“Shut up.”

He surges forward, lips gliding against yours as he takes a taste of you on his tongue. And kissing is easy with him. As easy breathing, like you’ve done it all your life. You know exactly what he likes, what he wants. And you give it him.

His glasses are cold against your face, keeping him from getting as close as he’d like, and after a moment, he huffs, and rips them off before tossing them aside. And even though you adore when he wears them, you happen to adore being near him even more.

Your hands are in his hair, tugging on his curls, scratching down his neck. He has the added advantage of being on top, but that doesn’t seem to stop him from turning to putty in your hands. Clay for you to mold to your liking. 

No matter how dominant he tries to be, he’s simply a man that needs to be told what to do. Taken care of. Shown. 

And you happen to like showing him.

You feel him tug on the hem of your shirt. “Off,” he breathes between carnal nips to your throat. “I want this off, Tink.”

Happy to oblige, you push him back so you can lift yourself up before you peel the fabric from your chest. You take your time with the bra, allowing the straps to fall down your arms oh so slowly. You don’t rush to reveal yourself to him, instead letting him anticipate you. Until his heart is racing and his eyes are darkening and he’s resisting the urge to do it himself.

But once he can finally see you, he nearly groans. “Oh, good fucking girl.” 

He resumes his work. More kisses are left to the warm, tender skin, and he happily sucks bruises into each swell and curve of your breast before teasing the nipple with his tongue. His hands are greedy—ravenous. Pulling at your flesh, clawing his way along your frame. 

When he reaches your thighs, you whimper. You’ve missed the way he touches you. The way he pries your legs apart and makes a home between.

In a rush, he snaps your panties off into his fist and you toss him a punishing glare.

He smiles.

You rid each other of your remaining clothes in a frantic fashion until they’re nothing more than a dirty pile on the floor. Messy and familiar. Fated.

He drops down onto the bed back first, effortlessly swapping positions as you’re placed in a straddle over his waist.

“Good girl, let me see you,” he murmurs, running his fingers down your cheek before grabbing your jaw. “Go ahead.”

You reach down and take his hardening cock in your hand, running it along your cunt before teasing yourself with the tip. 

“Didn’t stretch you,” he mumbles, leaving a few stray kisses to your collarbone. “S’might hurt, so—”

You push him in, simultaneously sinking down in an effort to feel a more prominent burn., and you both make a rather lewd noise as the grip on your chin tightens.

“Tink,” he hisses with a punishing look of his own. “Careful—”

You drop yourself further, muscles tensing around the thickness until your thighs begin to shake.

“Hey—” He forces your eyes on his. “Enough. Be gentle, m’not gonna hurt you—”

“I want you to,” you pant. “Please. I need it. I…fuck, Har, I need it. Please…please.”

He’s still frowning but his expression softens. “Baby…not like this. Maybe we should wait until you’re feeling better—"

“No,” you whimper. Desperate. Fraught. “Harry, please, don’t stop. Don’t make me stop—”

“Hey, easy, easy.” He pulls your forehead to his. “Breathe. It’s okay.”

You try to obey. Try to suck in a strangled gasp of air but it’s useless. He’s gonna take himself from you. He’s gonna leave, and you’ll be empty, and alone, and maybe he won’t ever touch you again—

He places his palm on your chest, right over your heart. “Breathe,” he says again. Soft. Quiet. “In then out. Good girl, just like that.”

You follow the sound of his voice. Mimic his inhales and exhales until the two of you fall into a synchronized rhythm. 

“Good,” he says again, rubbing his other hand along your back. “There you go. You’re all right, I’ve got you. Yeah?”

Weakly, you nod. “I’m…I’m sorry. I just…I—”

“Shh.” He kisses your nose. “You’re okay, Tink. I know.”

A long moment passes before you finally feel in control of your own heart again and once you blink the fog from your eye, you see him. Delicate and strong at the same time.

He sweeps his thumb along your lip. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you admit. “Really, I just…I needed to feel you. And I wanted to…move on, I guess. Think about something else. Lose myself for a bit.”

He sighs but nods his understanding. “You could have told me that.”

“I know. I guess I’m just not used to sharing things with you.”

“I know,” he echoes with a small grin. “But we’ll learn, yeah?”

Your gaze grows suspicious. “And why would we do that?”

“Because,” he says simply. “If we’re gonna make a bunch of hot, smart babies one day, we’re gonna have to communicate.”

You snort. “Yeah, well, that won’t be for a while.”

“Fine. Just gives us more time to practice.”

Your eyes narrow. “You really have gone soft on me, haven’t you? All because you thought I was pregnant."

He laughs, fingers slipping around the back of your neck to pull you in for a kiss. “I’d argue I’m actually quite hard right now.”

“Ha. Funny.”

“I can hate you and like you at the same time, right?” he teases. “Because I think that’s my sweet spot. Wanting to kill you and fuck you all at once.”

“Agreed. You’re insufferable but you’re also one of my favorite people. Which only makes you more insufferable.”

“Yeah.” He smiles. “I think we earned a little civility, no?”

You nod and take his lip between your teeth. “And I think we should celebrate with an orgasm.”

He laughs again. “I suppose that’s only fair.”

You dance your kisses down his chest, enjoying the way his head drops back while he sighs at the feel of your tongue. He’s so beautiful and so good and if you’re going to lose yourself, you want to lose yourself in him.

Leaning back, brace your hands behind you on his knees, and start to bounce yourself on his cock. Over and over, faster and faster, until he’s grabbing onto your hips and giving them a firm, encouraging squeeze to help you along.

Your tits bounce right in his face, and he takes advantage of his front row seat, allowing his hands to trace and tease your nipples as you whine. He sucks them into his mouth and pulls them with his teeth. It sends chills along your spine and goosebumps along your arms and when he notices, he smirks.

 Not even a minute later, he’s pulling you down so your chest meets his. His hands land on your ass with a firm grip and he drags you along his cock. Slow and sensual until your eyes flutter shut, and you disappear into the building pleasure.

You feel his kisses on your ribcage as he begins to thrust up into you. Returning to the pace you previously set until you’re both chasing that familiar high. 

“There you go,” he praises through gritted teeth. “Fuck yeah, just like that—”

“Harry,” you mewl, fingers tangling in his hair. “Shit, please—”

“I know.” He leaves another kiss to the inside of your arm before he smacks your left ass cheek. “I got you, Princess. S’okay. Keep going.”

You grind yourself over his lap, knees hugging his waist as you bury yourself in the crook of his neck. Needy. Anxious. You match each other’s rhythm and it’s a dance. An effortless fluidity that brings you closer than ever before.

Then, he sucks two fingers into your mouth, and moves them between your cheeks. He grazes them over your tighter hole, gently teasing them over the other entrance before dropping them down to where his cock is fucking into your cunt. He plays with you a bit, pushing you just a bit closer while you wail—depraved—and beg for more.

“My good girl,” he praises. He spanks you again. “Fuck—that’s it, baby.”

Your staccato whimpers are consistent now. One for every thrust and you can almost taste his desperation as he turns his head in order to kiss your cheek. The sound of skin against skin is crude and delicious. The way your body slides against his. Like butter on a hot day, melting together.

He goes faster, pulls you harder. Fingers digging into your skin so hard it almost hurts. But in the best possible way. In turn, you brace yourself with a palm on his throat. Squeezing it tight as you start to get closer. 

“Yeah,” he groans. “Shit…harder—”

You obey, pinching the sides of his neck until his eyes roll back. 

You can feel his heart racing against yours. You’re both warm. Hot. Shaking. A tangled mess of limps and depraved grinding like animals in heat.

“M’almost…m’almost there,” you whisper.

He nods, looking down your body to watch the way your ass bounces in his hands. “Go. S’okay, go. Let me feel you.”

He leaves more kisses to your side and the tender way his lips feel against your skin makes your brain go fuzzy. 

You grip his throat a bit tighter and just like that…it’s over.

The two of you cum together, the room filling with moans and gasps and promises. He settles beneath you while you ride out the rest of your high but he makes sure to keep his arm around you through every second.

Once you finally catch your breath, he hums. “God-fucking-damn.”

You grin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He turns to see you. “I think I’m pregnant.”

You roll your eyes with a swat to his chest but you’re laughing. “You’re so annoying.”

“And yet you still like me.”

“I never said that.”

“You said I’m your favorite person.”

“Yeah, well, I lied.”

“Right.” He helps you ease him out before he’s flipping you around and moving himself between your legs.   

You blink. “What the hell are you doing?”

He lifts two fingers and eases them along your swollen pussy. Collecting the white, sticky substance already leaking out before easily pushing it back in.

“Harry,” you scold. “I think we’ve had enough breeding for one day.”

He smirks. “Relax, Tink, m’not breeding you. I just…like to see it drip out.”

Your heart leaps. “…oh.”

“Yeah.” He rests his cheek against the inside of your thigh in order to watch. “S’always so fucking pretty.”

You reach down and card your fingers through his sweaty curls. Happy and content for the first time in days.

He looks up. “One day,” he promises, even though it sounds more like a question.

But somehow, in this moment, it makes everything else worth it.

You grin.

“One day.”

AAA I can’t believe we finally did it!! I’m not gonna lie them being soft with each other is gross 😭 BUT ALSO CUTE!! YAY PROGRESS!!

Thank you so much for reading and for always being so nice!! ��💞💞 and of course thank you for the amazing idea hehe

Also, if you see any mistakes……no you don’t 🫶

~  Full 404 Masterlist

Taglist:

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@cinnamonone @triski73 @lemoncrushh @vamprry @lady-lamb21

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@lovrave @nuggetdean @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @babegoals @lc-fics

[widowrecs]

Talk | A Joel Miller Mafia AU (Chapter One)

Pairing: Mafia!Joel x afab!reader

Summary: Your father had been a loyal asset to the Miller Clan for his entire life. After his passing, Joel feels a responsibility for you and your safety; inviting you further into his world, and your desires.

Warnings/tags: MDNI. Mafia!Joel alternate universe. Plot & porn. Foul language. Mentions of violence, murder, and death. Age gap (reader is 25, Joel is 40). Joel has known reader her whole life (nothing remotely unsavory/sexual is even insinuated/thought about on his end until after reader is 21). Depictions and mentions of anxiety and grief. Angst. Oral (f receiving). Overstimulation if you squint. So much praise. Riding. Unprotected p in v. Creampie.

Word count: 6.8k (oops?)

prequel. | series masterlist. | chapter two.

❝ I won't deny, I've got in my mind now

all the things we would do.

So I'll try to talk refined for fear that you’ll

find out how I'm imaginin' you. ❞

- Hozier, Talk.

You had never trusted any man in your life the way you trusted Joel Miller.

Including your late father, who was undoubtedly a decent man, save for the nefarious business he took part of his entire life. A loyal ally of the Miller Clan. This was the only world you had ever known. Even with his death, your place in it remained.

You never knew the exact story of how your father had gotten involved with the most notorious clan in New York City, but it was never any cause for worry; once you proved your loyalty to the Miller brothers, you were family for life. An unbreakable bond that ended in death, one way or another. Your father had never tampered with those odds; the security his loyalty provided his family was an irreplaceable asset.

Your mother had gone first. Cancer. It wasn’t easy, but it was simpler to digest than the tragedy you had seen around you your entire life. Men you had known as protectors and valuable parts of your fathers team shot or targeted, families torn apart or held captive. When you lost her, you couldn’t help but feel a semblance of peace knowing she went without terror. And after she died, your father vowed the same for you.

Your price of death would not come at the hands of the clan — even if his did.

A delivery gone wrong. It was a story you had heard a million times before, which likely explained why you felt so numb to the news at the time. Grief was an emotion you had avoided for much of your life, as death was always around you.

But Joel Miller made it easier to digest.

He had known you since you were just five years old, twenty at the time, and brand new to his role after his own father had passed on. It was natural for him to accept the position, being the eldest. But nowadays, he and Tommy shared the weight of their world fairly evenly — Tommy with most of the field work, and Joel the sharp mind behind every task.

Truly, for most of your years knowing the Miller brothers, you only saw them on rare occasions. Normally, a representative of the clan would do the talking or pay necessary visits. But the older you got, the more you anticipated seeing them.

Seeing Joel.

Around the age of sixteen was when you started to notice your budding attraction to the man. Time had aged him gracefully, and while he lost some of the brightness of his youth, the brooding, ruthless nature that replaced it became an object of your interest. He was a man of little conversation, but his presence alone commanded a room.

At eighteen, you could strike up a conversation with him without feeling like you were going to collapse. Speaking with the boss of a city clan was not for the faint of heart, but something seemed to soften in him when you were near; he would offer you a grin, seldom or unheard of to most who knew him. A roll of his eyes, always in jest or teasing. Sometimes, he would even extend a joke of his own, always witty and timed to perfection.

At twenty-one, his eyes started to linger.

Over the past four years, you had seen Joel more than you had ever in your life. At first, you weren’t in tune enough to question the intention of it; assuming he had his own reasonings for being so close that likely pertained more to your father than yourself.

You never imagined he would want to be near you as much as you wanted him to be.

After your fathers passing, Joel wasted little time in offering you a place in his estate. As far as he was concerned, you were his responsibility now. You had argued about it, promising him you would be fine in the apartment your father had secured for you in his will.

“You ain’t livin’ in no damned apartment on my watch.” His tone at the time had confirmed his seriousness on the matter, and you got the idea that no matter how hard you pushed, he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

And that was how you ended up in the glorious four story estate on the coast, overlooking the tumultuous waves of the Atlantic. In his bedroom, another aspect of the arrangement you had argued about, assuring him the guest room was more than big enough for you to dwell in. He didn’t even bother to continue the conversation, ordering his staff to move out any items of his that would hinder your own from taking up the space.

Now, here you are ~

3 months after your fathers death, standing in front of Joel’s bathroom mirror. The ends of your hair are still damp from the shower as you brush your fingers through the strands, the reminisce of soap smelling like him; strong, earthy, comforting.

You develop a routine over the weeks. There is a luxury that comes with the way these men live. Call it nurture or even the grief, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care if it is wrong.

You enjoy every moment of it.

His room is large; bedroom sporting a king size mattress adjacent to a lush, golden bathroom. The jacuzzi tub a fine stress reliever for your ever aching muscles. You often wonder what it would be like to see him dwell in it; when you had moved in, it was well kept, but you figure that is just Joel.

He pays close attention to detail.

Signing softly to yourself, you carefully fold the damp towel over the rack before settling into your night attire. It varies. Sometimes, like tonight, you wear the flimsy black nightgown that makes your skin feel like silk. Other nights, you find yourself standing in front of his closet, hands itching to wrap yourself up in one of his sweaters. You never do. Too afraid to what questions there would be to answer if he caught you.

You never touch anything in his room, in fact. Save for the essentials. You think it’s maybe because you want Joel to trust you, be certain that keeping you in his life would be just as valuable as your fathers.

Carefully, you sit yourself down in front of the vanity beside the bed. This is an addition specifically for your occupancy of his room. You coat your fingers in cream, studying your features in the mirror as you soak it into your skin. You feel refreshed, relaxed. Ready to curl up and give way to a similar slumber. The soft patter of rain hits against the balcony of window; thunder rumbling in the near distance, indicative of the coming storm.

You flicker off the big light, leaving only the soft glow of a lamp on the bedside, ready to will yourself under the covers when a soft wrap of knuckles hits the door.

Letting go of the sheet you had been reaching for, you pad your way to the door, gently turning the handle to peek your head out. When your eyes meet the visitor, confusion melts to pleasant surprise.

Joel stands before the door way, peering down at you with tired eyes. His hair is tousled, like he’s been running his hands through it. He’s still in his day attire, black slacks with a button up of the same hue, the first three buttons undone, soft dark hair peeking through, the roll or his sleeves reveling his toned forearms.

“Joel,” you breathe softly, pulling the door open fully. His eyes take a once over, taking in the sight of you in nothing but your thin nightgown. He doesn’t hide it, which elicits a shiver down your arms.

“Hey darlin’,” he drawls, voice laced in a frustrated fatigue. He leans a hand against the door frame. “Hope I didn’t disrupt ya?”

You shake your head earnestly. “No, I was just settling down. Please-” you step away from the doorway, allowing him to shuffle into the room, and quietly close the door behind him.

He paces around the space for a moment, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. You stand patiently, rubbing at your arms to try to rid them of their goosebumps. Your entire body seems to be ignited in his presence.

He surveys the room with his eyes, and you wonder what he may be searching for. “You comfortable in here?” he asks then, stilling in his spot a few feet in front of you, eyes back on you. There’s a concern in them, one that suggests he’s asking about multiple types of comfort. You give him a soft, reassuring smile.

“Joel, yes. Everything is perfect. You have been more than hospitable to me.” Too much so, you want to add, but don’t. You’re too busy studying him, the crinkle to his brows, the rigid nature of his shoulders. You don’t often see him during the day, normally holed up in the parlor where his desk sits, or meeting with potential informants of adversaries. So when you do see him, usually when the sun has set past the horizon, you gather as much information as you can. Alone, like this, he is stripped down to a simpler version of himself. The side he doesn’t let the majority of the people in his life see.

He lets you.

The silence wills you forward, taking a few steps that closes the space between you until you are craning your neck to look up at him with sympathetic concern.

“Something’s wrong,” you say, a statement that lingers with questioning. He doesn’t meet your graze at first, and when he does, he releases a heavy sigh in the process.

“I gotta step away from the property for a few days. Headin’ down south back to our base in Texas. Got a call this afternoon that a deal fell through, and there was quite a bit of fallout,” he explains, keeping his voice level and hushed. “Need to go take care of some…business.”

You know what that means. You feel a knot form in your stomach, a wave of nausea overcoming you. Someone had wronged Joel Miller, a fatal mistake. Severe enough that he wants to handle it himself.

This would be the first time in your three months of living in his estate that he wouldn’t be here, or at least within arms reach. An unfamiliar panic starts to overtake you at the thought of him gone, exposed to the threats that hide around every corner. He is not the only man with vendettas.

You don’t even notice the way your breathing starts to heave until you feel the rough touch of his calloused fingers cradling your jaw, bringing your attention back to him. His eyes are soft as they peer down at you, just like his touch.

“S’only for a few days, darlin’. I promise.”

You don’t argue with him, wishing not to cause him anymore stress than he’s already enduring. Instead, you nod slowly in his grasp, swallowing the thick lump forming in your throat and threatening to sting your eyes with tears.

“So, I-I’ll be alone?” you inquire hesitantly, scolding yourself for how pathetic the question sounds coming shakily off your lips.

You didn’t want to be alone. You didn’t want to be away from Joel.

His hand falls from your face, and you find yourself missing the warmth of it instantly. “No, no, not at all,” he shakes his head. “Usual security’ll be here, and I asked Tommy to come back to take care of things on this end. He’ll be in tomorrow mornin.’”

You like Tommy. You trust Tommy, of course you do. But he isn’t Joel. And you can’t stop yourself from picturing him returning to you the way the last person you cared about did.

With a bullet between his eyes.

You did not notice the tears that silently poured down your cheeks until Joel's warm hands are cupping them, his eyes flitting over your face in an array of confusion and concern.

"Hey, hey," he soothes softly when a meek sob leaves your lips. Then, he is pulling you into his chest, wrapping his strong arms around your waist in a firm hug that lifts you to your toes. This is not the first time you have cried in front of Joel, and you are certain it will not be the last. Usually, these kinds of emotions overcome you in a moment of unbearable grief, too strong to be avoided, and you trust no one else with such vulnerability. But now, they are tears of worry. Anxiety. A crippling amount of it you have noticed worsening over the weeks. Always feeling like you have something to lose.

He is silent for a long while, tracing soft circles against your back as you cling onto the collar of his shirt, silently crying against the warm flesh of his chest. He rests his chin atop your head, and you are grateful for the comfort his touch provides.

"Just a few days," he reiterates, only a whisper. "I promise."

And then, he is cradling your cheeks again, wiping the reminisce of tears away with his thumbs. He is shushing your embarrassed apologies for being so emotional while tucking strands of damp hair behind your ear. He is letting his eyes wash over you again, in the way that makes your stomach coil, before pressing a delicate kiss to your forehead and telling you to sleep tight.

You try. You really do. But no matter what way you twist or turn, you cannot situate yourself. Cannot silence your brain that runs amuck with scenarios of terror. And eventually, you are sitting up in a huff; skin slick with sweat, breathing labored, and eyes searching the room frantically. A flash of light startles you, and you realize the storm has centered over the estate. Once distant thunder now rumbling at your windows. You run your hands down your face.

This is stupid. You're being stupid. Just go back to bed.

You don't. No, instead, you throw the covers off of you and reach for your silk robe to cover yourself in your nightgown. You open the door, carefully, taking a good look of the upper corridor. Any guards that are on duty are likely stationed on the lower levels, leaving you an open pathway to cross the hall without questioning. The entire time you pad across the wooden floors, you are internally scolding yourself to turn around, to suck it up and cut it out. But your body wills you forward before your mind has a chance to intervene, and before you know it, you are standing outside the guest room door at two in the morning knocking for Joel.

A few moments of silence go by, your rationality catching up to you as you realize how ridiculous this is. You are about to turn around and endure a sleepless night when you hear the lock unlatch, and with it, the door opens.

You suck in a deep breath.

He stands shirtless before you now, tan skin glowing in the soft moonlight that comes in through the cracked curtains. Gray sweatpants hang low on his hips, and you use every bit of willpower you have left in you not to look down. His eyes are squinted, hardly even open, face contorted in disorientation as he tries to register you outside the door. You can't help the warmth that invades your chest seeing him like this: stripped down to the essentials, bare and peaceful, save for the worry that quickly consumes him.

"What's goin' on? What happened?" he grumbles, voice laced with sleep. It's unbearably sexy.

"Nothing, nothing," you are quick to rush out, keeping your voice a careful whisper. "I just-"

You're gnawing at your bottom lip then, shame overtaking you. He lifts a hand to rub at his eyes with his middle finger and thumb, shaking away some of the sleep. He looks at you a bit clearer now.

You play with the strings of your robe, eyes dropping to your bare feet. "I can't...I can't sleep," you admit, sheepishly, peering up at him then through your lashes wistfully.

He stares at you for a long while, and you cannot decipher if he is upset or merely processing the information. But then, you watch his chest fill with a deep breath, groggy expression turning sympathetic. He doesn't hesitate to tell you to c'mere, moving out of your way to let you into the room, locking the door behind the both of you.

The room smells like him, even more so than his own bedroom as months of no longer dwelling in it has dimmed the scent. You are wordless in your movements, walking carefully towards the less messy side of the bed, figuring he is occupying the other. You shimmy off the robe, letting it fall to the floor, and take in the sights outside the window when you sit on the edge of the mattress. Rain hits the glass in large pellets, the wind taking up big waves to the shore. You're even more grateful he's here now, as you never did well in thunderstorms, another anxiety bound to overtake you just as much as the thought of his absence.

You curl under the covers on your side, facing away from him, pulling your knees slightly to your chest. You are already invading his privacy, the last thing you want is to take up too much space. When the mattress dips behind you, you are acutely aware of your predicament all of a sudden.

You are alone. In bed. With Joel. In nothing but your night slip and panties, feeling the heat of him behind you, warm breath just barely tickling your shoulder blades.

God, you really didn't think this through.

If you were awake before, you are wired now. The bubble of anxiety in your stomach spreading throughout the rest of your body. You squeeze your eyes shut, taking in deep, calculated breaths to try and center yourself. And that's when you feel it; as light as a feather, the tip of his finger reaching out to trace the exposed skin of your spine. Your body stiffens instinctively.

"You're breathin' so hard," he grumbles, matter of factly. Still sounding like he's only half with you. You feel bad for waking him, for bothering him.

"I'm sorry," you whisper back, coiling further in on yourself.

"Don't," he huffs, and you feel the mattress shift again, his breath closer. "Don't apologize."

You bask in the moment, the breath, the tension. Until your mind is too clouded with grief, worry, and desire, that you blurt out the words you have been aching to say since you were sixteen years old.

"Will you hold me?"

You're not sure he even hears you at first, a still silence overtaking the room, save for the crash of thunder that vibrates the windows, and the steady hum of rain. You're about to retract your statement, desperately searching for the right words to explain such an idiotic idea.

But then you feel it. The solid sturdiness of his chest pressing into your back, strong arms circling your waist, molding you into him. And just like that, every drop of worry is rolling off of you at an alarming rate. You sink into him like an anchor, hands coming up to grip his where they rest just under your breasts. You feel the tickle of his stubble against your neck, and you just can't help yourself, wiggling within his hold, nuzzling yourself back into him. You want to feel every bit of him.

He let's out a soft grunt at this, and you freeze, unable to question it before you can feel it. Undeniable and strong, his erection pressed into your lower back.

Chalk it up to anxiety, the looming thought that after tonight, there is a chance you would never see him again. That is true every night he is gone, but tonight feels different. You are not wrapped in his arms every night.

Testing your luck, you shimmy your hips just the slightest bit again. This time, his arm across your waist slinks back, fingers digging into your hip firmly.

"Babygirl," he mutters. It's a warning. Joel has offered you many terms of endearment over the years, but never that one. And hearing it come off his tongue has a certain spot between your legs aching for attention. "Can't be doin' that," he tsks, giving your hip one last, stern squeeze before looping his arm around you again.

You must be losing it.

"Why not?" you challenge, surprised at your own boldness. Only a fool would be so brave as to disobey Joel Miller. You stare into the nothingness, bathing in doubt, arousal, and Joel. Awaiting his response in the deafening silence.

You hear him mutter something unintelligible, and then:

"Look at me."

You heed his command instantly, twisting in his arms to face him, bracing yourself for his eyes.

Oh, he's awake now.

Pupils blown wide, jaw set heavy and clenched. At first, you think he may be angry, but then, he is licking his lips, dragging his eyes over your lips, your neck, your cleavage that is poorly covered by the flimsy material of your gown. You feel the weight of his grip tighten on your hips, both covered by his hands. It elicits a gasp, causing you to push your chest further up to his, your own fingers finding their way to his skin, shyly placing them on the expanse of his chest.

You cannot help yourself. You tilt your head up, the tip of you nose brushing his. When he shows no sign of disinterest, you let your eyes flutter closed, pressing your lips to his in a tender kiss. His lips are soft, warm, hands steady. You savor the feeling, a familiarity and comfort in the way your lips touch. And just as you dig your nails into his skin, encouraging him to deepen the kiss, he pulls back with a sharp hiss, hands leaving your waist.

“Darlin’, I—”

You’re reaching for his face then, cradling either of his cheeks, and forcing him to look at you. He’s flushed, but even in his uncertainty, you can see the unbridled lust.

“Please,” you whisper, a soft begging. Your hands trail from his cheeks, over his shoulders and down his chest until you’re reaching for his own, slowly placing them back to their rightful place on your hips. His eyes are on you the entire time, the crease between his brows twitching. “Please, don’t make me wait any longer.”

You are on your back in an instant.

Joel's hips are slotted between your thighs, and his lips are on yours, kissing you with a hunger that suggests years of restraint. You cannot help but arch from the mattress, your legs circling his hips, your arms his neck, engulfing yourself in the mass of him. He's eager, but soft. Tongue massaging into yours with precision and expertise. His hands are unforgiving, caressing down your ribcage, squeezing at your hips, your thighs, anywhere he can touch you, he marks with his prints.

"Shit," he seethes, breaking your lips momentarily only to begin his descent over your jawline, down to your neck. You grant him access freely, head lulling back against the pillow, eyes fluttering closed to relish in the burn that is his lips on your skin. When he nips at the sensitive spot below your ear, you mewl in delight, tugging at the hair at the base of his neck. This evokes something in him, and he's growling into your skin, rutting his hips forward between your thighs for you to feel the unforgiving hardness of his cock against your cotton clad lips.

"You have no idea," he begins between each peck, voice a heavy drawl of desire. "How long I've wanted you like this, darlin.'"

You always had your suspicions, but hearing the words from Joel himself in such a moment of vulnerability and lust has you reeling. You think maybe deep down, there is a worry in Joel, too. A worry of losing you, regretting the chance to ever have you this way before the possibility of something terrible could happen. Even if it is a mistake - a life altering, change the game completely mistake - doubt would have to wait until morning.

You want to tell him you do know, you know exactly what he feels, your own fantasies plaguing you far longer than his. But your mind goes blank at his ministrations, now delicately pulling the neckline of your night gown below your breasts, exposing them to the crisp air. The straps fall off your shoulders, nipples tightening as a hand comes up to knead one of them, the other entertained by his lips, sucking and nipping at the flesh.

You can't think, can't breathe, the looming sound of thunder now a distant roar in the haze of your mind, high off the only man you have ever really wanted in your life.

"Joel," you whine, giving his curls another impatient tug.

He chuckles into your skin. "Relax, baby," he whispers against your stomach, carefully pulling the hem of your night gown up to kiss the bare flesh. He scoots his weight down the mattress, lips resting just above the waistband of your panties. "Let me get you ready for me, hm?"

