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lol-im-done · 6 months

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Honey-Do [joel miller]

It’s Sunday, chore day, and Joel has a honey-do list item of his own: get his girl pregnant.

my masterlist!

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags and warnings: pre-outbreak joel, married!joel, pure fluff and smut, slight au, body worship, some cock worship, handyman!joel, malewife!joel, joel “my wife doesn’t lift a finger in this home” miller, vague daddy undertones, overstimulation, joel miller is a munch, oral sex (m and f receiving), unprotected PIV (wrap it up unless you’re joel), creampie, breeding kink, actual breeding, talks of pregnancy, pregnancy kink, domestic bliss, joel’s love language being acts of service and by that i mean putting a baby in his wife, competence kink

word count: ~ 10k (someone stop me)

read on ao3!

a/n: hello, lovelies!! i received this ask ages ago and the idea inevitably snowballed because who is self-control?? does she go to a different school? anyway, this fic is pure plotless domestic fluff and domestic smut (is that a thing? yes!), so i really hope you all enjoy! pre-outbreak joel is very special to me xoxo

HONEY-DO

Your shared bedroom looks out over the eastern sunrise. A mutually-assured vigil, keeping one another safe—and timely.

In the mornings, the golden light spills through the break in the curtains. It will peek slowly inside and gently warm your body awake, testing the limits of its power. When you roll over and make a soft groan of protest in your sleep, seeking more warmth, the little strip of sunlight will widen, directing you. You will find the body next to yours, nuzzling close, your nose bumping his bare chest, and settle happily against it. In return, his body will seek yours, symbiotic exchange, a greedy arm pulling you closer.

In frustration, the sun grumbles it way higher in the sky, shining brighter and spreading wider.

It takes a couple tries to get it right: to shine in just the right way to make you blink rapidly awake, squinting in the glow. You gradually come to life, your lungs sucking in the first deep breath of morning air, your naked body stretching like a cat in the sunspot. Dust hovers lazily in the air, heralding a Sunday occupied by chores. The room is still, silent, and kissed by morning rays. Peaceful.

You examine him in the light: tanned skin sparkling gold, plush lips slightly parted, broad chest rising and falling. His hair is pleasantly tousled from sleep. There are patches of silver beginning to thread through his dark brown beard, and in your self-sustaining state of affection, you gently put your lips to one of the patches of skin where hair does not grow.

Your persistence grows with every second he refuses to wake. It may be a bit petulant, your lips smattering soft kisses across his jaw, beneath his ear, down to his neck and all its veins, but it begins to work. He stirs, groaning softly, turning onto his side and wrapping both arms around your waist. He does all of this without opening his eyes, resting his head on your belly and nuzzling against you as if he could get any closer—sated, for now, his body knowing nothing but the pull toward you.

You comb your fingers through his messy hair and listen to him breathe while he listens to your heartbeat.

“It’s ten,” you whisper.

“Hmph,” he says against your belly. He hasn’t opened his eyes yet; if you didn’t know his breathing patterns like they were mapped out in the lines of your palms, you would think he’s still sleeping.

“We slept in,” you point out.

Joel gently bumps his forehead into your stomach as if he were banging his head against a wall. “Shit,” he grumbles.

You laugh as his moustache tickles your skin. “Do you want to get up now?”

Another grunt, accompanied by a shake of his head. Big, strong arms pull you closer.

“I’ll make you breakfast,” you coo, stroking his hair away from his face. “Eggs… bacon… coffee…”

Joel presses his lips to your belly. “Don’t go takin’ my job, now,” he says, his voice groggy with disuse. “No girl of mine’s gonna run around gettin’ her own damn coffee.”

“Hmm. Means you have to move, Romeo.”

This earns a playful smack to the side of your thigh, his big, callused hand kneading your flesh while he wakes himself up with mouthfuls of your scent—linen and vanilla—and gulps down the sunlight glowing on your skin.

“Never mind,” you sigh, dreamy and complacent under his attention.

His eyes finally crack open, peering up at you, honey-brown pools touched by the golden light. He rests his chin on your belly and keeps his arms wrapped around your hips. His fingers trace shapes up and down your lower back. “You got a honey-do list?” he asks with a crooked grin.

Your tongue wets your bottom lip. “That depends. Can I get you to mow the lawn without a shirt on?”

“What do I get if I do?” he teases, his hand moving to your hip, contouring his hand to the shape of you.

You lift a brow, easing your legs apart underneath his body, letting him feel the warmth between your thighs. Like a moth to the goddamn flame, his eyes wide and eager, Joel crawls down your body with his mouth on your belly. Pausing just above your naked cunt, he blows cool air onto your clit and watches you squirm.

“After,” you gasp. “After chores, honey. We’ll never get up if we start now.”

“Don’t think I can make my woman come in good time?” he challenges, his palms keeping your thighs spread. Your pretty pussy glistens before his eyes, better than any fuckin’ breakfast. He begins to salivate.

Your head falls back into the pillows. “I never said that.”

Joel isn’t listening anymore. He kneads your thighs as he peers at you above your belly, your tits, to the curve of your jaw as you lie comfortably. Good. His baby ain’t about to get herself worked up on a Sunday morning.

He lowers his face just enough to let you feel his lashes tickling your lower belly, and you giggle his name, the sound pure adrenaline to his blood. You're so soft and supple under his fingers, moulding to his touch, letting him take care of you. You may be in charge of him, but this is where he takes control.

He presses a soft kiss to your clit and you sigh, your head turning toward the direction of the sun. It warms your face while your husband slides his tongue through your wet slit, lazily and sleepily, as though he's operating on instinct alone. Gathering up your wetness on his tongue, he groans, his fingers dimpling your thighs.

“Taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he murmurs. “Fuckin’ made for me.”

“Oh, God,” you whisper, your eyes fluttering. “Baby…”

That sweet little whine is poison. He cannot do anything but continue to drink you down, flicking his tongue against your clit. He's a sucker and he's always been. Your pretty fuckin’ smile from across the bar that first night; your tight black dress and the too-sweet cocktail you smooth-talked him into ordering that had his adenoids prickling; your instinct for sensing others’ troubles and your uncanny ability to make them feel like they have none at all. He never stood a chance.

He knows for a goddamn fact every man in the bar that night wanted to do to you what Joel is doing now: lapping up your juices with his tongue, spit mingling with arousal, warming his body between your thighs under the watch of the mid-morning sun. But he got you. Joel. He bought you a drink and he took you on a date. He got to taste your pretty pussy and he got to sit you on his dick—after the second date, that is.

He's the one who gets to wake up with you, share matching gold bands around your fingers, kiss you freely. As far as he's concerned, he's the luckiest guy on the fuckin’ planet.

He feels particularly green when your back arches, your lips parting around his name, relishing in the feeling of his mouth on your clit. You're unashamed to take pleasure, never shy about telling him Oh, fuck, yes! Right there, honey! Joel, yes, that feels so good, baby.

Joel preens with pride. His hot tongue glides over your clit, smooth and wet, easily coaxing you to a languid high. The golden spotlight through the curtains shines on you. You're the starlet and he's the adoring fan. From the first day, he knew he'd do anything to make you notice him.

“This wasn’t your first bar fight, was it?”

Plucking pieces of glass out of his bloodied knuckles, you looked up through your lashes at Joel, who had been staring at you since you sat him down in the bathroom. Okay—a little longer than that.

He shook his head.

You just smiled at him and gently shook your head. About as much reproach as he would get. “This might sting. Just hold on tight if you need to.”

“Like the sound of that,” he said quietly, and if you heard, you didn't comment. You guided his hand under the warm water and washed the rest of the blood from his knuckles, gently smoothing the pads of your fingers over his rough worker’s hands. Capable, you thought, idly watching the blood swirl into the drain. He barely winced when you put his hand under.

“Wanna tell me why you did it?” you asked him, your tone soothing and sweet.

Joel shrugged. Big, broad shoulders. Humbly strong, until someone made him show it. “Ain't manly to touch a woman like that.”

You lifted your brows. “But it's manly to beat the shit out of the guy who touched her?”

Joel studied your face. Cherry-red lip gloss. Gently flushed cheeks from a healthy couple drinks. The instinctual rise and fall of your chest as you breathed, the lighting shifting gently over your collarbones. It was fascinating just to watch you breathe. Even cleaning his bloody knuckles, you slowly circled the pad of your thumb over the back of his hand, like an innate urge to comfort. Your eyes had an old wisdom to them; a particular gleam a person gained when they were familiar with the hardships life had to offer.

He wanted to ask you. He wanted to know everything. He wanted to do more than beat up some asshole who thought he could get away with pinching your ass.

But he would earn it. A real man earned what he got.

“Didn’t beat the shit out of him. Just roughed him up,” he says.

He watched you bite down on a smile. “You're a little twisted, Joel.”

“Yeah?” He smirked, eyes flicking to your dewy lips, coated with that gloss. “Think so?”

“Yeah.” You licked your bottom lip and he wondered if you tasted like cherries. “But I'm going to ask you on a date anyway.”

Your fingers curl in Joel’s messy hair, making him groan into your pussy. “Oh, baby,” you gasp, cracking your heavy eyes open to watch him lap at you, practically petting his hair away from his face as his big brown eyes remain fixed to yours.

He purrs, suckling your clit between his lips, his eyes eagerly drinking in the sight of your flushed, tightening body. Making you come is one thing. Watching it is another. Your back arches and your fingers pull on his hair. Scalp prickling, Joel grips your thighs tighter. He’d let you peel away pounds of his flesh if it made you happy. He’d go eagerly to the grave knowing he had put some good into the world, put some light in your eyes.

“Joel, I’m… I’m coming—ah!” you cry, your thighs squeezing his head, your sensitive clit pulsing under his tongue as your pussy contracts around itself, seeking something nice and big to grasp onto. His cock is aching, his hips grinding idly against the mattress for relief, his head fuzzy from the pleasure of making you feel good. Your body slowly melts into the bed, your limbs twitching as the tension in your muscles loosens, your lips parted permanently around his name.

Eyes drooping and teary, you try to find him between your thighs, gently stroking his hair away from his face as it begins to fall into his big brown eyes. “Need a haircut,” you croak.

Joel hums, his head listing to the side, using your soft thigh as a pillow. He nips you playfully, your skin a golden path he intends to follow to the end. His hands caress your hips, helping you come down to Earth. You admire the delectable convex slope of his nose, the way it curves deliciously against your skin when he kisses, bites, inhales. He’s freckled and indented with the signifiers of a lived-in life; a good life. His is a likeness you could trace with your eyes closed.

It’s eleven o’clock, and your stomach begins to grumble.

Joel chuckles, pressing a long kiss to your belly. “Gettin’ up now,” he says. “Promise.”

He pulls on a pair of sweatpants, tucking his hard cock away to be dealt with later. Padding down the stairs, Joel is quick to tend to your needs, putting on a fresh pot of coffee. After so long together, his mind operates on autopilot, steering him from the cupboard to the refrigerator and back to the steaming pot, occupied with the menial task of making a good cup. The gentle clinking scrape of the spoon as he stirs your milk into the cup wakes him up until he feels practically revitalised. He keeps his coffee black.

He hears the soft tread of your feet behind him, feels the warmth of your body as you crowd his space, smiles at the way you smooth your palms over the planes of his muscled back in unadulterated admiration. His shoulders are wide, tapering down to the soft belly you’ve nurtured through years of cooking. He’s sturdy and strong and all yours. The sight of him always makes you a bit giddy.

“So handsome,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his middle and pressing your face between his shoulder blades. The buffed claws of his woodsy pine scent hook into the spaces between your ribs.

Joel lifts your hand to his mouth and kisses the wedding band on your finger, the engagement ring above it. “Sit down, baby. Coffee’s ready.”

You grin against his back, nudging your nose into his tanned skin. “Mmm. That sounds good. But I wanna stay here. ‘s nice and warm.”

“Girl of my dreams,” Joel murmurs, reaching around his back and patting your ass. “C’mon, I’ll keep you warm.”

You grumble your way to the little circular table in the kitchen, tucked into the alcove at the front window. It’s a souvenir from your parents' garage sale when they decided to sell their home and move to Austin. As a girl, you’d draw, scratch, and paint on that table, endlessly entertaining yourself by marking things up. Even now, there are remnants of your childhood in the worn grooves and chipped varnish. It fits nicely into your home, perfectly suited to two. It could even fit one more.

You ruminate as you watch Joel carry two mugs to the table. He knows which cup is your favourite: green ceramic decorated with tiny flowers, perfectly contoured to the shape and size of your hands, warming your palms just nicely between sips. Joel’s mug shows its age: white but slightly yellowed from years of use, bigger than yours. The steam of the coffee gently curls into the air, a dance of silvery ribbons in lock-step. They twist together as you purse your lips and blow. The rich, smooth caramel hue of your coffee contrasts the tar-black of Joel’s.

Since you dragged yourself out of bed on shaky legs, you shrugged on the navy T-shirt he tossed aside last night to give his greedy wife access to his chest. You'd carved some decent marks into his skin, now that you're properly looking: tiny bruises sharpening to purple, faint pinkish scratch marks that you don't remember making.

“Baby, I don’t mind,” he says, watching you scan his chest with a frown creasing your brow.

“But it looks painful, honey. You should let me—”

“You don’t gotta do anything,” says Joel, “‘cept come over here.”

Your brows lift coyly, your body sliding out of the chair and into his lap, legs bracketing his strong thighs. His hand finds a home on your lower back, bunching the hem of his shirt up to find your ass bare, your wet cunt sitting nice and pretty on his hard cock. You gasp when the generous length meets your puffy clit with heavy pressure. “Joel…”

Your voice is a mere whimper, a soft little plea for more, or for mercy. Joel’s always had better restraint than you.

“Warmer now?” he asks, like a real arrogant asshole, slipping his hand under the shirt on your body and splaying his fingers over your ribcage, thumb grazing the underside of your breast.

You do feel warmer, crushed up against him like this. You reach behind you and grab your coffee mug, taking a small sip. Your other hand winds around his neck and scratches the tousled hair at the nape of his neck. Joel hums, leaning close, nuzzling his face between your tits.

“Gimme the list,” he says, voice muffled.

You keep on stroking his hair and drinking your coffee between list items. “Mow the lawn. Clean out the eavestrough. Fix the sink.”

“Hmm, easy work,” he says, his other hand sliding up and down your back. It makes you melt into him even more, giving him the chance to tease a nipple between his teeth through the fabric of your shirt. You huff, wiggling your hips, but he's a brick wall. He does not budge. “Gimme yours, baby.”

You recall the items on your own list. “Vacuum the house. Go for groceries. Touch up the paint on the front door. Do the laundry. Cook dinner. Cut your hair,” you add with a playful smile.

Joel frowns against your chest, pulling back to look up into your eyes like a grumpy, needy dog. “You put all that down for yourself?”

You try to placate him with a kiss on his nose. “You work so hard, sweetie. I could use some hard labour once in a while.”

Joel shakes his head. “You aren’t doin’ all that by yourself.”

“No?” You lift your brows. “Wanna buy it off me, Mr. Miller?”

“I’ll win ‘em from you,” he says, tilting his head back to kiss your jaw. “Name the price.”

You bite your lip and chase his mouth, plush and soft under that dark moustache. “I’ll think on that. Meantime, you can get to work on that lawn while I watch from the comfort of the front porch. That sound fair?”

Joel’s old Southern values rear up every now and then, imparted by his mother and his father’s mother before. Putting in an honest day’s work will make his wife comfortable and happy. He doesn't want you lifting a finger around this home if he's perfectly capable of doing the job himself. He works with his hands all day, gets dirty and sweaty. You shouldn't have to—not when you work so damn hard every other day of the week.

Joel nips your chin. “Fine. But I ain’t gonna forget that I owe you.”

“Wouldn't dream of it, baby.”

Joel finishes his coffee, but you take your time with yours, changing into a short blue sundress while Joel, regrettably, puts a pair of jeans and a shirt on. Curling your legs up on the porch swing, you watch your man start the lawnmower, enthralled by the rippling of his back muscles with every pull. You know that some of it’s for show—knowing you're watching makes him want to impress you. Sometimes, he's still the man with the teenaged crush on the girl, doing everything he can and going out of his way to make you smile. It works.

He’s methodical: making lines up and down the lawn, shearing away the too-long blades of grass under the motor. As sweat begins to bloom under his collar and his brow, he wipes his forehead with his forearm and you lick your lips, saliva pooling in your mouth at the thought of running your tongue all over his strong, naked body. Jesus. You finish off your coffee and force your eyes away from your husband for a moment. It isn't too hot from where you sit on the wraparound porch, but your chest feels sticky.

You rush inside to fill up a glass of water for him, hastily scrubbing your mug clean and putting it back in the cupboard. Maybe you should be occupying yourself with your chores today; you worry nothing will get done if you continue to watch him work in the Texas sun.

He’s just finishing when you shoulder your way back outside, his neck glistening with sweat and golden noon-hour light, warm and tempting. You set the glass on the railing and wait for him to come your way, squeezing your thighs together as your eyes trail up and down his body.

He's always been a capable man, broad and tall—so good at his job that he was offered a promotion after a few months. But it isn't just his strength or his doggedness when it comes to getting his work done. It's the way he’s so eager to finish things, to check off the items on your list, to please you. He frowns at the idea of you doing too much work. He parades you around town with a puffed-up chest, as if to announce, This is my wife. I’m her husband and I’m fucking proud. He takes your pleasure so seriously that it feels like a competitive sport—always outdoing himself, always striving for more. He loves selflessly, and yet he loves just selfishly enough to make sure the world knows you're his.

He’ll be a good daddy.

You glance down at your belly and let yourself picture it: swollen and round, ballooning big enough to fit a new life inside. You imagine smoothing your hand over a growing bump, Joel’s warm palms feeling the undulating kicks of a little baby inside, half of him and half of you. You picture back aches and swelling feet and insatiable cravings and expended energy. And not a part of it deters you. Not a speck of your willpower wavers, the way it would have mere months ago.

Something has changed. It may have been gradual and it may have been sudden. But it's new, all the same. It’s been this way since a week ago, when you looked in your nightstand at your little pink pill organiser labelled by weekday, and decided: No more.

Watching Joel make his way back to you, shielding his eyes from the light, you idly place your hand on your belly. Something new. A welcome change, you think, to have someone new sitting at our little table.

Joel climbs up the steps to the porch and gulps down the glass of water. “Thank you, baby,” he says, wiping his mouth. Your lips part as if to taste the air around him, to chew, to savour, relishing the richness.

Your pupils expand, taking in more of him, and Joel notices, placing a rough hand over yours where it rests on your belly. “You’re lost in thought, honey. Wanna tell me what's in that pretty head?”

“Just…” Your tongue wets your bottom lip. “Thank you for doing that. I know it's a big job.”

“Ain’t nothin’,” says Joel, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Got any idea how I can win those chores off you?”

Hands grasping your hips, sliding over your sweat-slick spine, saccharine noises slipping from your throat onto your tongue and out into the open air. Fingers imprinting permanent fixtures into your ribs. The heady weight of his big, fat cock wrenching you open, as it always does, slow until it isn't anymore. Desperation kicking in, a switch flipped, pummeling and brutal and unforgiving. Uncompromising. Hips pressed flush to your ass, nothing spilling out. Not a drop.

Everything sealed in tight as promises are exchanged as whispers in the dark.

“I want you to put a baby in me.”

All right. You could have been more delicate about it. Not precisely how you wanted to approach the topic, but it seems to get the job done.

Looking down at you, Joel slowly lowers the empty glass, mouth opening as he searches for words. “What?”

There’s no point in shyness or hesitation. You know your body, your mind, your heart. You thread your fingers through Joel’s and let them stay connected over your stomach. “I want you to give me a baby, Joel Miller,” you say softly, your gaze locked to his. “That's my price.”

Joel swallows thickly, his mouth still gaping. “I heard you,” he rasps. “Just… you… you mean it?”

You try not to melt over the tone of his voice: low, bordering on desperate, wanting. There’s hunger in the sound of it. “We’ve talked about it,” you offer, conciliatory. “Lots of times.”

“Yeah, we have.” Joel steps closer, his eyes dipping from your eyes to your mouth, your throat and collarbones, to your belly. His hand flexes. “You gotta be sure. You gotta know it's what you want.”

You cup his face and give him your best smile. It's the sort of smile he remembers from the very first night you met. The sort of person who is unashamed to show their joy on their face. “Honey, I want it all with you.” Your fingers squeeze his. “We’ve waited so long and I don’t want to wait anymore.”

His ears are ringing. All Joel can do is sweep you into his arms and grin into your throat, his hand firm on the back of your head, curling around a fistful of hair. “Girl of my fuckin’ dreams,” he mumbles against your skin. “I’ll make you a momma. Give you just what you want. Everything you want.”

As you close your eyes and open your ears to his ramblings, your erratic heartbeat settles. Serenity finds the pair of you, locked together on your front porch, and the next part of your life begins.

“Don’t think this gets us out of doing chores,” you tease.

“You aren’t gonna lift a goddamn finger,” says Joel fiercely, his lips still littering kisses all over your neck. “You’re havin’ a baby.”

“Honey, I’m not pregnant yet,” you laugh. “I don't need to get all lazy right away.”

“Yeah, you do, and you will. I’m gonna make you the laziest momma in Texas,” says Joel, smiling into your throat, the scratch of his moustache making you dizzy with laughter. “Gonna look so fuckin’ beautiful with a baby in you. Gonna glow like a goddamn firefly. Shit, we need to paint the spare room. I need to build a crib, get time off work—”

“Joel,” you coo, scratching your nails up and down the back of his neck. “We’ll have time to do all of that.”

He pulls back to look down at you, eyes so buttery-soft in the shade of the porch that you impulsively reach for his cheek and run your fingers through his patchy beard. “What’s next on my list?” he asks, holding you around the waist.

You tap your fingers gently against his cheek as you recite each item over again. Joel’s arms tighten, pulling you closer, pupils widening.

“And then what?” he says gruffly.

You beam, and he's so fucking in love that he may keel over, doubled by the intensity of his affection. “And then, you're going to take me to bed and put a baby in me.”

This phenomenon should be studied: how quickly Joel Miller speeds through his chores when he has enough incentive. The anticipation of bending you over on the mattress and wringing every drop of cum from his balls until your stomach swells drives each flick of his hand as he touches up the forest-green paint on the front door, weathered slightly by morning sunlight over the years. The image of his hips pressed flushed to you as he grinds deep, spilling his cum into your womb and forcing it to take, motivates every turn of the steering wheel as he drives you to the grocery store in his clunky Chevy.

He’ll need to drive to Benny’s, get the suspension fixed up; no way in hell he's going to let his pregnant wife sit on the old bench of a bumpy pickup truck, not with the speed bumps dotting the neighbourhood. At least there's a good preschool nearby. He pictures taking his baby to school and he preemptively feels the inevitable first swoop of dread into his gut knowing he'll have to watch his little girl disappear behind those doors. He knows, somehow, that it’ll be a girl. There's not a doubt in his mind.

“What are you thinkin’ about?” you ask him, playing with his fingers as he holds your thigh. Joel is a great driver; he steers so easily, one palm sliding smoothly over the wheel, his eyes alert and his speed under control. It’s a little sexy, and it makes you antsy from where you sit on the bench. Sure, there are chores to do and there’s dinner to make, but it’s getting harder to push your innate needs to the back of your mind. You don't know if you can wait all day to get him inside you.

“Names,” he says. “Got lots of ideas.”

“Yeah? Fire away.”

“Well, I like Eleanor. Good, strong, classic name, y’know? Little wordy, maybe. Then there's Mary, Marie, Hannah, and I can tell you don't like any of ‘em,” he finishes with a laugh, squeezing your thigh. Your silence has always been a tell.

“They're very sweet names,” you concede, “but they don't feel like my baby.”

Joel’s hand slides up to your belly and warms you beneath your dress. “Maybe we’ll feel it,” he says, “when we make her.”

“Think it’ll happen on the first try?” you wonder aloud, watching the scenery whiz by outside. It's a sunny, temperate day for Austin. You think about taking your baby for a walk, lounging lazily in a stroller while you say words that fall on deaf ears, but will resonate in due time nonetheless. You think about a little girl that will cling hard to her daddy’s leg when she gets scared of the storms outside, the way you did when you were little. You think about long nights shushing your sweet baby girl to sleep, about those same nights spent nestled into Joel’s body, the three of you dozing idly on the sofa. A unit.

“If it doesn’t, I’ll just have to try again.” You watch his fingers creep back down between your legs and snap the waistband of your panties.

You smack his hand. “If you keep playin’, Mr. Miller, you're gonna have to take me right here, in this truck. You want to give your wife a bad back?”

Joel grunts, patting your thigh. “Dirty play.”

“That's what I thought.”

Back at home, Joel vacuums the house while you manage, some-fuckin’-how, to convince him to let you do the laundry. He fishes debris and runoff out of the eavestrough, then gets down on his bad knees to tighten the plumbing underneath the sink.

“Let me help, sweetie. At least hand you a wrench or something. You'll hurt your back again.”

“I got it,” he grunts from under the sink. “Just a loose pipe. I’m peachy.”

You just sigh and let him carry on, the stubborn bastard. When he stands, the job done, he lifts the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his forehead, and you get a generous glimpse of his belly, the trail of dark hair directing your gaze down, down—

“Joel?” you squeak, wringing your hands together.

He drops the shirt back over his abdomen and steps closer. “Yeah, baby?”

“Are you, um… Are you hungry?”

He understands the particular glint in your eye, the telltale widening of your pupils, the hollow of your throat dipping as you swallow, your lashes fluttering gently. Blood surges down to his cock and it begins to fill out his jeans at the thought of taking what he's waited for all day. “No,” he says, licking his bottom lip. You eye every minute movement with meticulous precision. “Think dinner can wait.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” you say, crowding him and tugging at the hem of his shirt. He watches you prowl slowly toward him, gaze locked to the heady pull of your eyes. His cock twitches with a vested interest in the body now pressed up against him. Joel cannot look away from the siren now calling him to sea.

“That so?” he rasps, bunching the fabric of your dress so it rides up your hip and gives him a good look at your panties. “You dressed up all pretty today. For me?”

You're as coy as a flirtatious schoolgirl, trailing your fingers up and down his muscled bicep. “Always for you.”

“That’s right, baby. You like me lots, don't you?”

“Mmm, I do,” you purr, your hand sliding up his abdomen to his chest, admiring the hard planes of his strong body. “So handsome, strong, generous…” You get lost in your exploration, eyes dipping to his throat, your lips instinctively seeking the delectable vein that pulses with every beat of his heart. “Such a good man. Gonna be such a good daddy.”

Joel’s breath shudders out of him when he feels your soft, warm mouth on his neck, indulging in the taste of him. “Jesus,” he croaks, gripping your hips hard. “Jesus, honey, you gotta go easy on me. Lemme take it slow—”

—or I swear to God, I’ll blow a load in my jeans.

“You wanna undress me?” you say, like a real fucking tease, pulling away and tugging playfully at the straps of your dress. Joel’s nostrils flare, and he’s walking you back into the wall, cupping the back of your head to protect it, and slanting his mouth over yours.

He’s salty with the sweat that drips from his temples and he still smells of fresh-cut grass. He’s all Joel, all yours, the first gulp of air you breathe in when you wake and the last sigh you exhale before you sleep.

You moan into his mouth as he parts your lips and dips his tongue between them to taste yours. You taste like mint and coffee and he clutches you tighter, wrinkling the fabric of your pretty little dress in his fist. The sunlight filters through the windows, intrusive, bleeding into the moment as if taking a snapshot. Joel kisses you so deeply that your throat feels stained with the gasps of breath you exchange.

You're sweet enough that it makes him ache, bending your back to fit you to him, craving more. Closeness is not enough—he needs possession.

Joel’s kisses are bruising, unforgiving, merciless, but they are also slow, careful. He isn't sloppy; he does precisely what must be done to get you riled. And when he breaks away, his forehead resting against yours, you tug his hair with a pitiful whine.

“I wasn't done,” you tell him.

Joel pouts, mocking. Fingers pull at the straps of your dress until you're watching it pool at your feet. His big hands find your tits immediately, squeezing out all his frustrations, tweaking your nipples and lowering his mouth to your throat.

Your fingers curl into his hair, glueing him to you while he marks your throat, sucking blood to the surface, retribution for the hickeys all over his chest. His warm palms explore your tits the way he likes, and you curve into him, giving him all the access he wants. “Joel, honey—”

Your voice is nectar, warmth from a fire on the Fourth of July, the stomach-cramping laughter around the flame. Joel groans, blindly searching for your hand with his face still nuzzled in your throat, sucking a particularly aggressive bruise that you’ll scold him for later. But he threads his fingers through yours and feels the cool kiss of your twin wedding bands, and your sweet, wispy sighs have him grinding absently against your thigh. You don't have half the mind to get mad at him for a goddamn thing.

He pulls away with a great yank of his self-restraint, still holding your hand. “C’mon, baby.”

You follow dutifully, staring up at your husband with the same moony eyes you gave him on your wedding day. The third stair creaks a bit, the way it always does. The bedroom door is first on the left, and it's a good fucking thing, because Joel can't wait any longer.

He walks you to the edge of the bed, stalking, a predator on prey, focused solely on his task. “Goddamn beautiful,” he says to himself, scanning your mostly-naked body and feeling his eyes droop in arousal.

“Think so?” Your hand drops between your bodies and palms his erection over his jeans. “Yeah, you really think so.”

His nostrils flare. “Sit.”

You lower yourself onto the mattress, primly placing your hands on your thighs and straightening your spine. Joel hums appreciatively, approaching you and slotting himself between your legs. There's a dark wet spot pooling in your panties. “Sweet thing. So needy all fuckin’ day.”

“So were you” is your retort, packing little punch due to the way you push your tits toward him like a fucking whore.

Joel presses his big, warm hand to your sternum. “Remember what you said to me the first time I got you in bed?”

“‘Let’s go again’?”

“The other thing.”

“'Let me suck your dick’?”

“Try again, baby.”

“‘Wrong hole’?”

Joel snorts, shaking his head. “Goddamn smartass,” he mutters. “Told me you wanted me from that first night. Told me you woulda let me fuck you against that bathroom mirror.”

His hand begins to move, rolling your nipple between his fingers like a cigarette, playing with you the way he likes. “Said you’d let me do whatever I wanted,” Joel says quietly, not meeting your eyes, transfixed by the way your body seeks the touch he gives you. “That still true?”

“I meant it then, and I mean it now,” you tell him, pulling your lip between your teeth. “I’m yours, Joel Miller.”

He tilts his head slightly, satisfied. “You got somethin’ you wanna ask me?”

You hook a finger in his belt loop. “Can you get naked now?”

He laughs, guiding your hand to the buckle on his belt. “Go on. Do what you wanna do, baby.”

He belongs to you. He’s yours to mould the way you want.

Your fingers do away with his belt, whipping it out of the loops and hanging it around your neck. Joel’s hands flex at his sides as you toy with the hem of his shirt, bringing it slowly up his torso with your palms flat to his tanned skin.

You imagine you're sculpting him like clay, bringing your hands over the contours and admiring the work when all is done. It’s the artist’s pride of finishing the work and none of the self-reproach when something comes out wrong, because it’s Joel, and wrong becomes negligible.

You bring the shirt over his head with his assistance, lifting his arms for you, tossing the thing aside with little care. His eyes haven't once wavered from you. Next are his jeans, the scrape of his zipper and the delectable anticipation of hooking your fingers in the waistband and guiding them slowly down his hips.