You want to scream in frustration, tell him you're already ready, that there are no more moments to spare. Time feeling incredibly precious all of a sudden. But you refrain from complaint when he places a firm kiss to your clothed clit, your hands flying to cover his on your hips. The electricity the jolts through your core is almost unbearable, only now realizing how desperate you are for relief. Your cunt involuntary clenches around nothing, every rub of the lacy fabric against your center shooting little tremors down your legs. It sticks to you uncomfortably, glued by your own slick. And he's barely even touched you yet.

When you allow yourself to look down at him, his eyes are already on you. The intimacy of it makes your breath hitch, and you watch as he hooks both of his thumbs into your panties, slowly maneuvering them down your legs. You kick them off when they reach your toes, immediately letting your feet fall against the mattress, legs spread apart.

"Didn't know you could be so needy, baby," he teases, and then, he is situating himself between your legs, gentle hands spreading your thighs apart and hooking your knees over his shoulders. As soon as his hot breath hits your lower lips, your head rears back against the pillow.

"Fuck," he breathes, just barely grazing his lips against your inner thigh. "But I did suspect you'd have such a pretty pussy, darlin'." He speaks in pure filth, but it riles you up beyond comprehension. "Wonder if it tastes as good as it looks."

He wastes no time then, warm tongue licking a slow stripe from your leaking hole all the way up to your clit. He lets it linger there before flicking against the hard bud in calculated strokes. Your wanton moans mix with the sound of thunder, and your hands are flying back to his hair, urging him closer. You want more, you need more. His tongue descends back down to your opening, collecting the ambrosia like a starved man.

"Tastes so fuckin' sweet," he praises. One of his hands abandons your trembling thighs, fingers prodding at your cunt before he sinks two, thick fingers inside the flesh. You cry out at the sudden stretch, but are quickly filled with relief as your walls finally have something to clamp around, emptiness replaced with the urgency to be filled.

"So tight too, darlin'. Scared I might not fit." His fingers curl, meeting the spongey spot inside of you, making your thighs clench around his shoulders.

"You will," you gasp as he slowly, much too slowly, begins to pump his fingers in and out of you, tickling that special spot every single time. "You-you have to."

You cannot bring yourself to care how pathetic you sound, too spellbound by your fantasies come to life. And by Joel's reactions, you don't think he minds much either. In fact, he looks like he's relishing in it, giving your words a hum of satisfaction before his lips are back on your point of nerves, growing ever more sensitive by the second.

"Don't you worry that pretty little head of yours, sweet girl. I'm gonna take care of you," he promises, and you believe him. With your whole being; Joel would always take care of you.

His lips wrap around your clit to suck on it gently. This, coupled with his fingers quickening their assault inside of you, has you seeing stars. You do your best to stay still, his free hand keeping you steady against the mattress as you writhe below him. When you feel the growing coil in your lower belly, you crane your head up to look at him, whimpering at the sight.

His dark eyes are peering up at you from between your legs, lips ravenously tasting every bit of you, and you think the view of him enjoying the devouring of your pussy may be the hottest thing you've ever seen.

Your hands are tugging on his hair then, but he doesn't seem to mind, hell bent on building you up to your budding release. You sink your teeth into your bottom lip, feeling the waves of pleasure beginning to ripple through your thighs. Your breathing is erratic, and when you feel the slight graze of his teeth against your clit, your vision goes white.

"Joel, Joel. Oh, fuck, I'm gonna-"

You never find the words, only watch him with wide eyes as your jaw goes slack, his forearm pumping his fingers in and out of you at an unruly pace as your orgasm washes over you, even more turbulent than the stormy waves outside the window. When your legs go to close around his head, he's pulling his fingers out of you, using both hands to keep your legs pried apart as he buries his face into your cunt, licking and sucking you through the high. And even when the aftershocks begin to pulse through you, he still tastes you, making sure to get every last drop.

Your legs feel like jelly when he is shuffling out from under them, body molten into the mattress, the toll your orgasm took on you sending you into a blissful stupor. You watch through hooded eyes as he stands at the foot of the bed, taking in the sight of you with a grin on his lips.

"So beautiful," he whispers, so low you almost miss it, before he undoes the waistband of his sweatpants and rids himself of them, no boxers to be found.

You cannot help the soft gasp of air that leaves you when his cock springs free from its confines, thick and veiny, hitting his stomach where a string of precum stains the flesh. Your body moves slowly, sensually. Sitting up before turning onto your hands and knees and crawling towards the edge of the bed. He watches you, hair a wild mess, sweat sheen skin, and dire eyes, looking as though he would answer to your will without a second thought. But when you reach your hand out to stroke him, he takes you by the wrist, stopping you.

Your eyes shoot up to him, lip jutted in a disappointed pout while your mouth waters to taste him. He flashes you an amused expression, clearly satisfied by your eagerness to please him, but carefully shakes his head.

"Not this time, baby," he says, and instead, takes your hand into his as he guides you both towards the center of the mattress. The insinuation that there would be more than just this time makes your stomach erupt in an endless flutter.

He settles back against the headboard, gently tugging you forward and onto his lap, legs straddling over his thighs. His hands land onto the curve of your ass, rocking the flesh, and you moan at the hard rub of his cock against your bare cunt. Your hands find refuge on his shoulders, appreciating the firmness of them. You like this, sitting up on him like this. Studying the way he looks at you, the hard lines of his face seeming to soften; you think he looks younger like this, a youthful glow overtaking him.

This man. This frightening, powerful man that you have given your entire life over to. And here you are, willingly handing off the last piece of yourself you have to offer him, knowing that deep down, no matter the fall out of both your actions, he would handle it with care.

Your hands come up to his face then, cradling it like you did when you first kissed him, and gingerly bringing your lips to touch his again. The kiss is softer than before, slower, and you cannot repress the emotion that overcomes you. Tears sting your eyes as they did before, in his bedroom, while he comforted and soothed you. You realize then why you are so afraid of him leaving, knowing it is something you could never admit aloud, at least not until you are certain you could even entertain the idea of losing him.

You love him. You love Joel, and you likely always have. Always will.

“I wanna feel you,” you whisper against his lips, reaching a hand between your bodies to grip his cock. He grunts at he contact, helping you lift your weight off of him to line him up at your entrance, nestling the tip between your folds. You meet his eyes when you begin to sink down his shaft, watching the way his own roll back into his skull, teeth clenching almost as hard as his hands that bruise into your ass.

Your head falls forward against his chest once he’s sheathed inside of you, desperately trying to catch your breath. The stretch is wide, a momentary rattle of pain as you get use to the sheer size of him. It has been so long since you knew a man this way, but you know none of those experiences could prepare you for the way Joel is making you feel.

After a brief moment of silence, except for the song of your shared grunts and moans, you begin to rock your hips. You lift your head from his chest, pressing your forehead to his, sweat sticking your skin together. The tuft of hair that sits at the base of his shaft tickles your clit, and as quickly as it came, the pain disappears, your walls relaxing to accommodate him, aching for more.

The rock of your hips just isn’t enough, thighs sore just from the broad expanse of having to straddle him. You let out a frustrated sigh, to which Joel counters with a smirk, pecking at your lips.

“Need some help, sweetheart?” he asks, and you look at him bashfully, merely nodding your head.

“What did I say?” he whispers against your lips, hands slipping to the under curve of your ass to steady your weight in his hands. “I’m gonna take care of you.”

And then, he’s thrusting up into you, slow and deep at first, and you’re gasping for air, hands scrambling to steady back on his shoulder. His lips latch onto your neck, hands spreading you open while simultaneously forcing you to ride up and down his cock.

“Oh my god, Joel.” You are breathless again, wrapping your arms entirely around him now, molding yourself into him. Wet, needy, clenching so feverishly around him. His face is buried in the crook of your neck, animalistic grunts echoing in your ear as he begins to piston up into you. The sound of slapping skin is accompanied by your cries, yelling out into the room, unafraid of anyone who may hear. You are in the safest spot in the world right now, as far as you’re concerned.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he’s mumbling, fucking you absolutely senseless. And you let him, allowing yourself to go blank, drunk on his cock, feeling nothing but Joel. “So good for me, taking my cock so well, pretty girl. Just like I knew you would.”

His praise has your eyes squeezing shut, tiny squeals coming from the back of your throat with each pound of his cock against your cervix. His pace is slower now, but inexplicably deep, and you can feel the way he’s swelling inside of you.

“Joel,” you moan, and suddenly, it’s the only word you know. Singing off your lips in prayer, over and over again.

“M’gonna fill you up, darlin.’ Is that what you want? Want me to make your pussy all mine?”

He could be saying anything to you in this moment, and you think you would agree. You nod frantically, clutching onto him for dear life as he starts to hammer into you again. You’re practically flying off of him only for him to slam you back down on his cock, filling you to the brim.

You're fluttering around him, uncontrollable now, pussy milking his cock in critical need of him to fill you. The sensation of your second orgasm building in your gut almost too much to bare. Joel seems to notice, as he keeps his steady pace and angle that has your toes curling.

“That’s it, baby,” he coos against your ear, taking the lobe lovingly between his teeth. “Just let go. Cum on my cock, and I promise I’ll give you what you need.”

And you do need it. So bad. The sickening desire to be branded by him. You focus on every minute detail about him; his hands, his breath, the sounds he makes, no shame detected in the way he graces you with them, until the pleasure is too much to mange and you're throwing your head back in ecstasy, your second release hitting you even harder than the first, leaving you to tremble uncontrollably around him.

He catches you, holding you steady as he chases his own release, muttering sweet nothings of how beautiful you are, how good you've been for him, and how he wants nothing more than to take care of you. Seconds later, his thrusts grow sloppy until he is still, filling you up one last time before he releases his seed inside of you, coating your walls in the comforting warmth with a string of disgruntled sounds.

You're not sure how much time passes, but you both remain unmoved. Sitting, entangled in one another, his cock falling soft inside of you, the sticky invasion of his release leaking onto his thighs and the sheets. You're both searching for your breath, once sporadic pants now falling into melodic puffs of air. One after another. Yours and his, melting into each other.

You have not brought yourself to look at him yet, still huddled safely against his chest when another loud crack of thunder shakes the room.

This one startles you again, the others having been so lost in your lust. When you perk your head up, his eyes are already on you. You recognize the display of worry on his face. His hands abandon your skin to graze over your cheeks, palms cradling them so delicately, as if you may break.

He gives you a narrow, serious look. "Are you alright?"

You realize then that it is not only worry for you, but panic that overtakes him, any certainty and confidence from the moments before reduced down to what you fear may be regret.

You flash him the most reassuring eyes you can muster, leaning into his touch, tilting your head to press a chaste kiss to one of his palms.

"I'm okay," you whisper. "More than okay. I promise."

You have made so many promises to one another, you are beginning to wonder if one will ever break. Thus far, they hadn't.

Promise to take care of you.

Promise to protect you.

Promise to give you what you need.

The sorrow finds you again then, and you are slumping forward, wrapping your arms around him to find reprieve. And to shield him from the stubborn tears that finally start to pour down your cheeks again. Time is precious, and it keeps ticking away. Mere hours would pass before he is back to being more than just your Joel, back into a world that places a target on his back.

"Just a few days?" you mutter quietly against his skin.

He chuckles breathily, relief seeming to find him. He places a kiss atop your head, hugging you to his chest. "Just a few days," he repeats, and as the fatigue finally starts to overcome you, you vow that whatever questions or worries tonight would pose for your future together, you would deal with them when he returned safely to you.

"I promise."

song inspo:

tag list: @vickie5446 @casa-boiardi @dinsdjrn @hey-moon-child @scarletsloveletter @subconsciouscollapse @thetriumphantpanda@mommasnakesss @cupofjoel@tightjeansjavi@sinsofsummers @morning-star-joy

[widowrecs]

feelings on fire (joel miller x f!reader) 18+ PART NINE

previous chapters | welp. hey everybody, it's been a little while since this updated, huh? those who follow me will know i haven't been having the best time lately and had to put this fic on hold for a little bit. but finally an update is here, and i'm so excited to share it with you. thank you so much for being so patient and lovely. i also wanna give a huge shoutout to han @swiftispunk who's been there for me relentlessly throughout this rough period and who kept encouraging me whenever i thought this would never get written. i couldn't ask for a better writing buddy & friend, ilysm. i hope you guys like this chapter and here's my kofi if you'd like to leave a tip 💕 chapter summary: joel is taking you away for the weekend, which only means one thing: your v card is going bye-bye. rating: 18+ explicit warnings for this chapter: age difference (joel is in his 50s, reader is in her early 20s), innocent/inexperienced reader, loss of virginity, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, dirty talk, praise kink, size kink, tummy bulge, oral (f receiving), catholic guilt, panic attacks, phone sex, mutual masturbation, lap sitting, lingerie, fingering, there is so much goin on pls lmk if i forgot smth word count: 25k (what the fuck) ao3

It's crazy how one weekend can change everything.

After days of feeling like shit and wanting - or forcing yourself to want - absolutely nothing to do with Joel anymore, you'd wound up naked in bed together. An ironic twist to the men ain't shit mantra you and Tasha had been trying to live by for the past forty eight hours. You'd laid with your head on his chest, exhausted and sated, listening to his and your own equally haggard breathing slow to a quiet thrum of background noise. You'd kissed the spot above his nipple, soft and warm against your lips as he carded his fingers through your hair and peppered kisses all along the crown of your head.

"So you're taking me away, huh?" you'd asked him in the heavenly afterglow of your orgasms, still tangled together under the sheets.

He'd smiled sleepily, squeezed you tighter in his arms and pulled you in as close as he could, "I'm takin' you away," he'd promised quietly, "Just you n' me. Gonna make this right."

Unbeknownst to him, everything had already become right again the moment he'd walked through the bedroom door.

Tasha had come back about an hour after you'd finished, roused you both from a quick nap by knocking quietly at the door and saying, "Hate to bother you guys but we gotta be out of here by four and the place is a disaster." Looking down at the mascara stained pillowcase beneath your head, you'd known she was right.

A few hours later you'd stood at the airport once again, arms wrapped tightly around Tasha as you buried your face in her shoulder and thanked her over and over again for everything; for being there, for listening, for understanding, for texting Joel, everything.

"You're gonna make me cry," she'd mumbled in your ear, hugging you back just as tightly, "Please, I just did what a good friend does."

You'd hoped she knew that she's the first good friend you've ever had.

Just before she'd headed to her gate, she'd pulled something out of her purse and handed it to you discreetly, palm down. You'd glanced downward to see a little blue package, thin and rectangular.

"Start taking these tonight," she'd said softly, "Take one every day at the same time. Promise me."

"What is it?"

She'd rolled her eyes, "Oh, you sweet summer child."

--

You know what birth control is. You're not that clueless. You just.... haven't really seen it before.

Now, having a pack of it in your possession, in your bedroom of all places, hidden in one of your dresser drawers beneath socks and underwear... it somehow feels more scandalous than the bikini. More scandalous than Joel's flannel beneath your mattress. More scandalous than those short little dresses folded in a bag in the back of your closet.

Birth control means sex. If your parents found your clothing purchases or Joel's flannel you could probably get away with some kind of lie, an excuse. But if they found this.... you don't even want to think about what would happen.

Take one every day at the same time. Promise me.

You pop out a pill quickly before shoving the package back into your dresser, then hurry to the bathroom with it tucked in your palm, clasped tightly between your fingers. You take it quickly with a handful of water and then stare at your reflection in the mirror for a moment, eyes bright. You're expecting to feel an ounce of shame, some guilt creeping in - but you don't. Instead, you find yourself smiling, face going hot when you think about the reason why you're taking these in the first place.

"Dinner's ready!" you hear your mom call from downstairs, and you yank yourself away from the bathroom mirror before your thoughts can get any more X rated.

She hadn't said anything to you when you got home, but then again you hadn't really given her a chance to. Now you shuffle into the kitchen and take a seat at the table, eyeing her quietly and wondering if the silent treatment is over. Your father comes in from the living room before you can find out, taking his usual seat and giving you a stern look.

"I heard you spent the weekend with one of your college friends," he states.

You stare at him for a second, unsure what to really say. You settle for a shrug, "Uh, yeah. Just had a girls' weekend at an Airbnb."

"I'm just curious why you're making time for friends you'll be seeing again in September when there are people here you've barely even said hello to," he raises an eyebrow, squaring his shoulders, "You said the other week you'd be volunteering again, didn't you? Doing more things to better yourself?"

"Well, I helped out at Sunday School," you offer with a grimace, but you already know it's not enough.

"I'm not talking about helping out here and there every now and then," he shakes his head and eyes your mother as she walks over with two plates of dinner, places them in front of the both of you without making eye contact, "You need a weekly activity, something steady, right dear?"

Your mother's gaze flits to yours quickly as he says this and you know exactly what she's thinking without her having to say it: do not mention the guitar lessons. But what the fuck are you supposed to say? You get that she doesn't want your father knowing until your little "plan" has bore a little more fruit, but it isn't fair that he still thinks you need some kind of weekly activity to attend when you already have one. Or, at least, a cover for one.

Maybe your mother can solve this problem for you.

"Well, actually-" you begin, only bluffing, but she bangs the water jug on the table before you can continue.

"I'll work on it with her, don't worry," she says quickly, shaking her head at you as discreetly as she can, "We'll figure something out together."

As usual, your father is oblivious to anything amiss. He just nods and extends his hands to start the prayer, "Sounds good."

Dinner is the usual boring affair, barely any conversation to be had as your father scarfs it down and heads to his office, leaving you and your mother sitting at the table in silence. You poke absentmindedly at your broccoli, thinking about Joel - he wants to see you again tonight, maybe talk about some stuff, and you're not really sure how to feel about it yet; you want to know more about his ex wife, his daughter, want to understand him and his life a little better, but it also scares you a bit. Hearing about his relationship with another woman - a woman who clearly still has a prominent position in his life - it's gonna be a lot to take in.

He also wants to talk about taking you away - a much less scary thought.

"So, you had a good weekend?" your mom asks quietly, and you look up in surprise - you'd thought the silent treatment was still ongoing.

"Yeah, it was nice," you reply - simplistic and not a very true answer, but it's not like you can tell her about anything that happened.

"What did you do?"

You shrug again, "Just watched movies and hung out, talked about how our summers have been going," you take a bite of broccoli and hope she won't press it any further.

"Did you go to your lesson on Saturday?"

You nod quickly, swallowing and doing your best to keep eye contact, "Yep, I learned some new chords." Bullshit. "Mr. Miller is a really good teacher." Less bullshit.

She doesn't say anything else right away and you manage to completely finish your meal before she drops her fork and turns to you with a sigh. "I know what you're thinking and no, I still haven't told your father about it. I already explained why-"

"Because you don't want him getting involved before I've made progress, I know."

"So have you? Been making progress?"

Oh, the things you could say in response to that question. "I think I have. He's, um... he's been very interested in the hymns."

"Which ones are you learning?"

Oh fuck.

"It's a surprise," you say quickly, flashing her a fake smile, "Don't wanna jinx it, ya know?"

Her brows furrow but she doesn't question it, nodding slowly and taking a deep breath as she grabs both your plates and walks to the sink. You sit there for a moment, not wanting to get up until you know for sure the conversation is over.

"So it's working, you think?" she finally asks, turning on the tap and rinsing the dishes, "You're helpin' him?"

You swallow, thankful she's not looking at you as your hands ball into fists against the wood of the table, "Yes," you lie quietly, "Definitely."

--

"You need to teach me a hymn," is the first thing you say to Joel that night as you walk through his front door, passing right by him without so much as a hug, "Or two. Two hymns, maybe three, I don't know."

"Hello to you too," he says with a chuckle, shutting the door and walking over to you to wrap his arms around you from behind, "S'wrong? You alright?"

You have to admit, being wrapped in his arms certainly does make the anxiety ebb away. You close your eyes and lean back into his grasp, sighing deeply and trying to ground yourself as best you can. Ever since that conversation with your mother you feel like your brain has been working on overdrive, reminding you over and over that you're so fucking behind on what you're meant to be doing to keep this façade intact.

"I'm just stressed," you mutter, "My mom asked about the lessons and I didn't know what to say and now I'm all up in my own head again as usual."

You feel him tuck his head against your shoulder, squeeze you tighter, "Hey, it's okay," he murmurs, breath so warm against your ear it makes you shiver, "We'll find a couple easy ones and I'll teach you. You can borrow my guitar too, practice at home."

"My dad still doesn't know," you sigh, "She's waiting for me to have some sort of breakthrough with you to tell him."

He snorts, "And what exactly does this 'breakthrough' look like?"

"I don't know, a pool of golden light? Heavenly angels singing praise?"

He chuckles against your skin, pressing a kiss there, "Well, that'll be easy. That happens every time I make you come."

You feel your cheeks bloom with heat, lips tightening into a bashful smile as he pulls you in closer and noses your ear once again, scruff tickling the skin there. You hum contentedly, pretending for a moment that your parents aren't involved on the sidelines of this relationship, that their opinions don't matter and there doesn't need to be any sort of ulterior reason for your being here - then you remember that you're going to have a whole weekend to pretend that's the case, and you smile wider.

You turn in his arms, wrapping your own around his torso and peering up at him. He's so handsome as usual, hair messy, eyes brown and deep. It's impossible not to lean up and press a soft kiss to his lips, so of course you do, eyes closing as you melt against his mouth. He kisses you back just as soft, rubs your back gently as he holds you close.

"I'm so sorry, angel," he murmurs quietly against your lips, and you find yourself pulling away to look at him in confusion.

"For what?"

He shakes his head, eyes sad, "For everythin' I put you through this weekend, all that added stress," you go to interrupt but he brings one of his hands up to gently press his finger to your lips, stopping you, "Don't tell me not to apologize. I did wrong by you. I wanna fix it."

You swallow, remembering the woman at the bar - his ex wife, remembering the way he'd smiled before he kissed her, the way those soft brown eyes looking at you right now had looked directly into hers as well...

Your stomach twists uncomfortably.

"I meant what I said, about tellin' you everything," he murmurs, "I want... I want you to know me, ya know? I..." he breathes deeply, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against yours, "God, I'm not good at this."

"Good at what?" you whisper, and you feel him shrug in your embrace.

"Just.... bein' open."

You pull back a bit to peer at him again, feeling your stomach unclench when you see that unsure look on his face, the worry lines prominent on his forehead and those plump lips downturned into a frown. He's still afraid he's lost you, you can tell.

"Well, I wanna hear what you have to say," you murmur, "I do wanna learn more about you. But it's okay, Joel. I'm not heartbroken, not anymore."

He winces at your words, "But you were," he closes his eyes again, "You were heartbroken, baby. I hurt you. We... she -" he cuts himself off to sigh, "She didn't know about you when she kissed me, alright? I hadn't told her, and that's on me."

Oh. You didn't know that.

"Why... why didn't you tell her?"

"Because I was a coward," he says immediately, "I didn't... I wasn't..." he takes another deep breath and pulls away from you, unlocking himself from your embrace to grip your arms in both his hands, "Okay," he breathes, "I'm really bad at this, darlin', forgive me if it comes out weird."

You're not sure what he's about to say but you can feel your heart beginning to beat faster in your chest as he stands there looking at you, brow furrowed as if he's completely out of his element, and you suppose he is.

"I haven't... god, I don't wanna scare you but..." he chews his lip for a moment, lost in thought, "I just... I meant it, when I said that I think about you all the time. I really, really meant it."

You stare at him for a moment, processing his words. What is he saying? That he didn't tell his ex wife about you because of how much he thinks about you? How does that make sense? You silently curse yourself for your naivety, your inexperience with relationships. You're sure if Tasha was here she'd be able to tell you exactly what he means.

You're about to ask him to elaborate when you suddenly catch a glimpse of something on the mantel of the fireplace, something that you can't recall ever seeing before. Your eyes go slightly wide and he notices immediately, following your gaze.

"Oh," he says quietly, "Um, yeah, I... I put up some pictures."

His grip on your arms releases when he realizes you want to get a closer look. You make your way over to the fireplace with careful steps, eyeing the framed photograph in front of you as it slowly comes more into focus.

It's Joel - a much younger Joel. You're not sure how young, but there are no signs of age on his face, skin smooth and bare and hair trimmed neatly beneath a baseball cap. He's standing behind a swing, pushing an adorable little toddler in front of him, a big smile on her face as she kicks her chubby legs high into the air.

You stare at it for a long time without saying anything, warmth bursting through your chest the longer your gaze flicks from him to the baby, the baby to him. There's something in her brown eyes, something recognizable, and you realize it's because they're his eyes.

You're looking at his daughter.

"What's her name?" you finally ask, voice soft.

"Sarah," he replies - he sounds close behind you but he doesn't touch you, doesn't make any move to embrace you again, just lets you absorb the information in your own time.

"Sarah," you repeat quietly, thoughtfully, "How old is she there?"

"Few days before her second birthday," he says, and you swear you can hear the hint of a smile in his voice, "Installed that swing set in the backyard for her as a present, but I couldn't wait 'til her birthday to show her - I was too excited."

You smile at his words, feeling fondness flood your thoughts as your gaze falls back to the much younger Joel. He looks a little like the boys you've seen at college, extremely handsome but inexperienced, naïve, maybe even a little lost... kind of like you. You squint your eyes a bit, as if staring at him will help you figure out exactly how old he is.

"I'm twenty in that one," he answers for you.

Your eyebrows shoot up and you finally turn around to look at him, a look of shock prominent on your face. "But... that would mean you had her -"

"When I was eighteen, yeah," he gives you a wistful half smile, "Remember that 'trouble' I told you I got in right outta high school? The mysterious thing I did that got me disowned?" he gestures toward the photo with a light chuckle, "Well, there she is. Little Miss Trouble, Sarah Miller."

Your brow furrows. You remember what he'd said on his back deck that day, the way he'd stopped himself from revealing too much. He'd been so close to telling you, and yet...

"Why didn't you just tell me then?" you ask softly, "That day in your backyard, you... you coulda told me about her."

His smile fades into a frown, eyes going downcast, "I was afraid," he admits softly, "I didn't... I didn't want this to end so soon. I didn't wanna scare you off."

You feel a pang in your heart, a sensation of sadness that bubbles up within you as you peer at his melancholic expression, the shame in his eyes. He really thinks you're five seconds away from running out the door, leaving his life for good and forgetting this whole thing between the two of you even happened. You can see it in his expression, the way he's standing like he's small, the same way he'd looked last night when Tasha had tugged you out of his house and into a cab.

You make your way toward him, palm outstretched as you reach up and press it to the side of his face. His gaze comes up to meet yours, watery and sad and - god, he's beautiful. So, so beautiful.

"I'm not going anywhere," you whisper honestly, shaking your head and smiling softly, "Not before you teach me at least two hymns."

His frown breaks into a grin and he rolls his eyes, the tears spilling over a little bit as he sniffs and tries to pull himself together. You just bring your other hand up to fully cup his face, turning his head so he's looking directly into your eyes.

"I mean it, Joel," you breathe, and you think you're starting to understand what he meant, "You say you think about me all the time, but... I think about you all the time. I can't stop thinking about you," your voice quivers a bit and you feel tears begin to sting in your own eyes, "Even when I was trying to force myself not to think about you, I couldn't do it."

You thumb his cheeks lightly, feeling them tighten under your palms as he smiles again. You can't help but lean forward to brush your nose against his, closing your eyes.

"I think... I don't know, I just feel like-"

"I know," he interjects softly, "I feel it too, angel. Scares the hell outta me, doesn't even seem possible to feel it after such a short length of time, but I do."

You open your eyes to peer at him again, "Is that why you didn't tell her? 'Cause you were scared of how you feel?"

"Yes," he murmurs, "I knew if I told her... if I let myself really feel what I've been feelin'... I'd have to face the fact that I'd been dishonest with you, that I hadn't been showin' you my true self, ya know? And that's... that's always been hard for me." He takes a breath, "She was real sad that night. She... she was comin' on strong, cause she really needed somebody. And I almost gave myself to her, you should know that. I don't wanna lie to you."

It hurts to hear it, but at the same time you're glad he's telling you, glad he feels safe to express himself the same way you do with him.

"We weren't... we weren't official or anything," you mumble, eyes casting downward.

"No, we weren't," he agrees softly, "But it still wouldn't've been right, angel, not for you and not for me. I didn't want it, I just... I just felt for her, ya know? We've been doin' this thing so long, it can be hard to say no, especially when it's someone you care about."

"But you did."

He nods, "I did. And then I told her about you and she understood."

You peer up at him again, unsure, "She understood? Really?"

He smiles, "She understood, sweetheart. She's a good person, I promise. But I also promise that I don't feel things for her the way I used to, not anymore. And our arrangement is over." He blinks away a few tears, locking his eyes with yours again, "Do you believe me?"