His cock springs forward, thick and heavy and so hard it must ache, as you shuck his jeans down with his boxers. He grunts above you, his cock bobbing at the sight of your pretty lips parting. But you don’t take him into your mouth. You grasp the base of his cock and gently nuzzle your cheek against his length. Something like a strangled whimper leaves his throat.

“Baby,” he chokes.

“Yes, honey?” you say sweetly, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Jesus,” he says through his teeth. “You’re so fuckin' sexy. Fuck.”

You hum, slowly stroking your hand up and down as your tongue darts out to lick his balls. Joel’s hips stutter, his hand flying out to catch himself on the bedpost. “Goddamn. Jesus—”

Your coy smile knocks him askew, your lips pursing as you spit on the head of his cock, spreading your own saliva around the tip with your thumb. “I just wanna thank you”—a soft kiss to the tip has a rumbling groan crawling out of his throat—“for everything you do for me. I just want you to know how much I love you.”

Joel exhales hard, struggling to remember how breathing works when he's got his wife playing with his cock like it's your favourite toy. “How much do you love me?” he demands.

You wrap your fingers around the head of his cock and twist your hand up and down his shaft in a couple slow strokes. You're driving him fucking crazy. His vision is whiting out.

“I love you,” you purr, licking a broad stripe up the underside of his length. Joel’s chest is heaving with the effort of holding back. “Love you so much. Love you enough to make you a daddy.”

Joel caves, threading his fingers through your hair at the nape of your neck and stroking his thumb along your jaw. “Fuck, baby. Please…”

“Do you love me?” Batting your lashes, you scatter measured kisses from his tip to the base, teasingly licking his balls.

“Christ, I—” His hips jut forward instinctively. “I love you. Fuckin’ love you, baby.”

You flick your tongue against his slit and relish his groan, revelling in the sight of his flushed chest, his pink cheeks, the sweat on his brow. His jaw is tense, his nostrils flaring. He’s trying not to take control.

You slap his cock twice on your tongue and finally take it past your lips, sealing your mouth over the head. Joel moans, white-knuckling the bedpost, his other hand now stroking your hair. You fondle his balls in your free hand while the other grips him at the base, and he’s going to come embarrassingly soon if you keep looking up at him this way.

Your tongue swirls around the head of his cock while your lips seal tight, greedily suckling at his tip. Oversensitive, skin prickling with salty sweat, Joel practically breathes through his teeth. “Gonna kill me,” he manages. “You’re gonna kill me, honey.”

“Mmmm,” you reply, happily taking him deeper, his length sliding along the warm wetness of your tongue. Joel’s fingers tighten in your hair.

“Fuuuuck. You love this cock.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Love takin' me into your mouth like a little slut.”

“Mmmmph,” you agree, pushing your tits out.

His hand drifts down to the belt hanging around your neck and he wraps his fist around both ends, tugging so you’re forced to take him deeper. You splutter, breathing hard through your nose, your arousal dripping onto the mattress.

The sloppy sounds of your mouth working his cock send his head spinning. Drool dribbles from the corners of your lips, your eyes squeezing black tears from dewy lashes. And when you take him down your throat, the sound of your choked moan leaves Joel with little choice but to pull out before he comes.

You whine, squeezing your thighs together. He swipes his thumb underneath your eye and shows you the black smudge from your mascara. “Doesn't take much to get you cryin’. You like me that much?”

You bite your bottom lip and beam up at him. “Did I do okay?”

Your faux-innocence makes his dick twitch in your face, and you flick your tongue out to lick at the tip once more. Joel grunts, grasping his belt and tossing it away.

“‘Did I do okay,’” he murmurs, tweaking your nipple between his fingers. “Got no idea after all these years. No idea what you do to me.”

“I just wanna take care of my man. He works so hard, you know, keeping me safe and happy.” You run your hand over his soft belly, the trail of hair that leads down to his cock. “He’s always liked to give me things.”

Joel backs you farther up the bed and crawls over your body, lowering his head to bury his face in your throat. You smell fresh and sweet as vanilla, and when he playfully bites into your skin, your saplike laugh has him grinding helplessly against your thigh.

He loves to give—always has. It’s all he knows. It took a long while for you to get him to unlearn some of his blind selflessness, to let you take control sometimes and care for him instead. Your Joel provides; he does not take. And the prospect of getting to give his wife a baby is turning him to putty in your hands. By the time he gets to work, he’ll be dead-set on his task, hard-pressed to pull out of you. He’ll want to get the job done on his first try, refusing to see you upset if the test comes back negative, but the id will still scratch and claw for another chance to fill you up.

Joel sucks a hickey into your neck and soothes the mark with his tongue, the slow, soft pleasure compounded by the way his warm body covers you, your fingers carding through his locks.

Your voice oozes, honeyed, down his spine. “I love you, Joel.”

He squeezes his eyes shut and crushes his nose in your throat, his hand smoothing down your hair. “I love you.”

“You want to make a baby?”

He rears back slightly, his nose bumping against yours. “Yeah. I really fuckin’ do.”

You grin, lacing your fingers together at the back of his neck. “Will you fuck me? Please?”

Joel brushes his thumb across your chin. “Use your words.”

“I want to be a mom, Joel.” You give him a long, gooey stare, eyes warm and soft as running water. A look like that will make a man give you the goddamn galaxy.

He nods, pressing a soft kiss to your mouth. “I know, baby. I’ll help you. Hands and knees, now.”

The gentle direction moulds your body to the shape of the words. You go easily, your back arching as you rest your weight on your forearms and spread your thighs. The bed dips behind you as Joel settles in, his hands grasping your ass and making you jump.

Your body trembles with excitement. You’re going to be a mom. He's going to get you pregnant. You feel dizzy, bending deeper at the hips and shaking your ass at him, deluded with your own arousal.

But Joel doesn't fuck you right away. No, he bumps up against the backs of your thighs, warm hands branding your skin, and rubs two fingers over the wet spot darkening your panties.

“I do this to you?” he says smugly.

“You know damn well—”

“Wanna hear you say it.” The no-nonsense command triggers a submissive response. “Who did this to you?”

Your body melts against him, presenting your pussy to him like a needy whore. “You, Joel. It’s you, baby. Only you.”

Your babbling makes him squeeze handfuls of your ass, spreading your asscheeks apart to get a good glimpse of the way your pussy drools into your panties. Shuffling backward and lowering himself to his knees on the floor, Joel’s tongue darts out and licks you through your underwear.

“Ohh, fuck!” you gasp. “Joel…”

He hums, tasting your tang through the fabric and finding your puffy clit, sucking gently. You cry out, your fingers grasping the sheets, and Joel moves your panties aside to slather his spit all over your dripping pussy. The languorous movements of his tongue are indulgent, achingly slow; he loves the taste of you as much as you enjoy having his mouth on your cunt.

“Oh my God, Joel… fuck, honey, please—!”

Your thighs are trembling as you struggle to hold yourself up, the strokes of his tongue turning your muscles to soup. He stops to take your panties off, guiding them off your legs, and by now, you're so wet that your juices glisten halfway down your thighs. Joel dives back in and licks up the rivulets of arousal from your skin, all the way back up to your weeping hole.

“So goddamn sweet,” he grumbles, kneading your ass in his hands as he flicks his tongue over your clit a few more times.

“Joel, I’m…” You’re drooling, grinding pathetically into his face, already close to an orgasm, and he isn't fucking letting up.

He wants you as wet and needy as possible, his own cock leaking onto the bedsheets at the prospect of sliding into your creamy pussy.

Your cheeks burn and your muscles lock as Joel makes out with your pussy, his tongue laving over your pearl in slow, aching circles. He drowns in the pleasure of making you feel good. He soaks himself in kerosene and lights the match.

“Oh, fuck!” Your thighs shake around his head and your toes curl, ears ringing with the force of your high. Grasping feebly at the bedsheets, you try not to list, but Joel isn’t fucking stopping, cleaning you up with his tongue like you're a piece of goddamn pie.

His fingers dig into your ass, rapacious as his mouth, and you climb high to a space that transcends the sky, feeling nothing but the linen underneath and the man above, softly kissing your poor, used clit.

He doesn’t let up until you reach back and gently shove his head away, grasping his damp curls. “Baby, let me rest,” you gasp, “just for a second.”

Regretfully, he pulls away, pressing a kiss to each knob of your spine, dragging his nose up your back. “‘m so fuckin’ lucky,” he murmurs against your skin.

“Lucky you didn’t kill me.” You laugh breathlessly, your hips already sore from keeping your ass in the air.

“Makin’ sure you’re ready,” he says innocently, sliding his thick fingers through your slit. You gasp, trying to escape his grasp despite yourself. He just clicks his tongue in reproach. “Nuh-uh, baby. You're gonna stay right here, let me make it good for you. Hmm? Wanna feel good?”

You nod your head frantically. “Yeah, yeah, I do. Wanna be good.”

“Mmm, now, you know that ain't your job tonight,” he says in a mock scold. In the meantime, his fingers soak themselves in your wetness. “Don't think you're ready for me yet.”

“No! No, I’m ready,” you pant, grinding against his erection. Joel grunts, holding your hip in place. “Baby, please, I’m ready for you. Need you so badly.”

“Shhh, sweetheart. I'll give you what you need. Just be patient.” Hands smooth over your ass, between your thighs, and then two fingers are teasing your hole. Joel tilts his head to watch the way he spreads your folds wide. “Gonna fill this up.”

A strangled noise spills from your mouth, your cheeks burning hot at the way he exposes you so tenderly. “Please,” you croak, hiding your face in the crook of your elbow.

He grasps himself and teases the already-wet head of his cock over your pussy, spurting precum onto your hole. “You want a baby?” he asks, low and dark. You luxuriate in the velvet-soft tone. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want a baby,” you whisper, “please. Please give me a baby.”

He readies himself at your tight cunt and the excitement briefly overcomes him, forcing his hips forward and pushing past the wet, gummy seal of your pussy. You gasp, held in place by his hand on your hip.

“What. Do. You. Want?”

“I want to make you a daddy!” you sob. “I want to have your baby and make you a daddy.”

“You want to be a momma?” he says through his teeth, tunnel vision narrowing his focus to the way he slowly guides himself into you, wrenching you open. At this angle, with how wet you are, the glide is delicious, white-hot, his balls heavy with the need to empty inside you. “That it? Want everyone to know who put a fuckin’ baby in you?”

Your husband is so fucking big, so strong, and the way he pins your body down feels close to primal. “Yes! Yes, Daddy, yes! I want to be a momma. Please give me a baby.”

The words put a chisel to his self-restraint and crack down. He’s gone, baring his teeth, pulling your hips toward him and impaling you on his cock, relishing the give of your tight walls and the way he sits snug against your cervix. You mewl, reaching back to find a purchase on his hip. “Joel, fuck…”

He establishes a punishing pace, driving your body farther up the bed with every thrust. “That’s it,” he groans, sliding his palm up your spine. “Gonna look so goddamn beautiful with a baby in you. You were fuckin’ made to take this cock.”

Your moan is syrupy and pitched low, your cheek buried in the mattress, letting him fill you up again, again, again—

“I’ll get you fuckin’ pregnant,” continues Joel, panting through his words, sweat beading on his brow as he runs his hands over your skin. “Stuff you so goddamn full you'll always feel me.”

“Uhhh!” you moan, fisting the sheets, your body practically folded in half to accommodate your husband’s huge body, his thick cock.

Joel wants this, too—has for a long time. It’s hard not to notice the little details. He places his hand on your belly when he isn't even paying attention, his lips finding the soft skin there when he first wakes in the morning. You knew he would have dropped everything to give you a baby the second you demanded it, but you realise you may have underestimated his need.

Joel is growling like a dog, sweat dripping from his temples and back pinching with effort as he holds your body close, glueing you to him, his cock reaching deep, deliberate, mind going numb, intent the only tangible feeling he can grasp onto. Intent and the white-hot drag of his cock against your walls.

You’re going to grow swollen and round with his baby. He will watch your tits grow heavy, your belly bulge, your cheeks take on a ruddy, dewy glow, the telltale mark of his success, his devotion. He’ll wake up every morning wrapped in the scent of your body, your hormones, his palm finding sanctuary on your soft, warm belly. He’ll bury his face in your throat and you’ll smile and the sun will warm the golden spot where a new life grows.

Fuck, he’ll never let you do laundry again. You could hurt your back.

Your head spins at the wet slap of his balls against your clit, the obscene squelch of your pussy around his impressive length, the way he grabs at you. He’s greedy, hands mapping each rib, each vertebrae, every curve and contour that makes you.

Your pussy sucks him in, just as needy, breathless moans and squeals punching out of your throat as you croak out pleas: Joel, baby, please. I want a baby so badly. Wanna have your baby. Please, please, fill me up! And Joel listens, his palm sliding around your waist and down your belly, rubbing your sensitive clit with two fingers.

A real man gives his wife everything she wants.

He moans at the feeling of your cunt squeezing him, his fingers wet and insistent against your little clit, coaxing you toward your climax. “C’mon,” he grunts, “come for me, baby. Fuckin’ choke me. Wanna feel it. Come and I’ll give you the baby you want so goddamn bad. C’mon, baby.”

His words seep into your bloodstream, an uncontrollable tremor racking your body, your arms giving out as he bends over you and sinks his teeth into your shoulder. “Ohhhh, God! Oh my—!”

Joel’s hands squeeze your tits, his entire body covering yours, a warm, protective blanket, slick with sweat and heart thundering against your back. His lips are on your skin, feverishly kissing and nipping. You can’t breathe, can’t move, and it feels so fucking good. You soak his cock, muscles seizing, pinned down by his strong body.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he groans. “That’s it, baby. Goddamn, keep on squeezin’ me like that. Not gonna leave this tight pussy until you're fuckin’ pregnant.”

“Joelllll,” you whine, your orgasm prolonged by his words, his unrelenting thrusts, the jolt of his balls slapping your clit. “Want it so bad. Wanna give you a baby. Come inside me, please. Please give me your cum, oh, God—”

The broken sound of your voice, weak and raspy, goes straight to his dick, and his balls are pulling up, his head bombarded with the smell of sex, perfume, linen, you. He rests his forehead between your shoulder blades as you milk his cock, turning his thrusts sloppy and desperate. He needs to come. He needs to make it real.

Your orgasm leaves you pliant and loose in his arms, and he fondles your tits, squeezing them hard in his hands as he pictures them growing, swelling heavy with milk he’ll feed your baby. His baby. Idly, you moan, letting him use your body to get off, his teeth grazing your neck.

“Gonna come. Gonna fuckin’ fill you up, give you a baby. Gonna—Jesus, goddamn—”

Maybe it's the pent-up frustration of not having come all day. Maybe it's a renewed sense of purpose, knowing he's got a job to do, keeping every drop safe inside you. Maybe it's the sheer fucking excitement of getting to give his wife what he's wanted to put in you for so long. But when he comes, hips flush to your ass, he comes so much, for so long, that the rapid rush of blood from his cock back up to his head has him nearly keeling.

Kissing your cervix, the head of his cock spurts rope after rope of hot cum inside you, and you mewl, your back arching to deepen the angle, luxuriate in the liquid warmth. Joel isn’t so loud now, not so cocky. He’s reduced to strained groans and whimpers as your body depletes him, greedily taking every drop of cum he has to offer.

It feels like minutes before it finally stops, but with your ass up in the air, none of his cum spills out. Your hips are sore, your ass bruises from his hands, your tits still sitting warmly in his hands. The cool kiss of his wedding band soothes the too-hot press of his body on top of yours, your doubly-slick skin meeting indecently. His lips are on the back of your neck and he thrusts shallowly, wringing the last of his cum from the tip until he's wholly empty and bordering on oversensitive.

You're the first to speak, your throat clogged with drool and some of your own tears.

“Thank fuck I was at the bar that night.”

Joel’s laugh scrapes down your spine along with his beard as he drags himself upright, knowing he’s crushing you. “Never would've had to patch me up”

“Mmm, you're sexy when you're mad,” you point out, your thighs twitching as he carefully guides you onto your side, back to his chest, his cock still acting as a plug for his cum. You’re deliciously full, and you hum happily at the feeling of his warm belly against you, his big arms cradling you close.

“Shouldn't enable violence,” he grumbles. His lashes flutter against your shoulder.

You roll your eyes. “Oh, please.”

He chuckles. “You feel okay?”

“I feel good,” you muse, running your fingers along his forearm, the prominent veins under his skin. “I feel excited.”

His grin curves against your skin, the scratch of his moustache sending a shiver up your spine. Outside, the sun begins to dip, and your twin golden rings glimmer in the fiery light.

“Me, too,” he whispers, and you lace your fingers through his, squeezing, both of you practically giddy.

There’s a lull, and for a moment, you think he’s fallen asleep. The sun creeps behind a home across the street, and its watch ends for another day.

“Hey, Joel?”

His mouth meets your throat in a sleepy kiss. “Yeah, baby?”

“I like the name Sarah.”

THE END.

tags: @cavillscurls @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @cupofjoel @northernbluess @tieronecrush @joelmillers-whore @bastardmandennis - thank you all so so much for showing excitement for this fic!! kisses for you all 🫶

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lol-im-done · 8 months

Text

killer queen | joel miller x fem!reader

'Your baseball bat looked like a flash of quicksilver in the air, lethal and swift. Blood splattered across its surface like a Jackson Pollock painting, and you the artist.'

'Joel watched as a wide harlequin smile stretched across your plump lips and it made his stomach drop. The fingers that would gently brush through his curls now pushed into the man’s eye sockets.'

His Killer Queen

tags: smut, unprotected sex, PiV, overprotectiveness, falling in love, comfort & fluff, soft!Joel, intense & explicit descriptions of violence, angst, death/murder, talks of child/infant death, trauma, mention/reference to sexual assault, memory loss, ptsd, age gap, badass reader, swearing, jealousy, limited use of (Y/N), 18+ Minors Do Not Interact!

author's note: hello! i was heavily inspired by this great quote- ‘I don’t believe in the glorification of murder, I do believe in the empowerment of women’ . this is my interpretation of a multifaceted traumatized character in the last of us world. reader is in late her twenties. please read the tags, this is a mature story with upsetting themes!

word count: 6k & AO3 link

Boston QZ

“We can’t make it that far out without-,”

“Tess.”

“Joel.”

The old man watched the standoff with little interest as he puffed away at his cigar, the pair of smugglers before him both equally determined to make each other see reason. They had been going back and forth in a fiery manner, deciding if they could do this job. Tess huffed in annoyance, sometimes she wondered how she put up with Joel Miller. They had only recently decided to take up smuggling after Tommy ran off to join the Fireflies. This run and subsequent trade would help establish them as smugglers in Boston and make the necessary connections.

“You guys scared or something?” Rick, their new contact, chuckled as he exhaled smoke.

Tess shot him a glare, sharp as a knife. “Sorry if I’m not excited to go into what’s been called the most densely populated area of infected asshole.”

Rick put his hands up in mock surrender, “If you’re so worried about the infected, I got someone who can help,” he offered.

“We don’t need help,” Joel snapped, eyebrows furrowing over his eyes at the thought of even having to interact with another person. The last thing he wanted was to have to deal with someone who he didn’t know. No one could be trusted.

“If you want to make it back to the QZ alive you will.”

The finality of Rick’s tone made Tess lean in closer to Joel, speaking in a hushed tone. “We don’t know the area well enough, if this person is going to get us through alive we need that.” Joel, exhausted as he was, had no argument with that so he gave a terse nod in agreement.

“I’ll let her know you’re on your way. She can be a bit of a character, but she’s a nice one....just don’t get on her bad side,” Rick warned before pushing a card with a small map of the QZ drawn in the middle.

That’s how they found themselves waiting for their so-called ‘backup’, faces stoic and eyes narrowed to ensure they showed no signs of weakness. But on the inside Joel’s stomach twisted in nervous knots, anxiety making his fingers tingle as he thought about all the ways this could go wrong. His racing thoughts were interrupted by incoming footsteps, Joel’s hand going to his gun instinctively but it went slack the moment he laid eyes on you.

Today was going to be a good day, you had decided. The water from the shower had actually reached a warm temperature, you had eaten a fresh peach this morning, a gift from your neighbor. The sweet taste had made nostalgia wash over you but you couldn’t quite place the memory which wasn’t much of a surprise. There were no clear memories of your life from before the Outbreak. Occasional flashes accompanied by migraines, a vague concept that you had indeed had a life but no names, locations, only blurred faces. There were only the days and years afterwards. Hoping today would only bring you good fortune and not another injury or scar to add to your collection you hummed under your breath looking forward to the prospect of going outside of the QZ, an opportunity for a new book or knick knack.

Joel wasn’t sure who he was expecting but it wasn’t a woman holding a metal baseball bat, an array of rings adorning your fingers. The early morning sun made you almost glow, the relaxed smile on your face curving the lightning shaped scar that ran from your cheek down to your soft jaw. The first thing you noticed about the man in front of you was his handsome features- proud nose and wild curls that kissed his ears. The plaid shirt he wore stretched across his broad shoulders and his stance exuded power. Then your eyes met his and the sounds of the QZ went quiet around you, the pounding of Joel’s heart no longer from anxiety.

“Rick send you?”

Tess’ interruption was intentional as she stepped in front of Joel, her voice taking a territorial edge. Both you and Joel blinked harshly, snapping back to reality and to the matter at hand.

“Yup,” your eyes flitted over to the woman who looked at you with only suspicion.

“You got a name?” Tess asked. “I’m Tess and this is Joel,” she jerked her thumb over towards where he stood. Joel watched as you twirled your bat in your hand, bouncing it off the ground like a little game before answering- “People call me a lot of things- but I’m mostly known as Quinn. Something about some old comic book character.”

Tess was not impressed by your nonchalant manner, crossing her arms with a grimace. Joel on the other hand saw something different, a quiet confidence in your stance and by the way you held that bat he had a feeling you knew how to use it. It only took you a few seconds to assess them, satisfied by your intuition and the knowledge that you had the upper hand out there you beckoned them forward.

“We don’t want to waste time, let’s get going.”

“Wait, we're going now? We need to plan out the route-,” Tess tried to say.

“You must have looked at the map Rick showed you, right?” you turned to face them, eyebrows quirked upwards.

“We did,” Joel replied. You weren’t prepared for the sound of his rich Southern accent, it threatened to make you blush.

“Then you know where you’re supposed to go. I’m simply the tour guide,” you turned to continue walking, leaving them no choice but to follow. As they made it to what seemed like their main exit out of the QZ they encountered their first obstacle.

A man with a scraggly beard emerged from behind some plywood that covered one of the exits. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Just helping some friends through,” you replied easily.

“You don’t have any friends,” he retorted.

“Haha. You got funnier since the last time I broke your nose,” you grinned and Joel felt his lips twitch in amusement against his will.

“Watch yourself Quinn, you’re lucky Rick gives me a cut or I’d bash your pretty little face in.”

Immediately Joel felt his fists clench up unwittingly at the man’s words and Tess shifted uneasily. In a strangely calm manner you simply pointed your bat at his face- “Do it then.”

Joel felt his heart start to race at the suddenly dangerous tone of your voice, a flash of fear going through the man's eyes. Visibly deflating in defeat he stepped aside, “Keep moving.”

“You’re the best!”

“Fuck you.”

Turning back to Joel and Tess you gave them an enthusiastic thumbs up and they scrambled to follow you, keen to avoid conflict. Tess looked at you a little differently after that interaction, perhaps she had underestimated you. As they continued on Joel found himself trying to memorize every turn, crawl space and opening in fences that you led them through. It took them a while but the three of you had finally made it out into the ruins of the city.

“FEDRA guards won’t usually come past here,” you pointed at two collapsed buildings that leaned against one another. “After this point we’ll find a variety of infected,” you continued to explain before the expression on your face turned serious. “Out here and in the city outskirts there’s bound to be gangs, raiders, people who won’t hesitate to kill you. You guys probably know that by now.”

Even speaking those words you had to force yourself to take a deep breath. Infected you could handle...other people not so much. Joel stiffened at your words, guilt simmering in his stomach so he turned away. “So it's very important that you follow my lead from here on out. I don’t enjoy having to leave people out here.” Tess and Joel shared an uneasy stare at that.

Joel tried his best to mimic your footsteps as you jumped over cordyceps vines, crouching and crawling in a graceful, practiced manner. Soon after that they had found the abandoned pharmacy which had been obviously picked though, but Rick had insisted there were goods to be found.

“Not gonna give us a clue where we can find the stash?” Tess asked, pushing a desk over. Joel looked over at you as you sat on the counter munching on what seemed to be a piece of chocolate.

“I’m just the tour guide,” you reminded them. Joel was actually surprised to see a flicker of mirth on Tess’ face before it became impassive again. It seemed everything was going to plan, the stash of medications was found and they were quietly making their way through a warehouse when an all too familiar click and sound of screeches met their ears- runners and two clickers closing in from either side.

“I’ll leave you two to handle the clickers,” was all you said before you ran head on towards the runners with a determined glint in your eye. Joel and Tess had no chance to protest, guns and hunting knives coming out for the kill.

Joel couldn’t help but stare in wonder once he had finished off the clicker, his heart pounding under his flannel both from the adrenaline and what he was witnessing. Your baseball bat looked like a flash of quicksilver in the air, lethal and swift. Blood splattered across its surface like a Jackson Pollock painting, and you the artist. It wasn’t just the force behind each swing but the agility you seemed to use to bring down each one. The infected that surrounded you didn’t stand a chance as you swung your bat into their knees making them crumple in half before you bashed their heads in with a grunt. He found himself wondering where you had learned how to fight like that while simultaneously entranced by your hair swirling around you like a halo.

It was moments like these that you were transported back to the dark past that haunted you, where you had been forced to fight to the death against other prisoners. Those fighting cages where your captors would toss a few of you into the ring to see who would get bit or torn to bits by the infected that chased after you. Here though, you could fight those memories with every swing of your bat. Screams, blood, screeches, sound of tearing flesh, more blood- you were knocked out of these flashbacks when you rolled backwards, sending your bat clattering to the side. Much to Joel’s surprise he felt a surge of panic for you but with an ease few had, you rolled onto one knee, hand flashing with a knife you procured from a fold in your jacket. The knife went flying through the air and hit the runner dead in the eye sending it crashing to the ground.

Once you regained your balance with a deep breath, you reached where its limp body had landed moving to grab your knife but something else caught your eye. “Nice,” you grinned. “Score!” you waved the copy of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire in the air, before running over to an out of breath Joel and shaken Tess.

“You two good?” you tilted your head, concern evident in your tone. They exchanged a disbelieving look before letting out laughs of relief.

“Yeah we’re good,” Joel sighed wiping the sweat off his forehead.

“Alright then, keep up old man,” you winked at Joel, missing the glare Tess sent you.

That should have been the end of it, they had secured a connection into the smuggling sector of Boston and made it back alive thanks to you. Tess had offered you a few ration cards upon your return but you simply waved your book insisting it was payment enough. You were a character alright, Joel thought. As the weeks went on the image of you fighting wouldn’t leave his mind. The juxtaposition of your soft smile, playful smirk, and violent display of skill replayed in his mind as he repeated the mindless tasks at his job site. There was a small sense of disappointment he desperately tried to ignore when you hadn’t joined them on another run but to his luck he began to encounter you on the occasional work assignment and daily life. He wasn’t sure what to make of you at first. He noticed that you tended to isolate yourself from the majority of the population, but everytime you approached him you seemed to genuinely want to engage in conversation. Had it been anyone else he would have told them to fuck off or sent them running with his signature glare. It had been your never ending supply of smiles and tangents on the most random of topics that began to soften his attitude towards you. You couldn’t help but feel drawn to his quiet nature, there were so many emotions lurking in his eyes and old smile lines that made you feel at ease. Somewhere in between your lively chatter and his occasional grunts of acknowledgement you had become friends. It wasn’t a partnership based on trades or acquaintanceship by sheer happenstance, you enjoyed spending time with him and Joel actually liked you.

Joel knew he was treading dangerous ground when he felt an unfamiliar sensation of warmth in his chest when you’d call him ‘cowboy’ once he revealed he was from Texas. He would never voice these feelings, especially to Tess who he felt himself becoming more distant with. While the terms of their relationship were clear, sex between them had once been quite regular but ever since meeting you he couldn’t bring himself to think about that with Tess and it quickly tapered off. She voiced no opinion or objection on the matter even though she knew precisely why, both of them now focusing solely on smuggling. Joel thought that the no strings attached type of relationship was the only thing he would ever allow himself but every minute spent with you made his heart yearn for more. It terrified him and thrilled him in equal measure.

Against his better judgment he found himself asking others about you, discreetly of course and under the guise that he needed to know more about a potential smuggling partner. Joel Miller understood loss; painful, world shattering loss that left one roaming the earth like a tortured soul. He also understood that in this new world, everyone would be forced to do things they’d never imagine doing, unimaginable things. None of this prepared him for what he learned. It was undisputed that you were a successful smuggler, that you were a force to be reckoned with inside and out of the QZ. While many would say you had a penchant for violence, they could concede that you had some semblance of a moral code. This was clouded by the stories that followed behind you like a trail of smoke. Someone swore they had seen you fight your way through more than a dozen infected with just your silver bat and sheer will to survive, bathed in blood and gore. Others claimed you were prone to bouts of hysteria, going into blind rampages that had resulted in you killing some people in the last QZ you lived in. Some even claimed to know of stories of you as far back as the start of the Outbreak - “Heard she started to lose it after having to kill her own sister and brother when they got bit. Then she got captured by some slavers…you know how that went. Must have been enough since she sliced all their guts open. Left them out like some deranged warning.” The stories only became more callous after that- “Got pregnant…not by choice of course. She killed it after it was born.”

Joel never gave these stories much merit, people liked to make up stories since they had nothing better to do. The only one he could believe was you taking on all those infected, he had seen it himself. That all began to change after one night. Side by side you walked through the busy street, stifling back a yawn. You leaned closer to him as you told him about your day but something made you freeze mid sentence. Joel stumbled into you with an apology on the tip of his tongue until he followed your gaze. The soft babble of the baby, a flash of a memory- Sarah swaddled in his arms the night she was born, made his heart lurch. Babies were a rarity these days, not many were born in the QZ and even fewer survived. When he regained his senses he looked around to find you but you had disappeared. Following his instinct he found himself in a dark alleyway around the corner where he heard heaving sobs. There you were, arms wrapped around yourself and leaning against the wall as you shook from the panic that overtook your body. Before he could stop himself Joel had you in his arms, his strong arms anchoring your body.

“I- I- my baby--,” you choked out incoherently, hands clutching your stomach as phantom pain engulfed your body and flashbacks made your head pound. It was a curse that your mind could not wash away the terrible memories of her loss like it had washed away the memories of your past life. Her birth was your biggest joy and her death was your greatest sorrow, one that had left you on the brink of madness. Slowly the drag of Joel’s calloused hands along your back began to bring you out of it, the flow of tears slowing and breathes returning to normal.

“I know darlin’ I know,” Joel sighed against your temple, the term of endearment coming out naturally. He didn’t need to know exactly what had happened but now he understood. Tears gathered in his own eyes at the thought that you had gone through the same pain he felt after losing Sarah. Tethered by this shared loss, you stood there wrapped together in a blanket of grief. Burrowing yourself deeper into his arms you felt real comfort for the first time in years.

The following day he spotted you in front of your apartment building, your eyes still red rimmed and vulnerable. He was uncertain of the way to approach you and when you caught his eye you bit your lip overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze. Eventually you tilted your heads towards a small bench nearby. After last night it was clear that something shifted in your relationship, what was a friendship was now on the precipice of becoming something else entirely. Something the two of you were not entirely sure how to approach.

“Quinn-,”

“(Y/N). My name is (Y/N).”

Joel felt his heart skip a beat, emotion filling his chest and in return for the precious gift of your name, he grasped your cheek not caring who saw. He audibly gulped, struggling to put together these newfound feelings into words, so utterly terrified of messing it all up.

“I don’t know how this will go. I can’t promise you that the QZ will always be safe, but I will be by your side and do everything I can to protect you,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “Fuck. I realize I can’t control anything and that’s why I’ve been so scared of getting closer to you but I want to try, try for us,” Joel finished.

“I’m by your side, always,” you whispered back. A press of your forehead against his sealed this promise. There was no denying it, you were truly, madly and deeply in love with Joel Miller.

The next few weeks went by as normal as normal could be for you and Joel. Days spent on trade runs, evenings wrapped in each other's arms or swaying to the sound of your eclectic record collection. He had even introduced you to Bill and Frank one weekend, wanting you to experience the delicacy of their cooking and the soft cotton sheets even if for one night. But normalcy never lasted forever. Not for you. Joel waited at your usual table at DeMarco’s bar, Tess shuffling cards beside him with a cigarette dangling from her lips. She didn’t even bother to start a conversation, saving her gossip for your impending arrival. Joel was beginning to get restless, wanting nothing more than to have you close to his side with a hand gripping your waist like a dragon coveting his treasure. He knew you enjoyed this, a smirk always gracing your features as he stared down anyone he caught eyeing you. The bell above the door let out its usual jingle but there was no dazzling smile or off kilter attempt at a joke. Tempestuous was the only way to properly describe the tight frown of your mouth, emotionless eyes and aura of danger. Anyone in your vicinity scattered hoping they were not the object of your ire. Joel managed to intercept you as you made your way towards the back of the bar, trying to whisper your name but it didn’t seem to register.

“I know what they say about me,” you whispered, not able to meet his eyes. “They say I’m a monster, that I’m demented, but there’s worse out there…the ones who made me into this.”

“Sweetheart what’s going on-.”

“I have to finish this.”

As if in a trance you slipped from his grasp, grabbing an empty beer bottle from a table, cracks beginning to stretch across its neck. There was only one thought in your mind, one purpose- to make him pay. Joel watched as you walked towards a man whose face morphed into sheer terror once he saw the bottle swinging towards his head. People jumped at the sound of shattering glass and the pained cries from the man made the hairs on Joel’s arm stand straight up. Joel tried to reach you but your words- I have to finish this and Tess’ grip on him kept him at bay. Taking advantage of your target’s shock you swung your fist at his face, relishing in the resounding crack. He cursed before sending a punch to your cheek that made your face whip sideways resulting in a violent struggle on top of one of the tables. Eventually you both rolled to the ground ignoring the sting of glass that pressed into your knees. You clutched his shirt in your hands to ground yourself for a moment. There was no doubt it was him, the man who haunted your dreams, the only one that had escaped you.

“I thought- ugh- you were dead,” he choked out as blood spilled out of his mouth and you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you.

“I wish I was Travis but yet here I am,” you leaned closer. “I knew you were out there somewhere surviving like some roach. After I finished off your little friends-,”

“You slaughtered them-,” he tried to protest, another punch to his face shutting him up. In this moment all you felt was unbridled rage, all you could see before you was the man that had imprisoned and tortured you for years. Here was one of the men that had robbed you of any chance at a normal existence.

“Do you understand what you put me through?” you hissed, digging your fingers into his neck feeling the muscles constrict as he desperately tried to suck in oxygen. “You and those fucking slavers destroyed the person I was. Made me kill other fucking people for your sick entertainment,” you pressed harder into his neck. A sudden flashback made you shudder- the contractions, all the blood, your screams of pain before her first breaths.

“Then you took her from me, you made me kill my daughter. You thought you were a fucking saint for that, that it was a mercy letting me smother her instead of leaving her out in the blizzard.” Joel had managed to inch closer and it gave him the ability to hear every detail, his heart shattered at your words. It all became clear, the pieces of your tragic past falling together.

“Stupid crazy bitch,” Travis managed to choke out.

“I’m not fucking stupid!” you roared, giving him a rough shake. Travis’ pathetic whimpers were like music to your ears, satisfaction filled you as you watched tears pool in his eyes before cascading over his pale skin.

“No- no don’t cry,” you cooed, smoothing your fingers across his eyelids. Joel watched as a wide harlequin smile stretched across your plump lips and it made his stomach drop. The fingers that would gently brush through his curls now pushed into the man’s eye sockets. A buzzing sound rang in your ears, drowning out the ear splitting scream of your abuser as you squeezed tighter and tighter. This went on and on until his body went limp beneath you, hands now soaked in crimson blood. Distantly you could hear the sound of someone vomiting, chairs screeching as people ran out of the bar in case FEDRA showed up. You didn’t even seem to register Joel as you stood up with a sigh. Tess pushed past the nausea she felt, gripping Joel’s arm trying to get them out of there but his eyes were latched onto you unable to look away. Taking a seat at a nearby table you took a demure sip of water, hand relaxed at your side with blood pooling down onto the ground. As if nothing had ever happened you began to hum along to the song that came from the jukebox.

She’s a killer queen

Gunpowder, gelatine

Dynamite with a laser beam

Guaranteed to blow your mind

Motherfucker got his mind blown alright.

“Go, we’ll handle this and get her home,” the owner, Mr. DeMarco frantically pushed Joel and Tess out of the door before locking it tightly behind them.

“Let’s go!” Tess cried and left with no choice; he let her drag him off.

Back at Tess’ apartment, they sat at the table, statuesque in their silence as they processed what they had witnessed.

“I don’t get it,” Tess finally spoke, running a hand through her hair.

“What don’t you get?”

“How you can want her,” Tess replied coldly. Joel’s head snapped towards her, indignation filling him to the brim. “Look I get it we’re not perfect, no one is. We’re all fucked up, but she’s-,”.

“Don’t say another fucking word-” Joel growled, pointing his finger at her in warning.

“She’s twisted. Broken and twisted back into something barely human.”

Joel felt anger surge through his body at Tess’ words, the same ones so many others had said about you. None of them truly knew you or what you had been through, none of them had any right to judge you.

“I'm sorry to say it Joel but someone has to.”

“You ain’t sorry about shit. You’re just like everyone else, thinking she’s crazy-,”

“She is! She’s not even afraid of dying! She practically welcomes it with open arms,” Tess slammed her hand on the table.

“I’m not going to keep listening to this bullshit Tess. You don’t know her like I do. I know who she is,” Joel growled.

“Does she even know what she is? At least I know what I am. I don’t put on this mask of sweet smiles before I go off and squish a man’s head in,” she snapped.

“That is who she is, Tess. Don’t you get it? You think it’s some mask? A way to deceive people? You’re more blind than I thought,” Joel hissed. How could he explain to Tess that there was humanity in your hands that were bathed in blood? How could he put into words that for the first time since he had lost everything, he had found someone who truly saw him. Sending her a final glare he stood up and went out to find you hoping he hadn’t lost you.

True to his word, Mr. DeMarco had somehow gotten you to your apartment. Guilt constricted Joel’s chest, he felt like a coward for allowing them to push him out and then running away from the bar, from you. Using the spare key you had gifted him he entered and there you lay limp on your bed, the blood from your hands staining the sheets beneath you. He knew there was no use in trying to get a word out of you, your eyes were open but there was nothing behind them. With care he didn’t know he still possessed he spent the next hour cleaning you up and tending to your wounds. Diligently he fished out the pieces of glass from your knees with a practiced hand. Joel made sure to ply you with plenty of water before getting you under the spray of the shower, careful to avert his eyes from your naked form. As he finished wrapping your bruised hands, the light slowly returned to your eyes as you lay swaddled in a blanket next to, pressing closer to him.

“I’ll tell you that story one day. Not tonight but soon. I’ll tell you about the people who took me, what they did to me, what I did to them. Then I’ll tell you about her.”

Joel jumped in surprise not expecting to hear your voice tonight. There was no evidence in your tone that you were upset with him but a knot formed in his throat regardless.

“Darling I’m so fucking sorry-,”.

“Don’t- Joel you have nothing to be sorry for,” you stopped him, getting up on your knees so that you were eye level with him. “I had to do that, there was no choice for me. The best thing you could have done was to let me do it and you did,” you whispered. The blanket that was once wrapped around you was beginning to slip from your shoulders.

“I shouldn’t have left you there alone,” he hung his head.

“It was safer for you to leave if FEDRA had shown up. The DeMarco’s handled it though so I think we owe them,” you tilted his chin up. “Probably need to replace Manny DeMarco’s jacket, left a bunch of blood on him when he carried me back here,” you whispered, relishing in the flash of surprise in Joel’s eyes. His hands traveled up to your hips, squeezing the flesh there.

“He carried you?”

Joel knew that Manny, Mr. DeMarco’s son, had harbored a crush on you for as long as they had frequented the bar and the thought of another man carrying you made jealousy churn in his stomach.

“I know what you’re thinking Joel, but my act of vengeance probably scared him off for good poor kid,” you chuckled before your eyes filled with uncertainty. “Did I scare you off?” you whispered. Joel gripped you tighter, eyebrows furrowing in incredulity.

“Scare me off? Baby no, fuck I was scared shitless watching you fight but I ain’t ever leaving your side. I promised you that and nothing you did changes that,” Joel presses you closer to him, your breasts pressing against his chest. The blanket was now slipping into dangerous territory and something began to simmer low in your stomach at his voice. The emotional weight of his words and reassurance of his love made you certain of this next step.

“Joel,” you beg, hands clutching at his shoulders.

The breathlessness of your voice, the way you shimmy the blanket off revealing yourself to him makes Joel’s mind go blank. He had always been intentional in making sure he never pushed your boundaries, the furthest thing you had welcomed was a deep kiss. Now his eyes roam over your body appreciating every curve, freckle, birthmark he can spot. Carefully his fingers trace the old scars, evidence of everything you battled in your life. He kisses a particularly rough one, an old brand mark over your rib making your eyes glisten with tears.

“I haven’t- not since-,” you stammered, shaking those memories from your head.

“I know,” Joel whispered, wishing he could find all those men who had hurt you and make them pay but he knew that you had already finished the job. You, his beautiful brave girl.

“We don’t have to do any of this you know,” Joel whispered, hand coming to your cheek, stroking your lightning mark as he calls it.

“I never had a choice with them and before the outbreak…I don’t remember if I even had any of this. But I want this, I want you. Please,” you assured him. That’s all Joel needed, hands coming to roam across your ass before rocking your soaked core across his clothed cock. The act made your head spin, wetness gushing out of you and nipples hardening. Before you could plead for more, Joel had carefully maneuvered you onto your back careful not to aggravate your wounds. Your mouth opened in wonder as he quickly removed his clothes before coming to hover over you. Joel hoped you weren’t disappointed in him but by the way you licked your lips hungrily any self consciousness disappeared. He wanted nothing more than to take his time with you, but you were making it clear you did not have the patience for that today.

“Darlin’ let me at least open you up,” Joel kissed down your neck and you squirmed before nodding quickly. His thick fingers prodded at your entrance, your hips coming down to grind down on them. Joel cursed under his breath as he slipped one in before your greedy cunt practically begged for another finger, your cries mingling with his ragged breaths. Finally he felt you were prepared enough so he withdrew his fingers and aligned his hips to yours making you whine.

“Inside me please.”

Joel moaned loudly into your ear as his cock pressed into you, giving you time to adjust as your cunt stretched to fit him in. He grasped the base of his length to keep himself from finishing too quickly at the sight of your head thrown back in pleasure, a keening cry escaping your swollen lips.

“Fuckin hell baby,” Joel groaned before you pull him down for a bruising kiss. This was the most intimate you had ever been with someone, his forehead pressed against yours with every roll of his hips as he pushes deeper and deeper. The bed is thumping rhythmically against the wall, the lewd sound of your wetness and combined moans filling the air. Joel felt himself nearing his climax, so his thumb goes to rub your clit in tight motions making your back arch. It only takes a few more minutes of this before you gasp as if dunked into icy water. With a cry of his name your walls flutter around him practically choking his cock, delicious heat spreading across your body as your orgasm overtakes you. Joel barely has time to pull out, groaning as his come spills across your stomach making you moan at the eroticism of the act. You don’t think you’ve seen Joel so relaxed a smile overtaking his features which makes you blush.

“I love you (Y/N).”

“I love you Joel.”

Joel is dutiful as he cleans you, peppering your skin in soft kisses, and soon he is back in bed behind you. As your heartbeats settle there is a peaceful silence in the room, even the apartment building was void of its usual distractions. Moonlight washes over your naked bodies like a blanket, illuminating your sweaty skin. You thought you were imagining it at first but then the soft rumble behind you turned into words. It was the most beautiful sound you had ever heard, Joel was singing to you. His voice was like velvet tickling against your ears, the warmth of his hands relaxing your body until you drifted off into the ocean of dreams.

110 notes · View notes

lol-im-done · 8 months

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killer queen | joel miller x fem!reader

'Your baseball bat looked like a flash of quicksilver in the air, lethal and swift. Blood splattered across its surface like a Jackson Pollock painting, and you the artist.'

'Joel watched as a wide harlequin smile stretched across your plump lips and it made his stomach drop. The fingers that would gently brush through his curls now pushed into the man’s eye sockets.'

His Killer Queen

word count: 6k & AO3 link

Boston QZ

“We can’t make it that far out without-,”

“Tess.”

“Joel.”

“You guys scared or something?” Rick, their new contact, chuckled as he exhaled smoke.

Tess shot him a glare, sharp as a knife. “Sorry if I’m not excited to go into what’s been called the most densely populated area of infected asshole.”

Rick put his hands up in mock surrender, “If you’re so worried about the infected, I got someone who can help,” he offered.

“If you want to make it back to the QZ alive you will.”

“Rick send you?”

Tess’ interruption was intentional as she stepped in front of Joel, her voice taking a territorial edge. Both you and Joel blinked harshly, snapping back to reality and to the matter at hand.

“Yup,” your eyes flitted over to the woman who looked at you with only suspicion.

“We don’t want to waste time, let’s get going.”

“Wait, we're going now? We need to plan out the route-,” Tess tried to say.

“You must have looked at the map Rick showed you, right?” you turned to face them, eyebrows quirked upwards.

“We did,” Joel replied. You weren’t prepared for the sound of his rich Southern accent, it threatened to make you blush.

A man with a scraggly beard emerged from behind some plywood that covered one of the exits. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Just helping some friends through,” you replied easily.

“You don’t have any friends,” he retorted.

“Haha. You got funnier since the last time I broke your nose,” you grinned and Joel felt his lips twitch in amusement against his will.

“Watch yourself Quinn, you’re lucky Rick gives me a cut or I’d bash your pretty little face in.”

Immediately Joel felt his fists clench up unwittingly at the man’s words and Tess shifted uneasily. In a strangely calm manner you simply pointed your bat at his face- “Do it then.”

Joel felt his heart start to race at the suddenly dangerous tone of your voice, a flash of fear going through the man's eyes. Visibly deflating in defeat he stepped aside, “Keep moving.”

“You’re the best!”

“Fuck you.”

“Not gonna give us a clue where we can find the stash?” Tess asked, pushing a desk over. Joel looked over at you as you sat on the counter munching on what seemed to be a piece of chocolate.

“You two good?” you tilted your head, concern evident in your tone. They exchanged a disbelieving look before letting out laughs of relief.

“Yeah we’re good,” Joel sighed wiping the sweat off his forehead.

“Alright then, keep up old man,” you winked at Joel, missing the glare Tess sent you.

“Quinn-,”

“(Y/N). My name is (Y/N).”

“I’m by your side, always,” you whispered back. A press of your forehead against his sealed this promise. There was no denying it, you were truly, madly and deeply in love with Joel Miller.

“I know what they say about me,” you whispered, not able to meet his eyes. “They say I’m a monster, that I’m demented, but there’s worse out there…the ones who made me into this.”

“Sweetheart what’s going on-.”

“I have to finish this.”

“I thought- ugh- you were dead,” he choked out as blood spilled out of his mouth and you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you.

“I wish I was Travis but yet here I am,” you leaned closer. “I knew you were out there somewhere surviving like some roach. After I finished off your little friends-,”

“Stupid crazy bitch,” Travis managed to choke out.

She’s a killer queen

Gunpowder, gelatine

Dynamite with a laser beam

Guaranteed to blow your mind

Motherfucker got his mind blown alright.

“Go, we’ll handle this and get her home,” the owner, Mr. DeMarco frantically pushed Joel and Tess out of the door before locking it tightly behind them.

“Let’s go!” Tess cried and left with no choice; he let her drag him off.

Back at Tess’ apartment, they sat at the table, statuesque in their silence as they processed what they had witnessed.

“I don’t get it,” Tess finally spoke, running a hand through her hair.

“What don’t you get?”

“Don’t say another fucking word-” Joel growled, pointing his finger at her in warning.

“She’s twisted. Broken and twisted back into something barely human.”

“I'm sorry to say it Joel but someone has to.”

“You ain’t sorry about shit. You’re just like everyone else, thinking she’s crazy-,”

“She is! She’s not even afraid of dying! She practically welcomes it with open arms,” Tess slammed her hand on the table.

“I’m not going to keep listening to this bullshit Tess. You don’t know her like I do. I know who she is,” Joel growled.

“Does she even know what she is? At least I know what I am. I don’t put on this mask of sweet smiles before I go off and squish a man’s head in,” she snapped.

“I’ll tell you that story one day. Not tonight but soon. I’ll tell you about the people who took me, what they did to me, what I did to them. Then I’ll tell you about her.”

Joel jumped in surprise not expecting to hear your voice tonight. There was no evidence in your tone that you were upset with him but a knot formed in his throat regardless.

“Darling I’m so fucking sorry-,”.

“I shouldn’t have left you there alone,” he hung his head.

“He carried you?”

Joel knew that Manny, Mr. DeMarco’s son, had harbored a crush on you for as long as they had frequented the bar and the thought of another man carrying you made jealousy churn in his stomach.

“Joel,” you beg, hands clutching at his shoulders.

“I haven’t- not since-,” you stammered, shaking those memories from your head.

“I know,” Joel whispered, wishing he could find all those men who had hurt you and make them pay but he knew that you had already finished the job. You, his beautiful brave girl.

“We don’t have to do any of this you know,” Joel whispered, hand coming to your cheek, stroking your lightning mark as he calls it.

“Inside me please.”

“I love you (Y/N).”

“I love you Joel.”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfiction #tlou #tlou fanfiction #tlou smut #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller x y/n

110 notes · View notes

lol-im-done · 9 months

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switching the positions

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: a collection of micro-fics chronicling the days of a very eventful week in the lives of you and joel miller (inspired by ariana grande's positions)

warnings: 18+ MDNI, pre-outbreak, established relationship, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, smut, unprotected piv, rough sex, oral (f&m receiving), 69ing, mutual/guided masturbation, edging, mild exhibitionism, consensual somnophilia, squirting, rimming, unplanned pregnancy, pregnancy kink, pregnant sex, panic attacks, mentions of parents, mentions of food

word count: 16.2k

moodboard by my sweet girl @cavillscurls ♡

a/n: whew, my pride and joy, a whole two months in the making. tysm to everyone who voted on the poll, and especially to @dinsdjrn for helping me tie this whole thing together and mya for listening to me yell about this for weeks. as always, thoughts and feedback are always appreciated!

SUNDAY

"Boy, I'm tryna meet your mama on a Sunday."

“She’s gonna hate me.”

“She’s not gonna hate you.”

Oh, you know this woman is going to hate you. It’s not that parents don’t like you. On the contrary, you actually get along great with people’s parents. Your friends’, your old roommate’s, your coworkers'—hell, even your own. It’s just that moms, specifically, can smell fear, and Joel’s mom is going to smell the terror wafting off of you from a mile away.

Not that it’s personal or anything. You’re pretty sure she’d hate anyone dating her baby boy. It’s like, a boy-mom thing. Still doesn’t make you feel any better about your boyfriend’s mom potentially hating you.

“Whose idea was this dinner again?” Because if it was Joel’s, then he can still reschedule or fake an illness or, better yet, call the whole thing off.

“Baby, you know it was hers,” he replies from his spot at the edge of the bed, where he’s been watching you pace the room and throw half the closet on the floor for the past hour. You shoot him an exasperated look.

“But did you have to say yes? Isn’t it kind of early for me to be meeting your mom anyway?”

He looks at you like you have ten heads, but you ignore him, debating two shirts in the mirror, then deciding they’re both terrible and adding them to the pile on the floor.

“It’s been a year and a half. If we wait any longer, she’ll be meetin’ you at the weddin’,” he sighs, running his hands frustratedly down his face. You pause your closet tornado to stare at him, wide-eyed, and he rolls his eyes. “I’m just sayin’, I think it’d be good for y’all to meet, is all.”

Good for who? Certainly not you. Honestly, this dinner could have serious repercussions for your relationship. It’s entirely possible she could convince him to break up with you after the night’s over. Or that you’re a bad role model and shouldn’t be allowed around Sarah anymore. Your stomach lurches violently at the thought. Then, it hits you—

“Okay, yeah, that’s fair enough—but have we thought about who’s gonna watch Sarah tonight? We can’t just leave her by herself, and I’m sure your mom would totally understand that,” you try to reason but, again, Joel’s not going for it.

“She’s 14 years old, I think she can handle a couple hours alone,” he deadpans. “Baby, c’mon, it’s not gonna be that bad. Please? Is it really too much to ask for the woman I love to meet my momma?”

You soften at that. Logically, you know he’s right and it’s not fair for you to keep giving him such a hard time. You’re also pre-judging someone really special to him, and now you feel like the shittiest girlfriend in the world.

“You’re right. I know you’re right—I’m sorry,” you sigh, wrapping your arms around yourself. You’re not sure why you’re feeling so insecure about all this. “I just want her to like me, you know?”

He nods, lips quirking into a small smile, and pats his lap. You fall into his arms and he rocks you for a moment, kissing your hair, then your cheek. The anxiety’s starting to subside and you’re grateful for him, your sweet boyfriend who never asks you for anything. Your eyes meet his, and he leans in to kiss you softly, deeply, then pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

“I know ya do,” he murmurs, rubbing soothing circles into your thigh. “And she will, alright? Just give her a chance like she’s givin’ you one.”

So, for Joel, you do. Turns out his mom is lovely and wonderful, just like her son, and now you have a lot to make up for.

MONDAY

"Then make a lotta love on a Monday."

It’s early and yet, somehow, you’re already awake and feeling like it’s going to be a good day. There’s no alarm clocks blaring, no feet stomping up and down the stairs. Just sweet, blissful sunlight, and it feels so good this morning. Warm and wet and, god, right there—please, keep going right there.

You reach out to feel its light against your hands and between your fingers, and it hums, sending sweet vibrations up your arms, all the way down to your thighs. Heat starts to bloom in your belly as the sun rises higher, burning hotter and hotter, and your fingers tense, tugging at its soft rays.

Everything feels so much wetter now, and there’s no way you’re not sweating right through your shirt and into the sheets. Even your underwear is soaked, your cunt pleasurably slick and dripping as you pant softly into your pillow.

Then, all of it suddenly intensifies and you’re enveloped by a wet, dextrous warmth that circles and circles, dipping into you, fucking into you, and suddenly, you’re so, so close—

And then you’re cumming with a loud sob, hips bucking with every spasm until something broad and strong splays across your stomach and pushes you back down into the sheets.

It's…you realize it’s Joel. Balmy and beautiful like the morning sun. He groans as you gush into his mouth, lapping up everything you give him, and you’re vaguely aware of the bed shifting under you as he grinds his hips into the mattress for relief.

“…B-baby? What—what’s going on…,” you slur sleepily, hands tugging harder at his hair as he continues to suckle your clit through the aftershocks. You whine at the oversensitivity, and he pulls off to press one last kiss to your heat before throwing the sheets off behind his head.

His eyes meet yours and, fuck, he looks wrecked. His hair is in complete disarray and his eyes are a little wild…and then there’s the giant tent in his boxers and that delicious wet spot that makes your mouth water. He doesn’t respond—just crawls up your body to crash his lips against yours, licking into your mouth, and all you can taste is yourself when his tongue brushes against yours.

You moan into his mouth as he grinds into your sensitive core, then parts from your lips just long enough to pull your sweat-soaked shirt up and over your head. The cool morning air feels like heaven against your feverish skin and, with the sheets gone, you can feel a cool breeze coming through the open window, amplified by the oscillating fan next to the bed.

Christ, he must be so pent up by now. Your brain is finally starting to clear from its post-sleep fog, and now you’re wondering how long he’s been between your legs, eating you out like you’re the heartiest breakfast he’s ever had in his life.

But that train of thought is quickly derailed when his lips find a new home around your nipple, sucking it into his mouth and circling his tongue around the nub until it hardens. The delicate skin feels especially tender, and you whimper quietly as the roughness of his beard scrapes against you. Your fingers thread back into his hair and you tug, urging him back up so you can feel his mouth on yours again.

“Joel, fuck me,” you murmur against his lips, and his breath hitches. “Wanna feel you—please.”

The sensitivity must’ve already subsided because your hips are steadily meeting his and you’re feeling so desperate to have him inside you. His cock feels heavy as he rubs himself against your slick cunt and, while the fabric provides the most incredible friction when it grazes your clit, you want him bare immediately.

“Now…ngh—now,” you whine, and you’re stunned he still has the patience to tease when he pulls away slightly to smirk down at you.

“Needy girl this morning, ain’t ya?” His voice is thick with sleep and so much desire, and it makes your still locked-down pussy clench painfully. “S’alright, baby, ‘m gonna give it to ya.”

Wrenching his boxers down, he grips under your legs to push both of your knees to your chest before nudging the blunt head of his cock against your entrance. He inches in just the tip and immediately lets out a whoosh of air.

“So fuckin’ tight, Jesus Christ,” he grits through his teeth, working himself in and out of you until he’s buried to the hilt, the coarse hair at the base of his cock brushing against you just right. He lingers for a brief moment, grinding into you deeply, languidly while you adjust to his girth.

"S'good. Feels good," you murmur, sighing contently. He's brushing that spot he can only reach when he fucks you like this, so you lock your ankles behind his back, silently telling him to stay. But it feels a little selfish, and you can feel how much he's holding back.

"Baby...I gotta move," he pants, trembling with the effort it's taking not to lengthen his thrusts. Pulling out slowly, he presses back into you deep enough to nudge that spot again, and your vision goes hazy. "Promise, I'll take care of ya—"

You moan in unison as you flutter around him, and he takes that as the go-ahead to continue, his cock reappearing wetter and shinier after every stroke. His skin is glistening, too, slick with sweat that runs down his temples and pools where your bodies connect.

The heat of him is addictive and it's everywhere—blooming in your chest, blazing between your legs, and igniting something fathomless inside you. But somehow, it's still not hot enough. You know he can give you more, your blindingly beautiful sun.

Wrapping your arms loosely around his shoulders, you squeeze your thighs into his sides to pull him flush against your body, and you can feel his heartbeat pounding through his chest. The steady rhythm matches his thrusts perfectly, but he's groaning so sweetly in your ear that you have a feeling it won't for long.

You belatedly realize how hard you're clenching around him, suddenly so close to tumbling over the edge for the second time this morning, and he redoubles his efforts to follow you.

"L-like that, keep going just like that," you encourage between sharp exhales. "That—that's it."

He braces a hand next to your head on the pillow to stabilize himself, and you wrap your fingers around his wrist, grounding yourself to him. His eyes meet yours fondly before he buries his face into the crook of your neck to do the same, panting heavily against your skin.

Soft, brown curls tickle your cheek, and you turn your head to nose into his hair, breathing him in. He smells earthy like freshly-mown grass and sawdust, and it fills your lungs, surrounding you just when you need it the most.

You gasp in his air, hips swiveling into his desperately as you chase your release. He's slamming directly into that spot now, pushing your knees back into your chest to reach even deeper, but his thighs are starting to tense.

"'m not gonna last long," he admits breathily, all but folding you in half so he can brush his lips against yours. "S'too good...gonna make me cum so hard."

"Please...please, please." Fuck, you want to feel it. To feel him pulsing inside you, filling you up so good, so much. "Joel, cum—please cum."

So close, you're so close. Your soft sighs have evolved into something louder and higher-pitched. Too loud for this early in the morning, and enough to wake up the entire house if you're not careful.

Joel seals his mouth over yours, swallowing every noise that escapes your lips as he pounds into you with purpose, dragging against your walls, and it's...fuck, you're—

Gushing, sobbing as you cum, and he groans, long and drawn out, immediately following you over the edge. Releasing your legs, he digs his fingers into your hips to hold you in place, keeping his cock buried deep inside you as you milk him dry.

"Fuck me," he exhales shakily, pumping into you twice before pulling out and collapsing on top of you. "Good fuckin' morning."

A breathy laugh bubbles out of your chest, but you immediately cringe at the feeling of his cum leaking out of you and onto the sheets. You wedge a hand between your bodies, reaching down to swipe your thumb between your folds and procure a glob that you suck wetly into your mouth.

"Very good fuckin' morning," you smile cheekily at the look of awe on his face. He shakes his head, chuckling as he wraps you up in his arms and rolls you over onto your sides. His chest expands into you with a massive yawn, and you're helpless but to mirror him.

"How much time we got until the alarm?" he mutters sleepily, sounding like he could pass out at any moment. You're craning your head back to check when—

The damn thing starts blaring before you can even catch a glimpse of the time. Not that you need to now—it's 6 a.m., your mortal enemy. You glare at the clock like it personally offended you, and Joel only chuckles, pulling you back down with him.

"Snooze it," he murmurs, mouthing damply at your neck, his hands exploring your soft, bare skin. "We still got time."

You barely hear him, already lost in the feeling of his fingers skimming up your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts. He leans over you to hit the button himself before returning to you, kissing you like you've both got all the time in the world.

Neither of you makes it to work on time.

TUESDAY

"Cookin' in the kitchen, and I'm in the bedroom."

The oven is broken. Probably. The stove, too. It’s really not your fault—all you did was turn some knobs and stand there, but for some reason, none of the burners are catching and the oven sure isn’t cooking this chicken like it’s supposed to.

You don't even like chicken but, for some ungodly reason, you've had a wicked craving for it lately. And Joel loves it, so. That explains why you’re in the kitchen, getting side-eyed by a very skeptical 14 year old, trying to cook a nice dinner for her very overworked father. It’s not going well.

“Did you hear it click when you tried turning it on?” Sarah asks patiently, and now it’s your turn to look skeptical.

“Uhh, the knob or the stove?” You eye the appliance dubiously like it’s doing whatever it’s doing on purpose. She laughs pointing to one of the burners.

“So, when you twist the knob, gas comes out of here,” she taps the grating around the burner, “and the clicking creates a spark that ignites the gas so it lights. Then, voila, you’ve got a working stove.”

“Oh,” you reply dumbly, looking back and forth between her and the stove until she finally gets the hint.

“Fine, fine. I can do it,” she rolls her eyes good-naturedly. And of course, the stupid thing works with zero issues when she does it. You give her a grateful smile before throwing the dirtiest glare you can muster at the oven.