You nod slowly, taking in his words. You find that you do believe him, don't even question a word of what he's saying to you. It should probably scare you to trust him this much, to wholeheartedly sense nothing but earnestness from his demeanor and words, but it doesn't. It feels good to hear him say these things and to know that he means it, that he's finally being himself.

"So who are you then, really?" you ask softly, "Who's this whole other Joel Miller I've been missing out on?"

He laughs lightly, bumping his nose against yours, "Well, darlin'... he's old and he's boring, keeps to himself, works too much..." he takes a breath, then meets your gaze again, eyes soft and tender, "And he's fuckin' crazy about you."

His words embed themselves into your brain almost immediately, sending tingles up and down your spine as your arms come up to wrap around him and pull him into a kiss. He seems surprised by your response but only for a moment, then wraps his own arms around you and pulls you in as close as he can, cradles you as he kisses you back with that familiar warmth and safety you've always felt with him.

He's fuckin' crazy about you.

You find yourself moving the two of you toward the couch and he lets you, your legs tangling together as you shuffle over to it. You slowly settle onto it together, him sitting pretty beneath you while you situate yourself in his lap, a leg on either side of his thighs. You don't stop kissing him, whimpering softly into his mouth when his hand stills firmly on your back, holding you close.

"What're you doin', babygirl?" he breathes against your lips, voice dark and husky - he already knows the answer.

You don't reply, just deepen the kiss and grind yourself down into his crotch, feeling his already half hard cock press against you through your shorts. You whimper again, pulling back to look at him through lidded eyes.

"Huh?" he asks softly, his own eyes already dark and unfocused, "What're you doin', sweetheart? What d'you need?" He bucks his hips up with his words and you gasp, clinging to him tightly and resting your head on his shoulder. "Need my cock, don't you, baby?"

You nod even though he can't see you, close your eyes and whisper, "I need it so bad."

"Need it deep inside, huh?"

You swallow and shiver, grinding down against him again in response. He holds you firm in his lap and brings his lips to your ear, trails his fingers up and down your back.

"I'm gonna give it to you, baby, I promise," he murmurs, voice gravelly and low, "Gonna fill you up so good, have you cryin' on it."

You whimper again, squeezing your eyes tighter and imagining how it'll feel to have his enormous size spreading your insides, pushing into the deepest parts of you. It's almost too much to bear, too much to imagine as you whine into his shoulder. You want it now, but you also know that now isn't the right time.

"I- I started taking birth control," you whisper, clinging to him tighter.

He seems to freeze beneath you for a moment, and then his hands move down to squeeze your ass, drag you slowly down the length of him - now fully hard - as you whine again.

"Good girl," he whispers, pinning you to his cock through his jeans, "That's- fuck, you're such a good girl."

You keen at his praise, whimpering into his shoulder as he drags you back and forth along his cock, the denim rough against your bare thighs. You think about what you'd both done together earlier today, the way it felt to have his entire length thrusting through your folds, the head catching on your hole every so often. The way it felt to have the wide tip pressed just enough inside of you, warm and pulsing.

"Take it out, please," you moan softly, pulling back to look at him again, "Wanna feel it. Please, Joel."

He groans at your words, nods quickly and adjusts you carefully in his lap so he can tug down his zipper. You watch as he reaches inside and pulls himself out, and your mouth immediately begins to water as soon as you catch sight of the dark tip, already wet and leaking. Without any hesitation at all your hand moves downward to wrap around his shaft, holding it in your palm.

"This was inside me," you whisper, the words sounding wonderfully filthy in your mouth as your thumb traces his throbbing tip, remembering how it had felt pushing against you.

"Yeah, it was," he murmurs. He's watching you closely, looking up at you with a lustful expression as you touch him, "Felt so good inside you, baby. Wanted to push all the way in so bad, fill you up."

You shiver, "Why didn't you?"

"'Cause I wanna take my time with you, angel. Wanna fuck you slow, get you used to it," he groans when you start to slowly stroke him up and down, eyes not leaving where you're touching him, "Gonna have you beggin' for it."

Without much thought you reach down and start to tug pathetically at your shorts, wanting them off. The angle is awkward and you can't move them properly, something which he notices right away, eyebrows going up.

"You wanna rub on it again, sweetheart?" he asks, his hands going immediately to your waistband.

You nod furiously, desperate whimpers escaping your lips as he eases you up a bit to pull them down. You bend your legs to accommodate his movements, lifting from his lap for just a moment as he tugs down both your shorts and panties, leaving you bare. He wastes no time in pulling you back down again, both of you letting out simultaneous gasps as his cock slips perfectly against your center, wet and waiting.

"Joel," you whine, burying your face in his shoulder and letting him begin to drag you back and forth on his cock again without any clothes in the way. It feels so fucking good, both of your most intimate parts touching and rubbing in sweet and filthy harmony while you cry into his shirt. One of his hands snakes up your back, holds you firm again as he helps you move.

"That's my perfect angel," he murmurs in your ear, voice shaky, "Thaaaat's my pretty girl, so wet for me. Always so fuckin' wet."

"Can't help it," you sob into his shoulder, feeling your stomach tighten every time his warm cock rubs up against your clit, "Can't help it, Joel, feels so good. You make me feel so good."

"I know," he moans in your ear, "I know I do, baby, I know."

It doesn't take long at all for your orgasm to hit you, a high pitched whine clawing its way out of your throat as you frantically grind against his cock and then still as the waves of pleasure wash over you. He rubs your back, holds you close, lets you feel all of it before pressing a finger to your chin and gently turning your face to look at him.

"Yep," he breathes, assessing your expression, "there's that pool of golden light. Heavenly angels singin' praise. You hear 'em?"

You laugh shakily, still overwhelmed at the feeling of his cock continuing to pulse against your pussy. He keeps holding you there without moving, letting you come down from your high, allowing the moment to stay soft and peaceful as he watches your face. Your eyes are tired - you're still not fully recovered from your busy weekend and he can tell.

"You look sleepy, babygirl," he murmurs softly, "Want me to carry you up?"

You shake your head quickly, "No, I still gotta make you come. Just gimme a minute."

He chuckles, "You don't gotta do anything, honey. You know that right? Need you to know that you don't owe me anythin', not ever."

He really is too considerate for his own good, but there's absolutely no way you're gonna leave him hanging like that. With a sly smile you shake your head again and lift your hips up a bit, bringing your hand down to wrap around his cock again. His jaw goes slack, eyes still staring into yours as you start to stroke him again.

"I wanna make you come," you correct yourself, leaning forward to press a tiny kiss to the corner of his mouth, "I want..." you drop your gaze bashfully, trying to let the dirty talk flow naturally like his does as you play with his cock, "I want you to make a mess on me."

"On you?" he asks, clearly surprised by your sudden boldness, "Where, baby? Where d'you want me to make a mess?"

With your other hand - slightly trembling - you pull your shirt up and palm the swell of your belly, just above your mound. He groans, low and lustful.

"On your tummy, baby?" he murmurs, "You want me to get your tummy all messy with my cum?"

You nod, biting down on your lip and pumping his cock faster, eyes coming back up to meet his gaze again as you get him off.

"Want it to drip down onto your pussy, huh?" he continues, brows drawing together in pleasure, "'Cause that's where it belongs, doesn't it?"

You nod again, "It does, Joel," you whisper, "It belongs there."

"You want me to come inside you this weekend, babygirl?" his voice is strained, so close to edge and you moan at his words, eyes still locked onto his, "Yeah, you do, don't you?"

"I do," you whimper, the truth stumbling from your lips before you can even really process it, "I want it so bad, Joel. Want you to fill me up."

With one last groan his eyes roll back and he starts to come all over your stomach, exactly where you'd wanted him to. Holding him in your hand while he comes is a brand new experience - his cock pulses and twitches within your grasp as he makes a strangled noise and brings his hand up to cover his face, overwhelmed by the sensation. You bite down on your lip and watch as his cum paints your skin in thick spurts, warm and thick.

"Fuck," he finally mutters after a moment of heavy breathing, bringing his hand down from his face to look at you again with a sated expression, "You're filthy, baby."

You feel your cheeks warm, eyes going down to where his cum drips down your belly. His gaze follows yours and he smirks, reaching forward to carefully thumb a bit that's trailing dangerously close to your pussy and pushing it up and away from where it shouldn't go - yet, anyway.

"In more ways than one," he murmurs softly, then meets your gaze again. Despite the depraved circumstances you still can't help but feel shy, head tilting away from him as you smile sheepishly and slip out of his lap, pretending not to hear the embarrassingly loud squelch of wet skin against wet skin. You see him grin in the corner of your eye, clearly still fond of your bashfulness.

"I'm gonna need a shower," you say shyly, eyeing your discarded shorts on the floor.

"Go shower, darlin'," he says, still seated on the couch with his legs open and his softening cock peeking through the open zipper of his jeans, "I'll get my bed all comfy for you."

At the mention of his bed you find a little bit of the anxiety from earlier return in the pit of your stomach, twisting uncomfortably. He notices your reaction immediately, a frown settling into his features as he assesses your expression.

"What is it?"

You avoid eye contact, biting your lip and awkwardly tugging your shirt down over your thighs so you're less exposed, "Um, I know nothing happened, I know you didn't... but um, did..." you grimace, "Did she..."

He stands up immediately, tugging his zipper as he goes and reaching you in a single stride, arms coming up to touch your shoulders. You look up and see him shaking his head, brown eyes softly searching yours.

"She wasn't in my bed, honey," he murmurs quietly, "I promise."

The anxiety settles, and you believe him.

--

You cuddle together in bed for a while after your shower, not really talking but just basking in the feeling of being together again after such a shitshow of a weekend. You're warm and comfy in one of Joel's band t-shirts while he lays beside you, spooning you from behind and pressing soft kisses to the exposed part of your neck every so often, his bare legs tangled with yours beneath the sheets.

Part of you still wants answers, wants to learn more about his relationship with his ex, but another part of you doesn't feel ready yet, doesn't want to ask those questions or face those truths. Your mind is running a mile a minute as you lay there without saying anything, brow furrowed as you weigh the pros and cons in your head.

"D'you wanna talk about it, angel?" Joel finally asks, almost like he can sense exactly what you're feeling, his arms tightening around you. Your eyes close and you sigh deeply, squishing the side of your face into his pillow.

"Talk about what?" you mumble, but he's not buying it.

"I know you have questions," he murmurs, kissing the back of your neck again - grounding you, reminding you that it's okay to be yourself here, "There must be a thousand flyin' around that beautiful head o'yours. And I want you to ask 'em."

You sigh again, quieter this time. He squeezes you and reaches up to pull some of your hair back from your cheek and push it behind your ear, stroking it gently. He presses a small kiss there and noses the space beneath.

"You still feel safe with me, right?" he whispers.

At his words you immediately turn in his embrace, a look of shock forming on your face, "Of course I do," you breathe, "Joel, I've never felt safer with anyone than I do with you."

"Okay, okay, just checkin'," he smiles at you, eyes soft and sleepy, "You just seem... somewhere else. And I know why," his smile turns sad again, "And I hate that you're feelin' this way, darlin'. What can I do?"

You shake your head and reach your hand up to palm the side of his face, thumb stroking his cheek tenderly, "You... you can tell me where it is you're taking me this weekend." It's a cop-out and you both know it, but as usual he doesn't push it - you'll talk about your feelings in your own time.

He turns his head and kisses the palm of your hand gently, "Dallas," he murmurs, "Hotel room's booked."

Your eyebrows shoot up, "Dallas? But that's hours away, isn't it?"

"About three or so," he shrugs, "You ever been?"

"Couple times when I was a kid. Why Dallas?"

His arms tighten around you and he leans forward to lightly brush his nose against yours, "I told you, I wanna take you away. Not just twenty minutes or an hour; I want you to forget about all the shit you're dealin' with here for a little while," he kisses the tip of your nose gently, "What better place to do that than another city?"

The thought makes you smile. He's right; getting as far away from your parents as possible definitely sounds like a more than appealing opportunity. You've been to Dallas before but not since you were a kid, experiences that have pretty much clouded over at this point, what with all the restrictive rules you'd had to face.

"I feel bad..." you suddenly whisper.

His expression falters, "Why, baby?"

"'Cause what if I don't wanna leave the hotel room?" You smile slyly and his grin comes back in full force as he pulls you closer, presses loud kisses along the side of your face as you giggle.

"Who said anything about leavin' the hotel room?" he chuckles, then reaches over you to grab his phone from the night stand, "Plus..." he scrolls through it for a few seconds then turns it to face you, "There may be a more specific reason I chose Dallas."

You peer at his phone, see the image of a poster staring back at you: DALLAS GOSPEL MUSIC FESTIVAL. The dates correlate to this upcoming weekend. Your jaw drops, eyes going wide as you turn back to his suddenly cocky expression - he's beyond proud of himself.

"Joel Miller," you gasp with a grin, slapping his arm playfully, "you're worse than me."

--

"So the whole thing just sounds really cool," you lie to your mother the following day, showing her the poster for the festival you'd printed out, "They're also doing group worship in the mornings and there's some other events happening between the shows, like bible trivia." Kill me now.

She raises an eyebrow, assessing it further, "It's an awfully long drive to Dallas on your own..."

"I like driving, it's peaceful."

"And aren't festivals known to have drugs?"

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, "It's gospel, Mom. I don't think anyone'll be handing out drugs. Plus," you point to the little anti-drug symbol in the corner of the poster, "it's not allowed, see?"

She still looks skeptical, bringing her gaze from the poster to your face, "But you've never wanted to go to something like this before. Why now?"

"I'm just-" you smile as earnestly as you can, "I'm really enjoying my lessons with Mr. Miller. I'd like to go see some professionals perform, get inspired, that kinda thing. I think it'll help me with my technique." Technique, sure. Not as if you've played his guitar more than once at this point.

She grimaces, "It seems an awfully big thing to keep from your father..."

And whose fault is that? "You could tell him I'm visiting another one of my friends?"

She nods slowly, thoughtfully, turning her head to look down at the poster again.

You hate this. You hate how much you're lying. You hate how much she's lying. But more than anything, you hate that you have to lie in the first place. You hate that you have to ask permission, as if you're not a grown adult woman with her own agency. None of this sneaking around and coming up with covers and excuses would even be necessary if your parents just allowed you to be yourself under their roof. The whole thing is so fucked.

"Promise you'll let me know when you get there, and text me every morning and night," she finally says, eyes meeting yours again, "And promise that you'll drive safely."

Relief floods through you, along with that all too familiar guilt, "I promise."

--

The rest of the week passes smoothly, albeit a little slow. Your mother gives your father some kind of excuse about this weekend that seems to appease him, something about a bible study group. You try not to think about how many stories you're weaving together at this point, all of them piling on top of each other and twisting and turning into even bigger and badder lies. It's truly becoming a giant mess, but all of that doesn't seem to matter whenever you think of Joel, of this weekend...

Communication with him is so different now - in the best way. No more short and brief responses, no more wondering what he's thinking or worrying he's no longer interested. You text every single day and talk on the phone in hushed whispers almost every night. You've noticed that he's able to call you earlier now, has stopped going to the bar after work with his crew, but you don't mention it to him. He hasn't been back since last weekend, something that makes you admittedly feel a bit of relief.

You text him on Wednesday afternoon from the parking lot of the grocery store - you've been helping your parents out a bit more now wherever you can, spending your days cleaning the house, doing chores, fulfilling to-do lists, etc. It's the least you can do for essentially stringing them along through the worst web of lies imaginable. This trip, however, you'd caught a glimpse of Bethany in the baking aisle and almost had a heart attack, rushing to the self checkout and scanning all your items before she'd gotten a chance to see you. You haven't spoken to her since the incident in the church bathroom and you don't intend to ever again if you can help it.

almost ran into bethany at the grocery store ahhh!!!! i hate this so much. just wanna leave already and forget about all these people :( miss you. hope your day's going better than mine 💕

You sigh to yourself as you pull out of the parking lot, but your sad demeanor is quickly replaced with a grin when you feel your phone vibrate in your lap. At a red light you look down at it, warmth flooding your cheeks.

Soon, angel. Two more days and it'll just be you and me. Can't wait to treat you the way you deserve. I know just the thing to make your day better, call me tonight x

That night he whispers filthy things in your ear while you finger yourself, face buried in your pillow, thumb rubbing furiously against your clit. Your face is hot and your lower half is bare against the sheets, sticky and soft. You're imagining how his cock will feel inside you, buried to the hilt, pulsing deep and wet and warm. The thought is almost too much to bear - you've been physically incapable of thinking of anything else lately.

"Wanna feel it in my stomach, Joel, just like you said," you whine into the pillow, tears stinging your eyes as your pleasure nears its peak. "Please, please."

"You will, babygirl," he gasps, voice low and shaky as he tugs at his cock and groans on the other line, "God you're such a good girl beggin' for it like that. Ask me again, honey, ask for my cock."

"Please, Joel," you try to keep your voice quiet but it's so hard, your fingers plunging in and out of yourself at the exact speed you wish he was fucking you, "Please, Mr. Miller. Please give me your cock."

He lets out another groan, "Oh god, baby, I'm so fuckin' close. Ask me for my cum, angel. Ask for it real pretty and polite."

His words send you over the edge as your hand stutters against your pussy and halts, your whole body trembling as you fall face forward onto the bed. Your skin ignites with even more heat as you shut your eyes tight and whisper, "Please gimme your cum, Joel. Want your cum."

You hear him inhale sharply and then exhale even louder, can almost see the white of his cum behind your lids, dripping all over his bare stomach. You can feel your own slick dripping down your inner thigh, staining your sheets. You wonder if your mom has noticed how often you've been changing your bedding lately, but part of you can't really bring yourself to care.

You try to imagine what it would be like for him to pump you full, for his release to leak out of you, what it would look like, feel like... The thought makes goosebumps rise all over your flesh, especially when you remember that he'd already asked if that's what you wanted. In the heat of the moment you'd said yes, and even now you find that you still do. You have been taking your little pill every day at the same time after all, a fact he's very much aware of.

You turn over in bed and snap a quick picture of your bare pussy, wet and used. It's the second time you've done it this week. You send it without saying anything and smile when you hear him groan again on the other line.

"Perfect little pussy," he whispers, and you can hear the pout in his expression.

"It's yours," you murmur sleepily, feeling yourself begin to drift as you bury your face in your pillow again, "It's all yours, Joel."

--

The only issue that inevitably pops up is the driving arrangement. To your parents knowledge you're traveling to Dallas alone, so leaving in your own car is a vital detail. You want to ride in Joel's truck though, but you're not sure it's feasible with the amount of eyes on you, the questions your parents will ask if your car stays in the driveway.

"That's easy to figure out, darlin'," Joel reassures you over the phone the next morning, "Lemme make a call to my brother, I'm pretty sure he's got a spot in a garage he ain't usin' right now."

You grimace at the thought of someone you don't know doing you a favor, "He won't mind?"

Joel snorts, "Tommy? Not at all, angel. Don't you worry."

You've only heard him talk about Tommy once, that day on his back deck when he'd told you about his upbringing. You'd been under the impression that they didn't have a very good relationship, what with being compared to each other their whole lives. Maybe you'd been wrong about it. You've certainly been wrong about a lot of things. You file it away as another question to ask once you finally work up the courage.

You have to admit, it feels really good to have someone take care of things like this, telling you not to worry, handling everything that's difficult. You've been carrying such a load of bullshit for your entire life and knowing that Joel's in charge this weekend just makes you feel safe. Protected. Cared for. You feel like you could ask him for anything and he'd somehow make it happen for you, something you've never really experienced before. Your parents have always been hesitant to spoil you despite their wealth, had rarely ever taken you on vacations that weren't undercut with the promise of learning or preaching. Your desires and needs have always taken a backseat to appearances, standards, bigger goals. You've never really felt you could ever relax with them, ask for things, be yourself.

It feels so fucking good to have Joel Miller.

Your parents have already left for the day when you climb into your car on Friday morning, tossing your travel bag in the backseat and switching on the ignition with a smile on your face. You and Joel have it all figured out - he'd talked to his brother and there's indeed a space for you to park your car in for the weekend. Joel surprised you even more by taking the day off, so you're meeting him at the garage in about an hour's time. Before then, though... you think another shopping trip is in order - for one specific item in particular.

--

The lingerie store doesn't seem as scary this time around. Last time you hadn't even been able to step foot inside, but this time you're more prepared, ready for the skimpy mannequins and uniquely shaped underwear. You're still not really exactly sure what you're looking for, but you don't panic this time when a salesclerk walks over to you with a smile and asks if she can help you. She's probably around your mom's age, something you're not sure makes you uncomfortable or not.

"Um, yeah," you say awkwardly, unable to make direct eye contact, "I was wondering if you have anything...um... like..." you try to find the words, heart beating a bit quicker in your chest, "Something cute? But sexy too, but, um, not too sexy, if that makes sense," you feel your cheeks warm as you babble, thinking of the spiked bras and crotchless panties you'd seen last time, "Just something not too crazy, something pretty but still... still sexy." God, how many times did you just say the word sexy?

The woman just smiles and nods without any ounce of judgement whatsoever, "I know just the thing, sweetie, follow me." Well, despite being around the same age, your mother would certainly never call you sweetie. She'd also never go lingerie shopping with you either; the very thought is laughable.

She leads you to a section full of floral themed sets, brightly colored and soft, lacy and delicate. Your eyes widen a bit at the selection, the options in shapes and sizes, colors and transparency, boy shorts and g strings. You have to admit that you could see yourself wearing pretty much anything here - it's right up your alley, and you're pretty sure it's Joel's preference as well.

"As you can see, we have a big range," the salesclerk says with another smile, "Some of them are more simple than others if that's what you're looking for," she picks up one of the sets, blue and frilly with little forget-me-nots embroidered over the nipples, "This one is very popular, and comfortable too, speaking from experience."

You nod, analyzing it carefully and trying your best not to picture the salesclerk wearing it, "Thanks, but I'll, uh, just have a look myself, if that's okay?"

"Of course!" she puts the set back down and tosses you one last smile, "Take your time, sweetie. Let me know if you need anything."

Being around your parents so much this summer has really messed with your psyche. You find it odd to encounter people like this, people your parents age, Joel's age, who clearly have no qualms about dressing sexually. It's almost the way you'd felt when you first got to college, the culture shock of taking ownership of your own body and doing what you want with it, not constantly wondering if you're going to go to hell for showing too much skin. It reminds you yet again of your own naivety, everything you've been missing up to this point.

But also... everything you're going to experience this weekend. That is why you're here, after all.

You end up picking out what you believe to be the prettiest set. It's white and transparent in certain places, edged in pink and covered in little embroidered flowers, purple and yellow and green. The bra has buttons in the center that you're not sure actually work or are just for show... though regardless, you imagine Joel slowly fingering them while you peer up from below on the hotel bed, a thought that makes your cheeks burn. The panties are cute and look easy to slip on and off but there's an odd third component, just as pretty with straps that lead to nothing. You furrow your brow, staring at it.

You could ask the salesclerk what it is but you really don't want to embarrass yourself. Instead you take a picture and send it in your group chat:

buying lingerie, what is this?? help!!

Of course, Tasha is the first to reply:

IT'S A GARTER BELT, BABE. HOLDS UP STOCKINGS IN A FUN SEXY WAY. SO BUY STOCKINGS. also that's cute as fuuuuck. ur gonna give the old man a heart attack

You stifle a laugh and shove your phone back in your pocket, picking up the entire set and walking to the cash. You grab a pair of sheer white stockings in your size and slip everything onto the counter, still avoiding eye contact as the salesclerk from before walks behind and starts ringing everything up.

"Find everything you were looking for, sweetie? Did you want to try any of this on before you purchase?"

You shake your head immediately, "No, that's okay." The thought of trying any of this stuff on in a public place is definitely still a little too much outside your comfort zone.

The clerk nods and turns the card reader to you with a smile, "That'll be a hundred and fifty eight dollars."

You're pretty sure you've never looked more shocked in your life.

why is being sexy so awkward and expensive?

welcome to my life sister

158 DOLLARS FOR 3 SCRAPS OF MATERIAL

that's it, let it all out

--

The garage Joel gave you the address for isn't too far from the mall, hidden down a few side streets where you feel confident your parents will never accidentally come across it. With a significantly emptier wallet, you pull into the parking lot and spot Joel's truck, smiling when you see him get out to wave you over. He's wearing one of your favorite flannels - green and black, similar to the one you keep under your mattress - and another band t-shirt underneath; you've lost track of how many he has at this point.

"There's my girl," he says as you pull up beside him with the window rolled down. He leans against your car, tips his head in to kiss you gently, "Find it okay? Directions were clear?"

You can't help but roll your eyes with a giggle, "I just typed it into the Maps app, Joel. Didn't need all the rights and lefts."

He chuckles, "Follow me, I'll show you where to park it."

You inch along behind him as he leads you into the relatively small parking garage and gestures to the right. There's an open spot between an RV trailer and a pick-up truck.

"Those are both Tommy's," he says with a sly smile, "So feel free to scratch 'em up if you want."

You roll your eyes again and carefully pull into the space, being sure to avoid any of the encouraged scratching. It's a comfortable fit and you grab your things from the backseat before climbing out to meet Joel behind your car.

"Hi," you say quietly, peering up at him with a soft smile, not caring that you already had your introduction a few minutes ago. All you can think about now is the time that stretches out in front of you, an entire weekend of just you and him.

"Hi, angel," he murmurs, and you feel his hands come up to squeeze your arms, pull you in close, "Ready to get outta here?" You nod excitedly and he gestures toward the garage entrance, "Then let's hit the road."

--

Three hours on the road passes much quicker than you thought it would. You remember road trips with your parents as a kid, traveling miles in random directions to witness supposed "miracles" or visit religious sites. Before he'd joined the police force your father had been a pretty prominent presence in church groups all throughout the southern states, and by proxy you and your mother had too. You can't really remember much of the experience other than having to constantly be on your best behavior, put on a perfect front no matter what. It was exhausting. Not to mention the only music you could listen to had to be pre-approved by your parents. You'd sit in the back seat with perfect posture, mouthing along to songs about God while you stared longingly at the kids in cars passing by, screaming songs that were forbidden to you at the top of their lungs.

You tell Joel about it. The first twenty minutes or so of the drive is spent unloading your past road trip experiences, something you genuinely hadn't planned on doing. But talking to him is just so easy. The words fall from your lips without any hesitance whatsoever, no fear that he'll ask why you put up with it, why you didn't stand up for yourself, those questions you'd been asked by people at college whenever you mentioned your upbringing. He listens attentively, reaches over and picks up your hand to place it on his thigh, squeezes it reassuringly.

"I'm just rambling now," you finally say with a shake of your head, "The point is, this is my first road trip without all those rules, you know? So it's just... I'm just really excited."

"I get it, honey. And I'm glad I can give you this experience," he turns to look at you with a crooked smile, "Among others." Your cheeks warm.

As usual, he commands the space he's in. He's so big and broad in the front seat, one large hand on the wheel while the other caresses your fingers, thumbs your palm. His forearms are thick and freckled, lined with veins and little nicks and cuts here and there from work. The grey in his scruff reflects light in the sun, sending little twinkles and glimmers into your periphery every so often. He's so perfect, sitting there beside you. So handsome. Yours.

"Which band is that?" you ask him, genuinely curious as your eyes trail down to his t-shirt. You can't help but assume that it's some kind of metal band, what with all the skulls.

"This?" he tugs at it, eyes falling to where you're looking, "Grateful Dead."

"Oh, cool."

He smiles sympathetically, "You have no idea who they are, do you?"

"Is it that obvious?"

He laughs and squeezes your hand again, then lets go to reach into the center console for his phone. You watch him unlock it and pull his face back to squint at it, eyes flicking back and forth between the screen and the road while he tries to access something.

"I can do it," you offer, and without any qualms he slips his phone into your hand with a smile.

"I- uh- I made a playlist," he says, turning his attention to the road again, "For the trip. There's some Grateful Dead on there, if you wanna hear it. You can add your own stuff to it too, don't want you thinkin' you can only listen to my shit."

You don't know why the concept of Joel making a playlist specifically for your trip is so fucking adorable, but it is. You can't help but smile as you open Spotify and spot it immediately - simply called Dallas. You scroll through it and pick the first Grateful Dead song you spot.

"Wait," you say, scrunching your eyebrows as soft guitar fills the truck, gentle and smooth, "This is Grateful Dead?"

He chuckles, "What were you expectin'?"

"Somebody screaming, maybe? Especially for a song called Friend of The Devil," you turn to him with a shake of your head, "God, you're telling me this is the kinda shit my parents forbid me from listening to? It's literally just some guy."

He laughs again, deep and genuine, "Half the shit parents forbid their kids from listenin' to ain't even that bad. I remember a couple years before my momma died, she told me she'd heard this new singer called Bruce Springsteen, absolutely loved him," he grins at the memory, "Meanwhile she'd thrown out all my Springsteen records when I was sixteen, said they were filth."

"Did you remind her?"