“What do we do about that one? I guess I could try cooking the whole chicken in a big pan, but I can’t guarantee we won’t all die from food poisoning…,” you trail off, starting to feel a little useless.

It’s not like you’re completely inept in the kitchen. You can use a toaster or a microwave like a damn pro, and even the blender if you’re feeling especially adventurous, but you’ve never made a big meal like this before. Sarah likes to cook when you’re not ordering out, which admittedly is most of the time, so this was supposed to be something special for her, too.

“It’s the same general concept,” she says, still kind and patient as ever, squatting down to show you a different set of knobs. You observe her for a moment, missing the start of her explanation, because it’s times like these where you can see so much of Joel in her.

It’s that spark in her eyes when she gets to share bits of her well-earned knowledge. To use her expertise to teach someone something brand new. Joel gets the same look when he’s trying to teach you guitar. His eyes shine when you finally get a chord down, and he downright beams when you can finish an entire bar by yourself.

You must’ve zoned out for too long because she’s suddenly waving a hand in front of your face, smiling her dad’s sweet smile as she waits for your focus to return to the task at hand.

“Shit, I’m sorry. What did I miss?” you ask sheepishly. She nods to the oven, already lit and heating up to the required 400 degrees Fahrenheit for cooking baked chicken.

“All good! It’s set for whenever you’ve got the food prepped. You just have to wait for it to hit temperature—it’ll beep when it’s ready,” she says, walking around the kitchen island to grab her backpack.

…Wait. She’s leaving?

“Woah, wait, where are you going? You can’t leave yet,” you plead, still desperate for her help. “What if I burn the house down?”

“You’re not gonna burn down the house,” she snorts, already at the door tugging on her sneakers. “Just remember to turn off the burners and you’ll be fine. And save me some food!… Unless everyone gets sick, then maybe don’t.”

You shoot her a look of absolute betrayal, and she laughs, opening the front door and waving over her shoulder.

“See ya later! Good luck, I believe in you!”

And then she’s gone, and you’re left alone with your misery and a bunch of random ingredients you still have to magically make into a meal.

You slump against the counter, lamenting the loss of your sous chef until the oven beeps, scaring the shit out of you. Oh, great. You’ve barely even started seasoning the chicken. It can’t be that hard, right?

Twenty minutes later, you’re standing in front of a very peppery-looking raw chicken—which is officially disgusting again, you changed your mind—wishing you had just ordered Boston Market and lied about making it yourself. Lesson learned for next time. Like there’ll be a next time.

Well, at least no one can say you didn’t try. You throw a bunch of mixed vegetables into the bottom of the pan like the recipe says and pop it in the oven, setting the timer for 40 minutes and hoping for the best.

Glancing at the clock above the sink, you realize you’re cutting it close on time. You told Joel to be home by eight, which means he’ll probably actually get here at nine, and it’s already 7:30. Yikes. Time flies when you’re trying not to fuck up a dinner that was doomed from the start.

The last piece of the puzzle is thankfully the easiest. Now, mashed potatoes are definitely something you can make. Boiling water? Piece of cake. Pouring in the instant flakes from the box and adding butter? Done and done.

There’s no way anyone’ll be able to tell you didn’t make them from scratch unless they check the trash and, anyways, the instant stuff is better. You’ll go down with that ship.

Now for the pièce de résistance: the perfect evening attire. A cute, 50s-era apron you thrifted two weeks ago that’ll go over the teeny, tiny Victoria’s Secret lingerie set you’ve been hiding in the back of the closet.

Joel will probably think it’s hilarious, once he stops drooling. Hopefully you’ll even make it to dinner, otherwise, the stress of this entire afternoon was a totally moot point. But he’ll have to be a good boy and finish his food before he can have dessert—apple pie you definitely didn’t make, and you laid out on his bed like the best fucking treat he’ll ever taste.

You end up with enough time to take the chicken and veggies out of the oven—the meat thermometer tells you it’s cooked through and that’s good enough for you—and stir up the mashed potatoes before you have to head upstairs to get everything else ready. So far, surprisingly, so good.

You’re in the middle of patting yourself on the back for a job well-done, with time to spare, when you hear the front door open. At eight fucking thirty. This would be the one day Joel gets home early and, by the sounds of dishware and cutlery clinking around downstairs, he’s already discovered your big surprise.

“Baby, you up there?” he calls up the stairs. “What’s all this?”

Well. Guess it’s showtime. You finish tying the apron around your waist before giving yourself one last once over in the mirror. Everything fits perfectly, just like you knew it would, and the food’s done, for better or worse. So there’s no need to be nervous, right? It’s just Joel. Your Joel. He’d love it no matter what, even if it all ends up being total shit.

Taking a steadying breath, you head down the stairs, letting your appearance serve as his answer. The apron rubs scratchily against your skin, a reminder of how naked you actually are underneath, and you let your confidence in Joel’s inevitably wanton reaction make you brave.

And he doesn’t disappoint. His eyes rove over you greedily, from the pout of your lips to the tiniest slip of your nipple peeking over your bra, all the way down to the soft, bare skin of your legs. Yeah, no need to be nervous at all.

“Just a little surprise I cooked up,” you smirk a little deviously as you reach the bottom of the stairs. He’s on you in a second, hands exploring your body eagerly, impatiently, as he leans in to kiss you, but he’s halted by a finger to his lips. “Uh-uh. Can’t have dessert yet. There’s a whole meal waiting for you—I made your favorite.”

He chuckles, gingerly pressing a kiss to your finger instead before leading you backward into the kitchen.

“Well, let’s get started then. I’m starvin’,” he says, looking hungrier than you’ve ever seen him. You return his gaze, suddenly feeling ravenous yourself.

“Good. It’s dinner time.”

WEDNESDAY

"Wrist icicle, ride dick bicycle."

Spin class sucks.

There’s really no need for the music to be this loud. And it’s bad. They say it’s supposed to amp you up for rigorous exercise, but it’s just giving you a headache.

It’s also about a thousand degrees in here, and you’d be leaving a massive pool of sweat on this seat if you were even allowed to sit on it. The whole concept of spinning makes no sense, and you’re starting to think it’s actually just a dance class on stationary bikes because no one in their right mind would ever ride a bicycle like this.

It’s embarrassing, for starters, and you’re surrounded by hot people that are way better at it than you are. You didn’t even know you could gyrate on a fucking bike until today, and they all somehow make it look sexy. Like they’re legitimately having a great time. Having fun.

But not you. The music might honestly be doing you a favor by drowning out your pathetic attempts to breathe. You’re starting to get a little lightheaded and feel like you’re about to be sick.

No workout is worth this. You can’t even pretend to follow the instructor’s directions, because you can barely hear her over the speakers. She probably can't even hear herself, yelling into the void of shitty EDM remixes, and expecting everyone to pick it up. If you’d known this was just some fucked up version of leg day, you would’ve skipped it.

There's no sneaking out early, either. You took the bus and Joel won’t be here to pick you up for at least another half hour. Honestly, you'd rather walk home and let that be your exercise for the day, but unless you plan on jogging along the highway, you're shit out of luck.

The beat abruptly picks back up, startling you out of your personal pity party, and then everyone's asses are in the air again, hips swiveling so perfectly in sync that it has to be choreographed. You're getting the hang of it now that you're realizing the routine just repeats itself, but it still feels mildly exploitative.

It doesn't help that your class is starting to draw in a crowd, likely attracted by all of the revealing athletic wear on display. At least you got that memo. Whoever had the bright idea to put a huge glass wall at the back of the room was either a genius or a pervert. Probably both, depending on who you ask.

Once the hardest section of the choreography passes, you look behind you to check the time, praying more than you think has passed, but you're sorely disappointed. And the crowd outside's only gotten bigger.

Don't these assholes have anything better to do than stand there drooling over a spin class? You continue to glare at them over your shoulder through the next part of the song, looking a little ridiculous grinding into your seat as you silently tell them all off.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch one of them off to the side laughing, but when you turn to send an even harsher look in their direction, you realize you recognize him.

What a dick. If you'd known he was going to be this early, you definitely would've snuck out and waited outside instead of becoming another piece of eye candy for a bunch of gym rats.

Joel looks a little too pleased with himself, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed like he’s enjoying the view as much as the rest of those creeps. Well, if he wants a show, then you’ll give him one. Now that you’ve gotten the movements down, you can put all of your energy into making him wish there wasn’t an entire glass wall separating him from you.

That one, grueling section of the song loops back around, and this time you put your all into it, arching like you’re supposed to, swiveling your hips into the seat with all of the muscle control you’ve got. Your shorts ride up your ass at the change in movement, probably giving you a wicked camel toe, but you let them. You can only imagine the look on Joel’s face now.

The song starts to wind down, finally coming to a stop, and you lower yourself back onto the seat, panting with the exertion of the past 45 minutes. Turning back around, you notice the crowd has mostly dispersed, save for a few stragglers and Joel, who’s panting almost as hard as you are.

Your eyes drop to his pants, and you quirk an eyebrow. His breathing’s not the only thing that’s hard. He looks a little wrecked and, suddenly, this whole workout thing feels like it might’ve been worth it after all.

You hop off the bike and retrieve your duffel from the back of the room, teasingly flicking the glass in front of his face before exiting with the rest of the class.

"Ready to go?" you ask brightly, still feeling high off the endorphin rush. He doesn't respond, looking a little dazed as he watches a droplet of sweat run down your neck, past your collarbone, and right between your breasts. "You doing alright there, bud?"

You laugh, enjoying your revenge a little too much, reveling in the way his jaw tenses and the muscles in his neck twitch angrily. It’s about to be a very interesting ride home—or it would’ve been if you’d made it that far.

On the way out, you pass an out-of-order men’s room, and he yanks you inside, locking the door behind you.

It's a little surprising he's this pent up after the night you had, especially with the sheer amount of sex you’ve been having lately—not that you're complaining. But what's even more surprising is that he's choosing right now to rectify it, basically in public where anyone could overhear or walk in on you. It's...really out of character for him. You thought he'd at least make it to the car.

“Joel, what the—,” you yelp as he lifts you up by the waist to settle you on the edge of a sink. It's clear his patience has completely run out because, within seconds, he's dropping to his knees, burying his face in your heat. "—fuck."

Your legs immediately try to close around his head, but he forces them back open with enough strength to overextend your already abused hamstrings. It shouldn't feel as good as it does, but the pain, combined with his blunt nails biting into your thighs, sends delicious jolts right to your core.

You exhale shakily, burying your fingers in his hair as he sucks a damp patch into your shorts, just slightly lower than where you need him. Your hips buck, urging him higher, but he doesn't allow that either, shoving them back down onto the hard porcelain beneath you.

Should've known it wouldn't be that easy. He's handling you aggressively, rougher than you would've expected, and that's when you realize he's mad.

"Bet ya thought that was real funny, teasin' me like that," he growls into your clothed pussy, licking up the seam to swirl wet circles where your clit throbs under too many layers. "Don't feel very nice, does it?"

His eyes meet yours as he sucks a little harder, and you whimper, tugging at his hair in a silent plea for him to take your shorts off and eat you out the way you both want him to. But he's going to drag this out and you know it.

Joel loves a little payback and has the patience of a saint unless he's pushed past his limit. To your detriment, you shoved him over that line with the stunt you pulled earlier, so now you'll have to convince him it's in his best interest to let it go.

Switching tactics, you tempt him with what he could have if he just gave in. Your fingers dip beneath your waistband, and you sigh as you slick them up against your folds before dipping them inside. You're already soaked, and so tight, even around two of your own fingers, and you tell him as much.

"No, it doesn't feel nice...but I know something that will," you pump your fingers in and out of yourself, the muted sound of wet squelching reaching your ears. "Hear that?—," you gasp, hips lifting off the sink as you accidentally graze something spongey and sensitive, "—t-that's all for you."

And it works like a charm. Your shorts and underwear are pulled off in a single, hard tug, his tongue fucking into you before you can even fully inhale, and you choke out a strangled moan instead. He eats you out like a man starved, his nose nudging your clit with every dip of his tongue, and it feels so potent, you practically see stars.

Your combined slick and his saliva are starting to leak over the edge of the sink but he catches every drop, and the way he slurps you up makes your cheeks burn. Joel's a lot of things when he's between your legs—enthusiastic, generous, and a little sloppy, but he's never wasteful.

Two thick fingers prod at your entrance, and then he's pressing them into you, the slide snug, but easy with how wet you are for him. Finally, finally, you can feel your orgasm building, and you're sent reeling when his tongue fucks into you between his fingers, filling you up—it's...yes, right there—

But he abruptly pulls his mouth away, still not done making you pay.

"Damn right, it's all for me. Ya think those jackasses watching you weren't thinkin' about this?" he growls, his fingers slowing to leisurely stroke your walls as if they weren't about to throw you over the edge a moment ago. "Think they could make you feel this good? Make you cum like I do?"

Your pussy flutters pathetically around him, and the false look of sympathy he gives you makes you want to cry out of sheer frustration.

"Gonna need an answer if you want me to keep goin'," he drawls, still close enough that you can feel his breath, hot against your cunt.

You bite down on your bottom lip, just hard enough to momentarily distract yourself from the aching between your legs so you can respond, but you're taking too long. His fingers have all but stopped, so you panic.

"Fuck those assholes. Fuck all of them," you grit through your teeth. He quirks an eyebrow, marginally picking up the pace of his fingers.

"Fuck 'em, huh? That what you wanna do?" He's teasing you, and even though it's obvious, you fall right into his trap, anyway. Blanching, you shake your head furiously.

"N-no—no, no, no. Just you, only wanna fuck you," you gasp, frantically trying to convince him of something you both already know to be true without a shadow of a doubt. It's honestly impressive that he can work you like this and, even more so, that he's the only one that can.

"S'okay, I know...I know. This right here—," he gives your clit a few kitten licks, the pads of his fingertips rubbing that perfect spot inside you, "—s'mine."

Then, he's burying his face back between your legs, redoubling his efforts, and it's so fucking sloppy. Wet and hot, and hungry, as if edging you has the same effect on him.

You feel him groan into you as you start to tighten around his fingers, loud enough that his chest rumbles with it, sending sweet vibrations up your thighs. The sound of his belt jingling, then hitting the floor vaguely makes it past the blood rushing in your ears, but his broad shoulders and head bobbing between your legs are blocking your view.

All you can see or hear is the frantic movement of his arm, his hand working up and down his cock, and the sound of skin slapping on skin. Fuck, that's—so hot, you're so close. So fucking close—

But he's got one last edge left in him.

You're throbbing so violently that for a second you're terrified he ruined your orgasm, but no, you're still teetering on the cusp, thighs quaking so hard, you can’t believe you haven’t crushed his head between them already. At this point, the smallest touch, even the tiniest puff of air would send you hurtling over.

He's still jerking himself off, sounding delirious as he separates his mouth from you to speak.

"Need to hear ya s-say it...," he pants, and you cry out, angrily reaching down to roughly shove his face back into you, but he resists. Spurred on by your reaction, he only fucks into his fist faster. “Nobody else gets to taste ya like I do…do they? Say it. Say it and I'll…ngh—let you cum,” he moans lowly, possessively.

Joel sounds completely gone. You never could've imagined dry humping a fucking stationary bike would set him off like this, or that a bunch of dumb muscleheads would make him this jealous. He's so lost in it, in you.

But the way he's looking up at you right now—it's like he really does need you to do this for him. To tell him that it’s just him, and it’ll only ever be him. It’s the truth. No one else has ever made you feel the way he does, with his mouth and hands, or his heart, and they never will again.

You whine, shaking your head pleadingly, ready to tell him whatever he wants to hear. Anything for him to put his mouth back on you again.

"T-they don't—no one else gets to, but you...only you," you keen as he seals his lips around your clit, all of his fears and insecurities finally soothed. Your head tips back, the feeling of his hot tongue laving over the sensitive bundle of nerves and his thick fingers—three of them, now—dragging against your walls exactly what you need.

You cum frighteningly quickly, your orgasm so powerful and overwhelming that you start to black out. Your eyes squeeze shut, and then it’s all just pleasure—the tension in all of your limbs slowly bleeds out with every spasm of your cunt, and something wet…so wet, splashes against your inner thighs.

Joel groans louder than you think you’ve ever heard him, the sound practically punched out of his chest as he licks broader lines up your pussy, sucking and slurping, and what…what is that? Why the fuck are you so wet? He—did Joel cum on you, and you didn’t even notice?

But that’s impossible because now his body’s completely seizing up, the hand around his cock stilling as he spurts thick ropes of cum across the bathroom floor. Or at least that’s the image your brain conjures up, unable to see it for yourself.

Your vision’s only just beginning to return to you, and you immediately look down to see what actually happened...and fuck. It was you. Joel’s head is resting on your thigh, nuzzling into your soft, very damp skin, and he's looking up at you in awe.

“Shit, baby…,” he pants, chest heaving, cock still twitching in his hand. "Ain't ever seen you do that before."

You blink blearily, lips parting as you take him in. He's a goddamn mess. His face and beard are soaked, and his shirt is splattered with what you can only assume is your release. You fucking squirted? In a dirty gym bathroom?

"What the fuck?" you mumble, still dazed and a little in disbelief at how your first, and probably last, trip to the gym went. You shake your head, clearing up the brain fog enough to quickly process the past two hours, and now you're in shock. "Joel, what the fuck?" you ask again incredulously.

He has the nerve to look sheepish where he's still happily nestled between your legs post-orgasm, and you bop the top of his head with your palm, eyeing him expectantly.

"Wanna explain what all of that was?"

"Look—," he starts, lips quirking down into that little frown you know so well. "If you'd've heard the shit those fuckers were sayin' about ya. Probably would've said worse if I hadn't told 'em to fuck off before they got into some real trouble."

"Wait, you were the reason they all took off? Joel," you laugh because suddenly it all makes sense.

You just learned the hard way that a grumpy, jealous Joel means getting edged until you black out. Pretty good knowledge to have for future reference, to be honest. Now that you're not sobbing with his head between your legs, it all seems so silly.

"What, did ya expect me to just stand there and let 'em talk about fuckin' my girl right in front of me?"

"I mean, no, but...I dunno, maybe just take the compliment next time and don't threaten a group of scary, muscular men," you chuckle fondly, cupping his wet cheeks in your hands. "Okay? It basically just means you have a hot girlfriend. Congratulations!"

But he only grumbles in response, still pouting like a child. You bend down to press a soft kiss to his forehead, and he sighs, some of the tension bleeding out of his shoulders.

"What if, when we get home, I show you some of the techniques I learned in my class?" you murmur into his hair. He tilts his head back, eyeing you skeptically.

"Baby, we don't have a stationary bike," he says, brows furrowed in confusion. You suck your bottom lip into your mouth, eyes dropping to his lap.

"That's okay. We won't need one."

THURSDAY

"You can't imagine what I'm 'bout to say. You really wanna know? You'll have to wait. (It's a surprise, surprise.)"

Blue, blue, blue. Just do it, just be blue! It's a great color—the best color, maybe even your favorite color.

You keep chanting at it, loudly and in your head, but the plastic stick doesn't seem to appreciate your encouragement. It just stares back at you, blank and unhelpful.

How much longer do the instructions say you have to wait? One to three minutes, that's it? It feels like it's already been two hours, but it's actually only been...30 seconds. What the fuck.

Maybe if you shake it, it'll develop faster. It's basically like a polaroid, right? And Outkast has never steered you wrong, so. You lean over from where you're still sitting on the toilet, pants around your ankles, to test your theory but it's too late.

It already has an answer for you. ...Wait, what? Both of the lines are blue. So...does that mean you're extra not pregnant? You snatch up the pamphlet again, actually reading through the directions this time, and your stomach drops. Pink was never even an option.

Two blue lines. Pregnant.

You knew this week was going a little too well.

Those random bouts of nausea, the weird cravings, the fucking breast tenderness. They didn't need to mean anything. They shouldn't have meant anything.

Fuck. Fuck. What are you supposed to do now? You're way too young to have a baby. Well. Okay, that's a massive lie, but still, you're definitely not ready to have one. Or to be…pregnant. You shudder at the thought.

Swollen ankles, morning sickness, mood swings. You’re already a walking rollercoaster of emotions, and your back hurts from just existing. No, you can’t do this.

It's not about the finances, either. You and Joel both have steady jobs and could make it work if you wanted to, but do you want to? Will he? He’s not your husband, not even your fiancée, so there’s no reason for him to stick around. It’s not his burden.

There's just too many unanswered questions. And Joel's already someone's dad. He did the whole baby thing by himself and got it right the first around.

Sarah's perfect—fuck, what is Sarah going to think? Stupid, this was so stupid. You thought you were being so careful. Sure, Joel cums inside you basically every time you have sex, but that's totally beside the point.

You take those dumb little pills at the same time every day, just like you're supposed to. Except…when’s the last time you had a period? Did you even get it last month? The month before?

Shit, that wedding—when was that wedding? Your coworker’s, the rich one who decided to have a fucking destination wedding in Hawaii a couple months ago. It was decadent. You and Joel were super drunk the entire time and fucked like rabbits for three days straight.

Fuck.

Don't cry. Do not cry. Joel will probably be back from picking Sarah up from soccer practice any minute, so you need to hold it together. Maybe you just won’t tell them, at least not until you’ve had more time to process everything and decide what you’re going to do.

But, god, you wear your emotions on your sleeve, and even more so on your face. They’ll know something’s off the second they look at you, and you won’t be able to talk yourself out of it. You’ve always been a shit liar.

Tears start to fall without your permission. You slump slowly to the floor, pants still around your ankles, and curl up into a ball, willing it all to go away—the tiny clump of cells growing inside your belly and the regret of being so careless, of letting yourself get caught up in a serious relationship in the first place. This isn’t something you can just wish away. It’s life-changing and nothing will ever be the same again. Was it really worth it?

No, no. Of course, it was. Snap out of it.

If only it were that easy. Sobs wrack your entire body, and you can barely hear yourself choking on them, unable to hold them in anymore. Your eyes squeeze shut as you desperately try to block out your reality, but it seeps up your nose and into your mouth, salty and unignorable.

Blood rushes in your ears and you realize belatedly that you’re starting to hyperventilate, but you can’t stop. You’re drawing in too much air all at once and it’s making your vision go fuzzy. It’s all just too much. Anger, sadness, and fear consume you until you’re screaming with it, desperate to expel it from your body any way you can.

So, you don’t hear the front door opening or Joel and Sarah running up the stairs, completely panic-stricken.

Joel reaches the ensuite bathroom first and all but breaks down the door, but he’s met with the sight of your half-naked body in a heap on the floor. Immediately, he turns to block Sarah from getting in.

“Hey, hey—no,” he says firmly, wrapping her up in his arms to keep her from seeing past him. “You’re not goin’ in there. Ya gotta give us some time, alright?”

She looks up at him, scared and visibly shaken.

“What if—do you think she’s okay in there? Was she hurt…d-did you see her?” she asks softly, eyes wet. “Can I see her?”

“Not right now, kiddo,” he mumbles, kicking the bathroom door shut behind him before leading her out of his room and into the hallway. “‘m sorry.”

The crestfallen look on Sarah’s face is the last thing he sees before he closes the door on her. But he has to ignore how badly it feels to keep her away from you, at least until he can figure out what the hell is wrong and how he’s going to fix it.

Your cries have quieted since earlier, but not nearly enough to ease Joel's fears. He can still hear you through the door, hiccuping softly, and opens it gently this time, entering slowly as if he's trying not to spook a scared animal.

It doesn't work as well as he'd hoped. Your head shoots up, a small gasp escaping your lips as you dizzily pull your pants back up.

"Easy there, s'okay. Baby, s'just me, don't worry," he murmurs, dropping to his knees on the floor next to you, but you flinch away. You can only imagine the hurt in his eyes, and the mental image tugs at your heart. "I need ya to tell me what happened. Did ya hurt yourself?"

Yeah, you could say that.

You shake your head, the only thing you're capable of doing in the state you're in. Trying to speak would be useless after all the screaming you just did and you can't bear to look him in the eye.

"Hey, talk to me. If somethin's the matter, I need to know, 'specially if we gotta get you to the hospital," he says, reaching out to touch you.

His hand grazes your shoulder, and your body jerks so viscerally that you slam your knees into the bottom of the sink. You let out a tiny whimper of pain right as you hear something small and plastic hit the ground next to you.

Oh, no. Shit. You desperately try to kick the test out of reach, to cover it with your body—anything to keep him from seeing it—but his fingers wrap around it before you get the chance. He sucks in a harsh breath through his teeth and you feel your whole world shattering.

That's it, then. Even just a glance at those two blue lines will have immediately told Joel all he needs to know. Now he'll leave and he'd have every right. This is all your fault.

Your cheeks are wet again, but this time you can't bring yourself to care. Turning away from him, you curl back into a ball, ignoring the angry throbbing in your knees as you wait for him to yell or throw the test, or finally get up and walk out.

But he doesn't. Instead, you hear him delicately set the test back on the sink and then he lays down behind you on the floor, wrapping his arms around you and pulling your back into his chest.

His heartbeat is fast. It's racing against you and, yet, somehow his breathing is still so calm. The calm before the storm, you're sure of it. You tense, anticipation sitting heavily on your chest and lungs, and he can feel it.

His lips press into the back of your neck and even though the action is so tender and so Joel, you still can’t convince yourself that maybe you’ve misjudged this entire situation. Or that you’ve misjudged him.

“Sweetheart,” he sighs, resting his forehead between your shoulder blades. It hasn’t escaped your notice that he isn’t calling you baby anymore. You can’t tell if that’s for your benefit or his. "Tell me what you're thinkin'."

Time feels like it's moving in slow motion. You really don't mean to ignore him…it’s just that you’re not thinking anything. Lying there in his arms, your mind goes blank, giving in to the white noise of his heartbeat syncopating your own fragile rhythm.

But somehow he seems to understand you completely, filling the silence himself. His voice lulls you into a false sense of security, or…no. No, that’s not right. It’s real. His security, his safety, is real and reliable, proven and palpable.

“Listen to me—I need ya to hear this, alright? I want whatever you want and if ya don’t want this, we’re not doin’ it,” he says firmly, like he means it with every fiber of his being. You do hear him. But your heart and mind are still rebelling, begging you to see their own senseless logic. Joel won’t stop until he convinces them, too.

“But if ya do…if—,” his voice trails off, cracking almost imperceptibly. At least, to anyone else but you. “—if ya wanna do this with me, then ‘m with ya. Every step of the way, ‘m with ya.”

Then, for the first time since those blue lines appeared in your life, you feel peace. And it's all him. He’s given you a choice—one you knew you always had, but never thought to factor him into. You didn’t think you deserved to involve him. But he does. He deserves that choice, too.

The floodgates open and soon you’re sobbing uncontrollably again, but this time it feels cathartic. Like he’s freed you from a prison of your own making. You find your voice, wet and shaky.

“Joel, I’m scared,” you weep, turning in his arms to finally meet his eyes. And there they are. Brown and beautiful and clear, unclouded by fear and regret, and you let them make you brave. For him and your tiny clump of cells.

“What if I can’t do this? What—I…,” you hiccup through the disjointed thought, “—if I give up…if it’s just too hard...”

“S’why there’s two of us,” he bends down to murmur soothingly into your cheek, lips brushing against the corner of your own. “But ya can’t push me away anymore. If we do this, then we do it together,” and that lances straight through your heart, obliterating all doubt and setting your decision in stone.

Together. You’re in this together.

“Okay,” you croak, sniffling as he wipes away your tears. You repeat it, clearer this time. “Okay.”

FRIDAY

"You might think I'm crazy, the way I've been cravin'. If I put it quite plainly, just gimme them babies."

Doctors' offices have no business being as scary as they are. Bare and sterile, and not an ounce of color to be found anywhere but those creepy posters of in-depth diagrams of the human body. Gross.

You fight the urge to turn around and head straight back to the truck but, as if he can sense your plan to make a run for it, Joel places both hands on your shoulders and leads you toward the reception desk.

“C’mon, we got this,” he says quietly in your ear, likely reassuring both of you. “We go in, they tell us you ’n the baby are healthy, then we get out.”

You grimace. The baby. That’s still so weird. There’s literally a tiny being growing inside you, eating your food, and sitting on your fucking bladder. It’s like that thing in Alien that bursts out of people’s chests.

Great. Well, that’s officially off the list for movie night later, which Joel promised you'd have if you got your check-up without trying to escape. Technically, you’re doing great so far. And it’s an extremely tempting offer.

Movie nights at the Miller house usually include a trip to 7/11 for popcorn, soda, and a box of your favorite candy. Those annoying cravings you’re just now realizing are because you’re pregnant would be extremely satiated by that.

You’ll also get to curl up on the couch with Joel all night in a childless house because Sarah's staying at a friend’s. Win-win. But first, you have to make it through this check-up.

Everything up until you’re inside the actual examination room isn’t actually so bad. The receptionist is nice enough, even though you can tell she deals with a lot of first-time moms by the way she treats you with baby gloves, and the wait time is less than 10 minutes.

Yeah, you’ve totally got this. Or at least you did until the doctor shows up with an ultrasound machine and lifts your shirt to squeeze that freezing cold goop all over your stomach. You look up at Joel, scared and a little bewildered, and he takes your hand in his, rubbing soothing circles into your skin. The screen lights up with what you assume is a real-time view of the inside of your belly and, after that, it’s all sort of a blur.

Six weeks. They tell you that you’re already six weeks pregnant, so you definitely conceived at that dumb wedding. At least you’ve got a story to tell. You’re also entering that fun stage where your nausea’s mostly cleared up, but now you’ll either be super tired or super horny at any given time.

You try not to laugh when you feel Joel’s hand subtly twitch in yours. Of course, he perks up at that. Honestly, you’d be a liar if you said you weren’t going to enjoy it, too. Immensely.

Then, comes the big one. The entire point of this doctor’s visit, and the reason you and Joel are gripping each other so tight, you’re cutting off the other’s circulation. But it’s good news. Luckily, it's all good news.

Your tiny clump of cells is healthy, you’re healthy, and you can go home now, equipped with all of that very calming knowledge. One day, you’re going to have to stop calling them a clump, but you’ve decided today is not that day.

“Told ya it wouldn’t be so bad,” he teases as you walk out to the truck, still hand-in-hand.

But his eyes betray his tone. There’s a seriousness to his joy, and you can see it so clearly in the way he’s looking at you like you’ve given him the greatest gift in the world. It makes you feel warm and…important. Loved. He continues, his voice tinged with something a little softer.

“Thank you…for goin’, I mean. S’good to know that everythin’s alright. That you’re alright.”

You stop next to the car, meeting his gaze with what you hope is the same amount of love and affection you see, and throw your arms around his neck.

“Thanks for taking me, and just…being here. Like, really being here, not just showing up so you can say you did,” you say earnestly, and he leans down to kiss you, his arms wrapping around you to pull you close.

“‘Course, baby. Don't have to thank me for that,” he mumbles against your lips.

Not ready to separate from him, you deepen the kiss, running your tongue along his bottom lip until he opens for you and licking into his mouth freely. He groans as you press him into the side of the truck, his hands trailing down your sides to grip the plush of your ass through your jeans.

You can feel him starting to stiffen against your belly and that carnal hunger the doctor warned you about takes over, the need to feel more, more of him overwhelming you. He’s just so solid everywhere.

Your fingers skim underneath his shirt to feel his stomach flexing beneath your palms, and you roll your hips into his, gasping into his mouth at the friction. You’re so caught up in his hands on your body, his tongue in your mouth, that you don’t hear the group of people passing by on the other side of the truck.