He shakes his head, "Nah, I let her believe he really was some new singer she'd discovered. Wouldn't have done any good to rub it in her face. We'd already made peace."

You think about that concept - peace. The very thought of ever having a peaceful relationship with your own parents feels foreign and downright impossible, a feeling that makes you ridiculously sad if you think about it too long. You don't want to entertain the idea of having to say goodbye to them completely at any point, for them to be out of your life entirely because they don't want you anymore. You're glad Joel was able to make peace with his mother, but after years? After his father had passed away? The thought is frightening.

"Now, Backstreet Boys," Joel continues with a wry smile, "that's a band you gotta watch out for. I had to stare at those faces every time I went in Sarah's room for years. Talk about trauma."

The discomfort fades almost immediately, a natural giggle bubbling past your lips at his words. You like hearing him mention his daughter so casually - you're finally in the loop, finally getting to see the real him, hear his unfiltered thoughts.

"Can I... can I ask you something about Sarah?"

His expression changes then, not into one of anger or guilt, but surprise. He nods immediately, reaches back over to take your hand in his, "Of course you can, angel. Anythin' you want."

"Um, how old is she?" You've already done the math in your head, but you want to be sure, want to hear it from him.

"She's thirty eight," he gives you a look, "Does that make you feel weird?"

You shake your head, "No, it doesn't." You mean it. You'd probably find it weirder if she was closer to your age, but thirty eight... a full grown woman, out of the house and living her own life for years. There's something different about that, something that doesn't bring you any discomfort.

"I just wanna say... I've... I've never been with anyone your age," he looks away again, like he's worried about seeing your face as he says it, "You're the youngest person I've been with, save for when I was that age myself." He grimaces, "I don't... I don't go around preyin' on young girls or anything, if you were worried about that. I know the first day we met might've made you think otherwise, but-"

You smile softly as he babbles, "I believe you, Joel. I mean... I can't say the thought didn't cross my mind. I was a bit worried about that this weekend, when I saw you and Sarah. I thought she was my age."

He laughs a little breathlessly, shaking his head, "Oh, she'd be very pleased to hear that, lemme tell you." He makes a face. "The thinkin' she's your age part, not the part about you thinkin' we were together. She probably wouldn't like that so much."

You giggle, "Yeah, probably not."

"But I do mean it, honey. I'm not that kinda man, or at least I never thought I was," he bites his lip, "You kinda turned my whole world upside down that day, if I'm bein' honest."

You don't really know what to say in response, but you feel pride swell in your chest at his words. You reach your other hand over and place it on top of where you're already entwined, peering up at him fondly, hoping he can sense what you're feeling. The song switches over to something else then, another guitar heavy tune. You recognize the melody immediately, your eyes going wide.

"Speaking of the first day we met," you say softly, hoping he'll recognize the significance - and he does. He peers at you with that beautifully tender expression he reserves only for you, grip tightening beneath your other hand.

"Tangled Up in Blue, Bob Dylan."

"I knew it was Bob Dylan."

"Good ear. You play?"

"Um, not really."

The memory sends tingles down your spine. How was that only a few weeks ago? How have you gone from being the shy and bashful girl at the end of Joel Miller's walkway to the girl sitting in his truck holding his hand on a three hour road trip to another city? Talking about your life, his life, the things that matter? The girl with lingerie and birth control packed neatly in your travel bag?

"I'm still plannin' on teachin' you how to play this," he finally says, smirking, "Don't think you can get off easy just 'cause we're focusin' on the hymns."

You roll your eyes with a grin, "When you actually teach me a hymn, we'll talk."

--

It doesn't take long to realize that driving with Joel is very distracting. Not only is he so large and broad in the seat beside you, looking gorgeous and charming as he always does, but he also smells fucking delicious. Being in such close proximity to him in a small space, being able to smell his cologne mixed with the sheer scent of him, raw and masculine and sexy. It just reminds you of how it feels to be underneath him, overwhelmed by him entirely, feeling the rough edges of his body against yours.

You've had the windows rolled up since the first hour, turned on the AC once you'd gotten on the highway and let the cool air fill the truck. But now it's just circulating that fucking smell, thick and heady as you watch little droplets of sweat form on Joel's forehead, trickle down his temples. You feel a throb in your panties, a surge of release, and you clench your thighs together.

"You okay, babygirl?" he asks you softly, reaching over to place his big hand on your bare thigh - of course he'd noticed your change in demeanor immediately, "Need to stop somewhere and use the bathroom?"

His hand on your thigh just makes you clench tighter, makes you lean back lazily in your seat and let out a quiet whimper. You turn and look at him the exact moment his gaze reaches your face, reads it, tries to make sense of what you need.

"What is it?" he murmurs, hand slowly rubbing your skin, "What's got you makin' sounds like that, huh?"

You whimper again, already fully decided on what you want. Your hand goes down to grip his, move it upwards to the crotch of your shorts. His jaw slackens, eyes going dark.

"Need your pussy touched, baby?"

You nod, feeling heat flood your cheeks at his words. You watch as he assesses the road in front of him, the lane beside him. He chews the inside of his cheek and seems to settle on something internally. He keeps his eyes trained ahead while his hand fiddles with the zipper on your shorts.

"Unbutton those for me, pretty girl," he says, voice suddenly low, and you don't need telling twice. You practically tear your shorts open and allow him to reach his hand inside - it's so big and warm, hairy knuckles and callused fingertips slipping past the band of your underwear. Another pitiful sound falls from your lips as his index drops to your entrance and immediately slips inside.

"Joel," you whisper, tilting your head back and closing your eyes as he pushes knuckle deep inside you, filling you quickly and easily.

He doesn't say anything, just prods a second finger against your hole and slowly pushes it alongside the first. You take him so easy now; it doesn't burn the way it did those first few times, and it certainly helps that you're also soaking wet, practically dripping through your shorts.

"That's it," he murmurs softly beside you, other hand still on the wheel while he monitors the traffic around him, "That feel better, baby?"

"Y-yes," you breathe, looking down again to watch the lewd actions happening in your lap, watch the way his hand moves back and forth in your shorts as he pulls his fingers in and out of you.

"Just close your eyes and relax, angel," he tells you gently, "I'll take care of it."

You do as he says, letting yourself relax as best you can while he continues to slowly fuck you with his fingers. Another song starts playing, something low with a steady beat that he suddenly sets the pace to, speeding up as you open your legs a bit wider and moan softly. His thumb finds your clit and circles it, making you whine.

"Shhh, it's okay," your hear him say beside you, working his fingers, "It's alright, babygirl. Gonna give you what you need."

You moan again at the images that flood your brain, the thought of being underneath him in only a couple hours time, the feeling of his cock pushing inside, filling you up in just the way you've been aching for. You imagine his heavy breaths, hot and sticky against your skin. The smell of his cologne, his sweat. The coarseness of his pubic hair against your bare pussy. You writhe in the seat and tighten your thighs together, another whine slipping from your mouth.

"I got you," he murmurs, and he does. It doesn't take much else at all for you to climax, and he gets you there quickly with a few more circles of his thumb, the stiffness of his fingers, his name slipping past your lips as you come.

You lay loose and pliant in your seat for a moment, eyes still closed. He goes to remove his hand from your shorts but you stop him, reaching down to hold his wrist and keep his warm hand inside. He cups your pussy gently and just holds it, the palm of his hand sitting firmly atop your throbbing hole, rhythmically pulsing against his skin.

"Just keep it there," you whisper, chest heaving, "Please."

"Christ," he grunts under his breath, and you open your eyes to look at him, see the flush of his skin as he looks at you with desire in his eyes, "You were right, babygirl. I don't think we'll be leavin' that hotel room."

--

You like Joel's playlist a lot. After stopping into a gas station to clean up a bit, you sit in the passenger seat while he loads up on gas and scroll through it on your own phone, liking certain tracks that have stood out to you. His musical range is very broad; there's a lot of artists on it that you've never heard of, but you're not sure if that's just because of how sheltered you've been or because he's so much older than you. You choose to believe it's the latter - you hate thinking about how much you've missed out on. He'd said you could add some of your own songs but the thought makes you feel embarrassed; you haven't really had much time to form your own music taste, have spent your college experience so far just listening to whatever's popular since you couldn't when you were younger. You wouldn't even know what to add.

You scroll back up to the top of the playlist and tap Joel's profile out of curiosity, wondering if he has any other public playlists. You smile to yourself when you see titles like BBQ, 80s Tunes, Good Solos, Acoustic, Oldies, Angel.

Hold on...

Angel

You stare at it for a moment, thumb hovering over the icon but making no move to actually press it. You suddenly feel like you're invading his privacy somehow, like this isn't something he'd want you to see, not unless he said you could. With all the strength you can muster you hit the back button and return to the Dallas playlist, tapping a random song and locking your phone.

Joel gets back in the truck, oblivious to your discovery. "Gettin' closer, darlin'. You excited?"

You smile, warmth bursting in your chest, "Can't wait."

--

The conversation drifts here and there throughout the rest of the drive, both of you asking and answering questions back and forth about your lives, your pasts, your interests, your dislikes. You learn that Joel really likes music. You've known this, of course - it's not like it's some huge surprise - but hearing him talk about the artists he likes, the instruments, the melodies, the lyrics... you can hear the passion in his voice, the adoration for his favorites, the infatuation with certain lines and words. He loves music.

"Why aren't you a musician?" you ask him, genuinely curious, "Like, this really seems like something you should be doing professionally."

He chuckles at that, shakes his head, "Knowin' a lot about somethin' doesn't necessarily constitute a career in it," he shrugs, "I mean... I can't say I never thought about it. To be honest, when I was a teenager I did dream about performin' live, recordin' an album, all that jazz."

"So... why didn't you?"

He tilts his head with a half smile, "I think you're forgettin' the part where I became a dad right outta high school."

You wince, "Oh. Right."

He laughs, "S'okay. I mean, I still probably coulda done it. But there was a period there in those early years where I stopped playin' altogether, so it kinda just... slipped my mind."

You frown, "What happened? If you don't mind me asking."

He takes a breath, thoughtful for a moment as he tightens his grip on the wheel and squeezes your hand at the same time, like he's preparing himself - or preparing you.

"Well, uh... Sarah's mom, she left." Your lips part in surprise but you don't say anything, giving him a few seconds to collect his thoughts again before continuing, "She, uh, she had really bad post-partum depression, lasted a really long time. Of course, at the time, that kinda thing wasn't really talked about very much. And on top o' that we were both living with her parents since I'd been kicked out and we couldn't afford to go anywhere else. Even when we finally managed to move out they stayed in our business."

"And her parents... were they...?"

"They were strict, yeah," his jaw tenses, "They were... they were very hard on her, which made it worse. And she never wanted to be a mom, ya know? She was only seventeen when it happened and it completely uprooted all her plans. She'd wanted to get outta Texas, go to California or New York, get away from her parents and all the bullshit." He sighs, shaking his head slightly at the memory, "But livin' where we did, abortion was outta the question and her parents were our only option."

He's not looking at you but you can see the pain in his expression, the regret. A wave of sadness washes over you as you watch him talk about this particularly difficult part of his past, a part you'd been curious about ever since last weekend but had been too afraid to ask about. You're not really sure what to say.

"They made us get married," he makes a face, "And I mean, it's not like we weren't in love at that point, 'cause we were. She was my high school sweetheart and I loved her so much, I wanted it to work. But she was so unhappy. So distant. And when Sarah was born it was like she was gone. The Mish I knew just completely disappeared." He finally looks at you, expression apologetic, "That's her name - Mish. Well, Michelle, but she hates Michelle. God," he sighs exasperatedly, "I'm sorry, darlin', I shouldn't be ramblin' on about this."

You shake your head quickly, pulling your hand from his grip to lay it on top of his and squeeze, a comforting gesture, "No, Joel, don't apologize. Tell me. I wanna know."

He peers at you, hesitant, "You're sure?"

"Yes. I... I wanna know you, if you'll let me." You squeeze his hand again, reassuring him quietly.

So he tells you. He tells you about getting his first real job in construction, working the latest hours possible to earn as much as he could to get the three of them out of Mish's parents house and into their own. He tells you about Sarah being born, how he'd never felt as happy in his entire life as he did when he first held her in his arms, how she was a light in the darkness for him, lit up the room with her killer smile and big brown eyes. He tells you how he'd woken up one morning to a note from Mish, telling him that she couldn't do it anymore, that she had to get out before the situation swallowed her whole. He tells you about how his little brother Tommy, the one you'd thought he disliked, the golden boy, started skipping school to take care of Sarah when Joel couldn't - not because Joel asked him, but because he'd wanted to help.

"They say it takes a village," he says with a soft smile, "But for me, I had my brother and that was enough. It was like the past however many years of that godforsaken rivalry our parents pushed on us hadn't even happened."

"This coming from the person who asked me to scratch his truck an hour ago," you tease, and he just laughs, peering over at you with a genuine smile and tears shining in his eyes. There he is, the real him.

"Mish, she uh-" he clears his throat, "She came back, when Sarah was a little older, but then she disappeared again, same story. We found out later that she was dealin' with a whole lot more than post partum. I won't go into the details but once she got on the right meds, started therapy, she came back to us. Took a little while for things to settle - we tried on our relationship again, but we realized we just didn't fit, it was never gonna work." You squeeze his hand again. "She stayed in our lives though, became a good mom to Sarah, that's what mattered most."

"And you were just... you were just alone, through all of that?" you ask quietly, "I mean, I know you had Tommy, but... that must've been so hard." You can't even imagine dealing with all of that, find it difficult to comprehend the fact that Joel had become a father when he was younger than you, had to drop all his dreams and desires and start living entirely for someone else. "Didn't your parents ever try to reach out at all? Didn't they want to know Sarah?"

He sighs, eyes on the road, "My momma did, I know she did. But my father wouldn't let her, and she did as he said, no questions asked."

You can't help but picture your own parents, the way your mother bends over backwards to police herself around your father, the way she's taught you your entire life to do the same. The way she can't even talk to him about what's really going on - or at least what she thinks is going on - for fear of him winding up in control of the situation, making the decisions for her.

"I wonder if my mom would still wanna see me if she knew what I've been doing," you say aloud, unable to keep the thought to yourself. "Or if my dad would force her to shut me out."

Once again your hands swap places, Joel wrapping his fingers around your palm and gripping it tightly. But he doesn't say anything, doesn't give you any words of reassurance, and you know it's because he can't.

--

A soft kiss to your right cheek, then your left. Whiskered and warm. Your eyes flutter open and you see Joel leaning over the center console with a tender smile on his face, brown eyes peering down at you fondly.

"We're here, baby," he murmurs.

You blink a few times, confused. Only moments ago you'd been listening to music, chatting about your degree and answering Joel's questions about your other life, the one where your parents aren't in charge. He'd been so attentive, so interested in learning more about you. You vaguely remember a song coming on, slow and melodic, and then...

"I fell asleep?" you ask blearily, sitting up a bit.

"Out like a light," he says with a smile, "Had to skip all my heavy metal."

You roll your eyes and peer out the window, confused by the darkness beyond.

"We're in the parking garage at the hotel," he clarifies quickly, leaning back into his own seat, "Ready to check in?"

You nod and yawn, opening the passenger side door and stepping out to stretch your arms above your head. It feels good to be out of the small confines of Joel's truck, even though it was nice while it lasted. He follows suit and walks around the side to grab the luggage from the back.

"You brought your guitar?" you ask, watching as he picks up the long black carrying case and slips it over his shoulder.

"That I did," he replies with a wink, "Gotta get that lesson in, right?"

You feel heat bloom in your cheeks and avoid his flirtatious gaze, moving toward the truck bed to grab your bag. He gets to it first, picks up both his bag and yours and carries them easily in both hands, walking over to meet you on the other side of the truck.

"I can take mine," you offer, "That's a lot to carry."

He just chuckles and shakes his head, walking in front of you, "You ain't liftin' one single finger on this trip, sweetheart."

Walking from the darkness of the parking garage to the suddenly blaringly bright sun of Dallas is disconcerting at first, but certainly not unwelcome. Your eyes squint against the sunlight, focus on Joel's broad back as he walks in front of you with all the bags, guitar case swinging from his shoulder. God, he looks good carrying all that, big hands gripping the handles of the bags as he saunters ahead. That's yours, you remind yourself yet again, he's yours.

You're so distracted by how good he looks that you barely really take notice of the hotel until you're pushing past the doors into the main lobby, and that's when you freeze in place with your jaw practically on the floor.

What the fuck?

When Joel told you he'd booked a hotel, the only thing you'd really pictured in your mind was the room itself. You'd imagined a pretty sizeable room with a big bed, an ensuite bathroom and maybe a balcony if you were lucky. You've never really spent much time in a hotel before, especially nothing fancy or expensive. When you'd traveled with your parents you usually stayed with family friends or other parishioners; they hadn't wanted to expose you to too much luxury or wealth. It's hypocritical now when you think back on it, considering the large house your parents live in, the pool, the cars, the boat your father wants to buy. They'd had money to throw away on those things but couldn't splurge on a hotel room every once in a while? Couldn't treat you to something you really wanted?

Now you stand in an absolutely gorgeous main lobby, all marble floors and bright greenery, glints of gold and crystal and diamonds everywhere you turn. You suddenly feel like you've walked into a European country - how the fuck did you drive three hours from Austin and end up in a place like this?

Joel is stalling a few feet in front of you, that cocky smile in full view as he watches your reaction, "Ain't too shabby, huh?"

You're still staring with wide eyes at the sleek floors, the glittering fountains, the fucking bell-hops wearing those silly little outfits. You turn back to Joel with a shake of your head, mouth open.

You barely register the checking-in process, too mesmerized by your surroundings to pay attention. A bell-hop loads up your bags onto a luggage cart, the clerk hands Joel a key card, and you're still in complete awe of what you've just walked into as you follow Joel almost robotically to the elevator without speaking.

This is too much, you want to say.

How much did you spend? you want to ask.

The room itself is fucking beautiful, overlooking the hustle and bustle of the city below, a sight you already know will look gorgeous when the sun goes down and the buildings are lit up. The bed is huge, much bigger than you'd anticipated, with a giant flatscreen TV on the wall overtop a confusingly high-tech looking fireplace. There's a comfy looking couch and an ensuite to your right, and a fucking balcony, just like you'd hoped for. You stand in complete silence in the doorway for a solid minute until the bell-hop is gone and Joel has to nudge you forward a little to shut the door.

"Say somethin'," he murmurs, wrapping his arms around you from behind and nuzzling his face in your neck.

You shake your head again, eyes still wide, "I- I don't even know what to say."

"D'you like it?" his voice is muffled in the warmth of your neck, lips pressing a soft kiss there as his arms squeeze you gently, "Tell me what you're thinkin'."

You swallow around the lump in your throat, close your eyes through freshly stinging tears and lean back into his embrace. "I'm thinking that.... that I can't believe you did all this for me."

He kisses your neck again, slow and sweet, "Of course I did, angel. S'what you deserve."

You open your eyes and look down to see his big arms holding you tightly, feel the firm warmth of him at your back, smell that heady and delicious scent of his cologne. This isn't some dream you're having, some weird and sinful idea you came up with in your head; this is real. You're really here, standing in a beautiful hotel room with the most beautiful man you could ever imagine. You feel so safe.

And now you have an entire weekend to show him how much that means to you, a thought that sends a chill up your spine when your gaze rises back up to the bed. There it is. That's where it's going to happen.

"So... what's the plan?" you ask quietly.

He chuckles, pressing a quick kiss to your ear before pulling back and spinning you around in his embrace, peering down at you with a soft expression. "Anythin' you want," he says with a smile, "You're in charge."

You can't help but feel yourself pout a bit, "What if I don't wanna be in charge?"

He leans down and brushes his nose against yours softly, "Well, then I'd say..." he's cut off by a sudden gurgling sound, and your eyes widen when you realize it's your stomach - you haven't eaten since this morning. He laughs lightly, pulling back to assess you fondly, "I'd say we better head down to the dining room and get some food in you."

You grimace, even though you know he's right. "Spoke too soon."

--

While you enjoyed the thrill of the hotel surprise, part of you wishes Joel had told you what kind of place this was so you could have packed accordingly. You definitely didn't pack anything super elegant or fancy, although you had packed all the dresses you'd bought a little while ago, the ones you'd tried on in his kitchen and haven't had an opportunity to wear since. You assess your options now, bag open on the couch, fingers trailing through the different fabrics. The little pink bag with your new lingerie still sits tucked into the side, and you wonder if you should wear it underneath whatever you choose to wear for dinner. As usual, you're not really sure how this kind of thing is supposed to work.

You settle on the pink one; you know from past experience that Joel's certainly a fan of that color on you. You take it into the bathroom along with the lingerie while he rummages through his own clothes, oblivious.

"Okay," you whisper to yourself as you stand in front of the mirror and tug off your t-shirt, then shorts. You stare at yourself in your underwear and bra for a few seconds, then carefully peel them from your body and reach inside the little pink bag. You'd already cut the tags off - no going back now.

The set fits perfectly, hugging your soft curves and the swells of your breasts, shaping your tummy and accentuating your thighs. You look good, as much as you feel odd admitting that to yourself. It's still been hard to look in the mirror lately and see what Joel sees, to not feel guilty for simply having a body. It gives you a similar feeling to how you'd felt in your bikini, though the lingerie leaves a lot less to the imagination with its transparent material and plunging panty line.

You tug on the dress and then the sheer white stockings, loving the way they stop at your thighs just under the dress and show off a small sliver of bare skin beneath the hem. You decide to leave the garter belt in the bathroom until later, tucking it into one of the cupboards underneath some towels. You peer at yourself in the mirror again, assessing yourself up and down and hoping Joel will like what he sees.

He does.

The second you come out of the bathroom you see him pause, looking up from where he's buttoning up a nice black dress shirt to gaze at you hungrily. His lips part, eyes going hooded as he walks over to you and firmly palms your lower back, pulls you close and trails his other hand up the side of your body.

"Christ," he breathes, almost a growl, "You're so fuckin' pretty."

Without any other words one of his hands suddenly reaches up your dress, grips tight to one of your thighs. You gasp, eyes widening as he thumbs the bare skin just beneath your panties, pulling back to peer down at you with a lustful expression.

"God, I could fuck you right now," he mutters, and the words send a squeak past your lips, a gush of wetness into your brand new panties, "Yeah, you want me to bend you over and fill you up? 'Cause you look positively sinful right now."

You whimper, tempted immediately by his words, at the thought of being bent over the edge of the bed and taken right there without any preparation. But you know that's not how you want this to go; if it was, you'd have already been fucked by him ages ago. And you know that he knows it too, that he wants the same things you want - to take it slow, to take your time, feel everything the way you want to feel it.

It doesn't mean you can't tease him, though. "Would you actually?" you ask softly, voice shaking a little bit in anticipation.

"God, yes, I would," he murmurs, "Just say the word and I will."

You bite your lip, almost genuinely considering it for a moment before your stomach suddenly growls again and you sigh exasperatedly.

He smiles, leans down to press his lips to your ear, "We have all weekend, remember?"

You shiver at the thought.

--

Dinner is beyond lovely, delicious dishes served on sparkling silver platters in a grand dining room, bottomless champagne which you surprise yourself by indulging in - about a glass and a half - and a live band performing some soft jazzy numbers on a stage nearby. It's so romantic, so dazzling and classy and like nothing you've ever experienced before. Your eyes flicker back and forth between everything periodically, like you can't really believe you're sitting here - but you are.

It feels so nice to sit in a public place with Joel, be surrounded by people who have no idea who you are and no concept of the secret nature of your relationship. It's just normal, easy, no need to be guarded or quiet or pretend you're something you're not. He smiles at you from across the table and you smile back easily without any pretenses, without that nagging voice in the back of your mind telling you to be on your best behavior. You can just be yourself.

He's so handsome, dressed mostly in black with his greying curls gelled back a bit, deep chocolate eyes almost never leaving yours. He looks at you like you're the only person in the room, the only one he can see while you trade more stories about your lives, your favorite things, your dreams. You tell him you'd like to write a book one day, not exactly sure what about yet but how you're not sure you'd even have the confidence to actually publish it - he tells you with warmth and tenderness that he'd read anything you wrote, be the first one to buy a copy. He tells you how he's written songs but never played them to anybody before, but he'd play them for you if you wanted to hear them - you do.

Despite the pretty music, the twinkling lights, the cozy atmosphere and yummy food... you can't wait to get back to the hotel room. Your skin is buzzing with anticipation of what comes next, what you both know will happen as soon as you're back behind closed doors. The thought has been sitting there in the back of your mind all day, all week - for crying out loud, it's been there since the day you met him. It's nice to sit and eat and chat and pretend for a little bit like you didn't come on this vacation for a very specific reason, but that reason is becoming glaringly more apparent the longer you sit across from each other, stealing glances and soft touches. You need him. You need him right now.

Your eyes must go glassy, a faraway look in your expression, because a few moments after finishing your food Joel extends his arm to you and squeezes your hand, peers at you with darkening eyes.

"I know, babygirl," he murmurs, calloused fingertips caressing your skin, "Let's go."

--

As soon as the door shuts behind the both of you Joel's arms are immediately around you again, just like they'd been when you first stepped into the room after check-in. This time though, he presses his body firmly to yours, pushes his groin against your ass and reaches up to pull your hair back behind your ear, other hand flat against your stomach.

"I want you so bad," he whispers, and your whole body seems to convulse in his grasp in anticipation, "Been thinkin' about it all day."

"Me too," you whisper back, like it's a secret. "I'm ready, Joel."

He noses your ear, your neck, your shoulder. You feel him pull back the sleeve of your dress and press an open mouthed kiss to the skin there, slow and wet.

"I'm gonna take care of you," he murmurs softly, "I promise."

You lean back into his touch, eyes fluttering closed as he continues to press kisses all over your exposed skin, the rough prickles of his facial hair feeling sinful against your flesh. He grinds himself into you again and you whine.

"You're gonna feel it right here," he reminds you, rubbing your tummy gently and inhaling your perfume, "Right there, babygirl."

You whimper, legs buckling underneath you, "I want it, Joel, Want it now, please." Your thoughts are clouded by the smell of him, the feel of him, and it's only when you feel him start to unzip your dress in the back that you remember what you're wearing underneath.

"Wait," you say quickly, pulling away and turning around to face him, "Wait, just - just gimme one minute," he looks confused and you smile apologetically, "I have a surprise for you first." You reach forward and take his hands in yours, pull him toward the bed and gently nudge him onto the edge, "Just wait there, okay? I'll be right back."

You start backing up to go to the ensuite and can't help but appreciate the way he looks sitting there for a moment, leaning back on his hands while he gazes at you from the bed under his lashes. His legs are so long, belt buckle shining tantalizingly under the overhead light. You watch as he kicks his shoes off, smiling up at you.

"Don't go anywhere," you tell him, still backing up, "Stay right there."

He grins, "Ain't nowhere I'd rather be than right here, baby."

Your skin heats as you turn the doorknob and head into the bathroom, locking it behind you. You try not to think too much about what's about to happen, what you're going to do together the second you open that door again - the thought is so beyond overwhelming that you can already feel goosebumps rising all over your body.

The dress comes off easily and you place it with slightly trembling fingers onto the counter, reaching down to open up the cupboard and grab the garter you'd stowed away. You don't look at yourself in the mirror until it's securely in place, stockings hooked into it symmetrically albeit a little precariously, and when you finally do see yourself - bright eyed and flushed, hair a little tousled, anticipation clear as day on your face - you can't help but grin.

You're about to lose your virginity. To Joel.

You take a few steadying breaths in the mirror, closing your eyes and giving yourself a moment to just quietly exist. You press your palms to the counter, inhaling and exhaling slowly, grounding yourself and working up the courage to go back into the room.

And then you hear it - a low buzzing sound, rattling against the solid tile of the bathroom countertop. You open your eyes in slight confusion, looking toward the sound; it's your phone, tucked against the wall, hidden behind the hand towel. Your brow furrows - has it been in here this whole time? You can't remember checking it at dinner, don't think you'd even unlocked it since before Joel woke you up from your nap in the truck.

You reach over and grab it, wondering who could be calling you - and that's when your heart plummets to your stomach.

6 messages. 4 missed calls. All from your mother.

Fuck.

Are you in Dallas yet?

Let me know when you arrive.

What hotel are you staying at?

Text me back now.

Where are you?

Answer the phone.

"Shit," you whisper, "Shit, shit, shit." You scramble to type out a response, erasing typos and re-typing over and over until you wind up with something that you hope makes sense:

sorry!!! i was so tired from the drive and passed out as soon as i got in my room. i'm still half asleep, i'll talk to you more tomorrow.

How the fuck could you forget to text her?! It was the one thing you'd promised her, the one thing you weren't lying about before you left, and it had still managed to completely slip your mind. You stare at the sent message, watching a whole minute go by until her typing bubble appears, slow and steady. Finally, her reply comes in:

I told your father about Mr. Miller. We'll discuss when you get home.

Well, that's definitely not the response you'd been expecting.

Your face scrunches in confusion as you read the message again; you're not sure how it correlates at all to your lack of communication, the breaking of your promise. You suppose she'd been so worried she'd had no choice but to tell your father the "real" reason you're in Dallas - the music festival, and by proxy the lessons with Joel that "inspired" the trip in the first place. That would make sense. It's not like she has any way of knowing that you're actually here with Joel, right? No, that's illogical. You've been careful.

Okay, you know what? Good. This is good. You've wanted him to know all along. One less secret to keep, right? It's a good thing.

So why does your heart suddenly feel like it's on the floor?

You read the message again, and then again.

It's fine. Don't worry about it, it's okay.

You look up from the phone and into the mirror, eyebrows going up when you see yourself. For a moment you'd forgotten where you were, what exactly you're doing in the bathroom of a hotel room in Dallas wearing nothing but lingerie. The stark contrast of the freedom you'd felt a few moments ago and the sudden anxiety you feel now is palpable, eyes going a bit blurry as you assess yourself in the mirror again. You suddenly feel slightly disconnected from the image itself, like the person you're looking at isn't you - it can't be you, can it? Is that you?

Water, you need water. You cup your hand in the sink and turn on the tap, collecting a small pool of liquid there before bringing it to your lips. The action reminds you that you'll need to take your birth control later, a thought that sends another pang of anxiety to your already discombobulated body. Why do you need to take birth control again? Oh yeah, because you're about five minutes away from losing your virginity. To Joel. Your ears begin to ring.

Your hands shake above the sink, water dripping downwards off your hands into the much too fancy basin below. What are you doing here? Who do you think you are? You really think this is okay? You really think everything you're doing, everything you've been doing, isn't going to have major consequences? Your vision blurs.

You shut off the water and shove your trembling hands into a dry towel, tears beginning to stream down your cheeks. You avoid looking at yourself in the mirror, avoid acknowledging the way you look all together. What the fuck is wrong with you? Who are you? What have you become? Lying to your parents, resisting everything they ever taught you, doing filthy things behind their back?

The sins you've acted upon are against God, you can practically hear your father spitting at you, the behavior you've exhibited will surely leave you with nothing but a one way ticket to Hell.

Your heart pounds in your chest, much faster than normal, much faster than you think it's ever beat. So fast that you briefly think you might be having a heart attack. You clutch at your chest and fall to the floor, attempting to catch your breath and utterly failing to do so, eyes wide and panicked as you practically fight for your life on the marble tile. What the fuck is happening? Not even five minutes ago you'd been totally fine, completely ready and willing and excited, and now you want nothing more than for the floor to open up and swallow you whole.

"J-Joel?" you gasp out, voice echoing against the walls; it's like you're calling out for emergency assistance, a last-ditch attempt at survival. He doesn't answer - you hadn't been loud enough. You take another gasping breath and call out a bit louder, "Joel?"

You hear his voice almost immediately on the other side of the door, "I'm here, baby. You okay?"

You shut your eyes tight, head leaning back against the wall as you pull your legs up to hug against your chest. How the fuck do you even answer a question like that? No, I'm not okay. I'm completely the opposite of okay.

"I c-can't breathe," you practically spit the words out, teeth beginning to chatter.

"Hey, hey, what's goin' on? Can I come in?"

You don't answer, can't answer. The knob jiggles and you silently curse yourself for locking it, "What is it, baby? What's wrong? Talk to me." You can hear the worry in his voice.

"I don't kn-know" you hiccup, hands coming up to cover your face, "I just... I just g-got really sc-scared all of a sudden."

"Oh sweetheart, that's okay." His voice is calm, soothing, reassuring. "That's alright, honey. It's okay to be scared, that's normal. That's okay."

"N-no it's not," you gasp out, hands still shaking, "I'm- I'm going to hell."

There's a beat of silence, then -

"I think you're havin' a panic attack, babygirl," you hate how muffled his voice is through the door, like he's ridiculously far away, "That's okay, I have those too. I have those all the time."

Your eyebrows go up in surprise, "Y-you do?"

"I do. And I can help you if you let me in, alright? We can get through it together, I promise."

"Y-you won't be m-mad at me?"

"Babygirl," he breathes, the tone of his voice doused in shock, "I'd never be mad at you for somethin' like that. Not now, not ever." Another knob jiggle, "Open up, sweetheart, lemme hold you."

The thought of being in his arms is the only thing that gets you off the floor, legs shaking like a baby deer as you lean against the wall for support and sidestep over to the bathroom door. With relentlessly shaky fingers you manage to unlock it, tugging it open just a little bit. He does the rest.

You barely get a look at his expression - full of concern and tenderness - before you're suddenly being scooped up into his big, warm arms. He lifts you off the floor like you weigh nothing while you bury your face in his shoulder, close your eyes and try your best to focus on the sound of his breathing, the smell of him, the way he feels. Your legs instinctively wrap around him almost like a koala as he carries you over to the couch, sits down while you cling to him in the safety of his lap.

He doesn't mention the fact that you're practically naked, doesn't ask about the lingerie or point out the little wet spot at the front of your panties where only a few minutes ago you'd started getting wet with anticipation. Instead he simply does exactly what he'd said - he holds you. He pulls you in close and rubs your back and squeezes you tightly while you try to calm your breathing, try to disconnect yourself from the panicked feelings.

"You're okay, angel" he whispers to you softly, and you just cling to him tighter, "You're safe, you're alright. Nothin' bad is gonna happen to you, honey."

Except going to hell, you want to say, but you find that your fear is already starting to ebb, being replaced with the feeling of Joel's wide palm against your back and his soothing words in your ear.

"We have all the time in the world to take this step," he murmurs softly, "I don't want you to feel any pressure, don't want you to think you have to do anything you don't wanna do."

You remember his words from the other day: Need you to know that you don't owe me anythin', not ever. But the frustrating thing is that this isn't something you feel you owe him, it's something you want to do - or at least had wanted to do, before you picked up the stupid fucking phone.

"I'm r-ruining everything," you manage to gasp out, tears still flowing relentlessly down your face, "I'm s-sorry."

"You're not ruinin' anything," he breathes, and you can hear the sincerity in the tone of his voice, "That is not the only reason we came here, sweet girl. We came here to be together, get away from everythin'." You feel him press a gentle kiss to your temple, "Now, tell me what's goin' on. What's got you so scared, baby? Talk to me."

You sniff, face still buried in the warm fabric of his shirt as you tell him about the messages, the response from your mom about telling your father, the way your heart had sunk when you fully registered what it would mean for them to really know what's going on. You realize you're getting tears and snot all over him but he doesn't seem to pay it any mind, continuing to rub your back soothingly.

"It's fine that he knows, or thinks he knows - whatever," you sniffle, "But the whole thing is just- it's just so fucked. If they knew what I was d-doing here, if they knew what I was wearing-"

"Shhh," he trails his fingers through your hair as you babble and you bury your face into his shoulder again, feeling beyond embarrassed. This is not how you'd seen this night going at all. "Shh, sweetheart, it's okay. Hey, look at me. Look at me, sweet girl."

Hesitantly, you pull your face from his shirt to peer at him from under watery lashes, his handsome face blurry through your tears. He reaches down and takes both your hands in his, squeezes them carefully.

"Follow my breathing, okay?" he tells you softly, voice barely a whisper. You watch as he closes his eyes and slowly inhales through his nose. You count about five seconds before he exhales through his mouth again, opening his eyes, "In and out, real slow like this."

It takes a few minutes to get into a good rhythm, to feel the breathing exercise really start to work, but eventually you start feeling calmer again, more yourself. As you breathe Joel continues to hold your hands in his, keeping you present, grounded. You open your eyes a few times, almost like you're making sure he's still there despite knowing you're in his lap, and each time you see his beautiful face - eyes closed over with his lashes fanning his cheeks, plump lips under greying scruff, the lines and wrinkles you want to kiss every single one of - you feel a wave of reassurance wash over you, a reminder that you're safe, you're not alone.

Once your heart has stopped beating a mile a minute, you wrap your arms around him again and nudge your head lazily into the crook of his shoulder, eyes closed as you hum softly in appreciation. He starts rubbing your back again, soft and slow.

"I don't believe in it anymore," you finally whisper quietly, "I don't. I haven't for a long time. But it's hard to remember that sometimes. It can just... it creeps up on me."

"I know," he murmurs, "I dealt with that for a while too, babygirl. It's a lot to reconcile, a lot to put in the past, I get it."

"I get scared when I think about them finding out about us," you admit softly, "Not because it'll change what we have, but because it'll change what I have with them." You bite your lip "You... you know that better than anybody."

He suddenly grimaces at your words, eyes going up to the ceiling for a few seconds before falling back to you, "I knew it," he grumbles, and your brows furrow in confusion, "I knew I shouldn't've talked about that shit with my parents today."

You shake your head immediately, "No, no, Joel, it has nothing to do with that. I wanted to know that stuff, I wanna know you."

"But it -"

"This is my own thing," you tell him softly, gaze meeting his, "This isn't because of you. You've been..." you smile through your tears, "You've been so amazing, Joel. You've helped me so much."

He brushes his nose against yours again, and with a soft sigh he murmurs, "You've helped me too, sweetheart. More than you realize."

"What d'you mean?"

You watch as he reaches beneath him to pull something out from his back pocket, adjusting you a little in his lap as he does so. He pulls out his wallet, small and brown, weathered around the edges - he's definitely had it for a while. Puzzled, your eyes fall to the tattered inside as he opens it, and you immediately spot something sitting in the compartment reserved for cash - something that catches the light, sparkles under your gaze.

"Is that my crucifix?" you ask quietly.

He nods, slipping his finger inside and pulling out the chain, the cross hanging from his fingertip. "This," he tells you, "has gotten me through two panic attacks of my own this week."

What?

He can tell you're at a bit of a loss for words, confused and surprised. With a small smile he wraps his hand around the crucifix, presses the cross into his palm, then brings it to his lips and presses a small kiss to the metal. The action doesn't make much sense to you, what with Joel being an Atheist and having never shown much interest at all in religion other than how it made you feel.

"But you don't believe in that stuff," you state, suddenly unsure.

He nods, letting his hand fall back down into his lap to touch yours, "I don't," he murmurs, "It's... it's a symbol more than anything." He takes your hand, the cross fitting directly into the center of your palm, "When I hold this, it reminds me of the beautiful girl who trusted me with it, the one sittin' so pretty and perfect in my lap right now."

You can't help but feel a bit embarrassed at his words, painfully aware of the tears drying on your puffy cheeks - you probably look a mess, but he doesn't seem to care.

"Makes me feel less alone," he tells you softly, and you swear you hear his voice hitch on the last word, "Keeps me safe."

You peer at him for a moment, processing his words. You don't really know what to say, beyond touched by the sentiment but still unsure how an object that caused you such pain and frustration could be a light in the darkness for him. How could it have a different meaning than the one it was intended for?

It's like he can sense your hesitance, your questions. He shifts you a bit in his lap, pulling you so close that his nose brushes gently against yours. "You should only believe in somethin' if it feels right," he whispers, "Only if it makes you feel like the luckiest person alive just to experience it, to be in its presence. And angel," he sighs softly, tilting forward so his forehead lightly nudges against yours, "if that ain't me about you."

"Joel," you whisper, fresh tears shining in your eyes. There's nothing else you can really say, nothing that feels right, other than the one thing you've been wanting to say since you arrived, something on the tip of your tongue begging to slip past your lips - but you don't. For now, you just think it, think it with all the warmth and adoration you feel blooming in your chest as you peer at him.

I love you.

You kiss him then, slow. His lips are soft and patient against yours, slightly hesitant, like he's holding himself back - and you suppose he is, considering the situation. He doesn't want to push, doesn't want to assume that what was meant to happen when you got back to the hotel room is still going to happen.

But you already know that it is.

You find that you can now notice the fact that your skin is bare, that he's touching you without anything being in the way, one hand cupped against the soft flesh of your hip while the other still squeezes your hand. It dawns on you that you're wearing the lingerie, the special surprise essentially ruined by your outburst. You frown against his lips.

"What is it?" he murmurs, pulling back to peer at your face, assess your expression.

"I...I bought this for you," you tell him softly, and you watch as his gaze falls to your scantily covered form, "Sorry I ruined the surprise."

His adam's apple bobs in his throat as his eyes trail up and down your body in slow, repetitive movements, like he's only just now fully noticed what you're wearing, taking in absolutely every inch of you - every little embroidered flower, every bare patch of skin. He releases your hand to carefully place both of his palms down on your thighs, the naked part between your panties and the stockings. You watch as he fingers the garter straps, eyes dark.

"Dressed up all pretty for me, huh?" he breathes, thumbs stroking your inner thighs as he brings his gaze back up to meet yours.

"I wanted it to be special," you whisper, "I wanted to wear it when you..." You trail off, mouth going a bit dry all of a sudden.

"Do you still want that, babygirl?" he asks you softly, "Do you still want me to?"

You don't even need to think about it, mull it over in your head or take another breath. You've never been more sure of anything in your life.

"Yes," you whisper, an edge of desperation in your voice, "Please." You kiss him again and he sighs deeply against your mouth, grip tightening on your thighs.

"Say it," he murmurs, teeth nipping lightly at your bottom lip, "Tell me what you want me to do, baby."

You shiver, "Want you to fuck me, Joel," your voice quakes with anticipation, hands balling in his shirt, "Please fuck me."

He doesn't need telling twice; at your words one of his big hands comes up cradle your back again, fingers digging into the soft skin there while his other slips from your thigh and curves around your ass, squeezes. He picks you up again, slips the crucifix into his pocket and stands there without moving as he peers at your face and holds you firmly against his body.

"Please," you whisper again, eyes locked with his as you whimper and buck your hips against him, feel the shape of his half-hard cock rub gently against where you're aching. He looks down without speaking, watches as you pathetically grind your hips, legs tightening around his waist.

"The sweetest girl," he says softly, leaning his face forward to kiss the corner of your mouth, "Already beggin' for my cock, huh?"

You mewl and grind your crotch against him again, already feeling the wetness returning to your panties in slow pulses. He just smiles and finally walks with you to the bed, tilts you downward and lays you out like you're a meal he's about to indulge in, swallow whole. And god, you want him to. Need him to. He pulls back to stand over you, hands going into his pockets as he peers down at you with lust in his eyes.

"Lemme just look at you, babygirl," he says quietly, eyes trailing to your breasts, your bare stomach, your exposed mound and soft thighs. He nudges you over a little bit and then sits on the side of the bed, hand reaching down to stroke one of your arms, slow and gentle, "You look so beautiful."

You lie there, staring up at his face with hooded eyes as you try not to squirm under his gaze. His hand moves from your arm to your shoulder, your shoulder to your collarbone, your collarbone to the space between your breasts. Just like you'd imagined when you'd bought it at the store, he deftly fingers the buttons there a few times, tracing them up and down.

"Pretty," he murmurs, and without warning he slowly slips his hand inside your bra, fingertips brushing your nipple. You whimper again, another surge of arousal dripping into your underwear.

"My sensitive girl," he whispers, brushing it again and smiling when your hips buck, "Are you wet, baby?"

You nod quickly, expression hazy, "Yes."

"How wet?"

Your thighs rub together almost unconsciously, another pathetic sound slipping past your lips, "Really wet, Joel."

He chuckles softly at your impatience, releases your breast and leans down to press a slow and wet kiss to your neck. You moan softly, eyes fluttering closed as his lips trail gently up and down the expanse of your neck, your chest. You feel his hands curve up underneath your back, busying themselves with the latches of your lingerie.

"As much as I could look at you wearin' this for hours," he whispers, "I think theres somethin' under there that deserves my attention." He slips the bra off easily, tugs the straps down your arms and exposes your bare breasts to him, nipples peaked and hard. He immediately captures one in his mouth and starts to suckle gently, hand traveling downward to rest teasingly on your inner thigh.

Fuck, it feels so good. Your eyes roll behind your lids, mouth popping open as you sigh in contentment and just let him play with you. He sucks and licks, nips lightly every so often, travels between both breasts like they were made specifically for him to have in his mouth. Your pussy pulses somewhere below, feeling beyond ignored, and you rub your thighs together again to try to ease some of the pressure. He notices and his hand inches upward to cup you through the material, eliciting a gasp from you.

He pulls off your nipple and you open your eyes to see him peering up at you, eyes almost black, a smirk on his face, "Need your pussy touched again, don't you baby?" You nod, lips turning downwards into a pout, "Okay, sweet girl. I won't tease you too much."

You're very much aware of the fact that Joel is still fully clothed, a fact that you have to admit turns you on a lot more than it probably should. You watch as he crawls on top of you carefully, hooks his legs around you and slowly eases downward, eyes staying locked with yours as he starts kissing his way down your stomach. Your heart rate quickens again, but this time you welcome it.

His fingers play with the straps of your garter as he presses soft kisses to the tops of your thighs, the dips of your waist. You shiver when he presses gentle kisses to your mound, fingers slipping inside the band of your lingerie and carefully tugging it down to expose your pussy to him, wet and aching. He pulls back to look at it, expression one of pure lust as he thumbs one of your lips and pushes it open.

"There she is," he murmurs, "The sweetest little pussy."

"Joel," you moan, closing your eyes and focusing entirely on the way he thumbs your outer lip, caresses it softly like it's something precious and fragile. He dips his thumb further inside and brushes against your folds, sending another thick and syrupy drop of release onto his fingers.

"Look at her pulse, baby," he says, voice husky and dark, "Droolin' for me."

You open your eyes again, watch him lean down and lick a stripe through your dripping folds, collecting the juices on his tongue. You whimper when he swallows and leans in to press a whiskery kiss to your clit, already puffy and twitching.

"She's cryin' for my cock, honey," he breathes, "Been waitin' so long, been so patient."

"Please," you whisper, and his gaze meets yours again, "Please put it in." The words are filthy and full of desperation, your brow furrowing in pleasure as his thumb slowly begins to circle your clit, "I need it."

"I know, sweet girl," he whispers, "But you gotta wait just a little bit longer, gotta let me taste this perfect little cunt first," he presses kisses along your folds, kitten licks past them a bit to slip the tip of his tongue just barely inside your hole. You whine, hand coming down to touch his hair while the other grabs one of your breasts and begins to toy with your nipple, as if on instinct.

He hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, hands coming up to grip your waist and hold you still as he starts to eat you out. Just like the first time, it's beyond overwhelming, your eyes shutting tight and your teeth biting down hard on your bottom lip as his mouth does sinful things to the most intimate part of you. He plunges his tongue inside and buries the curve of his nose in your clit, rubbing it up and down, back and forth, while you whine and whimper above him. Your fingers tangle in his hair and holds his face firm between your legs while he tastes and devours.

"Joel," you keep whimpering, unable to stop from saying his name every chance you get, a reminder to yourself that you're really here with him right now, that he's the one making you feel this way. He barely pulls up for breath, scruff glistening with your release as he pleasures you relentlessly, arm coming up to splay across your belly and push you down into the mattress, holding you firm.

He makes you come easily, but that's no surprise. Just like in the truck earlier, you cry out and toss your head back, body shaking through your orgasm as he sucks on your clit and slips one of his fingers easily inside of you, curves it and makes your body rise up off the bed in pleasure as you shiver and squirm.

"Good girl," he tells you softly when he releases your clit from his mouth, looks up at you with dark lips and messy hair, "That's my good girl."

Only for you Joel, you want to whisper, but you're too blissed out to speak, Only wanna be a good girl for you.

You feel him press soothing kisses around your pussy, finger still slowly pumping in and out as you calm your breathing. He pulls it out and brings it to his lips, sucks it with a deep groan, "God, you taste so good," he murmurs, resting his head for a moment on your thigh and inhaling deeply, "So fuckin' sweet, babygirl."

You remember the first time he'd tasted you, remember how you'd come so hard you'd seen stars, remember how he'd come in his pants. The thought makes you sit up on your hands, look down at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Did you come?" you ask, slightly worried for a moment.

He laughs, pulls his head up and begins to crawl back to you with a smile on his face, "No, not this time. That was a moment of weakness." He cups your face and and looks down at you with a soft expression, "You wanna taste yourself?"

Without any hesitation, you nod. Joel leans down and presses his lips to yours, eases his tongue inside and lets you indulge in your own release, your own special flavor. You've never really tasted anything like it before, unsure how exactly to describe it - you're not sure you'd really call it sweet, but it's not bad by any means, just... different.

"Good?" he asks.

You shrug, "It's... interesting."

He chuckles, pulling his face back, "How're you feelin'? You wanna stop?" You look up at him like he's crazy and he laughs again, putting his hands up, "Okay, okay, just askin'."

"I want-" you cut yourself off, feeling blood rush to your cheeks, and he peers down at you softly.

"What d'you want, babygirl?" he murmurs, "I'll give it to you."

You reach up to tug at the collar of his shirt, finger the buttons there, "I want this off," you breathe, "Want all of it off."

He nods slowly, eyes hooded as his eyes fall to your wet lips, "Okay, what else?"

"Want you to fuck me," you whisper again, as if he doesn't already know. Your hand reaches downward to carefully cup the long shape of him through his pants with trembling fingers, "Want it inside."

He reaches down, covers your hand with his and squeezes softly, "You want what inside, baby? Words."

"Your cock," you whisper, edged with a whine, "Want your cock inside me, Joel. Please. No more teasing."

He smiles softly, "Okay, baby. No more teasin'."

Watching him undress sends tingles all throughout your body, lips parting as he undoes the buttons of his shirt and tosses it to the floor, reaches for his belt buckle and slowly starts to unfurl it. He keeps his eyes on your face, watches your expression as you bite your lip and assess the way his cock juts out underneath his pants, begging to be taken out and touched, played with. The thought makes you sit up on the bed, lean toward the edge and dig a few of your fingers into his waistband, pulling him closer.

He watches as you slowly move forward to mouth his cock through his pants, lips parting and stretching around the big shape. You sigh in contentment at the feeling of it pulsing through the material against your tongue, drag your mouth up and down a few times as a whimper gurgles in your throat.

"Thought you said no more teasin'," he murmurs, and you feel his hand come to rest at the back of your head, helping you move. You moan softly around his length and you can practically hear the smile in his voice when he says, "Just need it so bad, don't you?"

You do. You can't count the number of days you've thought about it now, thought about it against your face, your thighs, your pussy. You want it everywhere - you want him everywhere. You've waited so long and you're tired of being patient, of waiting for the right time, the right moment. It's here, it's now, and you're ready.

"Please," you breathe again, pulling your mouth off his clothed cock and looking up at him with wide, almost tear-filled eyes, "Please fuck me, Mr. Miller."

His eyes go dark and the smile fades from his lips, hands coming down to unzip and unbutton quickly as you lay back on the bed and open your legs. It takes no time at all for him to be completely naked, pants and underwear thrown haphazardly off to the side while he crawls back on top of you and starts kissing your neck again, skin rough and warm. Your hands come up to grip his bare back, eyes closing as you let him silently worship you, kiss every inch of skin he can reach.

You can feel the heavy length of him on your thigh, settled there as it pulses and leaks. It's so big, so thick, and you can't help but reach down and engulf it in your small fist, fingers still unable to go all the way around. He groans into your skin, pulls back to look at you again.

"D'you want me to use a condom, babygirl?" he asks, even though he knows the answer - he wants to hear you say it, which you appreciate.

"No," you whisper, "Please don't."

He groans again at your words, reaches his hand down and easily slips two of his fingers inside of you without any resistance. You're so ready, have never felt more ready for anything in your entire life. You know you should be reveling in the moment, taking time to enjoy and appreciate - but at the same time you just want him inside of you already, want to be connected to him in the rawest of ways, complete. You can't wait anymore, you can't. He starts to add his third finger and you whine, wishing it was something else.

"Gotta open you up a little more, sweetheart," he tells you quietly, filling you with all three fingers and slowly starting to pump them in and out, "Want this to feel good for you, don't wanna hurt you."

"I want your cock, Joel," you mewl, tears welling in your eyes.

"Shhh," he kisses you gently, fucks you slow, "I know, baby, I know. Just a minute now, sweetheart. Be patient for me."

"Don't wanna be patient," you're starting to sound like a bit of a brat but you really don't care, the desperate and touch-starved part of you just aching to be filled up, held close, fucked deep. "Wanna feel you in my stomach, please."

"Jesus Christ," he mutters, almost a groan as he pulls his fingers from you and drags them against his cock, taking it from you carefully and then pumping himself twice with your release, "Okay, babygirl, I hear you, I got you."

Joel eases himself downwards carefully, hovering over you like he had last weekend. He kisses you again, soft and safe, a quiet reminder that what's about to happen means more than what it seems like on paper, means more than either of you could even articulate. He peers into your eyes tenderly, reaches up to push some stray hairs out of your face.

"I'm gonna go real slow," he tells you, "You tell me the second somethin' doesn't feel right, okay? Promise me."

"I promise," you whisper, hands splaying across his back and pulling him down further so your breasts are pushing softly against the hair on his chest, impossibly close. You just wanna feel him, feel all of him.

When he says slow - he means slow.

You'd felt the tip of him last weekend, were already anticipating the burn and stretch, but this time there's not the same desperation, the same time limit or rush. Now you have all the time in the world, the clarity to take it as slowly as you need to in order to really feel everything, make it count. You feel the shape of his wide head carefully nudge the tiniest bit into your throbbing heat, and your eyes immediately go wide.

"You're okay," he reminds you softly, just like he had last time, "You're alright, angel."

Your nails dig into his back and you nod, peering up at him with a look that you hope says, I know, and I trust you, because you do. He kisses you gently and you feel his hand at your thigh, pushing you open a little wider for easier access. The garter strap strains against your legs but neither of you make any move to remove it.

He pushes inside a little further, his whole tip crowding the space at your entrance once again. You make an odd sound, something that comes from the back of your throat, and he freezes.

"Okay?" he asks, and you frantically nod. "That's the tip of me, baby. You got it, you're doin' so good."

"More," you whisper, voice breaking, "More, please."

He reaches his hand back up and locks it into place on the headboard above you, holds himself up as his knees dig into the plush cotton of the duvet. With his other hand he slowly eases more of his cock inside, just a little bit.

"Fuck," you hiss, and you can feel it now - the burn, the stretch. It's not painful by any means, but it's not comfortable either. You make a face and Joel stills, brow furrowing.

"Hurts?" he asks softly.

"N-not really," you breathe, "It's just - it's really thick."

He kisses you again, noses the side of your face and inhales deeply, "You tell me when to move," he murmurs, "You're in control from this point forward, babygirl. What you say goes."

You take a few deep breaths, eyes closed as you hold Joel to you and revel in the way he peppers tiny little kisses all over your face, your nose, your eyelids. Now it's his turn to be patient, and he's certainly much better at it than you are.

"Okay," you breathe after a moment, "Okay, you can move."

He inches in another little bit and your hips stutter, hands trembling against his back. You don't say anything, just grip him tighter and bite down on your lip - more stretch, more burn. But there's something about it, something about the odd sensation of being spread open, that has your pussy suddenly throbbing - and you whine.

"Tell me to pull out and I will," he murmurs in your ear, "We can spend some more time-"

"No," you whimper, shaking your head, "No, Joel. It feels good." You grip tighter to him and tangle your ankles with his, wanting to be even closer than you already are, "Keep going, please."

It goes like that for a while - a continuous push, inch by inch, a whine or whimper, a check-in from Joel, reassurance that you're alright, then the cycle starts again. You quickly grow accustomed to his girth, the stretch getting significantly less and less the longer he stays pressed inside of you. You're painfully aware that this probably isn't the sexiest experience for him, that he'd probably much prefer being able to go deep and stay deep and pound you senseless - and as much as that thought also appeals to you, you know there's no way your body could handle it on the first go.

"M'sorry," you mumble to him quietly during another moment of adjustment, both of you laying still while a little more than half his cock sits patiently inside of you.

"For what?" his eyes scrunch, confusion clear on his face.

"F-for taking forever to get used to it," you admit apologetically, eyes going downcast, "Especially after I begged so many times."

He shakes his head, eyes narrowing, "Do not apologize for somethin' like that, sweetheart. This is about you, not me."

"But I'm-" you take a breath, forcing yourself to be honest, to not keep your worries inside no matter what, especially in such an intimate moment like this, "I'm scared you're not enjoying yourself."

His eyes widen, "Not enjoyin' myself?" He almost laughs, light and soft, "Sweetheart, do you have any idea how fuckin' good you feel?" You shake your head and he leans down to kiss you, moans softly against your lips, "Your pussy's so tight around me, sweet girl" he whispers, "She's pulsin' around my cock, it feels fuckin' incredible."

Your thighs tighten a bit against his waist, center throbbing once again at his words. He groans, and it finally sets in that every throb you feel, every pulsation, every twitch, he can feel it too. Because he's inside of you.