But Joel does. He begrudgingly pulls away from you, hard as a rock and panting heavily. You whine at the loss, and he twitches against you in response.

“C’mon, baby, I’m not fuckin’ you in a goddamn Planned Parenthood parkin’ lot,” he chuckles, leading you to the passenger’s side of the car. He smacks your ass when you resist, and you shoot him a wounded glare. “Uh-uh, none’a that. ‘m takin’ you home. Owe ya a movie, don’t I?”

You perk up at the mention of his promise from earlier.

“You sure do. And candy, and popcorn, and soda,” you list off, easily distracted by the prospect of shitty junk food. You bounce into the car, shifting the seat to recline as far as it’ll go. “What are we watching?”

“Whatever you want, baby."

Well, he did say he’d give you whatever you wanted. And for a while, it was the movie—you’d even picked out your favorite. But you only manage to get about 20 minutes in before Joel's arm around your shoulder and chest under your cheek become an unignorable distraction.

Now, you want something else.

You don't bother teasing or playing coy, not when he’s so solidly pressed against you, just begging to be had. Your body rises and falls with every breath he takes, and it’s so visceral, being close enough to touch and taste him, and yet not doing either.

His neck looks especially delicious under the faint, fluorescent lighting of the TV, and your lips press wetly into the underside of his jaw, sucking delicately as your tongue darts out to taste him. His breath hitches, but he shows no other signs of being affected at all.

Taking that as your cue to up the ante, you drop your hand onto his lap to tug at his belt, but he catches you before you can make any progress. You tilt your head back to look up at him, brows furrowed in confusion, but he just smirks, eyes still locked on the TV screen.

"You wanted a movie, didn't ya? Thought ya loved this one," he says teasingly. "You can wait a couple hours—I know ya can."

Yeah, you can, but that doesn't mean you want to. He was so into it in the parking lot, so what happened between then and now? You didn't think he liked this movie that much, but apparently you were mistaken.

Settling back into his side, you try to shift your focus back to the movie, but then the hand on your shoulder starts to play with your hair. His fingers graze your neck, and you're back to squeezing your thighs together in frustration.

He has to be doing this on purpose. Riling you up so much that once the movie’s finally over, you’ll be putty in his hands. Well, two can play that game. If he won't let you touch him, then you'll just have to touch yourself.

Your eyes flutter closed as you run your fingers down your belly, slipping your hand beneath the waistband of your shorts to drag your fingers up and down your slick folds. God, you didn't realize you were already so wet. You gasp softly as you trail upward toward your clit, but Joel's voice startles you out of your reverie.

"Should ya be doin' that right now?"

There's a tinge of warning to his voice, and it burns hot in your veins. You open your eyes slowly and he's finally looking at you, his attention drawn to your fingers still moving under the fabric.

"Well, you weren't gonna. What, are you—," your middle finger brushes against that sensitive bundle of nerves and you bite back a whine, "—you...ngh—gonna stop me?"

The hand that was gently stroking your hair shifts back to firmly grip the back of your neck, squeezing just hard enough to make your fingers stutter. He leans in, his voice dangerously low in your ear.

"No, I'll let ya keep goin'. But you're gonna do exactly what I tell ya to, ya got that?" he murmurs, watching as your hips begin to swivel into your own sweet friction. "'n if you're good for me...," he trails off, eyes dropping down to where he's slowly jerking off his hardening cock through his jeans. "...I'll give ya this. We got a deal?"

You want him inside you so badly, you almost say yes before he's even done talking, but then you have a wicked thought. A counteroffer, of sorts.

"I'll take your deal. But—," you start with a devilish smile, and he raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to continue. "Only if you touch yourself, too. Want you to fuck your hand like you're fucking me."

"Deal," he says without hesitation.

"Deal," you smirk, removing your hand from your pussy for him to shake, your fingers sticky and glistening.

He takes your proffered hand but, instead of shaking, he wraps his lips around your slick digits, sucking you off each one and groaning at your taste. What you wouldn't give to have that tongue in your mouth. Or buried in your cunt. Pulling off with a lewd pop, he nods at your lap.

"Take your fuckin' pants off. Now."

Shit, he doesn't have to tell you twice. You quickly shimmy out of your shorts and underwear, and wait for his next instructions. You'll be a good girl for him. The best girl he's ever had and ever will.

"Spread 'em. Show me how wet you are for me," he mumbles, kicking your legs apart.

You spread them as wide as you can. The cool night breeze filtering in through the open window meets your center, and you're suddenly aware of how much wetter you've gotten since you started. It almost makes your mouth water. You don't think you've ever been this turned on by your own body in your life.

Slick coats your thighs, seeping into the couch, and he looks pleased. You can see he wants to touch you just as badly as you want to touch yourself. Your knee bumps into his thigh and he hooks your leg over his, holding you open.

"Shit, would'ja look at that," he breathes out in awe. "Prettiest pussy I've ever seen."

Your cunt visibly clenches at the praise and he hisses in a breath through his teeth, resting his hand on your thigh so he can lean over your body. He lingers for a moment like he's admiring you laid out for him like this, but then moves a little closer and spits a thick glob of saliva right onto your clit.

Your jaw drops, a loud gasp torn from your chest when he grabs your hand, using your fingers to gather it up and swirl it around your swollen nub. Shit, if he keeps going like this, you're going to cum and fast.

Dropping your head back onto his shoulder, you rock into your fingers, slipping through the mess he's made of your pussy, and your body starts to feel like a rubber band about to snap.

"Wanna taste you so fuckin' bad. Fuck you on my tongue 'til you're nice 'n ready for me," he growls, pressing your fingers harder onto your clit. "S'that what you want? Wanna cum in my mouth?"

You turn to bury your head into the crook of his neck, nodding frantically as you cry into the soothing warmth of his skin. You're going to cum. Fuck, fuck, you're going to cum. Your eyes start to roll back as you feel it crescendo, and then—

Then, he releases your hand, cruelly and unapologetically.

"Not yet, baby. We both gotta be patient, don't we?" he teases you again, and your eyes snap open.

What the fuck. No, you're not letting him edge you again. It was fun and all at the gym, but you're way too far gone to be playing games right now.

And how isn't he a total wreck? Both of his hands are on you, even though that wasn't part of the deal, so he can't be taking care of himself.

Your eyes drop down to his lap, and wow. This man has more willpower than you ever could've imagined. He's so hard, you can see the tip of his cock peeking out above the waistband of his pants. And it's leaking everywhere, twitching and angrily dribbling precum all over the fabric.

He looks...so fucking good like this. Fuck, you want him so bad. But that means getting back on track, and it's obviously on you to make that happen. Clearly, he's more affected by all of this than he made it seem.

"Joel, please, just tell me what to do," you plead. You'll beg if you have to. Whatever it takes for you to finally get what you want.

"Alright, alright," he concedes, taking sympathy on you, likely reaching his limit himself. "'m gonna let you make yourself feel good, baby. Don't'chu worry."

"Great," you grit through your teeth. "Then start by taking your fucking pants off."

He chuckles at his words thrown back at him, but listens, regardless. His boxers and jeans are pulled off in two hard tugs, and his cock bounces against his stomach, thick and wet, and unfairly far from your aching pussy. The hand on your neck moves to gently caress the side of your cheek.

"Gonna start nice 'n slow, ya got that?" he says, biting back a groan as he wraps his fingers around his neglected cock. He starts to pump himself, and more precum leaks out. "Watch me."

But it didn't need to be said. You're already enraptured by the way he strokes himself, slow and steady, swiping his thumb over the head on every upstroke. He's panting softly, trying to keep his hips from jerking up into his fist, but you can see how much effort it's taking not to.

"C'mon, baby. Gimme one finger—your middle finger, all the way in," he commands, his voice as tight as his grip.

You tear your eyes away from him while you run your fingers through your folds, still slick with his saliva and your own desire, and then sink your finger into yourself knuckle by knuckle. It doesn't feel like much, and you both know it, but at least it's something.

"Now, follow me," he says, watching your hand as intently as you're watching his.

You rock your finger in and out slowly, just like he said. Because you're his good girl and good girls do what they're told. It’s already a sticky mess, your finger creamier with every thrust, and he groans out his appreciation.

"Good girl. Add another one. Not too fast, now."

Finally, you get some real relief. Slipping your index finger in alongside your middle finger, you feel that little bit of stretch you've been aching for and you can't help but whimper.

His lips part, brows furrowing as his hand speeds up. His eyes are locked on where your sopping cunt is sucking in your fingers greedily and, fuck, he's even more of a mess now. Sweat dripping from his temples, chest heaving with the effort of holding himself back.

So hot. So fucking hot. It's scorching, the way your cunt feels around your fingers as you fuck into yourself a little faster. They're rubbing your walls just right, your palm grazing your clit after every stroke, and his hyper-focused gaze makes it all feel that much better. You want to hear him say it again. For him to tell you how well you’re doing.

"—ngh...i-is this good?" you whine, knowing how pathetic you sound, but forgetting to care.

"Perfect, baby. You're perfect," he rasps, unable to keep his hips from snapping up into his fist as the sweet sounds of your wet squelching reach his ears. "So fuckin' good for me."

Preening hard at his praise, you push a little too deep into yourself and graze something mind-numbing that almost hurts with how good it feels. You cry out, curling your fingers into it again and again as you bury your face back into his neck. His arm tightens around your shoulder and he leans over to press his lips soothingly against your forehead.

"That's it, baby, just like that. Doin' so well," he groans, lips brushing against your skin. His strokes are frantic now and you know he can’t last much longer. "Need ya to gimme one more. Just one—last one, promise. Then I'll give ya whatever you want."

Nodding quickly, face still cushioned against his shoulder, you add your ring finger, and fucking hell, you’re so full. You stretch your fingers apart, pumping them in and out the best you can, and they drag against that spot—every spot—with how tight you are. But somehow it’s not enough. It’s not Joel’s cock, so it’ll never be enough.

Everything’s drowned out except for the wet sounds of skin on skin, and Joel’s voice, still just above your brow, talking you through your almost painful pleasure. He’s panting, whispering tender words that you can’t hear so much as feel with those soft, perfect lips.

“…tell me when you’re close, baby. Can’t feel ya, gonna need you to use your words,” he barely chokes out, staving off his orgasm, waiting for you.

It’s already close, but you’re only teetering, stuck in a constant loop of almost there, and need more. You can’t reach where you need to, but Joel can. So easily and all you have to do is ask. He said he’d give you whatever you wanted.

But you didn’t realize he was already at his limit, and you don’t get the chance to tell him before he’s babbling, delirious with the need to cum.

"'m sorry—fuck, 'm sorry. Need...to—ngh, fuck, need to cum inside you...fill you up...," he moans, and he sounds upset like he can’t help himself, not anymore.

Abruptly, so much quicker than you can fully process, your fingers are yanked out of your cunt and replaced by his cock, and the thrust is so harsh, he hits exactly where you need him to without even trying. The whine building in your chest erupts as a wail as you immediately lock down around him, sending him over the edge with you.

Full. God, how can you feel this full? You’re so unbelievably aware of him cumming inside you and there’s so much, he’s already leaking out of you. And he almost seems angry about it. Your hips are roughly tilted up so he’s fucking down into you, eyes unfocused, and snarling like a wild animal.

And still so mouthy.

“You got no idea how good ya look right now. Fuckin’ glowin’,” he all but slurs, drunk on the idea of keeping his seed inside you. “S’that my baby in you, makin’ ya glow like that?”

"Oh...oh, god, fuck, Joel,” you whimper, your aftershocks still milking him dry. “Christ, y-you trying to knock me up twice?"

It’s like that alone makes him redouble his efforts. You’ve never seen him like this before, but you like it. Something primal in you wants this as badly as he does.

"Fuck yeah, baby, gonna pump you full'a twins."

Holy shit. You’re not sure if you’re still cumming or if you just came again, but you feel an entirely new rush of pleasure and he hisses out a breath through his teeth like he can feel it. Not long after, sensitivity starts to set in for both of you and he stills, seated deeply inside you, chest heaving and eyes shut tight.

His hands squeeze where they’ve been aggressively gripping your thighs before he reluctantly pulls out, but he keeps your hips tilted up as he drops to sit between your legs on the cushion below.

“There a reason I can’t lay down like a normal person?” you laugh, wiggling in his grasp. “Joel, come on, put me down. I’m already pregnant.”

“Just gimme a minute,” he mumbles, suddenly sounding so solemn. He turns his head from where it's resting on the side of your knee to kiss your damp skin. “Didn’t know I was knockin’ you up the first time, just…lemme have this, alright?”

Your eyes soften. How this man can be such a sap after fucking you like that is beyond comprehension, but if he wants this, then you’ll let him have his moment. It’s kind of sweet, anyway.

“Okay,” you reach up to brush your fingertips along his cheek. It's incredible, really, all of the things you see in Joel's eyes right now. That in this single, fleeting gaze, you can see forever. "Put a baby in me.”

SATURDAY

"Can you stay up all night? Fuck me 'til the daylight. 34, 35."

You’re convinced Joel tastes especially good in the mornings. There’s a hint of sweat to his skin, so naturally bitter and heady, maybe even a little tangy. It’s fucking delicious.

And he’s always hard in the morning. His cock is the perfect alarm clock, always reliable and super effective, whether it’s pulsing against your thigh or rutting into your ass. It’s your favorite way to wake up, but there’s usually not enough time to enjoy it to the fullest.

Not with work and Sarah, even Tommy showing up for breakfast unannounced. But it’s Saturday, which means you can keep your lips wrapped around him for as long as you want, make him cum as many times as you want, and taste him to your heart’s content.

He probably won’t even wake up, at least not right away. Joel sleeps like the dead, especially on the weekends, and it’s been a long week. Even now, as you suck the tip into your wet, very eager mouth and swallow him down halfway, he barely stirs.

That’s more than okay with you. You’d be happy to lie in bed, head pillowed on his stomach, keeping his cock warm between your lips while you wait. Relishing how fucking good he tastes and how your jaw pleasantly aches as you adjust to accommodate his girth.

But, soon enough, your jaw isn’t the only thing aching. The slick mess you’re making in your underwear right now is getting hard to ignore, but you don’t want to let him go. He’s velvety smooth against your tongue, dribbling salty precum down your throat, and his unconscious body is starting to respond to you more and more with each passing moment. This is your favorite part.

He lets out a soft grunt, twitching into the inside of your cheek, and your efforts become a little more concentrated and a lot more obvious. You try to forget about your soaked underwear and the pleasurable whoosh in your belly in favor of sucking a little harder, letting saliva pool in your mouth as you slurp loudly around the head.

His hips jerk up, surprising you enough to gag you, and that only makes your mouth and pussy wetter, the heat building in your core almost unbearable now. The moan that escapes you sends a drawn-out series of vibrations straight down to his balls that pulls even more noise from him, and your head steadily shifts with the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

He's starting to rut into your mouth, whimpering, and yet somehow still asleep, and it makes you feel powerful to have full control over him like this. To command his pleasure without any interruption or intervention, making him fall apart entirely at your mercy. You kind of hope you can get him to cum like this, to be his alarm clock for once.

Turns out only half of your wish is granted, but you don't realize it until Joel's fingers are threading into your hair and abruptly tugging you off. He's definitely awake now, but he also definitely didn't cum. Bummer. You try sucking him back into your mouth, but he tugs you harder even as his hips chase you.

"Joel, what—?" you glare up at him, but upon seeing him, you feel a little bad for your reaction. He looks so sleepy, still a little dazed from his unconventional wake-up call, blinking blearily like he's doing his best to stay awake. Your expression softens.

"Sorry, got a little carried away," you murmur sheepishly. "But, um, you taste really good, so if you wanna go back to sleep, I can just keep—"

You're cut off by a hand trailing down your body, following the curve of your ass to dip inside you. He smears the moisture around your entrance, pushing two fingers into you, then pulling out to hold them up to his face. You watch him, enraptured by the way he inspects your wetness, how it strings between his middle and ring fingers.

Then, he surprises you even further by sucking them into his mouth, his eyes rolling back as he groans around them before slipping them out totally clean. His cock jerks next to your face and you belatedly realize you're drooling.

"Fuck, so do you." He's fully awake now, eyes clear, but dark. Hungry.

"Huh?" you ask dumbly.

"Ya taste really good," he mumbles, his voice low and so sexy, still thick with sleep. You feel your cheeks heat up. Oh.

"C'mere, baby," he tells you, patting his chest. You crawl up his body and lean up to kiss him, assuming he wants you to taste yourself in his mouth, but he stops you. "Other way, sweetheart."

Your brows furrow in confusion as you try to work out exactly what he's asking for. Even though you've been awake and riling him up for what feels like hours, your brain clearly hasn't caught up yet. His eyes are unreadable, fingers tense at his sides. Like he's just itching for you to understand.

"Need you to figure this out—know you can do it," he rasps needily. "C'mon, smart girl, what do I want?"

And then it hits you. He's not asking you to sit on his chest, not really. He wants you to sit on his face. Needs you to. Sprawled out on your hands and knees where his spit-slick cock would be just within reach, bobbing temptingly with every breath he takes.

God, you want to. The idea of Joel fucking you with his tongue while he's fucking into your mouth makes you clench so hard it hurts. You bite your lip, meeting his expectant gaze.

Okay. Okay, you can definitely do that. Especially when he looks so...eager. It also has the double advantage of combining mind-blowing sex with a well-rounded breakfast. You have a feeling you'll both be full after this.

"Just so I have this straight—," you splay your fingers across his stomach, trailing down to wrap tightly around his length and tug upward until a single, perfect bead of precum leaks from his slit, "—you still want my mouth here."

Your eyes stay locked on his as you bend down to lick it off, lingering to suckle the tip and tease your tongue just under the ridge. When he doesn't immediately tug you off, you take him deeper, preening at his harsh intake of breath.

You don't want to press your luck, but he tastes fucking incredible, somehow even better than he did earlier. Maybe it's the way he's watching you, captivated and attuned to your every movement.

He’s already starting to buck into you, shallowly, now an active participant in his own pleasure. His knuckles are nearly white with how hard he’s fisting the sheets, teeth gritting as he fights the urge to rush you.

But his patience is wearing thin. Just a few thrusts later, he tugs you off with what feels like dwindling restraint, and your dazed, glassy eyes don't do much to help.

You look wrecked, and you know it. Lips swollen and slick with saliva, your lashes wet with unshed tears from the effort of taking him. He reaches out to trace your bottom lip with his thumb, hissing when you catch the tip between your teeth.

“Yeah...ngh—yeah, keep doin' that. Suckin' me just like that," he breathes raggedly. "And sit that pretty pussy right here—"

Then, without warning, he's suddenly manhandling you into position, throwing your leg over his head, and maneuvering you until you can feel him panting heavily against your cunt.

“Down, baby, let's go. Wanna taste ya. Now.”

Blunt nails dig into your skin and your hips stutter, dipping low enough for your clit to brush his bottom lip. It’s enough for him to get a taste of you. For him to finally snap and decide he’s done waiting.

Joel yanks you onto his face, licking a wide stripe from your clit to your entrance, his tongue immediately finding a home in your pussy. The motion knocks you off balance and you fall forward, his cock just inches from your mouth.

Bracing a hand on his stomach, you wrap your other around him and he groans throatily in response, the sound deep and muffled as he licks into you with increased fervor. And his noises only grow in volume, vibrating against your folds and sending jolt after jolt into your very sensitive bundle of nerves.

His mouth feels so fucking hot, and the coarseness of his beard burns, making it hard to concentrate on what you’re desperately trying to accomplish. You’re already panting, hiccuped breaths puffing teasingly and cruelly against him until he’s pulsing in your grip.

The promise of him throbbing just like that down your throat makes you focus just long enough to take him back into your mouth, intent on sucking him down as far as your body will let you. But, by now, any sense of self-control he might’ve had before is totally gone. His hips buck clean off the mattress at the tightness of your lips around him, and he all but chokes you with the force of it, the size of him.

And, fuck, you love it. The way his stomach tenses, his thighs trembling beneath you. You can’t tell where your body ends and his begins, not when he’s fucking into you every single way he can. His tongue spears into you and your pussy rhythmically squeezes him every time his cock grazes the back of your throat.

You’re audibly gagging around him and it’s filthy as hell, but you can tell how much it’s turning him on. Christ, can you tell. Maybe you were genuinely worried you’d suffocate him at first but, now, you probably couldn’t stop yourself from grinding into his face even if you tried. And that's exactly what he wants.

"...Harder—mmph, c'mon, baby," you feel him groan into your cunt, urging your hips even lower. "—ride me harder, harder."

How—he...fuck, he's...? Everywhere. He's everywhere. You struggle to do what he told you, to use him for your mounting pleasure, but it doesn't fucking matter anymore. You're helpless but to let him do whatever he wants to you.

Joel’s devouring you. Roughly grabbing your ass, moaning pathetically into you as he pulls your cheeks apart for better access. It’s almost like you can feel him swelling between your lips, and you try to pull up for just a second of respite.

But, then, he abruptly shifts. His mouth lowers to suck gently, yet fleetingly on your clit twice, then he licks a wide stripe back up to your entrance. Except, he doesn’t stop there. Instead, he continues his path up, gathering your wetness as he goes, and swirls his tongue around your other hole before sucking hard. And it sends you reeling.

Jesus fucking Christ, that’s new. Fuck, and it’s—so...so good. It’s indescribable, how he feels right now. How he sounds—slurping you up, whimpering desperately like he’ll cum at any moment.

And he’s loud, drawn-out moans escaping from so deep within his chest, they climb their way from that tight ring of muscle straight up your spine, where you can vaguely feel his arm snaking around you to claw at your back. You can’t think anymore—you’re done thinking.

Now, it’s just him trapping you in place, the three fingers he’s suddenly pumping into your spasming pussy, and his cock, now abandoned and leaking on his stomach. It’s so much, bordering on too much, and you can’t hold yourself up anymore.

Your head drops unceremoniously onto the puddle of precum and it smears across your cheek as his hips urgently roll into nothing. But you don’t even notice. Not even when your eyes roll back and you start to babble deliriously, your orgasm building quickly in a place between your legs you can’t even begin to explain.

“Joel…JoelJoelJoel—I…you…,” you slam a hand down on the mattress as your thighs start to quake violently. “…cumming—‘m cumming, fuck—fuck.”

It doesn’t just crash over you, it rocks you to your core. Everything below your waist locks down, squeezing his fingers so tight, you swear you can feel each individual knuckle. Your jaw drops, parting around what feels like a silent scream, but you can’t be totally sure because soon, Joel is groaning so gutturally, you can’t focus on anything else.

At least, until he cums completely untouched right into your face. And he cums hard. Thick spurts cover your lips and chin, landing haphazardly on your cheek, and your tongue darts out to taste him, salty and sated and perfect. Exactly what you've been waiting for.

His thighs tense intermittently, a few more drops dribbling out of his slit, and you crane your neck, letting your tongue flutter over his head. As it pulses weakly against your lips, Joel gasps out your name, burying his face in your swollen pussy again.

Lazily, you swivel your hips into his mouth despite the extreme overstimulation, hiccuping soft moans and nearly succumbing to the easy pleasure. He gently caresses your clit, enveloping you with a dextrous warmth that simultaneously makes you jolt and crave the sensation.

Neither of you want to stop. Truthfully, you'd let him do this to you all day, drawing orgasm after orgasm from each other the way you have been all week. But exhaustion's starting to set in and you're not sure your body can physically take any more.

Joel slaps your ass and you huff out a soft laugh, deciding it's time to separate so you can get cozy with him again. The perfect end to your surprisingly athletic, lazy Saturday morning in bed.

“You gonna stop anytime soon, or do you just live there now?” you pant teasingly, grimacing as you slowly lift your head off his stomach.

Shit, you’re a mess. You’re practically stuck to him, his cum drying on his stomach and your face, and you can feel the stickiness of his saliva mixed with your juices dripping between your legs. His hand trails from your ass down to your inner thigh, painting mindless patterns on your sullied skin.

"Sure don't seem like ya want me to stop," he chuckles tiredly, managing to suck your clit chastely one last time before you jerk your hips away.

His head finally drops onto the pillow below him, and he lets out a disgruntled whine when you toss your leg over his head, plopping down on the bed beside him.

"Yeah, well, one of us has to have a little self-control or we're not leaving this bed today. And you, uh, look like you could use some tidying up,” you snort, scratching your fingertips against his already crusting beard. He mimics the motion on your leg, and you swat his hand away, rolling your eyes fondly.

It would be disgusting if it were literally anyone else but Joel but, here in this bed—your bed—it feels so natural. Like it’s totally normal that you’d be covered in each other’s releases, having a silly conversation on a Saturday morning as if you’ve done this all your lives.

“Might wanna look in the mirror, baby. I’d be more’n happy to keep lookin’ at ya like this, but—,” he leans up to wipe a streak of cum off your bottom lip. His hand lingers, cupping your damp cheek, and you instinctively lean into his touch. “—you probably need more cleanin’ up than I do.”

You eye each other for a few seconds, taking in how truly disgusting you both are, before bursting into fits of laughter. You’re smiling so hard, your skin tugs under his drying release and that makes you laugh even harder.

“Alright, alright, filthy girl,” he jokes, wiping a stray tear from his eye. “Lay down, I’ll take care of ya.”

He sits up and slowly slides off the bed, yanking your legs out from under you as he goes. Still giggling, you flop onto the damp, cotton sheets with an oomph and immediately take the opportunity to stretch out your sore limbs. You nuzzle into your pillow with a soft mewl, practically purring as you try to soak up the warm morning rays streaming through the gaps in the curtains.

You glance over at Joel as you continue to nest like a gigantic cat, but he's already watching you, paused in the doorway to the bathroom. His eyes rove appreciatively down your naked body and you observe him quietly, deciding you'll let him stare for as long as he wants to. There's no rush. Sure, you're still a mess and probably have the worst bedhead imaginable, but despite it all, he makes you feel beautiful.

When he returns with a cool, damp washcloth a few minutes later, he's much cleaner and you're only a little bummed that the evidence of your explosive morning is gone. He's gentle and attentive as he wipes the remaining streaks off your cheeks and chin, and bends down to kiss you once your face is officially cum-free.

Okay, maybe you lied earlier. This is your favorite part. Joel taking care of you, choosing to express his affection through his actions and touch. You sigh into his mouth, melting into the first real kiss you've shared since waking up, and it takes his tongue tangling with yours for you to realize he tastes minty. He's always so delicious.

Trailing further down, he wipes his release off your stomach, pressing his lips to each freshly-cleaned inch of skin, and then crawls between your legs to wash away the mess he made of your thighs. Your eyes start to flutter closed at the repetitive shift in sensation, his hands lulling you to sleep, until the washcloth hits the floor with a dull splat.

Well, that was over way too soon. But you quickly forgive the horrible transgression once his warm, welcome body sinks into the bed next to you, and his tousled head of hair and beard nuzzle into your stomach.

He mouths at your skin, his lips pressing sweetly around your belly button, and it tickles, making you laugh as you thread your fingers through his curls and scratch his scalp affectionately.

After a moment of comfortable silence, his hand splays warm and broad next to his head. His expression shifts and he looks unexpectedly pensive. Uncertainty creeps into your chest before you can logic it away, even though you know without a doubt that he wants this. His lips begin to move against your stomach and it takes a second for you to realize he's saying something, almost too quietly for you to hear. But when it finally registers, all of that fear completely fades away.

"Hey there, kiddo. It's me, your daddy," he murmurs, his thumb rubbing circles into your skin as soothing as his words. He has the tiniest smile on his face, and it's growing wider by the second. "We're all so excited to meet ya. Me, your momma, your big sister, your uncle...we already love ya so damn much."

The room starts to blur into a wash of colors and figures, and shit, you're crying. But how could you not be? He's...talking to your tiny clump of cells. To your baby—who can't possibly be bigger than a pumpkin seed—with so much adoration, it makes your chest ache.

You're trying so hard not to tremble or sniffle or breathe too heavily so you don't startle him, but that doesn't exactly work out. A few stray tears make their way up your nose, and you snort around your next inhale. Classic, clumsy you.

Joel's head shoots up like he's been caught and his cheeks flush that beautiful shade of burgundy you love so much. You don't want him to stop, but he looks so embarrassed like he thinks he's done something wrong. That couldn't be further from the truth.

"I'm just emotional from the hormones, it's totally fine. I'm totally fine," you give him a reassuring, watery grin. "Keep going. I think they like the sound of daddy's voice."

He chuckles and reaches up to wipe your tears away, gently cradling your face in his hand before he slides it back down to your belly. He continues where he left off, just like you asked, but you have a sneaking suspicion he would've anyway. Joel's just one of those men who was born to be a dad. It comes as naturally to him as breathing.

“Heard that? That's your momma, kiddo. She's....well. She's somethin' else. Strongest, most lovin', person I've ever known and fuckin' sharp as a tack," he smiles up at you, eyes crinkling and bright as the goddamn sun. "And she's beautiful. She even sounds beautiful, don't she? Hopin' you'll come out just like her."

You scoff affectionately, shaking your head as you share a look that tells you he knows exactly what you're thinking. If this baby pops out without his brown eyes and curls, you're going to be so pissed. You teasingly tug his hair, willing him to take it back, but he won't. If your baby's getting anything from the two of you, it's stubbornness.

Then, before you can blink, there's a sudden tone shift. His hand finds yours, lacing your fingers together, and he turns his head so he's speaking directly into your belly. An exchange just between a father and his child.

"Wanna know a secret? S'just between you and me, though, alright? Don't go tellin' your momma," he says nosing into your soft skin, his voice barely above a whisper. You watch him curiously, squeezing his hand to get his attention, but his focus remains on your stomach. "'m gonna ask your momma to marry me. Think she'll say yes?"

Your heart stops and it feels like all of the air's been sucked out of the room. That's—fuck...that's one hell of a secret to share with your baby. You can't even imagine the kind of trouble they're going to get up to if they're already keeping secrets like that.

His eyes flit up to meet yours, but they're not questioning or expectant. He isn't wondering what your answer will be. He just looks peaceful. Blanketed in an easy calm because he already knows what you're going to say. Of course, he does.

Propping his chin on your hip, Joel quietly observes your reaction while he strokes the back of your hand with the rough pad of his thumb. You wonder what he sees on your face and in your body language right now because you're positive it's not the elation or excessive joy anyone else would expect.

You're not squealing or jumping up and down, or whatever newly engaged people usually do. No, that blanket of easy calm is more than big enough for both of you, and it feels safe and warm, just like you always knew this moment would.

And you wouldn't want it any other way. Lying here together after possibly the most eventful week of your lives, filled with so much sex and love and family, and deciding that you want to keep doing this together, over and over. Forever.

You guide his hand up to your lips, pressing a firm, lingering kiss to his palm, before placing it over your racing heart. That tiny smile returns to his face and he crawls up your body so he can kiss you properly, conveying his love better than words ever could.

It's still way too early for your baby to kick or give their daddy any sort of sign that they heard his question, but you're sure they wouldn't mind if you answered for them. It's a no-brainer, anyway.

"Yeah, I do."

thanks for reading! 💕

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lol-im-done · 1 year

Text

moment's silence

#NightSkyChallenge: Prompt 7 — The night I lost a bet. [“You know what this means, don’t you?”] [6.6k]

— Summary: Joel has no idea why Bill gifts him with the book. Had he rambled about you that much? It seemed impossible—to be fair, but surely there were other things besides your name on his tongue. Besides how much you love your books and care for them. Besides how much he's learned since he met you because of them.