"You're inside me," you whisper, and it sounds like such a dumb revelation but you don't care, lip trembling a little bit as your fingers stroke gently against his back.

"I'm inside you," he echoes, voice soft and reassuring, "M'not goin' anywhere, baby. Gonna take it as slow as you need me to."

He's so gentle, so tender, it makes you want to cry. How did you get so lucky to be having your first time with someone like this? Someone who genuinely wants you to feel good, feel taken care of? Someone who feels beyond amazing? His cock is so big, so perfect; he feeds it to you over the next few minutes, makes you whine and cry out in the dim light of the hotel room, legs trembling and hands coming up to cover your eyes as he finally bottoms out, finally eases himself completely inside of you - and stills.

Full. You're so full. It's the only word that seems to cross your mind, any and all other vocabulary going completely out the window the longer you lay there with his cock buried deep inside. He carefully pulls your hands back from your face and kisses you again and again, murmuring praise.

"You're doin' so good, angel," he whispers, "Takin' it so well, such a good girl."

It's not that filthy of a thing to say, but his words do something to you then that you can't really explain. Odd sounds escape your throat, slip past your lips pathetically as you squirm a bit beneath him. Your eyes shut tight, heart beating fast, not a thought in your brain other than the fact that there's a huge appendage lodged so deep inside of you that you can't even think, can't speak.

"I know," he's whispering, carding his fingers through your hair, "I know, baby. That cock is so big, I know, I know," he kisses your temple, holds you close, "So big inside that little pussy."

"Joel," is all you manage to whimper out, toes curling in pleasure, "Joel."

"I know," he murmurs again, and you swear he pushes his hips forward just a little bit more, the heavy shape of his balls pressing firmly against your ass, "I'm in your tummy, baby, just like you wanted."

At his words your shaky hand travels downward to feel your stomach, press your palm against the skin there, and your eyes snap open when you realize you can feel him there - near the bottom of your tummy, feel the long and thick shape of him bulging out from beneath.

"Fuck," you breathe, and his eyes meet yours, dark and hungry, "Fuck, I f-feel it."

His hand comes down and covers yours, helps you move the garter belt out of the way to shape your fingers around the long shape of him. You can feel the fat head pulsing deep within you, pushing against something you didn't even know was there, every throb sending constant gushes of release around his cock. You must be a mess down there, slick dripping down your thighs as you whine again and reach up to tangle your fingers in his hair.

"Ohmygod," the words are almost slurred, garbled, and you're realizing very quickly that talking with a cock inside of you is very difficult. Your thighs squeeze together again and Joel groans.

"God, you feel so fuckin' incredible," his expression is wrecked, plump lips parted as he inhales and exhales, "You're chokin' my cock, honey."

You can't wrap your mind around the fact that this isn't it, that simply having his cock buried deep inside you isn't the actual sex itself. Because how can just this feel so good? How can you feel so close, so full, so wonderful, all from just this?

Joel leans down and buries his face in the pillow, nudges his nose to your ear and whispers, "D'you want me to move, babygirl?" to which you immediately respond, "Yes."

At your okay he slowly eases himself out of you, the sensation unlike anything you've ever felt before as inch by inch he leaves your body until just the head sits heavy and waiting at your entrance. He looks down at you, thumbs your cheek, and murmurs, "Who's my good girl?"

You shiver, moan softly, eyes closing again, "I am," you whisper.

Just as slow, he pushes himself back inside, and you cry out and bury your face into his neck, legs shaking.

"Who is?" he asks you again, burying himself to the hilt and stroking up and down your naked body gently with one hand, "Who's my good girl? Tell me again, angel."

"I am," you repeat, a bit louder this time and drenched in pleasure as he slowly pulls out again, leaving you almost empty. "Joel," you whisper, and he pulls his face back to look at you, nipping at your bottom lip and pouting at your already fucked-out expression, "Joel, it feels so good."

"I know, baby," he murmurs, then eases himself back in, brings your hands down to your stomach again to feel the way his cock protrudes lewdly against the skin, "You're takin' it so well."

"I-I've-" you whimper, tears overflowing, "I've n-never-"

I've never felt like this before, you want to say. I've never felt so close to another human in my life. I've never wanted to live in a moment more than I want to live in this one.

Instead, he just brings a finger to your lips, eases himself out again and murmurs, "I know," like it's a mantra, "I know."

You feel him thumb your clit and you can't believe that anything could feel this good, that anything could even compare to the way it feels to have Joel everywhere like this, so deep inside and above and all around, his scent lingering in every move he makes, his hair pressing firm to the softest parts of your body. He's so warm, so safe, and more than anything all you can think about is that thought from before, the one you know now to be absolute - I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

He keeps the pace slow, doesn't let go of you or pull away even once. You already know you're not gonna last, not with his thumb rubbing you like that and his cock so unrelenting and huge inside of you, filling you up in a way you never thought possible. You're pretty sure that you've only got one more orgasm left in you tonight but you don't feel worried or stressed out by that fact - you have a whole weekend for more of this, to explore and experience and enjoy.

"I'm gonna come, Joel," you breathe, and you can feel tears stinging your eyes as you say the words, "I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come."

"Okay, baby, that's it," he encourages you softly, thumb unrelenting against your clit, "Lemme feel you come, angel. Let it out for me. Give it to me, sweetheart." And you do.

Coming around his cock feels fucking incredible. Your pussy tightens and throbs, releases more slick than you could even imagine, and you feel yourself start to cry, tears flowing down your face as a sob wracks from your throat as you pull him down on top of you. He fucks you through it, groaning in your ear at the way you continue to choke his cock, tight and firm.

"Fuck," he groans, "Fuck, angel, I don't think I can last."

"Then don't," you cry into his ear, eyes shut tight as your body convulses, "Don't wait, Joel. Want you to come inside me, want it so bad."

He makes an unhinged noise, his thrusts becoming a little faster, a little more erratic. Without warning you kick your legs up to wrap around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer and letting out another loud moan when you both hear the sound of his balls slapping against your ass. He's so deep. So, so, so deep. Just like he said he'd be.

"Fuck," he mumbles in your ear, "Fuck, I'm comin', honey, I'm comin'." At his words you feel the massive length of him pulse deep inside, your walls constricting around the intrusive shape as he starts to come. Your eyes go wide, mouth opening in a silent gasp of pleasure as you feel the warm spurts of his come begin to coat your walls, filling you up.

"Joel," you breathe, and you're pretty sure your nails have broken the skin of his back but he doesn't seem to care - if anything it makes him groan even louder, makes him pull back to look at you and make direct eye contact as he empties himself. You stare at each other, eyes wide, lips parted, and he leans forward to press his forehead to yours as his jaw clenches.

The moment he's finished coming he falls on top of you with his entire body weight, something you welcome instantly. Your hands roam up and down his back, feel the crescent moon shapes lining his skin as you close your eyes and let the reality of what's just happened wash over you, settle into your very being. It's only when you shift a little underneath him that Joel finally pulls himself up to look at you. He's so beautiful, hair a mess, lips red and raw, cheeks flushed, and tears shining in his soft brown eyes. He nuzzles his nose against yours and breathes a long sigh, one of satisfaction and contentment.

"Stay inside me," you whisper. You don't know why it's the first thing you say, but somehow it feels like the most important. Because the idea of him separating from you now after what you've just shared, the idea of not being within his embrace or feeling as connected as you feel right now - it sounds like the worst thing in the world.

"Okay, angel," he murmurs, eyes sleepy, "M'not goin' anywhere."

You close your eyes, breathe him in.

I love you.

[widowrecs]

To Hell and Back l Two (Joel Miller x Female Reader)

Series Masterlist l Previous l Next

Summary: After escaping a group of brutal slavers, you are left with permanent physical and emotional scars. Unwilling to put your trust in another human being ever again, you spend a year fighting for survival alone in the post outbreak world. But when you choose to save the life of a man named Joel Miller, the wall that you’ve built to protect yourself slowly begins to crumble.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings/Tags: 18+ only, minors DNI. Canon violence, canon language, reader has a flashback, mentions of slavers, implied threat of assault, guns, reader gets groped, reader has a panic attack, a lot of angst, trauma. Soft Joel, protective Joel, and I even threw in some domestic Joel because just imagine that old man making you a nice lil late night snack. 🥹 I think I got most of the major warnings out of the way, I’m sorry if I missed anything!

Word Count: 10.3k (for ffs)

A/N: I am going to start off by saying, sorry this is so damn long lmao. I also hope it flows and it isn’t too messy since there is a lot going on in this chapter. But it is a miniseries which is why I need to get all these scenes in one go. Anywho. I want to take a moment and shout out some lovelies who either listened to me ramble about this fic, read snippets, or helped me with phrasing @beardsanddetectives @cavillscurls @thelightsandtheroses @morning-star-joy @cupofjoel and I hope I am not missing anyone, but thank you so much for all your help and input my loves 🤍

Smoke was coming off my jacket

and you didn’t seem to mind

I left a long trail of ashes and

you said, I like your style

California l Spring, 2023

Your hand trembled slightly as you gripped your pistol and aimed it at his chest.

You’d never pointed your gun at another human being before. At least not one that was still alive.

“Hey now, it’s alright. You can trust us.”

Anxiously, you glimpsed from the man who had just spoken to the woman who stood beside him.

Surely the two had to be related. Both possessed the same fiery red hair, a face full of freckles, and vivid green eyes. They stood before you with their weapons lowered in an attempt to show you that they weren’t a threat to your safety. 

The man, who had to be in his mid to late thirties, moved to step forward, but halted in his tracks when he caught sight of the way your finger had twitched over the trigger. “My name is Mark,” he said, carefully gesturing to himself with his free hand. In his opposite hand, he clutched his rifle, an assault style weapon that made your gun look like a fucking toy in comparison. Still, it was you who had the upper hand, at least for now. “This here is my sister. Her name is Jessa.” He paused and when you said nothing, he asked, “Can you tell us your name?”

Chewing your bottom lip, you shook your head at him in response. 

You didn’t trust them.

Not quite yet.

Jessa, who was younger and looked to be closer to your own age, offered you a kind smile. “That’s alright. You don’t have to tell us your name until you feel comfortable.” She took a look around at the small, makeshift camp that you had made for yourself. “Are you all by yourself, sweets?”

You quickly wracked your brain. 

“No,” You fibbed. “I’m with my father. He should be back any minute now. He’s armed and he does not take all too kindly to strangers, so you’d best be on your way before he sees you.” You added in a steadier tone, “He won’t even think twice. He’ll just kill you on the spot, so you better leave right now. Or else.”

Amused, Mark let out a soft chuckle. “Oh, come on now, dollface. You don’t have to lie to us,” he stated, shaking his head. “Let’s try this again and let’s be honest this time, alright? How long have you been alone?”

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed harshly. 

Fuck.

He had seen right through the bullshit threat. 

“For about three or four days now,” You admitted, your shoulders sagging in defeat. “I was with my father and my sister. The three of us were on our way up north. We were trying to get to Seattle to the quarantine zone, but then they were—”

You suddenly stopped.

It felt like someone had driven their fist right into your gut, knocking all the wind out of your lungs and hindering your ability to speak.

You couldn’t even say it out loud.

Gruesome images of them being torn apart limb from limb flashed through your mind. Bile slowly started climbing its way up your throat and your stomach churned violently.

You were going to be sick.

“Are they both dead?” Mark questioned you.

You nodded, whispering shakily, “Yes.”

Jessa frowned. “I’m so sorry for your loss, honey. If it’s any consolation, me and Mark know exactly how it feels. We lost our entire family about three years ago. It’s the hardest thing we’ve ever been through.” Swinging back her own rifle behind her, she approached you and reached out, placing her hand over yours—the one that was still clutching your weapon. She didn’t even so much as flinch at the way the barrel was now pointed at her, how it was just an inch or two away from her chest. It didn’t seem to faze her that all it would take was you bringing your index finger down a bit harder on the trigger and she would be dead. “We know you must be fucking terrified, but it’s okay. You can trust us. We’re good, honest people and we just want to help you. But we can’t do that if you try and kill us, now can we?”

Slowly, Jessa guided you to lower your gun. She then looked over her shoulder, exchanging a look with her brother, as if asking him to back her up.

“Yeah. She’s right. We just want to help you,” he repeated after her. “We aren’t going to hurt you. If we wanted to, we probably would have by now, don’t you think so?”

You let out a tiny breath you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding and loosened your iron grip on your pistol.

He did make a fair point.

Now that your gun was pointed at the ground, he could have easily killed you. And yet, he’d made no move to blow your fucking head off. 

Maybe they really were good people.

But what if they weren’t?

What if it was just a trap?

You didn’t know what to fucking think.

All you knew was that you were so helplessly lost now that your family was gone.

You were afraid.

Alone.

Jessa turned back to you. “Listen, we’re part of a settlement,” she informed you. “It’s not all too far from here, maybe six or seven miles tops. We’ve got a really big group of people and we’re always looking to bring in anyone in need. Come with us, sweets. There’s plenty of food, water, and we can you into some fresh, clean clothes too. How does that sound?” 

You momentarily hesitated, still unsure whether or not you could trust the two strangers. 

How did it sound?

It sounded too fucking good to be true.

“It’s a safe place,” Mark assured you from behind her. He could see the reluctance written all over your face. 

“It’s as safe as safe can be,” Jessa promised. She touched your arm and flashed you another smile, one that was more kind than the first—one that was so comforting it made you feel like you could actually trust her. “So? What do you say? Will you come back with us? Will you let us help you?”

You nervously bit the inside of your cheek.

Scared, starving, and exhausted, their offer for a safe haven was much too tempting to decline.

Besides, how long could you possibly survive out here all on your own?

“Alright,” You finally agreed after a moment. “I’ll come with you.”

“There’s just one condition,” Mark stated, falling into step beside his sister in front of you. “We’re going to need you to hand over your weapon.”

“What?” You stared at him. “Why?”

“Oh, don’t worry. It’s protocol,” he said, waving a hand dismissively at you. “It’s purely for safety reasons. Anyone who comes into our group must surrender their weapons. We want to be sure that we’re bringing in someone who isn’t going to be a threat to our people. We have children, so we just want to be cautious, you know?”

“I guess that does makes sense,” You admitted. 

“You’ll get it back,” Jessa reassured you. “Once you speak to the council and they determine you aren’t a threat, you’ll get your gun back. Okay?”

Left with very little choice, you agreed. “Okay.”

Mark held out his hand for the weapon.

Slowly, you placed your pistol in his open palm.

“Perfect.” Jessa chirped. “Now grab your things and let’s get going. If we hurry up, we can make it back before nightfall.”

Nodding, you turned around to grab your pack. 

The second you turned your back, the barrel of the same gun you’d just handed to Mark poked you between your shoulder blades and you froze, your blood running cold in your veins.

“Hands up, bitch,” Jessa commanded. Her warm and friendly tone had vanished. “And turn around towards me slowly. Now.”

Terrified, you did as you were told and you lifted both of your hands, turning around on the heel of your sneaker to face her.

Her expression, much like her tone, was frigid.

Hostile.

“You’re going to do exactly as I say when I say it.” She held up her rifle, aiming it at you. “And if you don’t, you fucking die. Do you understand?”

“Please,” You choked out. “Don’t—”

“Do you fucking understand?” Jessa repeated in a hiss, her finger hovering over the trigger. When she was met with a small, meek nod, she turned to look at her brother. “Cuff her.”

Mark smirked. He tucked your gun away into the waistband of his jeans and reached into his back pocket, pulling out a pair of rusted handcuffs. He walked around and stood behind you, instructing, “Hands behind your back.” Once he had both of your wrists in one hand, he used the other to slip on the cuffs, tightening them so hard that the old oxidized steel dug painfully into your skin. “She’s a pretty one,” he murmured. As soon as he made certain the cuffs were securely fastened, he put a hand on your ass, groping it roughly. “Oh, you’re going to be popular with the guys, dollface. Kind of makes me want to break you in, right here and right now—give me a few minutes with her, Jess.”

Completely paralyzed with fear, all you could do was stand there in silence as his hands continued to roam your lower body, feeling you up through your jeans. He squeezed at your inner thigh, then brushed up over your zipper.

“Mark! That’s not what she’s for, you idiot,” Jessa reminded him, rolling her eyes. “Now quit fucking around and let’s start heading back to camp.”

She whirled around and started leading the way.

Mark grinned and pressed his mouth to your ear as he whispered in cruel reassurance, “Don’t you worry, now. I’ll get my chance with you—we’re all going to our chance with you.”

He grabbed you by your upper arm and roughly shoved you forward, leading you to what would inevitably be hell on earth.

Joel leaned against the tree with his arms crossed over his chest. His dark eyes were fixed intently on you, carefully observing you from where he stood, more so out of concern rather than curiosity.

Something wasn’t right.

It was late in the afternoon and the two of you had been about halfway into the six hour trek down to Jackson when Joel offered to stop for a while, just long enough for the both of you to rest and catch a quick breather before finishing the journey—but as he continued watching you, Joel had started to realize that perhaps stopping had done you much more harm than it’d done you good. 

Just a few feet away from where he was standing and keeping his eye on you, you were sat perched on top of a small, flat boulder hugging your knees up to your chest with both hands wrapped tightly around the grip of your pistol.

You were in a trance like state, staring straight off into the distance at nothing in particular. Your face was blank. Emotionless. It appeared that while all the lights were on, nobody was fucking home.

Squinting against the sunlight, Joel took a closer look at you. He could see the faraway look in your eyes.

You were gone. You’d checked out and completely disconnected from reality.

He would go as far as saying you’d disconnected from this fucking planet.

You were sinking, slowly drowning in some kind of thought or perhaps it was a memory—whatever it was that was currently preoccupying your mind, it sure as hell wasn’t anything good and although he had no fucking clue how he’d managed to clock it so easily, Joel had sensed it the instant that you’d drifted off. 

The deeper that you went and the further you lost yourself, the harder your hands clutched your gun, causing thin delicate skin to stretch taut over your knuckles. It wasn’t until Joel noticed the way your chest began to rise and fall rapidly as your breaths quickened, the way you had started struggling for air, that he decided it was time intervene before it worsened and you suffocated under the weight of whatever it was that was sitting so heavily on you.

Pushing himself away from the tree, Joel began to approach you, taking extra care so as not to spook you into turning your pistol on him and pulling the trigger in a moment of panic. He lifted both hands and held them out in front of him. Cautiously, Joel made his way over towards where you were sitting on the boulder, his footsteps slow and careful.

“Hey,” he called out to you, keeping his tone firm, but somehow still gentle as he tried to garner your attention. When you didn’t even acknowledge him or his presence, he tried again, speaking a little bit louder. “Hey. It’s okay. Everythin’ is alright—come on back now.” Joel drew closer and closer to you, taking tiny step after tiny step on the steel toes of his worn, black leather boots. “It’s alright, darlin’. I need you to come back to me now, okay? You ain’t where you think you are. You’re alright—”

The sound of a twig snapping underneath his boot startled you. Jumping to your feet, you aimed your gun at him with shaking hands and wild, terrified eyes.

Even as your finger trembled over the trigger, Joel remained calm. “Hey, take it easy. It’s okay. You’re alright. Look, it’s me. It’s just me and I ain’t gonna do anythin’ to hurt you,” he swore. He showed you his empty hands, hoping that you would be able to snap out of it and see that he wasn’t a threat. That you weren’t in any kind of danger. But as you held your weapon, chest heaving as you panicked, Joel knew it didn’t matter that his hands were empty. It didn’t make a fucking difference. As you held your weapon, chest heaving heavily in panic, he knew it wasn’t him who was standing there in front of you. It was someone else.

Whoever you’re seeing standing there in his place, it was someone who had done god knows what to you. Joel had this gut wrenching hunch that it had something to do with the marks he’d seen around your wrists back at the cabin.

The mere thought of it sent an unpleasant chill up the length of his spine.

Joel spoke again. “I ain’t gonna hurt you.” He felt the sudden urge to reach out for you, but knowing it would be unwelcome, he resisted it. All he could do was attempt to use his words to bring you back to the present. Back to him. “Breathe. You’re safe. I need you to breathe, can you do that for me? Do you think you can breathe for me, darlin’?”

Somehow, his voice penetrated its way in through the thickness of the white fog that you’d been lost in. You had been stumbling around helplessly in it, desperately searching for a way out. Joel’s heavy, deep Southern drawl permeated the memory, causing the haunting images from that fateful day when your life had taken a sharp turn for the worst to dissolve into nothing.

“Just breathe. Nice and slow. Inhale through your nose, then out through your mouth. Easy does it.” Joel controlled his own breathing, slowing it down to demonstrate his instructions.

You stared at him with wide eyes as you fought to get the rise and fall of your chest to match his.

How the hell do you know what to do? 

Joel could practically hear your question ringing in in your mind amidst the chaos. “My kid gets these awful nightmares sometimes. Wakes up in a panic thinkin’ she’s somewhere else, somewhere unsafe. So my brother’s wife, Maria, she was kind enough to show me what to do whenever it happens. She taught me a couple different breathin’ techniques that help soothe Ellie and calm her down. Told me it helps if I do them with her,” he explained to you. He could tell that you were now coming out of the worst of it and that you were finally starting to get some oxygen back into your lungs. He lowered his hands. Your pistol was still aimed at him, but Joel trusted you enough to know that you wouldn’t pull the trigger and blow his fucking head off. “C’mon, breathe. There we go. That’s it. Easy does it, now. In through your nose and out through your mouth, that’s it. Atta girl.” 

It took a good minute or two, but your breaths fell into sync with his own and before you knew it, the both of you were breathing together in harmony.

You weren’t in California. 

The man standing before you didn’t have red hair and green eyes. He didn’t have that twisted smirk on his face. He wasn’t putting his hands on you.

He wasn’t hurting you. 

He was helping you. 

Swallowing dryly, you lowered your weapon. Your gaze met Joel’s and somehow you found the balls to look him in his eyes for the very first time. Even though you had turned your gun on him, he didn’t seem to be bothered by it all. The look of worry on his face had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you could’ve easily killed him just now. It was as if he’d known for certain that you wouldn’t.

“There we go,” Joel said after another minute had passed by. “You see? You’re alright. You’re safe.”

There was comfort in his words.

In his brown eyes.

Fuck, there was comfort in him. 

Still. Your mind refused to allow you to accept it.

At least, not completely. 

Averting your gaze, you shuffled your weight from one foot to the other and then back again.

Joel cleared his throat lightly. “It’s gettin’ late,” he murmured. “We should get a move on. We’ve still got a bit of ways to go and we really don’t wanna get ourselves caught out in the middle of nowhere after dark for too long, y’know?”

You gave him a small nod and started to gather up your belongings. You picked up your canteen, now almost completely empty after you’d shared your water with him during the first leg of the hike, and shoved it into the front pocket of your pack.

“It’s kinda cold,” Joel stated. “And it’s only gonna get colder. You warm enough in that little denim jacket?”

You shrugged your shoulder at him, not thinking anything much of the question. I’m fine. 

However, as if on cue, a chilly breeze made its way through Wyoming’s plains, causing you to shiver.

Joel quickly shrugged out of his brown jacket. “You mind if I—?”

You tossed him a confused glance. 

Do I mind if you what? 

Joel stepped towards you and lifted his arms as if he were going to put them around you. Flinching, every muscle in your entire body went rigid and he halted his movements. “It’s alright. I’m just gonna give you my jacket, that’s all,” he assured you. He patiently waited for a small nod of approval. Once he had it, he draped his jacket over your shoulders and then took several steps back, giving you your space. “Should keep you from freezin’ out here.”

As he turned around and walked over to where he had set his rifle down, you stood there somewhat stupefied over what he’d just done. Something so damn simple, and yet you couldn’t seem to wrap your fucking brain around it. 

Willing yourself to move, you carefully slid both of your arms into the sleeves of his jacket, wrapping it around your body. The scent of him, a mixture of earthy sandalwood and whatever soap he used to wash his clothes, filled your senses and a strange, but pleasant warmth radiated through your chest, gradually spreading itself to the rest of you from head to toe.

Ignoring the feeling, you picked up your backpack along with your bow and quiver of arrows, slinging everything over your shoulders.

Joel slung the strap of his rifle over his shoulder and turned back to you. “Ready to get goin’?”

You used your pistol, gesturing with it for him to go ahead and walk in front of you, much like he’d done for the first half of the trip.

He let out a small sigh. “Alright, I get it. Still don’t fully trust me. Well, we’ll keep workin’ on that.”

A couple of hours had gone by. The slanting rays of the setting sun gave a warm orange tinge to the skies as late evening began settling itself in.

“You wanna know somethin’?” Joel asked.

You looked up at the back of his head, eyes fixing themselves on his mop of thick, unkempt salt and pepper waves. Occasionally, as you’d been slowly trudging along behind Joel, you stole glimpses of the way his hair curled at the nape of his neck and brushed against the the collar of his henley.

Despite the lack of a response, Joel continued to talk. “Earlier at the cabin, just when I was startin’ to come back around, I heard a woman singin’ to me. At least, it seemed like she was singin’ to me. It was a real pretty song too.” He glanced over his shoulder at you with curiosity. “Was that you?”

You blinked at him, keeping a straight face. 

“Hm, no I suppose it wasn’t you,” he answered his own question. He turned his attention back to the path ahead of him. “I reckon that it must have just been some sorta dream I had while I was out cold. But it sounded so vivid and so fuckin’ real. And the strangest part of it all is that I don’t know how it’s even possible for me to dream of a voice like that,” he mused aloud.

Oh? Unable to help yourself, you moved yourself from out behind Joel and fell into step beside him. Now it was you riddled with curiousness. What do you mean by that? 

Joel glanced down at you. He gripped the leather strap of his rifle and shrugged his shoulder. “Well, to be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever heard a voice quite like that in my whole entire life,” he told you. He shrugged once more, his arm brushing against yours by accident. Joel half expected you to deck him for it, but much to his surprise, it didn’t seem like his touch had bothered you. “It was too fuckin’ gorgeous. So beautiful that part of me wonders if it was someone out of this world.” He paused and peered at you, detecting a glimmer of light in your eyes. “Felt like I had a real life angel singin’ to me.”

You felt the corners of your lips threatening to turn upwards. Turning your face away from him, it took everything you had in you to force them down.

“Well look at that. You’re walkin’ right next to me,” Joel observed after a minute.

Your head whipped back around.

“Must mean that I’m doin’ somethin’ right, huh darlin’?”

You snorted, tossing him an eye roll. 

I think I liked it better when you weren’t talking.

Still, you remained at his side. 

The rest of the trek was silent.

Night had just fallen by the time that you and Joel finally made it to Jackson. The moment that you’d set your sights on the massive wooden gate out in the distance, your heart began to pound.

The closer the both of you drew to the barrier, the easier it was to see the men and women who were standing on a platform on top of the gate, heavily armed as they kept watch—their lights illuminated the perimeter of the the settlement and lit up the velvet purple sky.

You stopped dead in your tracks. Oh fuck that.

Joel shook his head. “It’s alright, don’t be scared.”

There’s six people standing on top of that gate with fucking assault rifles. And you don’t expect me to be scared? Are you for real?

“Look, things might be a little tense at first when the patrolmen see us,” he admitted, raking a hand through his hair. “None of them have any idea that I’m still alive, but as soon as they see that it’s me, they’re gonna stand down. All I need is for you to stay calm and follow my lead, alright?” He nodded at the pistol in your hand. “I’m also gonna need for you to put your gun away and out of sight.”

You glared at him, your eyes flashing angrily in the darkness.

You said I could have my weapons on me. 

Joel held up his hand. “I promise that I ain’t gonna let anythin’ bad happen to you, okay? I swear it on my fuckin’ life,” he vowed. “You have my word. No one is gonna hurt you, I won’t let them. All I need is for you to stay calm and do as I say. Please.”

Your mind was screaming, begging you to run and run fast. Instead, you found yourself reluctantly tucking your gun into the waistband of your jeans, concealing it just like Joel had asked you to. 

“Stay behind me,” he instructed, shoving his own rifle behind him. He began leading the way towards the gate and beckoned for you to follow.

The second the two of you stepped out from the darkness and into the light, the sound of firearms cocking broke through the silence of the night. 

“Stop right there!” A woman’s voice shouted. “Or we’ll fucking shoot!”

“Melissa, it’s me!” Joel called out, holding up his hands. “It’s Joel!”

“Wait a goddamn minute, everyone fucking stand down!” Melissa loudly barked the order at the five other patrol men and women who were standing on either side of her with their firearms aimed and at the ready. “Joel? Joel Miller, is that really you?” She leaned her body over the gate and squinted at him, letting an incredulous laugh. “Well butter my fucking ass and call me a damn biscuit, the man is alive! Quick, open up the gates! Somebody go and get Tommy! Let’s go, fucking move it people!”

Joel dropped his hands, sighing in relief.

You, on the other hand, were scared shitless and wondered if it was too late to make a run for it.

“Remember,” he said, looking back at you. “Calm. Okay?”

You forced a small, tight nod of your head.

Okay. 

The gate’s doors pulled apart and he led you up to them and through to the other side where you and Joel were met with a frantic crowd of at least two dozen people—the obnoxious, overlapping chatter coupled with the blatant stares you were receiving caused an overwhelming feeling of anxiousness to wash over you in a massive wave that, if you let it, would drown you right there on the spot. Refusing to make eye contact with anybody, you fixed your gaze on Joel, keeping it focused on the broadness of his back as more and more people encircled the both of you, caging you in with nowhere to run.

“Joel!” Melissa elbowed her way through the large crowd, rushing up to him. She grabbed him by the arms, giving him a quick once over. “Holy shit! We thought you were fucking dead! I can’t believe it!”

“Where’s Tommy?” Joel asked her.

“At home with Maria. Lisa went to go pull him out of bed—where the hell have you been, Joel?”

Joel pursed his lips together tightly. He could feel you inching yourself forward, trying to stand close to him as more people joined the scene. The toes of your boots touched the heels of his, your chest lightly brushing against his back. While Joel didn’t blame the people of the town for being curious, he wasn’t all too fond of the way they were staring at you—the gestures, the finger pointing, muttering and whispering. He didn’t have to see you to know it was making you uncomfortable, and his priority was to get you out of there and somewhere where you would feel safe. “Listen, it’s a long story I ain’t got time for right this minute. I need Tommy—”

“Miller!”

A loud, booming voice came from behind Melissa.

It belonged to a tall, bulky blond haired man—his mere presence was intimidating, proven by how it had taken absolutely nothing for the crowd to part and make room for him to pass through. Smirking, he sauntered up to Joel and remarked, “I thought you were a fucking goner.”

Joel’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing.

The tension between the two men could be sliced with a fucking machete.

His blue eyes flickered over Joel’s shoulder to you. “Well, well, well. Who is this sweet little lady?”

You stepped even closer to Joel, pressing yourself against his backside.

“None of your fuckin’ business, that’s who.”

Keith’s smirk widened. “Actually, as head of safety and security for this community, it fucking is my business,” he reminded him. “She infected?”

Joel raised his eyebrows. “Does she look infected to you?”

“You know the commune’s rules, Miller.” Without tearing his eyes away from you, Keith called over his shoulder, “Bring out one of the hounds! Now!”

Behind him, Joel heard a gasp.

Hounds?

Joel whirled around. “It’s alright,” he said quickly before you could panic. “We have dogs that have been trained to sniff out the cordyceps infection. It’s just gonna smell you, that’s all.”

The crowd backed away as a woman with cropped hair brought out a large sized black dog on a chain leash attached to a brown leather harness. Once it caught sight of you, the unfamiliar newcomer, the animal began to bark and growl, thrashing around as it tried to lunge himself towards you. He tugged at his leash so violently that he nearly knocked his handler over. The woman unclipped the leash and set the dog free—he approached you, snarling and baring his teeth.

You started to back away, but Joel stopped you.

“Relax,” he muttered to you under his breath. He moved to stand beside you and held out his hand, offering it in attempt to comfort you and ease the fear. He hadn’t expected you to accept it, so when you placed your hand in his and laced your fingers with his own, he was taken by complete surprise. 

You squeezed his rough, calloused fingers as the dog came closer towards you. Nervously, you held your free hand out to him, prompting him to snap at you. Somehow, you mustered enough courage to hold it steady and the animal growled, but then gave it a sniff. When he didn’t detect what he was searching for, he happily wagged his tail and gave your hand friendly lick before running back over to his handler who put him back on his leash.

You breathed out in relief. 

“There,” Joel snapped at Keith. “You satisfied?”

Keith clicked his tongue. “Almost,” he replied. He walked over to you, another smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “What’s your name, dollface?”

Your stomach dropped at the nickname. Looking down at the dirt, you didn’t reply.

“Aw, she’s shy! That is adorable.” Keith let out a raspy laugh, causing a couple of the onlookers to laugh along with him. “What’s the matter, sweetie pie? Hm? Cat got your tongue?”

Joel dropped your hand, his nostrils flaring. “Back off asshole or else—”

The blond patrolman eyed the weapon hanging on your shoulder. “That’s a really nice bow you’ve got there,” Keith stated, cutting off his threat. “But we do have rules. Newcomers have to surrender their weapons so they can be stored away securely. We don’t know you and until we can know for sure you won’t be a threat to the people of this town, you’re going to have to surrender that bow along with all other weapons you’re carrying.” Keith lowered his voice as he added, “And I would advise you not to try and hide anything because I’m going to be the one to pat you down—and I’ll be thorough. I don’t take all too kindly to liars, so keep that in mind.”

“You just threaten her in front of me?” Trying his hardest not to cause a scene with so many people watching the three of you, Joel kept his voice low and quiet—but the sharp, dangerous edge to his tone couldn’t be missed. 

“Of course I didn’t,” Keith responded, innocently. “All I was doing was letting her know how we work around here in Jackson. We’ve been operating the commune the same way for years now for a good reason. The rules we set in place apply to any and all newcomers, regardless of who they came here with.” He held out his hands do you. “Surrender all of your weapons to me. Now.”

Shaking your head, you took a step back. This was not what you’d agreed to. This wasn’t the promise that Joel had made you back at the cabin.

Joel glared at him. “She ain’t surrenderin’ a damn thing—”

But it was too late.

Keith stepped towards you and went for the bow. As his hand shot out to take it from your shoulder, you quickly turned your body and swiftly dodged it. He felt his face burn in red hot anger as several onlookers gasped at your act of rebelliousness. Furious, Keith reached for you again and grabbed you, taking you by the upper part of your arm in a harsh grasp that made you squeak out in pain.

You lifted your opposite arm and swung a curled fist up towards his face, but he caught your wrist in his other hand before it could connect with his jawline. 

Joel!

You tried to say his name.

But you fucking couldn’t. 

Your mouth opened, and nothing came out. For as hard you pushed and tried to force it, you couldn’t find your voice. Instead, all that fell from your lips was a pathetic, strangled little cry. You yanked and pulled, struggling as you tried to tear yourself out of Keith’s hold.

Livid, Joel nearly went fucking blind with rage. He snatched up Keith by the of his collar of his leather jacket, ripping him away from you. Though he was still sore as fuck from the fall off of his horse three days ago, he used every ounce of strength he had in him to throw him down into the dirt at the feet of a fellow patrolman named Wyatt. “Don’t. Touch. Her.” He could barely manag to bite out the words through his gritted teeth. “Ever.”

Wyatt helped him up to his feet. “You alright?”

“Get the fuck off me!” Keith snarled, pushing him away. His chest was heaving and his face turned a deep shade of red. Whether it was because he was embarrassed or if it was because he was angry, no one could quite tell the difference. One thing was for damn sure, he wasn’t used to someone going against his authority and everyone watching held their breaths, waiting to see what he was going to do next, especially because the man going against him happened to be their leader’s brother in law. “What the fuck is your goddamn problem, Miller? It’s protocol—”

“Not today it ain’t.”

Keith approached him, his hands curled into tight fists at his sides. He stood so close that the two of them were chest to chest, ready to tear each other to shreds. “Do you think just because your fucking brother is second in command, you can just do as you please? Is that it?” He questioned, bitterly. “It doesn’t fucking work like that. We have rules set in place for a reason, Joel. We are going to do this by the fucking book whether your little girlfriend here likes it or not, got it?”

Stepping around him, he started towards you but Joel was quick to block his path. He stood in front of you and squared his shoulders.

He spoke, his voice dangerously low again. “You listen and you listen good. If you even so much as think about layin’ another fuckin’ finger on her, I’ll make sure you spend the rest of tonight pickin’ up your teeth off the ground. You understand me?”

“That a threat?”

“It ain’t a threat. It’s a fuckin’ promise.”

Keith pulled his arm back and was about ready to take his swing when he was stopped by the sound of Tommy Miller’s frantic voice.

“Joel! Where is he—where the fuck is Joel?”

The much younger, raven haired man approached the scene, shrugging a blue denim jacket over his cotton white tee shirt. The instant that he spotted Joel, he ran up to him and threw his arms around his shoulders. “Fuckin’ Christ, I thought I lost you out there! What the hell happened?”

“Where’s Ellie?” Joel demanded. “She okay?”

“She’s fast asleep at my place with Maria and the baby. She’s been with us the entire time.”

Joel’s shoulders sagged in relief.

Tommy looked around, frowning. “What’s going on? What’s everyone doin’ out here?” He then saw you and raised his eyebrows at his older brother. “Joel? Who’s that?”

“Look, I’ll explain everything, can we just—can we talk in private?”

Although he was confused, Tommy nodded.

“Of course. C’mon, let’s go back to my place.”

“Well I’ll be damned,” Tommy stated as soon as Joel had finished recounting the story—well, what he could remember, anyway. It wasn’t much.

You were sitting beside Joel across the table from Tommy and Maria in the kitchen of their home. All three of them spoke in quiet, hushed voices so as not to wake Ellie and Samuel, Tommy and Maria’s infant son. Maria had offered to go upstairs to pull Ellie out of bed so that she and Joel could reunite, but when Tommy mentioned tonight had been the first night since Joel had gone missing three days ago that she had managed to fall asleep, everyone agreed it would be best to wait until the morning.

“So, she saved your life,” Tommy concluded. His brown eyes, even darker than those of his older brother, flickered over to you once again. You sat there in complete silence, staring at the top of the wooden table, refusing to meet his gaze—or that of his wife.

Joel nodded. “She did, Tommy. I don’t know how, but what I do know is that if it wasn’t for her, then I wouldn’t be sittin’ here at this table right now.”

You shuffled uncomfortably in your chair. Though the couple had been kind to you, it didn’t make it any easier when they stared at you.

“She saved your life and you don’t even know her name?” Tommy was in complete disbelief.

“No. She doesn’t talk.”

Maria hummed. “I have an idea. Let me find her a notepad or something to write on,” she suggested after a minute. She stood up, wrapping her cotton blue robe around herself, concealing her pajamas as she walked over to the kitchen counter. It took her a bit of digging around, but in one drawer she found a pen and an small notepad. She made her way back over to the table and set the items down in front of you. “Can you write down your name for us?”

You didn’t move a single muscle.

“It’s okay, honey. Just write down your name—”

“Best we don’t push her too much,” Joel warned her, holding out his hand to stop her from coming too close into your space.

You glanced up at him, your lips parting slightly.

“Don’t worry,” he told you. “You ain’t gotta tell us anythin’ until you’re good and ready.”

Tommy cleared his throat. “Joel? Can me and you have a quick word in private please?”

Your heart skipped an anxious beat.

No, wait! Please don’t leave me.

Less than eight hours ago, you’d been wary of this man, unable to fully trust him. Now, just the mere thought of him leaving your side put you on edge.

“It’s fine, we’re just gonna be out in the hallway,” he assured you. “It’ll only be for a minute or two.”

Realizing you didn’t want to be left alone with her, Maria jabbed a thumb over her shoulder towards the stove. “I’m going to make myself a hot cup of chamomile tea. I can boil water for an extra mug if you’d like some?” she offered, warmly.

You’d turned down food and water already, much too afraid to accept anything from her. However, a warm drink did sound tempting and truth be told, Maria did seem like a nice woman. She was Joel’s family—maybe it wouldn’t hurt to at the very least try and trust her too.

Finally, you nodded.

“Great,” Maria smiled, looking pleased. “I think it’ll do you some good. Chamomile is very soothing. It helps me relax—something that’s hard to do when you have a fussy six month old,” she kidded as she whirled around and went about preparing the tea.

Joel made certain that you would be fine and then followed Tommy out into the hallway.

“Joel, what were you thinkin’ bringing her here?”

“What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

Tommy sighed. “We need to be careful about who we bring into Jackson—”

“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me right now? You worried about this girl bein’ a threat?” Joel stared at him in complete shock. “You serious, Tommy?”

“For all we know, she could be a threat. She didn’t want to give up her weapons, Joel! She even took a swing at Keith!” He hissed.

“He put his fuckin’ hands on her—”

“She didn’t cooperate, Joel. You know damn good and well what happens when someone isn’t willin’ to cooperate with the rules. It leads to trouble and you know it as well as I do,” Tommy said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Her first impression here wasn’t a good one. And to make matters a whole lot worse, we don’t know anythin’ about her. It’s a risk takin’ her into the community.”

Joel couldn’t even believe what he was hearing.

“So you’d rather I just left her out there alone?”

“Look Joel, we don’t know what she’s capable of,” Tommy reminded him, quietly. “If she’s managed to survive out there all on her own for this fuckin’ long, then who the hell knows what she’s done or what kind of blood is on her hands—you might be thinkin’ that she’s some helpless little victim, but maybe she’s not. Hell, we’ll never know because the girl can’t fuckin’ talk. Or maybe she just won’t talk. Either way, we’re runnin’ a huge risk by takin’ her in without knowin’ who the hell she is or where she came from.”

Joel glared at him. “Listen here, whether she can’t talk or just won’t talk, that doesn’t fuckin’ matter,” he said. He paused briefly, long enough to take a peek back into the kitchen where you were still sitting at the table. After she’d finished making the tea, Maria took the two steaming mugs and had sat down in the chair beside you. She was now trying almost desperately to get you to write down your name on the notepad. He immediately noticed the way that you’d started wringing your hands together anxiously in your lap and he knew you were debating in your mind whether or not you should reveal your identity to the stranger. He turned back to his brother with a frown. “She ain’t a helpless victim. She’s a survivor. She saved my fuckin’ life out there, Tommy. If it weren’t for her, I would be dead right now.”

“And where is she gonna stay?”

“With me and Ellie, of course.”

Tommy almost laughed. “Wait. You’re gonna be in charge of her? Someone who won’t fuckin’ talk to you? Whose name you don’t even know? Are you serious?”

Joel didn’t even think twice about it. “Yeah.”

“Look Joel, I know you can be kind of a dumbass, but you can’t possibly be this goddamn dumb, big brother. Think about it—”

“I already have thought about it. She’s stayin’ with me.” Joel shrugged. “I know it ain’t gonna be easy, but maybe I can get her to trust me enough to talk to me.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow at him. “You really think she can talk and she’s just choosin’ not to?”

“I think she wants to talk, but she can’t. She’s too scared right now. But if I can get her to really trust me—”

“That girl ain’t gonna trust you, Joel.”

“She trusted me enough to come to Jackson,” he said, fiercely. “That has to mean somethin’, I know it does.”

Tommy let out a long and heavy sigh. He already knew just how fucking stubborn his brother could be. There’s no changing Joel’s mind once it was made up.

Maria stepped out into the hallway. “No luck,” she said, shaking her head lightly. “I can’t even begin to imagine what she’s been through. If she’s too terrified to even give us her name—”

“It must’ve been somethin’ real bad,” Joel finished for her. He placed his hands on his hips. “I think I might have some idea of what happened to her.”

“What do you mean?” she asked. 

Joel lowered his voice as he briefly told Tommy and Maria about the scars he’d seen around your wrist. “Like she’s been in handcuffs or somethin’,” he murmured. “Think it could’ve been FEDRA?”

“Possibly.” Maria thought it over for a moment. “There’s also a good possibility that she’s been a prisoner in a slaver camp.”

Slavers.

Joel’s stomach churned at the thought of it. He’d heard about those kind of groups, about the cruel and inhumane things they did to their prisoners.

He fucking hoped that wasn’t it. But something in his gut told him not to be so goddamn naive.

“Listen, we feel for the girl, Joel. We do,” Tommy admitted. “And we’re willin’ to give her some time to adjust, same as we did with you and with Ellie, same as we do with all newcomers. But regardless of what she’s been through, she’s still gonna need to pull her weight around here, just like the rest of us. She’s expected to take on a work duty just like everybody else. It’ll be hard findin’ the right job for her if she’s not gonna talk to anyone so the sooner you can get her to break her silence, the better it’ll be,” he advised. He pointed a finger at his brother. “From this point on, she’s your responsibility.”

“I can handle it, Tommy.”

“For your sake, I really hope you can.”

“Good to know you’ve got faith in me,” Joel made the sarcastic comment under his breath, but he’s certain Tommy had heard it. “It’s gettin’ pretty late now. She’s exhausted and so am I. I’m gonna take her back to my place and get her settled.”

“What about Ellie?”

“Best she just stays here with you two tonight. As soon as she’s up in the mornin’, you can bring her on over to mine if that’s alright with you and Maria?”

Tommy nodded. “You got it, brother.”

“Besides, I figure it’ll give me a bit of extra time to think of how I’m gonna explain everythin’ to her.” Joel suddenly realized that he hadn’t given much thought about how he was going to tell Ellie about you—how he was going to explain your condition to her and how you’d be sharing a roof with them from now on.

Tommy chuckled. “Yeah, good luck with that one.”

Rolling his eyes, Joel roughly shoved past him and back into the kitchen.

You hadn’t drank the tea Maria had made you, but you’d wrapped your hands around the ceramic red mug to warm them up.

“C’mon,” he beckoned to you with his hand. “Let’s go. I’m gonna take you home now.”

Home. 

The word rang oddly in your ears.

You stood up from the table.

“Wait.” Maria picked up the pad and pen, handing them over to you. “Here. Take these with you. Just in case you decide you want to use them.”

Joel pushed through the front door, switching on the lights in the foyer of his home before stepping aside to let you in. He watched as you stood there at the door looking rather apprehensive. “It’s okay, darlin’. Just me and you here tonight.”

Carefully, you stepped over the threshold. When was the last time you’d even set foot in an actual house? One with running water and electricity?

You couldn’t remember.

Joel shut the front door behind you and locked it. “Let’s go upstairs.” He gestured for you to follow him up the cherrywood staircase. “It’s pretty late, so I’ll show you the rest of the house tomorrow in the mornin’,” he promised you over his shoulder. At the top of the staircase, Joel switched on more lights that illuminated a short hallway. He pointed to a door at the end of it, stating, “That one there at the end, that’s mine. This one here is Ellie’s. We also have a third spare, it’s right across from her.” He nodded with his head towards the door of the bedroom he’d been referring to. “Go on. Open it up and check it out for yourself.”

You want me to open the door?

Seeing your expression, Joel chuckled. “Go on. It’s alright. There’s nothin’ bad in there, I promise.”

You momentarily hesitated. Fingers trembling, you reached out and grasped the brass door knob, slowly turning it and pushing the door open. You peeked inside and flipped the light switch next to the door frame.

You gasped. Holy shit, is this fucking real?

The spare bedroom was fully furnished with light oakwood furniture—a dresser up against one wall, a desk nestled in the corner, and two nightstands on either side of the most comfortable, full sized bed that you’d ever seen. The décor was minimal, but whoever had occupied the space before had a clear adoration for warm, earthy tones. You nearly smiled at the shades of mud brown, forest green, and autumn orange. Setting your things down on the hardwood floor, you made your way over to the bed and sat down, planting your hands firmly on either side of you. You relished in the softness of the cream colored duvet comforter.

“I’m guessin’ you like it.” Joel couldn’t help but to grin a little. “I’ll be right back. I’m gonna go see if I can get you one of my shirts or somethin’ that you can sleep in. Make yourself comfortable.” He spun around on the heel of his boot, disappearing into the hallway.

Unable to resist, you laid back onto the bed. Your body sank into it, melting into the mattress. It felt like a fucking cloud.

Joel reappeared in the room just seconds later. “I can see you took what I said about makin’ yourself comfortable quite literally.” His voice caused you to shoot back up into a sitting position. Joel stood there at the door holding a long sleeved, navy and white flannel shirt in one hand—in the other, he’d been holding a gray hooded sweatshirt and from his arm swung a brown canvas tote bag. “Not too sure what you would prefer to sleep in. I figure you might want somethin’ on the warmer side. Here’s a couple options to choose from. I’ve also got tee shirts if you’d rather sleep in one of those.”

Standing up from the bed, you walked over to him and he held out the articles of clothing for you to see better. It was his flannel you gravitated to the most. Taking it from him, you ran your fingers over the fabric.

“I can throw your clothes in the washing machine for you first thing tomorrow so they’ll be clean by the time you wake up,” he added.

You breathed out shakily.

A fucking washing machine.

“Overwhelming, ain’t it?”Joel draped the hooded sweatshirt over a nearby chair, deciding to leave it for you as well. “Trust me, I get it. I felt the same when I first got here with Ellie. It took a lot of time for the both of us to adjust to this new way of life after being out there for so long,” he confessed to you. “The important thing is to take it one step at a time, darlin’. And somethin’ is tellin’ me the next step for you is probably takin’ a nice hot shower?”

Your mouth fell open. A hot shower?

“You’ll have to share a bathroom with Ellie.” Joel led you out of the bedroom and to another door adjacent to yours. He showed you the bathroom, telling you which knob in the shower was for hot water and which one was for cold water. “You can use Ellie’s shampoo, I’m sure she won’t mind. I’d offer you some of my own, but I don’t think you’ll wanna walk around smellin’ like sandalwood and spice.” Joel handed you the canvas bag he’d had draped over his arm. “Here. Should be pretty much everythin’ you’re gonna need. There’s a bar of soap, a couple clean washcloths, a toothbrush, and a tube of toothpaste. There’s also a razor.” He paused. “It’s a men’s razor, one of mine I’ve never used, but I reckon it does the job just the same as a woman’s razor.”

You quirked an amused eyebrow at him. What the hell are you trying to say? That I need to shave?

“Not that you have to use it,” he added quickly, his cheeks burning bright red at what you thought he had been insinuating. He shifted awkwardly from boot to boot. “I tossed it in there just in case you’d want to, but you ain’t gotta use it, that’s not what I meant at all—”

Deciding you didn’t want to see him squirm, you lifted a hand up to stop him and shook your head.

Truth be told, you actually couldn’t fucking wait to shave your legs.

Calm down, cowboy. It’s all good.

Realizing he hadn’t offended you, Joel relaxed. “I’ll let you get to your shower. You take as long as you want, but just try and leave some hot water for me since I’m next,” he chuckled. “As soon as we both get all cleaned up, we can meet downstairs in the kitchen for a quick bite to eat before bed. Deal?”

Deal.

He was about to leave you to it when you stopped him, grabbing his arm. Wait a second, Joel.

Joel’s eyes met yours. “Yeah?”

Thank you.

Your gratitude might have been silent, but it was there and be knew it. Feeling brave, Joel reached up and placed his hand over yours for a moment, his thumb brushing against the softness of your skin. “No need to thank me, sweetness.”

Letting his hand drop away from yours, Joel then turned and left the bathroom, closing the door behind him to give you your privacy. 

Once you had the hot water running, you kicked off your boots and started to peel off your clothes, tossing them into a pile on the floor near the door. Completely naked, you turned your back towards the oval shaped mirror hanging over the bathroom sink, unwilling to take a look at the scars on your body—painful reminders of the cruel punishments you’d endured during your time in captivity. 

You grabbed the toiletries from the tote bag Joel had given you and set them on the side of the tub. Pulling the yellow floral curtain aside, you stepped into the shower and positioned yourself directly underneath the scalding hot water, letting it burn your skin to give you an entirely different kind of pain to think about, even if it was just for a minute until your body adjusted to the temperature of the water and it no longer hurt.

You began washing yourself, trying your hardest to keep from crumbling. But you couldn’t. Lump in your throat and a tightness in your chest, tears brimmed your eyes, ready to fall.

You were willing to let them.

Two years. For almost two fucking years, you had been suppressing your emotions. You’d been in a constant survival mode, there had been no time to feel anything. And now here you were, standing in a fucking shower with all the freedom in the world to just let it all out.

Silent sobs wracked your body, bringing you down onto your knees.

Joel’s shower had been a quick one.

You hadn’t left him very much hot water—but he couldn’t even be mad about it.

He pulled on a pair of light gray sweatpants and a black tee shirt. He haphazardly dried off his hair and made his way downstairs, knowing you would be heading down there any minute now to meet him like you’d agreed. Without much time to make a proper meal for you to eat, Joel went about the dimly lit kitchen and prepared a couple of turkey sandwiches. He’d just plated them and set them on the table when the soft padding of bare feet on the hardwood floor caused him to look up. 

His breath caught in his throat. You stood there in the doorway wearing nothing but his flannel shirt. The hem of it fell to the middle of your thighs, and it was taking everything in him not to think about the fact that you weren’t wearing anything under his shirt. His fucking shirt.

Clearing his throat lightly, he made sure not to let his gaze wander. “I bet you feel a lot better, don’t you?”

You sighed softly. Oh, you have no fucking idea.

Noticing you were holding your hands behind your back, Joel shot you a puzzled look. “What’cha got there?”

You brought your arms forward. Clutched in your hands were the notepad and pen that Maria had given you.

Although he took it as a sign that you were willing to communicate with him, Joel knew better than to get too far ahead of himself. He’d wait until you were ready to make the first move and he’d follow your lead. “I made you a sandwich to eat,” he told you, pulling out a chair at the table. “C’mon, come have a seat.”

After you sat down, Joel went over to the sink and filled two glasses of water, one for you and one for himself. Setting them down on the table, he finally took a seat across from you—that’s when he saw the redness in your eyes. You’d been crying. Even though he wanted to ask you if were alright, Joel decided against it for the time being and the two of you ate in comfortable, tranquil silence.

“I can make you another one if you’re still hungry,” Joel offered when you polished off the last couple bites of your sandwich.

Shaking your head, you placed your hands on your belly signaling that you were full. You weren’t. You’d eagerly scarf another three of them down if you could, but you were a lot more exhausted than you were hungry and you couldn’t wait to crawl into that bed upstairs.

Joel studied you. “You okay, darlin’?”

You shrugged. This has just been a lot to process.

“I know it’s gonna be tough for you. It’s like I told you earlier, it’s gonna take some time to adjust to your new life here in Jackson. But I need you to know you ain’t alone anymore. I’m gonna be here to look out for you. And trust me, I know you don’t really need me to.” Joel paused and shot you a crooked little grin. “Hell, you took a swing at Keith. You’ve got bigger balls than half of the men in the commune. Includin’ myself.”

You let out of a huff of amusement from your nose and the corners of your mouth tugged into a small smile—you didn’t try to force it down.

Joel blurted the words before he could even think to stop himself. “You’ve got a real nice smile.”

Biting down on your bottom lip, you moved your empty plate off to the side and grabbed your pen and notepad. You scribbled something onto the blank page, then slid it across the table to Joel.

He picked it up, an odd sensation fluttering inside his chest when he realized what you had done.

You’d written down your name for him.

He said it out loud, and then looked up at you.

“That’s a beautiful name.” Sincerity dripped from his tone, going hand in hand with his compliment.

Cheeks burning, you glanced down at your hands, which you’d begun wringing together on top of the table. It was out of nervousness, but this kind was different. You couldn’t quite explain it.

“I know it’s gonna take more than a hot shower and a sandwich to get you to trust me. But I swear that I’m gonna do whatever I can to show you that you ain’t got anythin’ to be afraid of. Not with me around. Okay?”

Okay.

You opened your mouth, trying to repeat the word back to him.

Joel’s eyes widened slightly. You wanted to talk to him—you were actually trying to talk to him. But it was a clear struggle. Something wasn’t letting you find your voice.

Clamping your mouth shut, you sighed and sank back into your chair. I’m sorry. I can’t.

“It’s okay,” he said, softly. “We’re gonna take this one step at a time. Together.”

Series Taglist

@ginger-swag-rapunzel @rhapsodyinyule @imonmykneessir @letmehavemyfictionalmen @kneelforloki @fallenkitten @kaykay0315 @javicstories

*Please let me know if you want to be tagged, I get scared tagging people who have read and commented but have not specifically asked to be tagged lmao

[widowrecs]

from eden

Joel Miller x f!Reader [3.3k] Summary: The nightmares left when you started sharing Joel's bed, but that never meant they were gone. When you have your first episode in his presence, Joel's right there. He's there, all around you, inside you, comforting you. It's so different than all the other desperate times you two became one that you wonder how much of it is meant to soothe you, and how much was a need of his.

— A/n 📝This was written because I had a nightmare and no Joel to comfort me, so I'm being self-indulgent to the max. You're welcome. Reblogs and comments make all the difference. — Warnings⚠️ mature content—explicit depictions of sex, so minors dni. | 🏷️ age gap, established relationship, morning sex, comfort sex, nightmares, soft!Joel, making out, dirty talking, fingering, missionary sex, prone bone, overstimulation, creampie (practice safe sex y'all).

ㅤㅤㅤㅤmasterlist | read on ao3

Before you, his sleep was non-existent. Restless, a black out, a body function that hit him when Joel reached his limit. It was achieved through scotch, overworking himself, and sometimes, when the date offered no other alternative, pills.

Now, Joel sleeps — okay. He rests.

Drool on his pillow, body waking up with the feeling of new, sometimes even going as far as dreaming. It's insanity, and although he's only had it for months, Joel's terrified of how addicted to it he is.