Either way, the book means you lost the bet. Joel cares for very little since Outbreak day, but this—oh, this he took it to heart. You'd lost, and he intended on collecting his prize.

— A/n: Canon-divergence; Reader and Tess met Joel at the same time, and all three became a tight-knit unit. | 🏷️ Tags & warnings⚠️: explicit mature content, minors DNI; age gap, mentions of canon-typical violence, confessions, touch starved, dry humping, oral sex (m receiving), slow & deep sex, but also rough sex?, dirty talk, little spoon Joel.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤmasterlist | read on ao3

All he can think about when he sees the bookshelf is your words, even if they were spoken on a whim years ago.

"There's no fucking way you can find a classic in good conditions anymore—not even Joel 'I can find anything' Miller is immune to decay and years of nature taking over. They're all gone, Joel. I just have to accept it. I bet there's not a single one that hasn't been wrecked by either people's ignorance or fucking mold eating every single page."

He remembered those words as clear as the day's first rays of light.

Not because of them, precisely. Because of what came after. He had blurted, "Bet what?" out of sheer instinct, only for you to reply with:

"Anything."

Maybe you were being metaphorical at the time, but Joel took it seriously. He outreached his hand for you to shake. "I'll take that bet."

If he never found a book, nothing would change.

If he won, on the other hand. Well—there's something Joel's been wanting from you for a long, long time.

That's why when he enters Bill's house for the first time, Joel stops dead in his tracks on the corridor leading to the kitchen.

You'd been to the house before with him and Tess.

Just like him, you had stood outside the whole time while Tess and Frank went about their rambles and deals. You, Joel, and Bill were all cut out from the same cloth—death stares etched onto your faces as if you were marble, grumbled conversation that came up here and there between long sips of wine.

Neither you nor Joel had been inside yet.

It's the third time he visits, first one without you, and he sees it—

Bookshelf.

One of Bill's doors is open on the way to the kitchen revealing what used to be an office but now looks more like a symbiosis of an atelier and library. It's — nice, Joel guesses.

It's not his thing.

Books — those are your thing.

Joel has no idea what connects you to the pages, but he knows it runs deeper than just academic pleasure, or snobbiness (an assumption made by many who met you).

It's as if whatever elements existed within paper, inked with words that strung together beautiful stories — it moved you.

Joel was entranced by the way you were able to quote several passages.

Few things remained that were worthy of admiration, or interest. He easily placed your small and precious book collection high above on his list.

That, and your ability to bring those stories to life somehow.

"Are you a reader?" Bill's voice is expected — Joel heard his steps approaching and stopping behind him when he did.

He scanned all the shelves, so he looks back to answer Bill. "Not really. Tess never mentioned who's the little Librarian between us? Our reader's absent today."

"If my, uh... —

If mine... if they brought strangers into our situation... I wouldn't be happy either."

"Oh. Well. They seem to listen to you as well as mine listens to me."

"I hope she feels better soon." Bill says the words and they sound so real. Spoken freely, not through gritted teeth or accompanied by his usual stiff shoulders.

Joel's hands rested on his hips. "Yeah." He hated this part — with Bill and Frank it was harder to not talk about things. He was pretty sure Bill didn't even like him, just like Joel didn't like him that much, but they saw each other. Understood one another. "Yeah, me too."

"The medicine you gave — it helped." That came out through gritted teeth. Joel held back from smiling at the unspoken admission—you sold me real shit. It's saving my partner. Thanks. "Frank's talking about — lavender. Herb garden and all. God."

Joel snickers and they exchange a look. "Good luck with that."

"I'll definitely need it." Bill's hands pat his sides, and Joel recognizes his motion before bolting out of a conversation. "Feel free to look at them," he waves a hand in direction of the shelf before leaving Joel there alone.

He does look.

One by one, Joel checks the titles because if you were here, that's what you'd do, and "when in doubt, always do what you must".

He hated that your words stuck to his brain so easily.

They were sticky like honey, which also resembled your voice. Or maybe that was only the way he heard it — Joel enjoyed listening to you talk.

"When in doubt, always do what you must" came after he left behind some supplies in order to help during a run, and you'd gotten mad at him for the first time.

It was then that Joel noticed how fucking tough you were.

Complete the mission. Help when you can. Do what you must.

If he was here already, he might as well read all the titles. Who knew how long he'd last? If he'd be here again, or if you would?

When his eyes land on Frankenstein, Joel knows he hit the jackpot.

That's when the memory of your bet sparks behind his eyelids, and he's cursed with the way you smiled that day.

Anything.

There was something Joel wanted, badly.

He cut out his own permission to want anything that strayed from finding Tommy again, getting clues to somehow discover a way to find his brother, get him back, but you planted the seed in his subconscious by simply existing — he was powerless to stop it.

One second, you and Tess walked into his life.

The next, he had on one side a best friend who cursed as much as him and on the other a menace who popped into his subconscious state, giving him dreams for the first time in years.

You two brought back a sense of humanity into his day-to-day life.

In return, Joel tried his best to do good for both of you.

Keep you safe however he could. Slip extra ration cards into your stack so you could more.

Small things like that — things that he later realized were only the seeds for the want that blossomed.

Joel wanted you out of the smuggling business.

He wanted you to be safe.

It was fucking ridiculous.

Your hand never missed the trigger timing — if there was anyone around the neighborhoods he lived more skilled in knives than you, he'd eat his own hand, and you were clever.

Quick, sharp, rational.

Despite all of that, he hated the sight of your back whenever a deal had them going outside.

Every time he saw a pistol or any other weapon in your hands, he wanted to throw it away as hard as he could.

And here he was, facing Frankenstein.

Anything.

Fuck. Joel hated how he hesitated.

If it belonged to anyone else, his hands would've already made the book meet the secret parts of his backpack, but he couldn't do this to contacts so good like Frank and Bill.

He couldn't fuck up this one.

Shit.

(Maybe he did like the two men, after all. Just a little.)

Joel has no idea why Bill gifts him the book.

One minute they're sitting alone drinking scotch while Tess and Frank finish up the trade and the next, they're talking about old hobbies they regretted not paying more attention to. Conversing like two normal people. Like Tess and Frank do, only without all the niceness and excitement.

At one point, Bill asks, "Did you see anything you liked?"

It takes a second for Joel to realize he's talking about the room and the shelf. Joel shakes his head. "Wasn't a big fan of readin'." A lie, he thinks. "Even that's a stretch. I — probably should've done it more now that I think about it."

Bill's answer is a hum. "Yeah. Lots of things I wish I should've done. Properly. Piano's one of them."

Joel eyes the item in the room. He recalls you and Tess talking about how Frank was lucky to know an instrument. "Frank's good at it, though?"

"He was rustier when he arrived, but yeah — he's doing good now."

Joel admires that. Some things are probably talent, he figures. "Practice's everything. 's why I feel bad for people whose thing was, like, artsy. Y'know?" He lists you and Frank as examples. "They ain't got means to do what they really love now."

That's when Bill shares that Frank paints. Piano and drawn, painted art — that was nice. Frank probably missed a lot of things.

If what you said was true and artists withered without their art like some plants did without sun or water, then he must be sad nowadays.

The new information sparks up a memory. The abandoned art supply on Canbose with 5th Street — was it possible there were some there?

Joel kept the doubts to himself so as to not spark any hopes of things he'd fail to deliver, but the real surprise is that he and Bill have their first conversation there.

It's a nice one.

Joel loathes that his brain comes up with the knowing looks both you and Tess would give him and Bill if either of you saw the way the two men can converse so easily once the guns are gone.

Bill's — he's okay.

Rough around the edges, sure, but in polished, sturdy ways.

He's also a little box of Pandora.

The last thing Joel could expect was being called aside by Bill before he leaves with Tess, only to find him hiding behind the door waiting for him with a furtive air in his stance, as if there could be any secrets that they'd keep from theirs.

Bill extends the copy of Frankenstein without meeting Joel's eyes. "Here." He all but shoves it into Joel's hands, and then nods. "It's the one you kept touching."

There's no reason to play bargain or pretend this is a gift he's too humble to accept.

He does as he's told, thanks Bill with a long nod, and walks out.

It does beat at his mind on the walk back to the QZ, though—had he rambled about you that much?

It seemed impossible—to be fair, he always managed to keep the conversation away from himself, but surely there were other things besides your name on his tongue. Besides how much you love your books and care for them. Besides how much he's learned since he met you because of them.

Either way, the book means you lost the bet.

Joel cares for very little since Outbreak day, but this—oh, this he took it to heart. You'd lost, and he intended on collecting his prize.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤTWO DAYS LATER

The smell of your apartment envelops him every time.

Everything's open.

You keep plants hung in several places on your wall, and they're all so tall and green. Big, imponent, and your habit of walking through the place and touching one of them, sometimes going as far as plucking a leaf or petal out of them—the air suddenly turned into myrrh, lavender, eucalyptus.

Joel wished he smelled nothing other than here.

"Heard you were feelin' better," Joel says as soon as he has eyes on you.

There's more color on your cheeks. When you smile, Joel sees it reach your eyes even if it remains small in your lips. "Still feel like shit, though."

Tongue sharp as ever, then.

He chuckles and walks in as you move aside in invitation, gaze checking through the apartment as he takes off his shoes.

Joel always pays attention to everything that surrounds you.

While you ask about the trades you missed, he takes note of the spotless state of everything around him. Stainless windows, shiny floor, a sharp citrus scent lingering even around you.

Stress cleaning — check.

"Did you finish the food I gave ya?"

"Of course," you answer. Joel's happy to hear that — you ate very little on the first day you got sick, and he gave you some of his food to make sure you ate.

The two of you take a sit in the kitchen, and as you talk about work, he analyzes you better.

You had your most comfortable clothes on. They came from a box he found not long ago that was your size exactly; the shirt has wet stains on your chest, and your wet hair tells him you felt good enough today for the first time in a while.

Good enough to gather the patience to wash your hair in the sink.

"Don't mind Inoctus, you know he says that shit about the Fireflies all the time. I ain't gonna argue with him again," Joel waves a hand, and then gets to the part he wanted to talk about. "Never mind him, though — did Tess tell you about what Bill and Frank found for us? What Frank fixed?"

"No, not yet."

Excellent. "We've got some good news. Oh — and before I forget. D'you think that art supply on Canbose still has some supplies left?"

"The one that intersects with the 5th?"

"Yeah."

"I don't know. I don't see why it wouldn't have," you shrug your shoulders. "It's close enough to the QZ for it not be completely raided and I don't see who would prioritize stealing art supplies in the middle of everything." It made sense to Joel, and he felt a rare sense of giddiness tingling. "Why?"

He leans back on the chair. "Frank's a painter."

"No way."

Joel grins — you understood him. "Yes, way."

"Fucking hell. Is there anything he doesn't do?"

He laughs. "I know. I felt the same way."

"He plays the piano, he should be obliged by law to stick to that cool thing."

Joel likes it when you're feeling a little petty — the scrunch on your nose is adorable. He wants to pinch it between his fingers, even if he never did. "Anyway..." He shares the other updates about the trip to their house without you, then talks about the people who contacted him — the ones that gave him any trouble are your expertise, and Joel loves the set on your brows when you're listening.

He has no idea how someone who looks so precious can have such a wicked mind.

"She looks so — I don't know. Not this ingenious. Mean. How the fuck does someone who's always hummin' songs under her breath can intimate grown-ass man?"

"You're the only fucker who thinks she looks like an angel, Joel."

"Nah, we both know that's a lie."

"No, you're just delusional. If anyone thinks she looks angelic you better bet they're comparing her to Lucifer."

Was he? Delusional.

Tess always made him feel like he was faced with a Truth Mirror whenever he opened his big mouth around her.

After a couple of hours, you've already cooked some things — with the little help he could offer — for the both of you, taken notes of the people you need to talk to.

Joel realizes that time passes only when you.

Outside of your presence, it's all a snowball. Stale.

"Ah, shit." You get up in a rush.

"What?"

"Almost lost the time for my pills again," you mutter under your breath.

"You really need a watch." From where he sits at your kitchen table he can see your profile — the roll of your eyes. He huffs in disbelief, ignoring the feeling of his mouth tugging in the corners.

After you take your med, you sit on the couch and find his gaze from across the room. "Clean the table for me?"

Joel never says no to you.

Not for lack of want — fucking god must know how many times he's craved saying it, enunciating each letter with gusto. No.

It never came out.

He cleans the table thinking about how much he's delaying it.

The book's inside his duffel bag that remained next to your door all this time, but it weighs on his back somehow.

He did more than just clean the table as he tried pushing down the little mean jabs his mind took at itself.

You can't force her to stay outta business.

She ain't never listened to a soul in her life—who are you to tell her what to do?

Once every while, you would venture into Joel's personal space and place a finger where his brows pinched together. The first time it happened, the effect had been immediate—Joel was so shocked by the act that his whole face relaxed; not his body, though. His body froze, and he had stood there in a perfect portrayal of a statue.

You do that when he sits on the couch.

Your presence is so damn familiar to him that even lost in his own mind, he finds his way through the maze. He sits by your side, leans back, and drops his head on the couch.

When he feels your finger touching his frown, Joel opens his eyes.

"What's bothering you?" Your finger leaves, and he misses it.

Joel turns his head to the side. "Nothin'." He likes the way the color's back to your cheeks. A week on anti-inflammatory meds made you a little gray, and nothing about you was dull.

"You're a shit liar," you say.

He scoffs. "No, I'm not."

"You really are, though," you argue, fighting a smile. "And just so you know, your accent gets thicker the harder you try."

At that, he frowns. "No, it doesn't—" and fuck, he hears it. How the fuck did you notice that? His frown deepens, and you chuckle at him. "You pay attention to the strangest fuckin' things." It's said in the same gruff way he says most things, but there's enough admiration underneath it that you hear it for what it is.

"And thank god for that — it's what's kept me alive. Us alive," you snort, giving yourself the credit you're due for once.

In the end, he blurts it out. "I found it."

"Found what?" you ask, truly confused at the abrupt change.

"Something you told me I couldn't."

"That's... oddly vague," you reply. "I name a lot of things you can't find. You seem to think you have superpowers."

"No powers. Just talent." He shrugs, and gets up to retrieve the book. "What's the one thing you told me there was 'no fucking way' I could find?"

The second it takes for your brain to connect the dots is the time Joel needs to find the copy in his bag.

Joel sees your eyes dropping to it when he turns around. Widening. Freezing that way. Your lips parting only a couple of inches as your jaw slowly drops.

He sits with more satisfaction on your couch than he's sat anywhere in a long time.

The book falls with a soft thud between your bodies.

All the space he puts between you two is replaced by it —

Mary Shelley, Frankenstein.

"You know what this means, don't you?" he asks.

When you look up, Joel's caught off guard.

The moisture in your eyes shines under the light coming from your kitchen. Joel's throat becomes restricted by an invisible force, and his eyes sting in response to the sight.

"What the fuck, Joel?" your hands pick up the book with a reverence that makes his skin tingle. "Where... how —" both times you start, then stop. "My god." He just watches. You turn the book around, eyeing every millimeter. "This is real," you mutter. He's aware you're not even talking to him at this point. "Have you—" you look up at him, and he feels special enough, "have you opened it? Are the pages—it's whole?"

The way you breathe out the word.

A reverence. So sacred.

Joel might as well consider the bet paid if he wasn't so far gone on what he wants.

Kind of.

"It's whole," he confirms.

Joel almost opens up his mouth to make a teasing remark. Ask if you'd like to be left alone with it, maybe. Instead, he lets you examine it to your heart's will, which takes a while.

He's always comfortable in the silence with you.

That's when he started realizing the trouble he was in.

When he came over just to sit at the same table as you. Have dinner in silence while you cleaned your guns. Sometimes, he'd imagine a bottle of scotch would make the two of you end up in whispered conversations under the dim, yellowish lights of your place, but it never happened.

Joel's too much of a coward to let his guard down with you.

He wouldn't be able to do what he did with the others — a sweet release in the dark; an impersonal match of bodies, mingled in sweat and joined in more ways than it should seem possible, but never looking each other in the eye.

You looked him straight into his soul when you spoke to him. Every time.

"This means... you won the bet," you say.

Joel blinks out of his thoughts. "Sure does."

"So." You put the book down gently on your lap, then gaze at him, eyes piercing into his. "What d'you want?"

Tough question. Joel felt the tingle that never left his skin covering him from head to toe. His throat constricts around the words — his body starts to heat up. He shakes his head, and is overwhelmed by how the air seems to charge between you both. He licks his lips, and says.

Like a coward, his eyes fall on Frankenstein before he speaks.

"Can't have what I want." The naked truth. What's the point of lying to you, anyway? You're a shit liar. "So I'll ask for a close second," he adds quickly. Something magnetic pulls at him, and he looks up — a mistake. Fucking mistake—you never looked at him this way. Is that red on your cheeks? "I — uh; I want a voucher. A veto power."

You blink, utterly confused. "What?"

"A veto power over you." It's the closest he could think of on his way here. Some kind of power, since Joel has no right to demand anything from you. "On a decision. I—If you said you're comin' on a mission, for example. I could say 'no. Veto.' and that'd be it. No arguments. I want a veto card over you. Just one."

You stare at him for a few seconds, and Joel can almost see the engines in your brain turning.

Joel sometimes feels you're more than just yourself. The eyes on your head see far beyond what's in front of them, and he feels naked quite often when in front of you.

"Just tell me what you want," you say.

Can't have what I want, he told you. He shakes his head. "Doesn't matter."

"How would you know?"

"I just do," he argues.

"Maybe you're wrong."

"I'm not!" The storm swirls and lifts him from the couch. Joel turns his back to you, overcome by the reality of it all. "I know I'm not. There isn't—what I want is impossible. There's no such thing anymore. It ain't like the books, or finding fucking chocolate or—it ain't. I wanted you safe. How fuckin' stupid is that—" he chokes on air, gasping around the words. "There's no safe anymore." Softer, and lower, it comes out again. "There's no safe."

Most of the time, Joel's control is kept on a tight leash. His hands have a vicious grip around it because if he loosens it, it'll run off.

His hands are shaking now. He should turn back to face you, to see if he's just said too much or fucked it up somehow, but—you get up. He hears the squeaking of the couch and your steps approaching.

Then, as slowly as you approached him when you first met, he feels it:

Your hands slide around his middle. Your palms spread across his back and contour his waist, and you're hugging him—you hug him from behind, and Joel's chest expands with the air that your presence brings.

"Joel." You hug tighter. He can feel your upper body pressed against his back, and his hands come up to rest on top of yours, shaking as they are. He wants to speak up, but you beat him to it. "I thought I was going crazy, Joel."

Crazy? He is going crazy. You're wrapped around him and the world is yet to implode; Joel feels a knot in his throat that wasn't there before. "Why?"

It hits him — the answer.

Before you're able to say it hits him in the chest, because your hands grip him by the ribcages but not with force; all your fingers need to do is apply gentle pressure on him and Joel feels that you want him to move, so he lets you.

You spin him inside your hold, and Joel goes willingly.

When he's turned and facing you, the answer is there, all over your face.

Your hands stay on his back, but your eyes are searching on every inch of his face for any sign, for anything to deter you from what you want to do.

Joel sees it. He is delusional.

"I want the impossible too," you say. It comes out in a soft whisper, and Joel mentally curses all the moments of silence between you two where he felt the air as palpable as you inside his arms right now. When you looked at him, almost through him, and he turned a blind eye to it in fear that it was exactly what he wanted and craved for. "Is it — too much?"

He's incapable of answering.

His hands come up to your face, and he fits his palm on the set of your jar, where his thumb can touch your cheeks.

You melt to the touch, eyes closing along the way.

All those times you two shared a laugh and a look, and the silence hung in the air as your eyes were unable to leave each other — this. It could've been this.

"Tell me to stop and I will," is all he can say before he dives.

Joel meets you underwater.

The same way you're drowning in his hands with all of your weight supported on his body, Joel submerges as his mouth meets your kiss.

It's a waiting game — you were waiting for the moment he'd realize, he thinks.

Joel may be out of touch with reality itself, but some things can pierce through different dimensions.

Raw things never fail to elicit the strongest form of feeling and your desire pulls him under—real, demanding.

Although he remembers being a vocal partner in bed, he has no words or taunting remarks for you—he'd rather kiss.

Your mouth parts so eagerly for him that Joel wants to shut up.

He has you shutting up, moaning in his mouth as his tongue slides on yours. His fingers grip tighter on your hair. Your arms cling to him, then both of them let go to wrap around his shoulders instead, and Joel feels the despair as you climb up higher, as you press your body harder against him.

He understands it. Empathizes, even — he's feeling it on him the same way.

Your desperate, wet kisses rekindle connections long lost in his brain.

Joel remembers the desperate and insane horniness of youth when hormones mix with inexperience and everything feels new and like a raw, open nerve.

This tastes like those moments.

It'd been so long since Joel was touched and your hands start a mapping of his body that start to get him drunk.

It hits him that it's you. He's kissing you, and you're kissing back with so much force that he has no air, there's no air in his lungs—

He pulls back, gasping, and feels your nails digging into his scalp. The moan scratches the back of his throat and Joel only notices his eyes are still closed when your forehead touches his and your breath starts mingling with his.

Opening his eyes is a blessing. And a curse, most likely.

Seeing your mouth swollen and puffy makes him greedy.

Then — "Are you stopping?" you ask. Hoarse voice. Breathless. "I didn't tell you to stop," you add, whining.

Joel picks you up in one motion, and the laughter that bubbles out of your chest reminds him that you're light — you're the ghost that pops up in his dreams shining with the pink hue of sundown and you're the hope of his mornings, the scent of coffee and pages and herbs that make him feel like this earth could still have a sense of home even if he denies that fact, gritting his teeth at the fact the world still goes on.

He pins you against the nearest wall. One without a shelf, or furniture.

With you pressed against the wall, he has better support. He can trace your thighs with his palm, can get his hands underneath your cotton shorts, your blouse.

"Are you trying to kill me?" you ask him. Your head hits the wall behind you, and Joel looks up to see you watching him as he maps you. You visibly swallow when your gazes meet, and Joel wants to say so fucking much, but nothing comes out at first.

All he wants is to make the pink on your lips become permanent.

He wants to rip every item of clothing on you with his hands, and wants to —

"Joel," you lean forward, capturing his lips in a kiss and stealing all the images he had of you pinned on your own wooden floor, cheeks pressed against it as he took you from behind.

When your tongue meets his, Joel feels something snapping.

He growls into the kiss, both of his hands groping your asscheeks as he desperately grinds his hips against your body.

This kiss is even better than the first, even if it kills all of his oxygen faster.

Joel never kissed like this. Not this messy, this wet and sloppy mess of need, and dry humping, and swallowing your moans only to have them be echoed back to you when you grind your hips down in the perfect way—

When he pulls back for air this time, Joel grips your head by the hair, making a fistful at your nape.

"This is not just now, is it?" he asks. His own voice sounds like sandpaper and pure lust, and he's not even beginning.

"No, no," you shake your head. "I need you, Joel."

"Fuckin' hell," he has more to say, but now he needs you naked. "'m gonna take off your clothes. Then I'm gonna eat your pussy 'cause I've thought about it too many fuckin' times." Your jaw falls open at him, and Joel smiles despite himself. "Yeah. You gonna let me, baby? Hm?"

Your only answer is to nod desperately, grinding against him as your eyes close.

Joel's in heaven. "Did I win what I want?" he asks.

"What?"

"My veto," he pulls you away from the wall and starts carrying you to your bedroom. "I still want it. Can't have the impossible but I can have a veto."

You laugh as he kicks your door open. "You want a fucking veto? Joel, all you have to do is hold me by the chin and say 'no' or 'yes' and I'd do it. It's that simple. Always have been. " You grab his face between your hands and pierce him with those All Seeing Eyes. "I'll give you your veto, if that's what you want." You kiss his lips, sighing softly. "'m sorry I can't promise you I'll be safe, but I can promise I'll try."

Joel knows he's about to do something that can't be taken back when he lies you down.

He nods just so you know he understood, but the knot's formed again and if he speaks, Joel will cry — the words wouldn't come out anyway, even if he wants to say them.

Joel's unsure if they haven't been burned out of his tongue.

He takes off your clothes one by one. Ironic for someone who wanted them ripped to pieces not a minute ago, but to have you laid in front of him soothes the desperation somehow.

His plans get interrupted, though, because once you're naked and all of his brain is mushed into nothing but skin skin you you touch touch touch, you stop him from kneeling down at the edge of the bed with a touch and one request, "You too?" your gaze is so open and vulnerable that his hands go to his shirt. "No — lemme. Please."

Joel does, and you do the same to him, taking his clothes off one by one.

When you drop to his knees in front of him, Joel is powerless.

He's too stunned to say or do anything but look.

Even his hands that itch to touch only manage to do so when they're flying for some support so his knees don't buckle and he falls — you grab his cock by the base with one hand, look up until his eyes are locked on yours, and then licks a wet stripe from his balls to the tip.

Then you do it again, and again, until Joel's coated in saliva, and you can suck around the tip, swallowing him down in one go.

He grips your hair for life support, cursing under his breath.

Joel's vocal about how much you're fucking killing him.

You go at it slowly, which is even more torture, but he gets it. He remembers you talking about not being with a person for the longest time. How it made no difference for you to have the physical or not because the attraction wasn't there unless there something underneath it — for someone who's out of practice, you must have the knowledge.

Your tongue runs on the sensitive skin between the dick and his balls, your mouth suctions when it's taking him down and when you start bobbing your head, using your hand to cover the parts your mouth can't reach, Joel has to physically pull you back.

"Stop, stop —" his hand on your hair pulls you back, and Joel curses again when you whine at having to let go. "'m gonna fuck you, baby, it's okay, 's okay," he gets you up by the neck, and is kissing you right after.

That's how he falls in bed with you — with his cock leaking pre-cum, his back already coated in sweat and your mouth tasting like him.

Joel eases the fall with his hand, not wanting to crush you with his weight. He wants to eat you out — Joel wants to bury his face in you, but when he makes a move to go down, your legs clamp around his waist and your head starts shaking.

You pull back from his kiss, "No — later, you can do that later, just — please," you guide your hand between your bodies to hold him and guide his cock to your entrance. "Waited too long, Joel."

I need you, Joel.

"Wait, wait — " it'll be over too fast if he sees you all the time. Joel has an idea. "A position that's better for you first. I wanna see you too, but I want you to feel good. Turn around for me."

"You want me on all fours?"

"No," he shakes his head. "Just turn around."

You obey him, and Joel grabs one of your pillows to push under your waist. You rest your cheek on the one under your head, and he positions himself first before crowding your space with his head on the crook of your neck.

He dips his fingers in first, spreading your wetness all over you before lining up.

It's sinful how good the position is.

He fills you up, bottoming all the way out. Joel's thick, but not too long, and he knows this angle is as good for you as it is for him. "Feels good?" he asks in your ear.

Your only response is his name.

"Is that a yes?" he pulls all the way out, and slams it back in, wanting to feel the drag. Wanting to feel your walls clamping around him. How you open up to accommodate all of him. "'Cause you feel like — fuckin' heaven, baby — louder, say it louder —"

"Feels amazing, Joel," you cry.

He knows it does. Joel hasn't felt anything remotely close to pleasure in a long time, so this might be too much, he might be in danger of growing an addiction, but he's past caring.

He drags it out.

Joel wanted to fuck you senseless a while ago, but now all he wants is to stay buried in the tight and warm haven of your cunt until you're both too spent to move a muscle. "'m gonna stay — all fuckin' night — inside you, baby — hm, whaddaya think?"

"Yes, please—"

"God, I love — that's all you can say to me."

"Don't stop," you cry out louder.

"I won't." He couldn't.

He doesn't want to. He doesn't.

Joel thrusts into you slow, measured and deep, until the heat in his groin is climbing like your nails digging at his sides. He loses count of how many times he sucks on your shoulders, how many bite marks you must have on your neck, of how many single-worded compliments he spills in your ears as he fucks the words out of you.

When you beg to cum, Joel flips you over and hoists your leg higher so he can go in deeper, and he fucks you the way you've been begging him to — crying around his fingers for harder, and faster, Joel, please, please, I'm not gonna break —

He gives it to you like both of you have been dying to receive, and when your legs start shaking around him and his name drops from your lips in a scream, Joel pulls out, coating your stomach in the hot strings of his cum.

He doesn't collapse on top of you, which is a miracle.

He does lay strategically next to you in order to avoid his own mess until he's able to feel his legs again.

Your fingers thread his hair during that time.

The spasms of your legs make him smile, and the little hums that leave you without you even realizing make Joel float on his bliss.

When he comes back to himself, he gets up to get a warm towel. He cleans you both, just enough so sleeping is okay. He pulls up the duvet and puts you underneath it before climbing under as well.

When he lays, Joel expects you to turn around;

Instead, you wrap around him in octopus style, and whisper, "Turn around."

He obeys, and is rewarded by you spooning him.

Joel thinks he might be dreaming.

"Are you gonna be here tomorrow?" you ask after a while.

Your bodies are as tangled as they can be. Your hands caress the hairs on his chest and your breath is on his neck, and still, you are stared he'll leave.

"D'you want scrambled eggs or you prefer the toast?" he replies.

There's a kiss on his neck. Another on his shoulder. He grabs one of your hand to pull it to his lips, and kisses it.

"Scrambled."

"'kay. Where d'you keep your sugar? I can never find it."

"I'll show you tomorrow," you kiss his shoulder, and squeeze his body. "Joel?"

"Yeah, baby?"

He can feel your smile because your lips are on his skin. He's gonna use that more, he thinks. "I might wake up rubbing myself all over you," you whisper.

He laughs. "Fine by me."

🏷️ @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, you know... or what you thought of this one.. just saying... <3

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lol-im-done · 1 year

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Ghost of His Past

summary: joel hadn't seen you since the night the world had gone to shit, now here you were 20 years later in the Boston QZ, bursting into his life like a ray of sunlight after the darkest storm. read on ao3

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

word count: 2.2k

author's note/tags: wrote this purely based off me watching the show, apologies for any inconsistencies with the game. I love Pedro as Joel! would love to write more so any suggestions/feedback would be appreciated.

no major warnings, all the feels, flashbacks to pre!outbreak joel, references to drugs, some dark themes, age gap.

Boston QZ, 2023

“Joel?”

A soft voice floated through the air but Joel ignored it, thinking it a figment of his imagination, a stray memory coming back to torment him. The now familiar voice called out to him again and he paused in the middle of the sidewalk, heart beginning to pound involuntarily. Next to him Tess’ eyebrows scrunched in confusion at his reaction, twisting around to try and find the source. There was only one person who it could be and he wouldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe it until he saw it with his own eyes. Forcing himself to take a deep breath, he turned slowly to face the ghost of his past. His usual stoicness crumbled the moment he saw you. There you stood a bit uneasy in your new environment but you offered him a timid smile. The air left his lungs as if someone had kicked him in the ribs and he was transported back to Austin.

September 26th, 2003

The last time he had seen you was the night the whole world had gone to shit. As the twisted body of Nana Adler half crawled, half ran at him, fear had Joel frozen in place unsure of what to do as Tommy shouted behind him. Before he could raise his makeshift weapon a gunshot rang through the air and Nana’s body hit the ground with a thud, blood and brains splattered against the grass of the pristine lawn. Joel, Tommy and Sarah turned to look at their savior, you, still clad in your nursing scrubs. Had it been under different circumstances Joel would have been impressed by your aim, he didn’t even know you could shoot a gun.

You were a twenty-three year old with a dazzling smile that matched the ring on your wedding finger. Newly engaged, you and your fiance Luke had moved into the neighborhood only a year ago becoming fast friends of the Millers. Sarah had quickly latched onto you and you had taken her under your wing with enthusiasm. Joel had been amazed at the way you dotted on her, supported her and been there for her in the short time you had known them. Luke had come to admire Joel, taking lessons on how to fix up the house and learning the art of grilling on the weekends. You had developed a friendship with Joel based on your mutual love of music and surprisingly puzzles. Now you looked fractured, the last few hours completely shattering your reality and completely changing you forever. He could tell by your expression, the blood splattered against your face and Luke’s gun in your trembling hand that you had been forced to do the unthinkable in your home. Before he could offer you help the two remaining members of the Adler family came charging out of the home and in rapid succession you had sent more bullets flying, making them howl in pain.

“Go!” you screamed at them, Tommy wasting no time in jumping into the driver’s seat but Sarah tried desperately to reach for you.

“We can’t leave her dad!” Sarah had screeched in a panic as Joel pushed her into the truck.

“It’ll be alright Sarah, I’ll be fine,” you choked out, trying to reassure the young girl but the panic in your voice did little to calm her. Joel paused at the truck door, jaw tense and knuckles tight as he gripped the wrench. He was overwhelmed, so conflicted in that moment, not wanting to leave you but he didn’t know what this was. He didn’t know who could end up sick. You wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to explain himself, that you understood he had to focus on his family and their safety first. Your lip wobbled as you sucked in a deep breath, motioning for him to get in the truck.

“Go and don’t look back.”

A lump formed in his throat at your words and against his better judgment he surged forward and placed a hand against your cheek. Tears continued to stream down your face as you gave him a weak smile of thanks.

“Joel, we gotta go!” Tommy shouted as another neighbor crawled from their front door a few houses down. Before he knew it they were speeding down their street leaving their home behind, the sound of gunshots echoing through the cul de sac once more. Joel risked a look in the rear view mirror and the sight of you on your knees, gun cradled to your chest sent a chill down his spine. The ear splitting scream of sorrow that followed would haunt him for years to come.

Present Day

Even now the radiance of your smile almost blinds him, the setting sun casting a golden glow against your skin. Joel wasn’t sure what overcame him at that moment, he was suddenly flooded with emotions he had spent the last two decades trying to suppress. An invisible force seemed to pull you both together as you ran towards each other. The moment his arms wrapped around you, practically crushing you, a sob broke past your lips as you squeezed him back with equal fervor to make sure he was real. When you had seen him walking down the street you hadn’t quite believed it was him but his striking features assured you it was Joel Miller.

“It’s so good to see you,” you laughed tearfully.

“I can’t believe you’re alive- that you’re here,” Joel murmured into your hair.

“Who’s this?”

Tess’ voice seemed to snap Joel out of it and he slowly untangled himself from you but still kept himself close to your side as if you were at risk of disappearing.

“This is (Y/N), we were neighbors back in Texas. A friend of the family,” Joel explained and you nodded in agreement. A short silence followed as your adrenaline waned, questions flooding your mind and it was clear that a more serious conversation would follow.

“I’ll see you later Joel,” Tess murmured, still looking confused as if she had never seen this side of him before. Joel gave her a brief nod in reply before turning to you, his deep brown eyes trailing over your face.

“C’mon, we got a lot to catch up on.”

Following him to his apartment which you realized was across the building you had been assigned to, he led you into his space mumbling an apology about the mess. As he poured you a cup of water your eyes roamed the room, heart lurching at the butterfly on the window. It matched the one in his kitchen back home. Home. There was no more home for either of you and you shook your head to rid yourself of the thought.

“Joel?”

He turned to look at you and his stomach twisted uncomfortably, he knew that look and what would come next.

“Sarah...she’s not here is she?”

“She’s not.”

At his words you sank into one of the chairs, hand pressed to your heart as it seemed to crumble beneath your skin. “You don't have to say anything more about her Joel, just know that I loved her very much,” you finally managed to say. When you looked up at him, you had to stop yourself from reaching out to comfort him, he looked so lost.

“I won’t pretend I know how to start this off. It's not everyday you find someone from before,” Joel sat in the chair next to you.

“I think it would be only right for me to say that I’m glad you’re alive,” you replied. That seemed to make the corners of his lips slightly curve upwards and you had a feeling he didn’t smile much these days.

“How did you make it all this way darling?”

The term of endearment had a fiery blush dusting your cheeks which made something flutter in Joel’s chest. He had never called you that before which was expected as you were once engaged. Now though, you took a moment to appreciate his handsome ruggedness before returning to his question.

“I continued my work as a nurse, traveled through the South trying to help who I could. The Army and then FEDRA snatched up most of the doctors and nurses for themselves which didn’t leave much for the survivors. Eventually FEDRA found me in Georgia and I managed to strike a sort of deal. Some freedom of movement and to treat civilians as long as I committed to some time in the QZs,” you explained, glossing over the more traumatic details. Perhaps stories for another time. Joel could tell by your expression and the faded scar on your jaw that you had been through tough times, you being here now only spoke to the bravery you had shown that night you had saved them. Slowly you opened up to one another, treading lightly with the topics of your discussion before you glanced at the clock on the wall.

“I think I’ve overstayed my welcome,” you smiled nervously, moving to stand and Joel tried not to let his disappointment show.

“I know things are different now,” you cringed a bit at the understatement. “But if you ever want to hang out you know or just reminisce about Austin...,” you offered. It was your use of the word reminisce, as if he would find it enjoyable to think about everything he had lost. A dark shadow crossed Joel’s face making him frown, the lines around his eyes deepening.

“Why the hell would I want to reminisce?” he all but growled. Usually his foul moods and brooding stare would scare off anyone in a ten mile radius but he was surprised to not even see you flinch. You had faced much worse in this life than the simple anger of men. His sudden mood change was unsurprising to you, you had once been the same way, poisoned by grief unable to even think about the past without being reduced to a puddle of overwhelming sadness. With a sigh, you scooted closer to Joel.

“For a long time I forced myself to not think about that day, and all the days that came afterward. It was even too painful to think about life before Outbreak Day. But in doing that I started forgetting about them, all of the people I cared for. Their loss stained my memories, I started forgetting how they looked, the sound of their voices,” your voice cracked. “It hurts, revisiting the past. I spent so many nights wide awake thinking of simply what could have been. Then I forced myself to face it, said each of their names just to make myself remember. It was like being doused in a bucket of ice water,” you continued and Joel was stunned at your honesty. It had been so long since someone had voiced their emotions so sincerely. “The more I allowed myself to revisit them in my memory, the less I would see Luke’s face as I shot him when I closed my eyes. The less I would imagine all the scenarios in which my family and friends had died,” your continued and Joel found himself offering you his hand which you took gratefully. “I started seeing the big picture again, not the fraction of tragedy. Twenty years is a long time but at least I won’t spend the next twenty as haunted as I was. For some reason we’re still here and they’re not. But that doesn’t mean their memory has to be gone too,” you murmured.

“Most people that meet me think I’m naive, a hopeless optimist of some kind but I know that every day, every hour is not promised to us. If the universe continues to keep me alive I’m going to try my best to make it worth it,” you finished, giving his hand a squeeze. Joel was at a loss for words, still processing what you had shared with him. After a few moments he managed to find his voice.

“It's past curfew and I’m not sure if your status as medic will grant you any favors, it's best if you stay here tonight,” Joel offered, standing up and motioning to his bed.

“Oh you don’t have to- what about the woman you were with? I thought she was-,” you stammered slightly.

“Tess is my smuggling partner, she comes by some nights but she doesn’t live here,” he corrected you. “We’re not together like that...not anymore.”

“Alright, I don’t mind taking the sofa-,”

“Not a chance darling,” Joel crossed his strong arms.

“There’s that southern charm I’ve missed,” you teased, squeezing his bicep before tucking yourself into his bed. Surrounded by his scent and the surprisingly warm blanket you quickly succumbed to sleep. Joel found himself watching you sleep soundly, entranced by the way the moonlight cascaded over your face. On instinct he reached for the bag of pills in his pocket. Something stopped him, his hand straying away from the pills as your words replayed in his head. Then I forced myself to face it, said each of their names just to make myself remember. He felt silly but he began to sound out the name he hadn’t uttered in years.

“Sa- Sarah,” he whispered. A weight seemed to unload from his chest and he felt lighter somehow. That night he didn't dream of death, he was in a world of his own creation and like a ray of sunshine in the middle of it all was you.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #the last of us hbo #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you

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lol-im-done · 1 year

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*fist bump* ✨️

From the extras on the HOTD DVD season 1 (I filmed it from my TV lmao 😭)

All rights to HBO

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lol-im-done · 1 year

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Aemond vs Daemon

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lol-im-done · 1 year

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Sneak peek of the Aemond one shot I’m writing. Reader is older sister of Lucerys and betrothed to Aemond. When she learns of his murder she vowes vengeance and justice for her brother.

Aemond watched as your face hardened and with a grim look you slid your helm over your face before tightening your grip on the reins.

“Tonight I will bring you to your knees, Aemond Targaryen. With blood and fire!”

Tempest’s sudden and ferocious roar melded with your warrior cry making him jump in place. He knew he had no choice, you would not kill him without a fair fight, something he had not given to Lucerys. He owed it to you in a sense to fight back. His emotions were a whirlwind but he managed to climb back up onto Vhagar who reared back to take flight. He never thought he would be here in this moment, battling his betrothed but the gods were cruel. He anticipated one of you would not make it out alive.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #Aemond one shot #hotd imagine #Aemond Targaryen x you

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lol-im-done · 2 years

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Love in the Kingswood | Harwin Strong X Reader

Pairing: Ser Harwin Strong X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2489

Synopsis: Princess Rhaenyra's Lady in Waiting, Lady (Y/N) Vaelor, slays a boar to protect her cousin, upon her return to the royal camp she realizes she's caught the attention of Ser Harwin Strong, and as they go on their own hunt they fall in love.

Author's Note: Feedback and comments are always appreciated! Also any ideas for other one shots so I can be inspired to write more :). Can be found on A03 as well.

Never had you been so happy to see a forest as you were when you arrived at the Kingswood. After hours of awkward small talk, glares from Alicent and the uncomfortable bumpy carriage ride you were more than ready to disembark. As Lady in Waiting to Princess Rhaenyra you were a constant companion at her side and as a distant cousin you were welcomed into the inner circle of the Royal Family. King Viserys had recognized Rhaenyra’s increasing isolation after Queen Aemma’s death so he reached out to your father Lord Vaelor who quickly dispatched you to King’s Landing. It was daunting at first but you became fast friends with Rhaenyra, a comforting and supporting presence for her. As the royal carriage slowed you could hear the cheers for the babe Aegon outside, Rhaenyra already withdrawing into herself.

“Are you ready?” you asked softly, grasping her hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. After a few seconds she gave you a brave smile and nod before stepping off with you at her side.

The encampment was enormous with various tents and booths for Aegon’s name day celebration. Soon you found yourself in the main royal tent and after a quick conversation with King Viserys who doted on you as if his own daughter, you went on your rounds but kept a watchful eye on Rhaenyra. The King never explicitly stated you were to mind her but it became evident you were also responsible for keeping her in line, as spirited as she was. As you exchanged words with Larys Strong, you could see Rhaenyra speaking with her father, both voices increasing in tandem with their agitation. As their argument came to a crest, gathering the attention of the court, Rhaenyra stormed off.

“Pardon me, Larys I must go!”

Larys, understanding your role, nodded and stepped aside as you tried your best not to run in the tent, trying to make it through the maze of people. Once you were at the exit you broke into a sprint at the same time someone was walking in.

“Excuse me, I’m so sorry!” you apologized, not even recognizing the tall man you had bumped into. Ser Harwin Strong had seen you at court, a quiet shadow to the fiery Princess Rhaenyra, and had only formally met you when King Viserys had introduced you to the court. Watching you run after her he couldn’t help a small smile, he found your panicked state quite adorable. As he watched you go after Rhaenyra, his brother inched closer to him.

“Lady Vaelor is most kind, I’m sure she did not mean to leave in such a haste,” Larys noted.

“Do you spend time with her often?” Harwin turned to his brother. “We sometimes cross paths in the library and will have tea with others from court in the Godswood,” Larys replied.

“Do I sense romance?” Harwin teased but Larys rolled his eyes. “No. But from the way you constantly ask after her and the way you stared at her bottom as she walked past I’d say you had that notion in your own head,” Larys replied coolly. Harwin let out a bark of laughter, slapping his brother on the arm before continuing into the tent, the feeling of your body pressing against his, still on his mind.

“Rhaenyra wait!” you cried, lifting the bottom of your skirt as you tried to keep up with her long strides but she was soon galloping off into the forest.

“Ser Criston-,” you called out and you didn’t need to finish as he helped you up on your horse before mourning his own. Without wasting another minute your steeds were off, racing to follow Rhaenyra. You loved your cousin dearly, would defend her to the very end but sometimes you swore she was trying to give you gray hairs. Thankfully you were a skilled rider and even in your dress you quickly caught up with her. Criston grabbed the reins of her horse and she scowled as she was stopped.

“Gods above Rhaenyra give me warning next time you decide to run off,” you shook your head, patting the neck of your horse to calm it down.

“I just couldn’t stand it one more minute! I don’t want to marry,” she pouted, silver strands whirling around her face. Criston looked over to you and you both exchanged a serious look, shaking your head in disappointment but the air of seriousness broke as Rhaenyra smirked, making the forest come alive with your trio’s laughter.

Rhaenyra insisted on walking back but you were nowhere close to the camp by the time the sun had set. Thankfully your horses had food and water and a light blanket strapped to them so you assisted Criston in making the fire as Rhaenyra set up for the night.

“Do you think the realm would ever accept me as Queen?” Rhaenyra broke the calm silence as you all ate the bread and meat from your packs.

“The lords bent the knee to you Princess,” Criston replied but she didn’t seem satisfied by that answer.

“I think that you will be a great Queen. The realm never had a chance to be reigned by a Queen before. They may be uncomfortable at first but once you prove yourself to them they will love you as I do cousin,” you said making her grin. Before she could reply there was a rustle in the distance and the horses began to whine. Criston was up and peering into the darkness, sword at the ready for whatever it could be. From the corner of your eye you saw Rhaenyra bring out her glinting dagger and you cursed yourself for being unprepared. Suddenly you and Rhaenyra screamed as a large boar burst through the bushes and rammed into Criston sending him flying to the side. It barreled straight towards Rhaenyra, jumping on top of her as she let out another scream. The urge to defend and protect surged through you as you grabbed her dagger from the ground. With a cry you plunged it into the boar’s back with a sickening crunch. Blood sprayed everywhere, hot and sticky, and the squeals of the boar filled the air. Criston pulled Rhaenyra out from under the boar as you continued to stab it, not stopping until it went completely still. The dagger fell from your hands, and you looked down, eyes widening in realization. Blood poured down your face and neck and the light purple fabric of your dress turned maroon.

“Fuck,” you hung your head.

“Fuck indeed,” Rhaenyra whispered, as she held onto Criston tightly.

“Cheers to Lady Vaelor, Slayer of Boars,” Criston breathed out before you fell over in exhaustion.

The following morning your trio finally made it back to the royal camp, exhausted, dirty and in need of a bath. The only upside was your kill which was being dragged by Criston’s horse. It soon became clear to everyone who had killed the boar. Climbing off your horse you tried to keep your composure as dozens of eyes watched you. Thank the gods your mother was not here or she would have dragged you off by your ear. Judgment and shock were evident on everyone’s faces as you walked alongside Rhaenyra. She had some blood splattered on her boots but you were drenched. It must have been quite the sight, Lady (Y/N) Vaelor, Princess Rhaenyra’s Lady in Waiting covered in the blood of the boar she had slain. What caught you by surprise was that in the sea of judgmental gazes there was a man, smiling. He was grinning as he peeled the skin off a rabbit, eyes roaming over you in a way that sent a delightful shiver over your body. Then you quickly realized who it was- Ser Harwin Strong. Thankfully the blush that spread across your cheeks was hidden by the blood. You were acquaintances with his brother Larys but had never gotten the chance to spend time with the man they called Breakbones. There he was eyeing you with a mixture of awe and something else, a sort of hunger. Breaking away from his gaze you followed Rhaenyra to your personal tent for a long awaited bath.

Later that evening you mustered the courage to come out of your tent and eat dinner. King Viserys had publicly thanked you for the boar, which was cooked for tonight. Not used to all of this attention you kept to the edge of the feast, picking at your meal. A shadow passed over you and when you looked up, your heart began to beat as fast as a hummingbirds.

“Ser Harwin,” you curtsied, dress pooling around you, tongue grazing your teeth to make sure nothing was stuck in it.

“At ease Lady Vealor,” he replied seriously as if you were a fellow member of the Night’s Watch, making you giggle. “That was horrible, I apologize,” Harwin chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

“No, it was quite funny. How can I help Ser Harwin, if you are looking for the Princess-,” you began but he stepped closer to you, close enough that you needed to look up as he towered over you. “No, I was looking for you,” he said. Another blush spread across your cheeks and you found yourself at a loss for words. The most handsome man in Westeros (in your opinion because Rhaenyra would argue Daemon) was looking for you?!

“What do you say to going out on a small hunt of our own?” he asked hopefully. “I was impressed by your killing of the boar and I’ve heard you enjoy archery-,” he continued to ramble, as if afraid to hear rejection from you.

“I’d love to.”

Harwin paused, eyes widening with happiness and he suppressed the urge to sweep you up in his arms at the moment. Gathering his composure he stepped back, “Tomorrow morning then, I shall arrive at your tent at sunrise, My Lady,” Harwin bowed his head.

“See you then Ser Harwin,” you curtsied before dashing off to find Rhaenyra.

Morning couldn’t come soon enough and when Harwin announced himself outside your tent you were ready, flinging the curtain open. Harwin forgot what he was going to say as he looked down at you as he gulped. Gone was the usual purple dress, today you looked like a huntress. Hair braided away from your face, leather trousers, your house sigil of two spears embroidered on your vest.

“Good morning Ser Harwin, Princess Rhaenyra is spending the day with the King so it looks like I’m all yours today,” you greeted him with a shy smile.

“I’ll take any time I get with you Lady (Y/N),” Harwin smiled back before offering you his arm.

Your conversation had started light as you walked through camp, the usual pleasantries especially with so many ears around but as you made your way deeper into the forest you found yourself opening up more. Harwin was a great listener, nodding along to your stories and quite eager to learn more about you as he asked about your home, your life. It wasn’t long before you began to see evidence of rabbits in the area, Harwin insisting you take the lead on the hunt.

“Wouldn’t you prefer to be out there hunting down deer and wolves Ser Harwin, instead of hunting little rabbits with a Lady,” you teased as you crouched down. Harwin crouched down beside you, angling his body closer to yours.

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be at this moment,” he whispered, his breath tickling your ear. Turning to look at him, you were entranced by the depth of his eyes and you resisted the urge to run your hand through his mess of curls, turning back to the task at hand. Harwin watched as you brought out your bow, silently parting the bushes to get a clearer look at your target.

Notching the arrow your eyes narrowed in concentration, as you prepared your kill. Slowly your breaths evened out and with a final exhale your arrow went flying before hitting the rabbit straight through the eye.

“Damn!” Harwin cheered, squeezing your shoulder. Other men would have chastised you for your skill, or felt their manhood threatened but not Harwin. Ser Harwin Strong was not like other men, and you could already feel the stir of love in your chest.

After a few hours you had amassed quite a few rabbits and hares, Harwin carrying them in a bag as you walked beside him. With every step your bodies inched closer, shoulders grazing one another’s. After a few more minutes you approached a small creek bed that led to the camp and before you could look for a log to cross over, Harwin offered you his hand. Thinking he would guide you through the small stream you took it, “Thank you Ser-,” you began but let out a squeak as he wrapped his muscular arm around your waist and hoisted you up against his body. Instinctively you curled up against him, arms snaking around his neck as he walked you both through the water. He did not let you go however until you came closer to the camp, not at all tired. As he let you down you fought the urge to pout, not wanting to leave his comforting grasp.

“I’ve had a wonderful time, truly,” you thanked him, looking up at Harwin.

“Please just Harwin,” he said, hand reaching out to wipe dirt off your cheek gently.

“Harwin,” you echoed.

“Can I ask you something?” Harwin asked a bit nervously, and you nodded. “Why did you say yes to coming with me? I know my reputation-.”

“I said yes because you’re not like other men. You asked me to hunt with you, not to watch you hunt. Your brother Larys speaks nothing but good things about you. You’ve been nothing but kind to me Harwin,” you said sincerely. It was Harwin’s turn to blush and he looked around quickly to make sure no one was watching. Leaning forward his hand came to cup your neck and for a moment you thought he was aiming for your lips but instead his lips pressed against your forehead in a sweet kiss, so delicate for someone nicknamed Breakbones.

“I will always be kind to you (Y/N), I will be by your side if you let me,” Harwin whispered as he stared longingly into your eyes.

“I want nothing more,” you whispered back before surging upwards to kiss him, not caring who saw. Little did you know your journey with him would not end there but your relationship would blossom and endure through a civil war of fire and blood. Ballads would be sung of his strength in battle and of yours in diplomacy and eventually dragon riding, and in the end your children would carry on the legacy of both your houses with pride and glory.

#harwin strong x reader #harwin strong #Ser Harwin Strong X Reader #hotd imagine #harwin strong imagine

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lol-im-done · 2 years

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Sneak peek of the little one shot I started writing 🫣 I can’t get Harwin Strong out of my mind…..

Climbing off your horse you tried to keep your composure as dozens of eyes watched you. Judgement, fear, shock was evident on everyone’s faces as you walked alongside Rhaenyra. She had some blood splattered on her boots but you were drenched. It must have been quite the sight, Lady (Y/N) Vaelor, Princess Rhaenyra’s Lady in Waiting and cousin in her dress now covered in the blood of the boar she had slain. What caught you by surprise was that in the sea of judgmental gazes there was a man, smiling. He was grinning as he peeled the skin off a rabbit, eyes roaming over you in a way that sent a delightful shiver over your body.

#Harwin Strong x Reader #harwin strong #Harwin strong one shot #Harwin strong fan fic #ser Harwin strong #hotd imagine

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lol-im-done · 2 years

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Blossoming Love (Bruce Wayne x Reader)

I've been so obsessed after watching the Batman and this idea came to me one morning. This will likely have a second part. Hope you enjoy!

Summary: Set after the events of 'The Batman', a GCPD detective with a crush on the Batman has a one night stand with Bruce Wayne not knowing they are the same man. What results is a blossoming love that they never thought possible. Will likely be split in two parts.

Tags: Unplanned Pregnancy, Friends to Lovers

Part One:

Before Bruce had met you he had a general idea of how his life was going to go, even after the Riddler had brought destruction to Gotham. He would continue to live his double life, bring justice and become a symbol of hope to the city as Batman. He would then return, worn out and bruised to Wayne Tower and find ways to try and feel human as he continued to live in solitude. It had been a few weeks after they had drained the city and rebuilt the sea walls that things began to pick up again. With crime rampant it would take a lot to get it back under control so he found himself in the company of Jim Gordon and his team more often. He had seen you around here and there but finally became introduced to you when you officially joined Gordon’s division. You were Jim Gordon’s right hand person, probably the only other person besides Batman he fully trusted in his line of work. You were intelligent, witty and above all compassionate and kind which was rare to find in Gotham these days. Maybe that’s what attracted Bruce to you when he started interacting with you. You greeted him with a bright smile, not with a look of distrust like the others. Gordon trusted him and that was enough for you. He was so broody, so silent and intimidating you couldn’t help but want to crack that tough exterior. It also didn’t help that you had begun harboring a crush on the masked vigilante.

“Catch any baddies tonight Batman?” you would ask and Bruce would get a flutter in his chest at your words. He was hesitant to call you a friend at first but soon enough you had solidified him as your own.

“I don’t know who you are under the mask or dark eyeshadow-,” you said one day.

“Paint. Not eyeshadow,” he corrected gruffly as he examined the dead body in front of him.

“Sure Batman,” you grinned before continuing. “But we see each other pretty regularly, we exchang semi personal information though that's mostly me, we joke. I’ve also saved your life once or twice,” you chuckled. “So yes you’re my friend,” you finished with that gentle smile.

“You saved my life one and a half times,” he deadpanned, making you tilt your head back and laugh. He swore it was the sweetest sound he had heard. But you were right, you had saved his life before. ‘The best shot in GCPD’ they called you due to your extremely steady hands and expert eyes, you rarely missed your shot. You had been at one point a special sniper for the GCPD for hostage situations before moving to Gordon’s team. So when Batman was cornered by trained killers in a warehouse one night you had burst in and with efficiency let your bullets fly, taking them all down.

“Bet you regret your thing about no guns,” you smirked as he stood there dumbfounded before Gordon arrived with backup. Bruce had to return quickly to his bathroom that night for an extremely cold shower, trying to get the heated thoughts about you out of his mind. After that it became harder to make eye contact with your captivating eyes.

“Batsy Batsy,” you mused as he entered the crime scene. You were jotting down notes, hair piled atop your head and he admired the way some of the strands framed your face.

“Anything of importance?” he asked, his intimidating gaze roaming the room.

“Mhmm. We got a partial by the window and actually some….,” you began but your words blurred away as he watched you, only focused on your animated style of talking which he found so endearing. As you spoke he found himself thinking about what it would be like to be with you as Bruce Wayne. To be able to form a true friendship, to truly laugh with you and be himself. The day he would meet you as Bruce came sooner than he anticipated when you showed up to the Wayne Tower one late evening. Alfred had been hesitant to let you up but Bruce insisted quickly on allowing you in, hands nervously combing through his hair to look presentable. When you walked into the main foyer of his home he had to force himself to act normally, to act as if he had never met you before.

“I apologize Mr. Wayne I’ve been sent by Detective Jim Gordon of the GCPD. We have a few questions about an acquaintance of yours,” you apologized with that familiar smile.

“Of course, whatever I can do to help,” he replied, gesturing to the table as he pulled out a seat for you. For the next half hour you asked your questions trying so hard to concentrate on your task at hand and not the incredibly attractive Bruce Wayne next to you. Those eyes, god those eyes, you felt you could drown in them. The attraction was mutual and clear when he invited you to stay for a glass of wine. It was probably incredibly inappropriate but you were technically no longer on the clock and that wine sure looked good. He brought you to a side room, the lamps casting shadows across his handsome face and you took a seat on the grand loveseat, admiring the beautiful architecture.

“Do you usually invite people to stay for wine?” you couldn’t help but ask.

“People don’t usually come over,” he replied with a small shrug as he poured you some wine. You would like to say you were drunk with what happened next but you had barely finished your own glass as you chatted away with the charming but shy man in front of you when his hand went to your knee. You froze, eyes latching onto his as he whispered your name almost like a plea. Surging forward for a powerful kiss, electricity crackled between you two as his hands immediately roamed over your body. Bruce was desperate to have you, your moans and whines like music to his ears. In a matter of minutes you were both naked on the carpet but before he took it further he paused, pressing his forehead to yours in a strangely intimate way.

“Bruce,” you gasped out as he filled you, crying out in pleasure. He took you there on the carpet and again in his room from dusk until dawn. There was no time to really think of what you had done as you left early the next morning wishing you could stay in his arms but with a sigh you walked out. So deep in your thoughts you forgot to leave a note with your name and number just in case. Instead you had left your card with the woman at the front who gave you a disapproving look making you go red with embarrassment. Bruce never left your thoughts after that as you daydreamed of his voice, his hands, and those eyes. Four weeks later when you missed your period you had returned to the Tower practically in tears, to try to see him but were turned away as if you were trash. You had tried what you could to get in contact with him but no luck and you tried not to take it personally. It took you a few days of wallowing and crying to make your mind up. You were capable and ready. You could do this, so you wiped your tears, let your family know before striding into work to notify them of your pregnancy and were placed on desk duty until it was time for your maternity leave.

It had been too long, weeks and weeks of waiting to see you as Bruce or Batman but you were nowhere to be found. Bruce had fought the urge to track you down, he was so close to getting into your personal files out of sheer desperation until Alfred intervened. He could see the turmoil Bruce was facing but he reminded him of your right to privacy so Bruce was left with no other choice but to let you go. He never thought he’d see you again as he resumed his restless nights as Batman. Until tonight. There you were chatting to Gordon outside of the abandoned warehouse, soft murmurs filling the air as other cops walked around gathering evidence. Bruce slowly made his way towards you silent even in his suit, noticing the way your hair had gotten longer since he saw you last. Strangely you held one hand to your back as if trying to get comfortable standing and he wondered if you had gotten hurt during this drug bust. He caught Gordon’s eye first who softly poked your shoulder, before gesturing towards him. Slowly you turned, eyes bright and smile widening as you made eye contact with Batman.

“B-Man!“ you waved and he would have returned it but instead he stopped mid step as his eyes roamed down to your stomach. Shit, he thought.

“Oh this old thing,” you joked, moving your jacket aside to reveal a blooming baby bump but he remained silent as stone.

“I’ll let you guys catch up,” Gordon said, noticing the increasing awkward tension before walking off. Bruce could not stop staring and he knew it must have made you uncomfortable as you crossed your arms over your chest, teetering on the balls of your feet.

“Never seen a pregnant woman before?” you asked, breaking him out of his shock.

“No I have… I was just surprised. Congratulations,” he recovered trying to keep his voice low.

“Thanks. It’s been a long few weeks so far and I’ve been staying in the office and was supposed to until August but this was a big bust so I came out to help Gordon,” you explained.

“You shouldn’t be out this late,” he couldn’t help but say, feeling overprotective for a moment, eyes looking around for any danger.

“Well now I have you to keep us safe,” you grinned. Your words were like a crack of lightning, igniting his body with feelings he’d never had before.

“The father anyone I would know?” he blurted out, cringing internally at his wording. You let out a nervous chuckle, not at all insulted by his words, as you rubbed your bump absentmindedly.

“There’s only one guy in the whole world who could be the father but he…he’s not really in the picture,” you sighed sadly. Bruce felt his chest tighten uncomfortably at your words, eyes not leaving your swollen bump. Yes it all lined up, your due date with the night you had come over for that late night interview.

“Have you tried reaching out?” he asked quietly and you swore his voice sounded familiar for a moment.

“Once. But his secretary kind of kicked me out,” you shook your head. Bruce felt a surge of anger at this, damn that new secretary, damn her and her meddling.

“I tried other ways but he’s kind of a recluse. No worries though, I’m moving to be closer to family,” you spoke softly and Bruce’s heart stopped.

“You’re leaving Gotham?” he asked, stepping forward closer to you.

“I have a few friends and a cousin here but I would appreciate the support from my parents and sisters. They live two hours away and I’ve already talked to Gordon. He’s sad to see me go but agreed it’s best,” you explained. I’ll be sad to see you go, no I’d be devastated, Bruce thought. Before he could respond someone called your name, so with an apologetic smile you gave him a goodbye wave before walking off. He didn’t even bother to stay to investigate; he went straight back home to think of his next steps.

A few nights later you were dozing off on the couch, a cheesy romcom on the TV when a soft knock awoke you. Sighing you tried to ignore it but it persisted.

“Coming!” you called out as you put on your slippers before waddling to the door. So sleepy you hadn’t bothered to check the peephole so it was safe to say you almost peed your pants when you saw who was waiting on the other side.