No matter how great the sleep is, it's still light. Always will be — there's no deep sleep at the end of the world, and when you stir in his arms, Joel wakes up in a second, only to notice this is nothing like the other times; he regains consciousness and is taken by your panic like a cold shower, and in a second, he's alert.

"Baby — hey, hey," he whispers your name, calling you back to him. "Wake up." He repeats your name louder, and you awake in a pained gasp, which echoes in him. "Hey — baby. C'mere."

At first, the shock stops you from abiding by his words.

All you can feel is the hot peng in your chest still echoing from the images passing like a movie before your eyes, the hot ache enveloping all your middle from the sense of alert danger alert, but Joel is patient as you breathe through those seconds. His palms rub both your arms, and he keeps his distance, his breath steady, his eyes set on you firm despite their hazy sleepiness. Once, Joel could barely sleep heavily enough to get rest, and now, he woke with sleep still clouding the edges of his visions.

Because of you. Because of — "Baby," he whispers again. This time, his voice lands somewhere conscious and your gaze meets his. "There you are." His digits apply gentle pressure on your arms to see if your body has relaxed enough to be guided by him and sure enough, you feel the slight pull as a port and sink your anchor into him.

Your upper body sags on his, falling on his touch.

You wished for radio silence. For something to come and take away the pain, the lingering feeling of those worries your subconscious manifested as horrible pictures to dissipate.

And it comes. In the shape of Joel's hand gripping your nape and his other hand wrapping around your waist to pull you even closer, comfort arrives.

"Shhhhh." Only when he shushes you the sound of your whimpering register — you're crying. Wetting his sleeping shirt. Still shaking. "I've got you."

He repeats those three precious words more times until you've calmed down. However long that takes. All you know is that one moment you can barely think beyond what you saw in those dreams and next, you're wiping your cheeks on your forearms and looking at Joel through your wet lashes.

He feels your eyes on him, turns around and flicks the lamp by the bed on.

Faint yellow light illuminates his features amidst all the darkness, and you breathe.

"You're alright," it slips out. You almost cry again, biting at your bottom lip since you're unable to bite your own words back, or swallow them now that they're out in the open.

Joel's brows crease in confusion for only a moment, and then it hits him. It was about him. "I'm alright." The claim erases every ounce of weight left in your chest. "C'mere," he pulls you closer, and you take the invite.

Stradling his lap is your favorite thing, even if you're still shy to do it; the level of desire and attraction you have for Joel is embarrassing, the effect he has on you and how desperate you are for every crumb of his touch and affection should make you ashamed. All it does is make you blush, or occasionally stutter.

Joel takes it all with a good heart. He adjusts your body in his lap, resting his face on your shoulder, and then breathes in deeply.

Breathes out.

After blissful moments like this, he asks. "Feeling better?"

With you, always. "Yeah." You want to look at him, but his neck is where Joel smells the most like himself, and it makes you a bit drunk. Sleep is long gone from your body — that's what a few touches from him can do. "You always know how to help."

Joel chuckles and the huff of breath tickles your neck. "All I did was shush and hold you."

"I know. That's perfect."

Joel would ask if you want to talk about the nightmares, but no one does. He starts petting your hair. "Think you can get back to sleep?"

You shake your head.

His head tilts. What do you want, then? "Still thinking about it?"

His question makes you double-check, and — no. You shake your head. "Just..." Instead of answering, you show him.

A roll of your hips, and the surprised groan it pulls out of him makes the hint of a smile show on your face.

He put you on his lap. That's all you needed to go from asleep to wide awake. Or at least, I want you awake.

"Fuck—," Joel's fingers dig deeper and hard into your waist. "'s what so?"

You nod. "Can we?"

"Can we what?" Joel asks, because while few people know it, he's a little shit.

"You know what," you whine. "Wanna feel you. Please?"

The way you whine brings out something borderline animalistic in Joel.

It took him by surprise every single time — it was a hook you had, an energetic and magnetic pull that turned Joel towards you almost on instinct.

Joel goes from being half-asleep to reeling about all the ways he wants to taste you. It should be over by now, the stupid flutter in his stomach whenever you kiss him like this, devour his oxygen in a starved and greedy way, but they only amplify somehow.

All he does is kiss you for a while.

Joel sighs into your mouth and licks around your soft whimpers. He feels overwhelmed — with only a few rolls of your hips and the desperate tightening of your legs on both of his sides and he's hard as a rock. Straining against his briefs, wetting a spot on it because you're rocking against him and all but melting against his hand on your hair.

When he pulls back for air, Joel has to just look.

He grabs a fistful of your hair by the nape and pulls your head back as gently as he can — you mewl. Whine coming out scratchy, on the back of your throat, and he sort of smiles.

It's on his face. He can feel the tugging on his lips at the sight in front of him. There's the faintest notion of light coming through the windows, the early signs of night dissipating, and they illuminate you just right. Soft, royal blue lights illuminate the contour of your cheekbones, and Joel needs to see more.

Wants to. He lets go of your hair and tugs on your shirt—no, on his shirt, taking it off with your help.

Usually, Joel's talkative from the start. He discovered you have a thing for his voice early on and lost the ability to shut the fuck up ever since. Your words, not his.

Usually, it's not this, though—not this slow, or this reverent.

One of Joel's hands keeps running through your body, smoothing out all the exposed skin, and he can tell by your body that the touch is relaxing.

Then, you break the silence by leaning your upper body, closing the space between your heads. "Joel," you whisper in his mouth. "Wanna suck you off."

The one thing you love doing to distract yourself—he'd allow it, but something's tugging at him to offer more than just distraction.

Joel wants to offer you comfort.

He closes the gap and kisses your eager and waiting lips, tasting you again before answering, "Not now, baby."

You whine, squeezing your thighs around him. "Why not?"

He remembers something and runs his hands over your ass as he talks, massaging and squishing the flesh. "You told me I could touch you as much as I wanted to, remember?" He gets his fingers under the ban of your panties, squeezing harder. "On our night, you told me I could always do you like I wanted, right baby?" Joel seals his lips on yours again in a harsh kiss as both of you recall the night. The first night. The one you two deemed 'your' night. He pulls back. "Was so filthy that night, baby—"

"Wanted you for so long—" and shit, that gets to him.

Joel spins both of you around and lays your back to the mattress again, rocking his hips with yours. "Dunno what you see in me, baby—" you poked him hard on his side, mean and pointy and hard, and Joel looks up to see you frowning at him. Right—no shit-talking himself in your presence. He chuckles, and grabs your chin, tilting your head up so he licks a stripe down your jugular. "My bad — 'm thinking about how fuckin' lucky I was and started off on the wrong end of it."

"Damn right you did — oh." The gasp you let out loud is matched by his cursing.

Joel pushed your panties to the side, taking advantage of the lack of clothes in way, and all he wanted was to check. Instead, he gets his fingers soaked in all of your wetness. Just from kissing. Just for him. "All for me, baby? Jesus fuckin' Christ." Joel runs two, three fingers between your folds, wetting his digits before he starts thumbing your clit. "I love your mouth on me, y'know that. Always get So messy. Do it just like — I like it. But I just wanna see you feel good right now."

"Joel."

He had no idea where it came from, but his brain paints the picture for him.

Your eyes wide, twitching with fear.

It'd been a while since he saw that. Matter-of-factly, Joel was sure now he'd never seen that expression on you before. He would know — the long days Joel spent cataloging ever line, wrinkle, freckle on your body; he was no stranger to your nature. Joel walked into your deepest and darkest woods, and whatever nightmare woke you up today, it was a new storm brewing.

You're alright, you had said.

Joel sinks his fingers inside you as he sinks his mouth on your neck, seeking comfort in you at the same beat as he's trying to offer it.

You clench around him, and Joel sighs when your nails dig at his back. It's not just his voice you like. Joel stops thinking about all the reasons why you could be afraid and focuses on making you forget there's a world to fear. "Like my fingers, don't ya?" he rasps out, inching his face back so he can share the same breath as you.

"So thick," you babble out, thighs spreading wider for him.

Joel wasted many hours in front of mirrors convincing himself he was past the futilities of caring about appearance, attraction, and things of the such. However, all you needed to do was this:

"Joel, oh god, Joel," like a prayer. Eyes closed, rolling at the back of your head, like a surrender. The way you forced them back open just to look at him, and your mouth gaped open — Joel could feel the lust oozing off of you. "So fuckin' handsome, Joel. You look so good fucking me."

He growls, pulsing his fingers in a curve inside of you, abusing the spot he knows to be carved only to break your mind. Designed to make you see stars.

"So flatterin'," he laughs, sucking on your abused lips. "You make me feel handsome," he confesses, milking the trembling in your body that he recognizes quite well. "That's it — let it all go for me, baby."

Your first orgasm cums in a silent scream, as you let his fingers guide you into white bliss.

Joel moans unabashedly as you ride it out. He kisses your jaw since your lips are too busy hanging open, frozen around the letters of his name.

"Joel—too much, too much," you cry out, and he takes out his fingers from inside. He guides them to your mouth, and you part your lips. So obedient it drives him nuts.

"Lick 'em clean," he orders softly. He watches you do it, and imagines it's his cock inside of his fingers, but he has to prioritize now. He wants you in that way he knows it drives you wild — the way it pulls at your animalistic instincts and gets you screaming into the pillow. "Turn around, baby, c'mon."

It's like you know.

You do. Your eyes widen for a second and you moan for him before readjusting your body under him.

He grabs his own pillow to position underneath your hips when you lay with your belly down, settles his legs outside of yours and does his best not to drop his whole weight on you just yet.

"More, more," you whine for him. You want more of his weight — lord knows why, but you enjoy being smothered by him. Joel gives you just a little more and pulls your hair away from your face so he look at you. "Please don't tease me."

He wanted to. God, Joel really wanted to be strong — and young — enough to tease you until you were crying; sometimes, when he was rested enough, when you riled him up just right, when the adrenaline was high, or when something clicked and the air sizzled with a tension between you two, then he could.

Joel could make you cum two, or three times, before he put it in.

Other times, you were both starving for it.

He positioned himself at your entrance and pushed just the head in, wishing he was less riled up, but finding comfort that you were right there with him.

"Joel," you beg.

He smiles, and slides it all the way in. It's so wet, and so tight, and he's so, so fucked.

He praises your name. Catches his breath on your sweaty shoulder, and sucks on the back of your neck.

When you whine for more, this time, he truly has no words.

All Joel does is enjoy the way you're a mess with him.

He starts at a slow pace, pulling out the way out so he can enjoy the drag of it getting back inside. He does that until his arms are aching with the effort of keeping himself upright, and then he's lowering himself further, enjoying how much louder you get.

"Tell me if it's too much," he pleas in your ear.

"Faster, need it faster," is all you have to say back to him.

Joel abides. He gives it to you just how you want it, and he knows you're about to cum again before you start blabbering about it.

"Oh, god—'m gonna, Joel—right there—"

"Here, hm?" He bucks his hips harder, and is rewarded with your moans getting higher. "Fuckin' love findin' your sport, baby. Clenching — so fuckin' tight around me."

"'m gonna cum —"

"Oh, I know baby — clenchin' so fuckin' hard around me. Do it." He grabs your hair again and tells himself to hold it back. "Cum around my cock. Show me how bad — you love — when I give this pussy — what it deserves."

It's a mess of tangled libs and sweat from then on.

You convulse around Joel, your whole body trembling. With thighs still shaking, Joel pulls out and flips you around so he can see your face. He lines up and cups your face with the other hand, "Can I, baby?"

You nod with tears streaming down your face. "Please," it's only a whisper. "Please use me. Wanna—"you push your hips down, and Joel sinks it all the way in, making both of you moan. "Yes. Need your cum, too — need it so much."

Joel was teetering on the edge when he started fingering you and watched pleasure take over you. The minute that thin layer of sweat started covering your curves, he wanted to paint your back in his release. Wanted to bury himself to the hilt inside of you.

So he does.

Joel brackets your face between his forearms, and looks you in the eyes as he fucks into you. Not for the first time, he looks deep into you — switches his gaze between the place where your bodies connect to your face, and it's in your silent plea of his name that Joel loses himself.

He sees you starting to lose it — his sides are carved and marked, painted in red by your clawing and scratching, and he knows you're overstimulated from orgasms so close to each other, so Joel knows it'll be easy to do what he loves.

Make you cry out of pleasure.

When he feels his balls tightening, Joel starts to take longer thrusts to make his pelvis stimulate your clitoris at the same time as his hips meet yours. He lets out a loud moan at the feeling of your walls constricting, and, "'m gonna cum, baby, fuckin' hell—"

"Do it, do it do it, Joel, please—"

"Fuck, beg more. Beg."

The litany of pleas falling from your mouth is drawn out in white noise when Joel cums harder than in a long time, spilling hot and deep inside of you. Filling you up a lot. Fuck—he cums so much that the aftershocks last for minutes; precious time that he spends caressing your hair and enjoying your legs trembling in spasms of sensitivity.

Joel grunts a lot. To pull out it's the hardest — your whine gets him to shush and coo, "Shhhh, 's okay baby, 's okay." He peppers your face in kisses to replace from the sudden emptiness. "'m here."

"Don't leave."

"Won't," he licks under your jaw and gets out from on top of you. Grabs the closest piece of clothing to clean between your thighs and to get rid of most of the mess, then throws it far away for the two of you to deal with in some hours.

When he pulls you to his chest, Joel feels content.

He can feel your heart beating. The steady, strong pulse soothing into something calm.

With both chests touching, Joel recognizes when your breathings harmonize.

He smiles, wondering if you already fell asleep.

You haven't. "You're such a dream, Joel." The words are whispered against his chest, where your lips are. Over the sternum of his collarbone, touching it feather-light. The words make crawl through his skin and as soon as they make contact with his ribcages, they start growing there. A dream.

He understood the feeling. You were a dream. He hugs you tighter, wishing he burns this tender blue-lit moment in his mind to always come back to when he needs comfort. (When you're not around.)

"You're a dream, too, baby."

For a second, he wonders if you heard it. Then, he feels it.

A smile on his skin.

A dream or not, you two are in the same haze. That's all he needs. Let him sleep for good if it's like this — with you. In your arms.

🏷️ @sakuralikestars — @mostardentily — @thegreat-annamaria — @leiticia — @polyglot-noodle — @casssiopeia — @earthtocharlene — @levylovegood — @lavenderhhze — @gracie7209 — @waywardwolfbonklight — @shadytalething — @sanzusmile —@yesimwriting — @celestialstar111 💖

⚠️ if anyone being tagged would like to not be, just let me know in my inbox (which you can also use to talk to me about all the appeals of Joel Miller with his hair slicked back. Just saying hehe.

[widowrecs]

teacups

pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader rating: mature word count: 2.5k+ summary: Joel and you take a shower after a traumatic event. warnings: srs hurt/comfort. violence/gore. implied attempted sexual assault. trauma. panic attack. joel being too nice. A/N: same reader as the one in bad people and moments, but no need to read. Joel Miller Masterlist

Joel wondered if his luck had finally run out. His hand slid along the slippery kitchen floor as the man on top of him snarled. Joel was pinned in a way where he couldn't get a full breath in. He'd been an idiot, relying on threadbare information passed between smugglers. 

"You know that real nice house outside the wall? Only bout half a mile South? Apparently, it's empty. The guys livin' there got taken care of during a raid. A lot of shit probably left inside. Well hidden. I'll pay you to see what you can find."

Joel hadn't thought it'd be that dangerous. He needed a second pair of hands, and everything had been fine until three of the supposedly dead men had walked in on them, rifling through their shit.

"Fuck. Fuck," Joel hissed between clenched teeth as he attempted to reach for the knife that had been kicked out of his grasp. The man's arm around his throat tightened. 

Joel felt his vision tilt, his body shuddering forward. Everything was fluctuating between spots of bright yellow to deep gray. He wasn't scared for himself, but he was for her. She'd been taken into the next room. He could hear her screaming-

No-she was shrieking. Painful, warbling, animalistic noises that only rang out from people cornered without options. Joel knew them well. He'd caused them. 

His jaw clenched as she wailed, a tempest of sound that destabilized him. It cut him straight to the bone, and his head was galloping a mile a minute: no, no, no, no.

Beneath that mantra was something more explicit. Not her. Not her. Christ-not her. 

He swore he heard her shout his name. Beg: Joel. Joel. Please. 

Okay. Okay, honey. 

He went blind-white with a rage he hadn't felt in a long damn time. Despite his lack of oxygen, he braced his hands and knocked his head back. The guy yelled, loosened just enough that Joel shot forward and snatched the knife. He lifted his arm and flung the blade back, making contact with something squishy that gave under the sharp tip. Eye, he guessed, especially by how loudly the bastard was hollering. Joel whirled around to find him holding his face, blood squeezing through the creases in his knuckles. The handle trembling between fingers.

Joel jumped to his feet, jerking the knife out before driving it forward once, twice, and then a third time. He couldn't waste a second, so he jabbed the vulnerable areas. The man gurgled, frantically attempting to stem the injuries before abruptly collapsing. He’d bleed out.

Joel!

His name rocked through his head, and how much time had he just wasted? What if they'd hurt her past the point he couldn't help her? 

He ran.

***

Joel's hands were pulsing with his own heartbeat, dribbling blood from the violence of using a knife. Stabbing was a tricky business.

Joel.

As he tore through the house, he shouted her name, hoping it would comfort her to know he was coming. He'd been a fool to take her outside the walls of the QZ with only two guns and not sufficient information.

But-fuck-she'd handled herself before. 

He hadn't forgotten the night she'd taken out the three people who had killed her boyfriend. Luke had been a good man. A benevolent leader. When he’d been murdered, Joel hadn't exactly cared since he was focused on his own shit. Death had been normal. Loss was easy. Luke had been another name whispered through the channels of QZ communication.

But he did remember her.

Dolly.

It's what most of the community called her because she had a lovely, rich voice and sang a lot of Dolly Parton to help the kids sleep. 

Then, she went briefly insane. A switch flipped when she found Luke ripped and shredded with his guts out. She'd taken it in stride, seemingly calm and collected, as she wrapped his body and brought him to be burned. She'd then asked around, discovered where the three who'd done it were sleeping, and slaughtered them with a Ka-Bar.

Yes-the QZ's homecoming queen walked out of the woods covered in blood, and no one said a word. It was swept under the rug just like everything else, and who was going to complain about losing three assholes who'd murdered a decent guy for a couple ration cards and supplies?

The community had liked Luke. Respected him. 

Joel, admittedly, found the man foolish. Back then, he hadn't given Luke his attention, but once he started fucking his girlfriend, he mulled over his encounters with the blonde jock like he was studying a map. Who was he to her? How much had she liked him? How had he fucked her, pleasured her, made her smile? 

There was the tiniest piece of Joel that felt jealous. Luke was dead, but he still haunted her just like Joel's ghosts plagued him. 

Selfishly, he wanted her rage-her stunning wrath. The idea of that girl carving three people up to avenge his death was a strange, exhilarating image for him. 

In truth, Joel was deeply fucking attracted to her. Dolly. 

What had she said that night as they sheltered from the rain? The first time they'd had sex, and they both had been blind drunk. 

"He was an idiot.

"He still operated as if the rules hadn't changed. He didn't understand that you have to be a bad person to survive here. He trusted too easily. Far too empathetic for his own good." 

Joel never told her, but those words had lit a fire in him. That had been the moment he’d realized she wasn't just some sweet, pleasant angel who sang to kids. She was all teeth. She was smart-

She was still screaming. 

Joel sprinted, barreling through the final door into the dining room before he abruptly slid to a stop. He was puzzled at the scene before him. He couldn’t figure out what he was seeing.

Blood. Dark, viscous as syrup. It was all over the floors. There was arterial spray covering the pale, peeling wallpaper. Dolly was straddling one of the men, bringing her arms up and down in brutal strikes. Joel could hear the squelch of tissue. The creak of the wooden floor under her knees. She had stopped yelling at some point and now was breathing heavily-grunting low and rough. Across the room was the third guy, very obviously dead. 

Joel moved steadily toward her, calling her name softly. She wasn't hearing him, and he realized her sleeves were drenched in blood up to the shoulder. The silver of the knife continued to disappear into the purple-pink mess of the man's belly. His eyes were open and unseeing, mouth parted in shock.

"Dolly," he tried. Nothing. 

"Sweetheart." Nothing.

Finally, he lunged and seized her wrist. She yelped as the knife flew from her hand and skated across the floor. She struggled in his grip, making wet, hiccuping noises when she attempted to wrench herself from him.

"No," she spat. “No-no-no-”

Carefully, he pulled her off the man and wrapped his arms around her from behind. He shoved the side of his face against hers. She was twitching in his hold, shaking furiously. Her teeth clicked, her body taut with adrenaline. "Focus," he coaxed. "You focus for me, now."

She choked and sputtered. She attempted to crawl away, but Joel had her locked against him. Her heart was vibrating in her chest, thumping with the same fury as a battering ram. Joel scanned the room, fully digesting the utter devastation she had caused. Wordlessly, he turned her toward the paintings hanging on the walls. Gold-framed watercolors. It was something nicer, at least. 

"Look at that," he murmured.

She moaned, pushing against him. 

He waited.

***

"Joel," she gasped as if finally coming up for air. She was bending forward, nearly falling, and he latched to her back possessively.

Protectively. 

"Yeah?" His cheek was still glued to hers, his beard scraping her jaw. Both of them were slick with sweat. If he moved his head just right, he'd be able to kiss her, but it wasn't the time. Initiating something sexual seemed like bad form after whatever had gone down.

"Joel," she repeated, and he cleared his throat. Her thin, weary voice worried him.

"You're alright," he assured her. "They're all dead."

She said nothing, so he let her go lax in his arms. He studied the walls and the chandelier. He tried to count her heartbeats but found it challenging when the room stank of copper and viscera. The real stench of death.

Suddenly, she lurched in his arms.

"Teacups." She pointed to the white cabinet-so dusty it could be gray.

"Yes," he agreed slowly, puzzled. 

"Teacups," she muttered before it bloomed into a laugh that was verging on hysterical. "We should take them home." She turned, fingers caught in the opening of his shirt, tugging down like she was attempting to climb him. "Would be nice, you know? Have something pretty."

He grimaced, readjusting his stance, crouching lower to the point that his knees creaked and pain shot through his thighs. He ignored it and grasped her face, tilting it toward the delicate stream of moonlight. "Look at me," he ordered firmly. "Look at me, honey."

She did, her eyes flickering from the floral-stamped teacups to his face. She appeared gone-blood, tears and tears smeared across her nose and cheeks. Her hair was even wet with it. A disturbing memory infiltrated his head: Sarah's artwork that used to hang on their fridge. Finger-paints. Lots of red and pink. He swallowed before licking his lips. 

"Is this blood all theirs?" He asked, gesturing to her clothes. He was pissed at himself for not checking her sooner, but he figured calming her down had been the most necessary action. 

She lifted her shoulders before dropping them. She had gone somewhere else. Shit.

Gingerly, he maneuvered her into his arms to carry her up the stairs. He needed to clean her and wipe away the remnants of tonight’s mistakes. His mistakes.

***

"Get in the shower," he instructed, but she wasn't moving. He sighed, tenser now. He figured a hot shower would have excited her. A luxury neither of them had had in months, maybe longer. Joel frowned and scraped a hand over his face. 

She'd killed before, so he wasn't sure what this was? She seemed broken. Carefully, he reached for the hem of her jeans only to find her belt gone. He inhaled sharply as he began to scrutinize the rest of her outfit. He'd assumed things had gotten messy in the fray. Her sleeve was torn, and there was swelling along her throat. He took her face into his hands and moved it left to right, right to left. Looking closer, he realized her bra straps had been wrenched loose. Buttons missing on her shirt. When he pulled the collar to the side, he found a distinct bite mark. 

Joel cursed, jerking away instantly. She didn't flinch, only stared up at him sadly. 

He hadn’t meant to. It had been a reflex. A very poor one. He needed to try a softer approach and show her he wasn't fearful of her. He'd just been surprised. 

He reached for her again and began rubbing her shoulders. He found them cold and damp. Clammy. 

"They weren't infected." He was stating it as fact. Hoping.

She bit her lip. 

"Work with me here, baby. They weren't infected, right?"

She swallowed and shook her head. "It wasn't that." She blinked dazedly before continuing. "They tried…" she trailed off, and her eyes began to fill with tears. She pulled her lower lip between her teeth, chewing hard as if she couldn't say the rest. She averted her gaze, and Joel felt sick.

"They didn't, Joel," she whispered. "They-they-"

He reacted immediately. 

Wrapping his arms around her, he hauled her body to his chest. "They tried," he confirmed. "They tried, and they didn't get close. You took care of 'em."

She broke.

She began sobbing into his shirt, muffling her mouth against the denim fabric. She was shaking, and Joel felt inadequate-completely lost. Inexplicably, he decided that this would be something Luke would most likely excel at. Kindness. Empathy. Understanding. Joel only felt nauseous. He felt ill with guilt and then had to banish the thought away, disappointed at his pettiness. She needed him, so he cupped the back of her head, using his thumb to draw tiny circles above her ear. 

After a few minutes, he spoke gently. "Do you want to shower?"

She fisted his collar, her back hitching under his hand. She was working herself up again, straying very close to a panic attack. He had to calm her down.

"I'll go in there with you," he offered. "I won't leave."

She stilled, though her shoulders continued to tremble in spurts of aftershocks. He could smell the blood on her. Rusty and metallic. 

"Okay," she agreed.

***

The shower felt good. Better than good. It was narrow and cramped, but she didn't seem to mind. In fact, she burrowed into Joel's naked chest, desperate to feel his skin. He had even been willing to get in fully clothed.

"You've been through a lot. I don't want to make you uncomfortable-"

"Shut up, Joel. It's fine."

The room was humid with steam, the air tinged with old blood. The shower floor had turned pink, and Joel had to detangle himself from her to search for wounds. He'd found a slit in her side, just beneath her ribs. Hardly serious, but it had to have stung. With a bar of valuable ivory soap that had been just lying on the shower step, he carefully dragged it over the injury. He crouched low, one hand holding her hip as he cleaned her. 

She said nothing as she watched him, her fingers running through his hair. Somewhere between washing her toes and beneath her breasts, he felt a strange affection for her. This was the most intimate thing they had ever done. The gentleness. The womb-like shower. The dim lights. 

 When he was done, he kissed the wound under her ribs, lips firm against velvety skin. He stood, and she regarded him with tender curiosity, her eyes far more present than they'd been ten minutes ago. He pulled her to him, his cock slightly stiffening simply because she was beautiful and molded into his frame, and his body reacted to her regardless of his intentions.

"I was scared," she confessed as the water sluiced down them, drumming the tile floor. "I was so scared they'd killed you already, and I couldn't do anything."

"I think," he said, lightly teasing. "You managed to do quite a bit."

She huffed, shoving her face into his throat, nose rooting along his jaw. She used enough force that his back hit the wall and his arms automatically rose to cradle her. He said nothing, just let her find him, use him as she needed. She'd been terrified for him even when they'd attempted to harm her. He swallowed thickly as a new wave of anger pulsed in the trenches of his marrow. He hoped one was still breathing downstairs, unable to move. Joel would make it hurt.

He felt her shift in his arms, and as she relaxed, it cooled his temper. She stood on tiptoes, her mouth running along his ear. He shivered and attempted to calm himself down-think of anything else. 

"I did it for me," she whispered. "But-but I also did it for you. I'd kill for you if I had to."

Stunned, he gripped the nape of her neck and forced her face from his throat. He pulled her eyes to his. He wanted to tell her that she'd certainly already done that. He didn't want her to have to, even if it shot heat through his bones.

"You did a hell of a job," he managed to say instead. He was drunk off the shower steam and hot water, and her breath was cool against his mouth. "You did so fuckin' well, sweetheart."

***

Afterward, Joel tucked her into one of the beds. She reached for him, her lids heavy and movements sluggish. He promised her he'd come back after he checked the house. He didn't kiss her, but he thought about it. Things were changing. He shook his head, interning those worries for another day. He swapped his tenderness with something easy. 

Anger.

He found outrage and clawed his fingers into its familiar texture. 

There it was. Fury and revenge were his old, perfect lovers, and he felt them as he stood outside her door. They touched him, caressed him, begging to be used.

For her. 

Joel would do this for her even if it meant nothing. Even if the damage was already done. He needed somewhere to put it. He needed somewhere to place those emotions because he certainly wouldn't take it out on her, fuck her simply for stress relief after what had happened tonight. 

"Joel?" From inside the room, her voice rang small. It distressed him. Bury that, too. 

He rested his forehead against the closed door, sighing. "Yeah?"

"Will you check if they're gone, please?"

"Of course."

***

Silently, he went downstairs, found a hammer from one of the men's belt loops, and then ruined whatever she had left still whole in the dining room. Skulls. Ribs. Bones. He crushed them all, fractured them to bits and pieces for what they had done to him and his.