“Bruce,” you squeaked, half hiding behind the door in your disheveled state.

“(Y/N),” he replied calmly but under his shirt his heart was pounding and his hands began to sweat.

“Uh- how can I help you?” you choked out, trying your best to remain calm.

“I think it's best if I come inside so we can talk,” he said. Nodding, you opened the door and let him in, watching silently as he kicked off his shoes before looking to you for guidance.

“Please, sit,” you said, moving towards the couch. None of you said a thing for a few moments as you tried to get comfortable. Finally he turned to look at you, eyes now on your very pregnant belly and it was crystal clear why he was here.

“I had heard that you were pregnant. I wouldn’t presume to say I have a right to your personal life or information or anything like that but I wanted to respect you by coming to you directly,” he spoke softly.

“Of course, I understand,” you nodded, urging him to continue. Bruce took a deep breath, twiddling his hands in his lap as if trying to gain the confidence to ask the question you both knew was coming.

“I just have to know- is the baby mine? ” he asked in such a broken voice it made tears fill your eyes as you nodded, looking down at your hands to avoid bursting into tears.

“I- I swear I didn’t mean for this to happen! I was on birth control and I know you might not believe me and would need a DNA test-,” you began to ramble.

“No. I trust you,” he interrupted. Looking up in surprise you were shocked by the sincerity in which he said those words, your eyebrows crinkling as he scooted closer to you.

“I need to tell you something, it’s going to be shocking but I trust you and it needs to be said before this goes forward,” Bruce said seriously. Taking his trembling hand into yours you squeezed it reassuringly.

“I'm Batman,” he admitted softly, and your blood ran cold. “It’s only right for you to know since I want to be involved in your life and the baby’s. I wouldn’t lie to you,” he said. Your mouth fell open as you shifted on the couch to accommodate your bump as you took in the news. The baby seemed to jump in your stomach in reaction to your shock. Bruce noticed the way your stomach trembled and he fought the urge to run his hands over it.

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while and I’d be willing to take some time off. To give us time to get to know one another and focus on what's best for the baby,” he continued.

“Batman gets paternity leave,” was what you found yourself saying and Bruce let out a light laugh at this.

“Yeah something like that,” he smiled softly.

“Thank you for telling me Bruce. It means a lot that you’ve decided to trust me like this. I agree we need time to figure things out, to see the best way to co-parent,” you said, still not letting go of his hand.

“I know it's a lot to take in right now but now that you know who I am I’d feel safer having you close to me. If it's something you’re open to, I hope you could come live with me,” he said. It was a lot to take in in the span of a few minutes, Bruce Wayne your night one stand also being Batman who you had been harboring a crush on for months now asking you to move into Wayne Tower. But as the seconds went on, your heart calmed down as Bruce and Batman blended into one person in front of you. Holding his hand you felt safe and at peace.

“If you’ll have us,” you smiled, taking his hand and placing it on your bump. Seeing his face light up as the baby kicked was to become one of your fondest memories. Yes, this was not at all what you had planned for your life and there would be a lot to work through on both sides but in that moment you knew, you loved Bruce Wayne.

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #batman x reader #robert pattinson #battinson #the batman 2022

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lol-im-done · 2 years

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Freddie Stroma as Adrian Chase in Peacemaker 1x07

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lol-im-done · 2 years

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Now I'm Free (Peter Parker x Reader)

Major Spider Man NWH Spoilers!

Tags: Unrequited Love, Angst, All the feels, Protective Peter, Self Sacrifice

You've always loved Peter. Your Peter. You'd love him until your last breath.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36063655

Author’s Note: I just want to note that I absolutely love Peter & MJ so this is not meant to reflect badly on anyone! I just love angst and making myself sad! (Also just to make things easier both Peter and Reader are 18 or over in this!)

“Be careful Peter,” you pleaded into the phone as you stood in your room in Wakanda, pacing around anxiously. You had just left another round of therapy sessions when you received a call from Peter in New York. He was panicking, talking about a wheel in the sky, aliens, and how he had to help Tony. You mentally cursed at yourself, you should have stayed in New York with them.

“I will I promise!” Peter shouted as you heard commotion in the background, screams and shattering glass.

“I’ll get there as soon as I-,” you began but then the phone went dead, dread filling your body. The phone slipped from your hands as you thought about the boy on the other end of the line. Your Peter. Your best friend.

“(Y/N) something happened in New York, we’re sending for Steve and the others!” T’Challa’s voice came from the doorway. Nodding silently you wiped your tears before going to suit up, grabbing your guns and knives, trying desperately to distract yourself from the fear that gripped your heart. The subsequent battle had been brutal as you fought alongside your fellow Avengers and allies. But in the end you would not see Peter, you would go up in ashes alongside your brother Bucky as Steve and Natasha watched on in horror. Then in an instant you would return as if no time had passed at all only to find that time had once again slipped past your fingers. HYDRA had stolen your youth, your life and now because of Thanos you were thrust into a world you hardly recognized. This memory usually spiraled into further nightmares of your time in HYDRA- the cryo chambers, the torture, the brainwashing, the way you had to kill all those people and turning into something you no longer recognized......

The blare of your phone awoke you from the nightmare, as sweat poured down your now blotchy face. Jolting upwards you struggled to untangle from your bedsheets to reach your bedside table, trying not to knock over the only framed picture you owned; the one of you, Steve, Bucky, Sam and Natasha around a bonfire.

“Hello?” you answered a bit hoarsely after finally reaching your phone.

“It’s Stephen Strange. I need your help. More specifically Peter Parker needs your help,” the serious voice came through the phone. Stephen was never one to mince words.

“Does this have to do with his identity being exposed?” you asked, dragging a hand over your face, remembering the headlines this past week.

“Mhm. We also had a bit of trouble with a spell....,” Stephen trailed off.

“Seriously Strange, a spell?” you sighed. “You never learn,” you snapped as you got up.

“See you at the Sanctum,” Stephen deadpanned before hanging up. Anticipating that this was not going to be a simple task you threw on a jacket over your dark grey tactical suit, placed your dog tags around your neck before making sure all your weapons were in order.

The moment you entered into the Sanctum, Strange was there to greet you with a familiar smirk, his cape snugly around his shoulders as you shivered involuntarily. The cold only brought unpleasant memories for you.

“Wipe that look off your face Strange, don’t think I’m happy to be here,” you snapped.

“C’mon you love a good mission,” he retorted. Rolling your eyes you followed him down into the lower level of the Sanctum away from the snow.

“Peter will be back soon, said something about needing reinforcements which I assume is his friend and girlfriend,” Strange muttered. Your heart tightened for a moment at his words, yes you know who he would be bringing.

“Then why do you need me?” you asked. Stephen stopped in his tracks, turning around to face you.

“I know your feelings for him (Y/N), I understand this might be uncomfortable but he needs help. He needs someone with common sense and the willingness to do what needs to be done,” Stephen said. An embarrassing blush spread across your cheeks at his words, how did he even figure it out?

“You’re also not bad to have in a fight, kid,” he finished.

“You know we’re probably about the same age,” you said smoothly.

“Don’t even remind me,” Stephen rolled his eyes before patting your back. After transforming one of your stun batons into a magical zapper of some sort he went back up to let in Peter. You hadn’t seen Peter in so long, would he be mad? Would he make you leave? Would things be the same? All these thoughts swirled in your head until you heard the chatter of voices come down the stairs.

“Hey Parker,” you smiled from your place leaning against the wall. Peter’s eyes widened as he took you in, recognizing the black tactical suit that Tony had made you all those years ago. To anyone else you would have been an intimidating presence but warmth stirred in Peter’s chest. He hadn’t seen you in weeks, you had been in Europe with Bucky and Sam for a while before a solo mission in Ukraine afterwards. It had been hard to stay in touch, only a few texts and the occasional Snapchat to check in. It was still crazy to him, how you were an ex-HYDRA super soldier turned fellow Avenger and one of his best friends. But you looked the same as the last time he had seen you, cryo chambers and the Blip had muddled your age but you still looked like the day he had met you and with actual smile lines now.

“(Y/N)!” he cried with joy as he sped over to hug you. Thankfully the hug hid your blush which you managed to hide until you pulled apart. The two of you stared at each other with goofy smiles, like all those times at the Compound until a cough snapped you out of it.

“Oh um- this is MJ and Ned! You remember them,” Peter said, stepping aside to introduce you. You did remember them from that one week Tony had asked you to go undercover at their school to keep an eye on Peter.

“Agent (Y/N) Barnes!” Ned smiled before shutting his mouth awkwardly. Barnes wasn’t originally your last name, honestly you didn’t have one, none of the HYDRA records referenced to one, so when Bucky rescued you and took you in you decided to take his last name as his now adopted sister.

“That would be me,” you smirked.

“Sorry I just remembered you from school and I might have looked you up and Peter wouldn’t stop talking about you-,” Ned continued until Peter elbowed him to stop his rambling. MJ looked a bit surprised at that but quickly recovered her composure and Peter seemed to take notice as he took her hand into his as if to reassure her. You quickly glanced at their intertwined hands before turning away with a gulp.

“Well what's the mission status?” you asked, looking out into the crypt.

“Find more of these multiversal trespassers as Stephen calls them. We’ve got two here so far,” Peter said.

“How long do you anticipate it will take?” you asked, turning to him with a raised brow. It was times like these Peter was glad to know you, you were much better at this mission stuff, you always knew what questions to ask and of course had no qualms with running into danger when needed.

“Hopefully two days tops,” he replied as they began to settle in.

“Well I hope these weapons will be enough, if not I’m sure Strange has something I can borrow,” you said.

“Weapons?” MJ asked, looking curiously over at you.

“Stun batons,” you said, bringing them out, they were Natasha’s old ones that you had decided to keep. Soon two guns with extra rounds, a few knives and gadgets followed from pockets and boots.

“It isn’t much but it’ll do,” you shrugged. Ned’s eyes widened in excitement and whispered something about how cool it was to have a real spy on the team. It had then been decided you’d join Peter to find a suspected Multiversal trespasser. It was quite the shock when a man made of electricity and one made of sand appeared. Managing to shut down the electricity and calming the situation down, the two men stood before you. When Peter had begun to explain the situation in his usual awkward and endearing manner, you circled around to stand behind the Sand-Man and after Peter had sent the first one back to the Sanctum you used your baton to send the Sand-Man as well before he could hurt Peter.

“Thanks,” Peter breathed out, quirking his lips upwards.

“Don’t mention it,” you smiled back, dusting sand off your suit.

“Soooo you wanna help me out with this mess?” Peter asked, gesturing to the electrical lines strewn everywhere.

“I gotta clean up this mess. See you at the Sanctum Peter,” you smirked, gesturing to your sand covered attire and hair that was sticking up from the static electricity. Peter watched you silently as you walked back to your motorcycle, smile never fading as you drove off into the forest.

Finally you were all gathered in the Sanctum, all the cells filled with the villains that had come from other universes. You felt relieved, another mission complete and maybe now you could take time to hang out with Peter again. Suddenly you felt that blooming pain in the base of your neck and the fatigue set in. Discreetly you turned away, hand sneaking into your pocket to the small injectables you carried. As soon as you injected it into your thigh you felt your body return to normal, the pain dissipating. In the background you had heard the discussion they had been having about how they had all died at the hands of Spider Man, in their universes. Suddenly Stephen stepped forward with a box floating in his hands, all attention now on him.

“It's an ancient relic. The Machinati Codamus. Trap your corrupted spell inside, once you've finished the proper ritual, will reverse the spell. And send these guys back to their universes,” Stephen explained as his hands moved over the box.

“And then what? We perish?” Dr. Octavius shouted. Protests filled the air from the others as Peter began to frown deeply.

“Strange. We can't send them back. Not yet,” Peter spoke up.

“Why?” Stephen asked, still focused on his task.

“Some of these guys are gonna die,” Peter stated as if it was obvious.

“Parker... it's their fate,” Stephen shook his head.

“Come on, Strange. Have a heart,” Peter protested.

“In the grand calculus of the multiverse, their sacrifice means infinitely more than their lives. I'm sorry, kid. If they die, they die,” Stephen said. You watched as Stephen’s hand hovered over the box, seconds away from pressing down to reverse the spell but at the same moment you saw the change in Peter’s stance, the determination in his eyes. Oh no.

“Peter!” you shouted but it was too late, his web shot out and attached to the box.

“Dude, what are you doing?” Ned cried as Peter shot his enchanted web at Strange, locking him into a cell.

“Peter, you gotta go,” MJ said, pushing him to run off. You stayed glued to your spot, unable to decide what to do.

“This is why I never had kids,” Stephen cursed as he followed after Peter.

“блин!” you cried as the chase began. You knew Stephen had brought you to help keep Peter in check but you stopped yourself from following them, stomping your foot in frustration.

“You won’t stop him will you?” Ned asked worriedly.

“No Ned I won’t stop Peter,” you reassured him. It was only 15 minutes later when a portal appeared beside you, your eyes widening as Peter swung through with the box and Stephen was webbed up behind him.

“(Y/N) you need to stop him!” Stephen shouted before the portal closed. Peter sighed in relief as he took off his mask.

“You aren’t going to kill us?” Doctor Octavius asked.

“I can fix what happened to you, then when you go back, things will be different and you might not die fighting Spider-Man,” Peter assured them, MJ smiling with pride at his words. You stood there silently, taking it all in, knowing that the best course of action was to push the button on the box and end this now.

“We’re sure that you will Peter but will she?” Norman Osbourne drawled, pointing to you. One of your stun batons was in your hand, everyone was now glancing at you nervously. When Peter looked into your eyes he could see the conflicting thoughts and feelings racing behind them.

“I need your help (Y/N),” Peter said calmly.

“Peter, remember what Strange said, it's their fate,” you replied.

“Don’t they deserve a second chance?” Peter asked, stepping closer to you. Lowering your baton you looked around the room at the villains.

“You should know better than anyone the importance of second chances,” Peter implored. An uncomfortable silence filled the air as your eyes narrowed at him. Ned and MJ exchanged a glance, knowing of your past since they had Googled you just minutes prior.

“I know better than anyone that second chances are a fickle thing. They might not be like Bucky or I. We were lucky. But if I would have been too volatile or too far gone they would have done what was necessary,” you said in a low voice, sending shivers down their spines. Peter frowned, his sad brown eyes tugging at your heart strings. He was too good for this world you thought, too trusting. Maybe that's why you loved him.

“Fine, I’ll help you,” you finally sighed, making him jump up in victory. As you released the group from their cells you tried to ignore the sharp pain in your chest as Peter kissed MJ goodbye. You bid MJ and Ned a kind farewell before loading everyone up into Aunt May’s moving truck. The next few hours at Happy’s condo were spent assisting Peter and Norman as they worked to create the devices to help each of the villains that had come through. Though you supposed you were a villain at one point and were given a second chance, that didn’t stop you from keeping a vigilant eye out for anything. It was a quiet moment when you picked up on Peter’s shift in demeanor. May had once teased that he had the ‘Peter Tingle’ and you had the ‘Peter Tingle Tingle’, you had always been able to pick up on any changes with Peter especially when it came to his second sense which helped a lot during missions. In an instant you followed him out to the main foyer, hand on your gun at your hip. May was at the stairs so you positioned yourself in front of her to shield her from view and in case of anything. As soon as Peter sent a web at Norman, or now the Goblin, you tilted your head to the laundry room giving May a chance to gather the devices.

“That's some neat trick. That sense of yours,” Norman smirked.

“Norman?” Dr. Octavius asked.

“Norman's on sabbatical,” the Goblin replied.

“Goblin,” Peter growled.

“No more darker half? Did you really think that I'd let that happen? That I'd let you take away my power just because you're blind to what true power can bring you?” the Goblin began to say.

“You don't know me,” Peter snapped.

“Don't I? I saw how she trapped you. Fighting her holy moral mission. We don't need you to save us. We don't need to be fixed,” the Goblin growled. You could see his words affecting the others, adrenaline filled your body as you prepared for the inevitable. Suddenly a blast of electricity hit Dr. Octavius made him fall backwards, as you grabbed May and pulled her out of the way as debris flew everywhere.

“May run!” you shouted, pushing her to the door. As soon as she was out in the hallway you turned to see Electro had flown out into the sky in a swirl of electricity, Dr. Octavius was across in another building and the Sand guy had left. All that was left was Peter fighting the Goblin and it wasn’t good. Grabbing your gun you immediately shot a few rounds at him and even as they hit him, he continued to fight, slamming Peter through walls like nothing. Jumping into action, you and Peter worked in tandem to kick and punch him with everything you had. Peter could jump and crawl with an inhuman flexibility and your brute strength and skills rivaled that off the most skilled Avengers. But even together the Goblin was not stopping, and slowly you felt the fatigue spread through you, your lungs screaming for air as if you had never trained a day in your life. As you stumbled a bit you fell right into his hands. The Green Goblin grabbed you by the throat, squeezing tightly cutting off your air as your legs kicked wildly.

“(Y/N)!!” Peter screamed in fear, blood pouring down his face. Before he could intervene the Goblin sent you flying through the air like a ragdoll. A scream of pain left your lips as you crashed through three separate walls before crashing into a pillar of concrete. Never had you felt so weak, so vulnerable during a fight as you struggled to get up as blood and dust filled your vision. Everything around you spun and for the first time in your whole life you passed out during a fight.

Sirens, helicopters, and a sudden blast awoke you as you lay unconscious in some random condo.

“Peter?” you croaked weekly as you got up on your knees. Coughing you tried to orient yourself, remembering what had happened. Shit your vials. Frantically you reached into your pocket only to find broken glass and metal.

“No no no,” you moaned brokenly as you finally managed to find one. One last antidote, the only thing keeping you going. It would be at least a week to get more from your supplier. Tucking it back into your pocket you stood up and went to find Peter. What you found was one of the most heartbreaking scenes of your life. May lay in the rubble of the lobby, Peter cradling her in his arms.

“Peter! May!” you cried as you stumbled over to them before falling to your knees. Quickly you analyzed the situation, checking May’s pulse and assessing her injuries.

“Shit, she’s losing blood,” you warned Peter who let out a choked sob.

“Hey May we’re gonna get you help,” you murmured to her. So weak from her injuries she could only blink. Reaching into your pocket you felt for your vial. It was your last one, but it would save her. Without hesitation you pushed the vial into her neck making her breathe out deeply.

“What is it?” Peter asked in confusion.

“Medicine. It will fast track the healing and stop the bleeding,” you said. After a few seconds her pulse began to beat harder, and when you felt her side there was less bleeding. Outside you heard trucks speeding in, sharing a worried glance with Peter.

“Peter we have to go,” you coughed as you began to push him before bullets ripped through the air, one hitting his shoulder and the other your thigh making you cry out. Peter helped you up as you ran out through the back, as you limped weakly until Peter wrapped his arm around you and began to swing up into the sky. You had begun to lose consciousness in the air until finally he set you down. As your eyes readjusted you recognized the roof of his school. Peter sagged to the floor from physical and mental exhaustion as more tears poured from his bloodshot eyes.

“Peter,” you whispered sadly as you crawled over to him, ignoring your wounds in order to wrap your arm around him. Peter shook as he sobbed into your body, curling into you like a child. Blinking back your own tears you remained as still as you could to be able to carry his weight on you. Hearing footsteps you tensed but relaxed as soon as you saw MJ and Ned. They seemed to understand the gravity of it all as they joined you, wrapping their arms around Peter until you were in one big group hug, surrounding him with all the love and support you could all give him.

“May is fine,” Ned finally said.

“Really?” Peter asked, looking up.

“Mhm. They got to her in time,” he said and Peter almost started crying from pure relief. It was your turn to sag to the ground as well, relieved and exhausted and when MJ gave you a concerned look you waved her off as you quickly wrapped your broken ankle with a piece of your undershirt.

“Peter, there’s some people here,” MJ said. You and Peter looked up to see two silhouettes jump down, one wearing a Spider Man suit. Holy shit. It soon became apparent that these two men were also Peter Parker. You had seen a lot in the past few days but this one took the cake. If Bucky were here to see this you could just imagine him saying his signature- what the hell? As introductions were made and after a lengthy and inspiring talk between these Peters you all made your way into one of the science labs. The three Peters soon got to work on fixing the devices and you limped slowly to a corner of the room. Sitting down away from Peter and MJ to give them space you managed to find the first aid kit. Wincing slightly you picked up your leg and placed it on the chair across from you before unwrapping it. Looking down at your mangled leg you wished Bucky were here to help put you back together.

“Need help?” a voice asked and you looked up to see one of the Peters. The one who looked more college aged, his hair was longer and swept upwards and he seemed the more soft spoken of the trio.

“Sure,” you nodded as you pulled off your boot and rolled up your suit to show the deep cut above your ankle. The bone inside had begun to put itself back into place but the torn skin needed stitches and the bullet hole in your thigh would need mending as well.

“Ouch,” he winced, looking at your leg.

“Help me set the ankle correctly and stitch the cut while I fish this bullet out,” you instructed, finding some tweezers.

“Anything else?” he asked as he placed some gloves on.

“The cut on my temple might need stitches as well and I got a few cracked ribs but those will set themselves,” you wheezed. He froze in place, looking over at you with an incredulous expression, brown eyes filled with concern.

“How-,” he began to ask with wide eyes.

“I was injected with the super soldier serum. Or at least HYDRA’s fucked up version,” you explained but he looked even more confused at your words.

“Secret Nazi-era terrorist organization kidnapped me, tortured me and injected me with an enhancing serum. Makes me fast, strong, able to heal faster,” you shrugged before chuckling at his expression.

“It's in the past now,” you reassured him before getting to work on your bullet wound. He was careful and light handed when it came to cleaning and stitching your ankle up as if scared of hurting you further. You handled yourself a bit more carelessly, only wanting to accelerate your healing.

“Does this hurt?” he asked quietly, searching your face for any hint of discomfort.

“I’ve had worse,” you replied with a shrug. A comfortable silence fell between the two of you as if he was a friend, which in a way he was just from another universe. Soon he scooted forward to inspect your temple, bringing up some wipes to clean off the dried blood.

“So how did you meet your Peter?” he asked. A fond smile appeared on your lips at the memories that filled your head.

“We met a few years ago in Germany, fighting on different sides. I guess we clicked being the youngest ones of the group and afterwards Tony Stark took me in and we just became friends. We trained together and went on a few missions but did normal teenager stuff too,” you said.

“So did you two ever...,” he trailed off. Hearing the implication in his voice you raised your eyebrow and narrowed your eyes in his direction.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to pry or anything. You two seem really close and you’re like really badass and really pretty too-,” he began to ramble making you laugh out loud. Peter blushed next to you before finishing the final stitch.

“Are you flirting with me?” you teased, making him blush even deeper and letting out a nervous laugh of his own. The others turned in curiosity at your interaction, an unreadable expression crossing Peter’s face as he watched you and the other Peter so close together.

“To answer your question, I mean yeah I did develop feelings for him but I guess that was never in the cards for us,” you whispered before you let out a deep sigh, turning to face him.

“I wasn’t made to be normal. The others who were stuck in time like me, my friend Steve and brother Bucky had memories of who they were before they were made into soldiers. I don’t have any of that, no memories at all. All I have is what HYDRA put me through and everything I lived through afterwards. Even with all the therapy and treatments I still can’t be normal. I can’t function properly with just school and a job, I need to fight, always,” you explained. The Peter in front of you frowned at your words, eyes filling with sympathy.

“I’m not good enough for him. He needs and wants someone like MJ, to remind him of the good in life, to give him something to fight for,” you finished sadly. Peter was silent for a moment before he carefully took your hand into his.

“I’ve only known you for a few hours but I have this feeling about you. You’re more than enough for anyone to fight for,” he smiled. Squeezing his hand you thanked him with a sweet smile.

“Are we ready to go?” the older Peter asked, looking around. Standing up and testing your leg, you found it good enough to fight in so you joined the others to finalize the fight plan. You joined the Peters on top of the Statue of Liberty, chuckling a bit at the shield they were attaching. Oh if Steve could see this now, you thought with a touch of melancholy. You were broken from your thoughts as Electro, the Sand-Man and the Lizard appeared for the box. You had fought in an array of chaotic situations, hell you had to fight with Bucky and Sam when they absolutely detested fighting together but with three Peters swinging through the air and colliding it was sending your mind in a frenzy to catch up. With impeccable aim you shot your gun, throwing daggers when needed and trying your hardest to fight sand- how the hell did someone fight sand?! A few floors above you, you heard Ned and MJ’s voices.

“This is supposed to be closed,” you said as you climbed up to meet them, hand on your hip.

“Tell that to Mr. Sorcerer Supreme over here,” MJ rolled her eyes playfully. Glancing behind you, you could see the battle continuing and with your adrenaline waning you stepped through the portal to keep watch. With every second that passed you kept your eyes trained on Peter, your Peter, making sure he was safe. MJ watched your eyes as they blinked back and forth, almost in a trance, teeth chewing on your lip anxiously. Suddenly the lizard came into view running towards the three of you with a screech. Grabbing your stun batons and raising them up you immediately went to work to hit at the lizard that came through the portal.

“Run!” you yelled at the pair as they scrambled out of the way. With the force of a tank you barreled into the lizard while simultaneously zapping it with electricity. One of its claws tore into your shoulder before throwing you into the cabinets, glass shattering around you.

“Shit,” you cursed as you stumbled up, popping your shoulder back into place before running out back to the Statue to help. By the time you appeared Stephen was floating with the box in his hands.

“Stephen,” you greeted, a bit nervous he’d be mad at you.

“(Y/N),” he nodded his head.

“I hope I haven’t disappointed you,” you said, avoiding his intense eyes.

“You did exactly what I thought you would. You helped your friend and look you all made it this far,” Stephen said with a small smile. That familiar cackle that sent chills down your spine made you turn to the sky where the Goblin appeared. Immediately you ran off to find MJ and Ned to keep them safe, ignoring the searing pain from all your wounds. You could hear the commotion a few floors above you as you stood with MJ and Ned before something exploded and rings of magic flew out into the sky. The force of the spell made the already delicate scaffolding explode as the large shield came crashing down. The floorboards trembled under your feet as you tried to keep MJ and Ned on the platform but with another explosion debris rained down around you making MJ fly backwards, a scream of fear leaving her mouth as she fell down. Without a second thought you pushed Ned to hold onto a pole before throwing yourself off to follow MJ. Peter was already in motion, shooting out from above you, eyes full of determination and fear to save the people he loved. Your body collided against hers in the air and you immediately wrapped your body around hers and made sure she was in no position to take the brunt of the fall. You tried to shoot out a small grappling hook to catch onto something but there was too much debris around you for it to catch. Peter almost managed to catch you with his outstretched hand before being swept away by the glider, terror filling MJ’s face. Another Peter, one you recognized to be the one who had helped you earlier, let out a cry as he jumped down to try to catch you both. Glancing over your shoulder you could see the ground nearing with every second, with the speed you were going down due to the weight of you both, he wouldn’t make it in time to catch either of you. Seeing him fast approaching, you let go of MJ before pushing her upwards with all your strength into his awaiting arms right before your body met the floor. Suddenly the air left your lungs and stars filled your vision as you landed on the concrete with a crack, your head immediately thrusting to the side at the impact. It was silent for a few moments as you lay deathly still.

“Oh my god,” MJ cried, arms wrapped around Peter’s neck as they landed a few feet away.

“(Y/N)!” he cried, rushing over to you. It took a few moments as the darkness faded away, your ears ringing and blood filling your mouth. Opening your eyes you saw Peter trying to get your attention before your Peter came running to your side.

“Hey hey,” your Peter said softly, tears filling his eyes as he took in your state. Your whole body was paralyzed from the impact, your face scrunched in pain as you let out short breaths.

“Need me to help you backup? Do you need a second?” he tried to ask but you shook your head weakly.

“I can’t heal from this Peter,” you said seriously, finally managing to get your mouth to work.

“You’ve- you’ve literally been stabbed, beaten, shot more times in a mission than anyone and still survived,” Peter choked out. It was true, you had a reputation for getting hurt the most, even more than Steve. Gulping softly you tried to put your words together without wavering.

“I’ve been getting weaker these past few weeks. The mission in Ukraine…they poisoned me...it's been counteracting the serum,” you explained slowly as you struggled to breathe in air.

“Why didn’t you tell me?! I would have never let you do this! You can’t get hurt- you can’t-,” Peter began to panic before he froze, eyes wide in realization.

“The vial, the vial you used on Aunt May...that was for the poison wasn’t it?” he asked. You didn’t want to answer, you don't want him to feel any more guilt but the tears in your eyes betrayed you.

“I need to get you more- where can I get you more?” he all but screamed. MJ and Ned were taken aback by Peter’s display of emotion watching on silently. Shaking your head you pushed him from you with the little strength you had left.

“Go. Finish this mission,” you gritted out. “I’ll be fine. Once this is over you can get me to the hospital,” you promised him, the lie tasting like acid on your tongue.

“We’ll stay with her,” MJ said, Ned nodding from beside her. Peter looked so conflicted, so broken at this moment but you pushed him softly with your hand, eyes begging him to go. Finally he stood up, telling MJ and Ned to keep you comfortable before he swung away.

“(Y/N) don’t fall asleep please,” MJ whispered as she put her sweater under your head.

“I won’t...I won’t,” you murmured as you stared up at the sky where you could see Stephen in the distance.

“It's almost over,” Ned murmured but his voice seemed so distant to you. Time went by in a blur as you laid there taking slow deep breaths, trying to save your strength. You needed to live, for Peter, for Bucky, for Sam and everyone you had left. Suddenly Peter swung down, eyes sad, defeated and broken.

“You’re gonna forget who I am,” he said before any of you could say anything.

“The spell will make everyone forget me. Forget Peter Parker,” he explained, fresh tears filling his eyes once more. Dread filled you like the poison they had injected you with as he explained the spell and what would happen. It broke your heart to hear MJ’s cries and Ned’s protests but you could see that Peter wasn’t going to stop this. Looking away you tried to hide your tears as MJ and Peter kissed goodbye, and you waited silently as he sent them off. A warm hand came up to cradle your cheek, turning you slowly to meet the warm brown eyes you had fallen in love with. Your Peter.

“I heard what you said...about the spell,” you whispered. “I’d rather die than live in a world where I’d forget you Peter. You mean so much to me, taught me what love is,” you said softly, tears spilling onto your ashen cheeks no longer afraid to tell him the truth. Peter gazed down at you, eyes catching onto something silver around your neck.

“You kept them,” he breathed out as he touched the dog tags he had gotten you as a gift after you had officially moved into the Compound. When he had met you the ones you had were HYDRA issued so as a show of goodwill he had custom ones made with your new name and the Avengers logo. They were your most precious possession. You gave him a weak nod and watery smile.

“Tell Buck I’m sorry,” you continued before your eyes became unfocused as your time began to run out. Peter couldn’t find the words to say as he heard your heartbeat slow down, everything was caught in his throat as he pulled you into his lap.

“I was always just a soldier…..but now I’m free,” you whispered, so quietly he barely managed to hear you. Peter let out a wretched sob as your eyes fluttered shut, grip on his hand loosening. Then the spell took effect, a blinding light filling the air as Peter held onto your body. Kissing your cheek, he tasted the saltiness of your tears wishing he had kissed them when he had the chance so long ago.

“You deserved so much better,” Peter whispered to you. Soon the realization had set in for him, you had died being the last person in the world to remember him, to remember Peter Parker.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #spider man no way home #andrew garfield spiderman #tom holland spider man no way home

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