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chaotic-iguana · 9 months

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Hii! Again, congrats on 400 followers!💗 How about Joel Miller x Reader, with "Shut up and kiss me." for the prompt? <3 can't wait to see what you write! :)

wordcount: 1.2k

thank you for the ask and the congrats!! love u fr omg. let me know what u think!

Joel was being an asshole.

In a way, you suppose he always was. At least a little. Always scowling, grunting, biting out one-word responses. It’s why you and Ellie had taken to (affectionately) calling him a caveman from time to time, resulting in a sharp glare at both of you before he’d just shake his head and walk away.

Most of Jackson was afraid of him. This hulking, snarling figure who towered over them all, tension practically rolling off him in waves. His brother might be the leader, but Joel was the one with the real sense of authority to him. But you never truly got that side of him. None of that was for you. Ever. No, for you, Joel had reserved only his softest gaze. Large, scarred hands brushing gently against yours. Lips curling up - albeit slightly - at your offbeat singing rather than twisting in displeasure or growling at you to shut up.

Ellie had noticed it, too. Had giggled while teasing him about his childish crush. He’d batted her away, of course. Gruffly told her to go check on the pasta. But she was right, how couldn’t she be? You were the sweetest, prettiest thing he had ever seen in his damn life, but he never could find the words to tell you that.

And you might have been sweet - and pretty - but you were also stubborn. You refused to acknowledge any of what was between the two of you - that simmering, electric something lingering in the air when you were with him, leaving the taste of honey and the sweet scent of jasmine lingering in your mind long, long after. You wanted him to say it, for him to tell you what he wants. Waiting wasn’t a problem. Not like you had much but time.

But Joel simply didn’t know how to. He had lost far too much, far too fast. Only now, with Ellie, was he beginning to pick up the fractured pieces of who he used to be. He needed time.

And so the limbo continued, as it had for years.

You didn’t mind.

But then winter rolled around, and with it came February - specifically, the fourteenth. Maria, in her efforts to make life seem as normal and unaffected as possible, had held a Valentine’s dance, and scoured roses from god-knew-where for Jackson residents to gift to those they wanted to take.

And you had gotten one. Some kid (compared to him, anyways) named James had approached you when you were on your way home from patrol, and stuttered his way through asking you to go with him. You’d laughed, politely taken the rose, but had whispered to him that you already had a date.

Joel hadn’t heard the whisper, though. All he’d seen was you, beaming at the boy like you beamed at him. Laughing, putting a hand on his shoulder, taking the flower and leaning in. He’d looked away, then. Walked home, faster than usual, his step unfaltering. He refused to watch any longer.

But since then, which had been a week ago, he hadn’t even looked in your direction. Hardly spoke to you. He was like a stranger - paying little to no attention to anything you said, or ignoring you entirely. Brushing past you while you were mid-sentence. He’d closed himself off entirely. You were waiting for him to ask you to the dance, but when you asked Ellie what his plans were, she said he’d told her he was just gonna catch up on some sleep. Sleep? Seriously?

And now the dance was tonight, and you didn’t know what to do. You put on your cleanest clothes, did your hair in a half-up style that he’d complimented once, and waited. All night, at The Tipsy Bison. It was way past midnight, when everyone had gone home and you’d grown tired of nursing the same drink you’d been sitting with all night, snapping your head towards the door every time it opened. Most people had come, danced, drank, and gone home. And you were still here, like an idiot.

Tears of frustration building in your eyes, you didn’t even realise where you were going until you’d slammed your glass on the bar, wrenched the door open, and stomped your way over to Joel’s, now loitering outside his front door. You shuffled on your feet, unsure what to do, before the door swung open - making you step back in alarm.

And then he was stepping out , with a scowl on his face, brows furrowed as he crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at you.

“Can I help ya?” His voice was so fucking cold and you couldn’t even think through the stabbing pain in your chest. Before you knew it, you were choking on sobs, shaking on his doorstep. Instantly, his anger melted into worry, eyes wide and panicked as his arms curled around your shoulders gently. “What’s wrong? What’s happened? Did he do somethin’? Gonna break his fuckin’ face, swear to God.” And that just made you cry harder - because what in the fuck was he talking about? Who the hell was this “he”? You brought your hands up to your face, pawing at your eyes, but he gripped them delicately. “What’d he do?” His eyes were blazing now; fury evident in his tone. That was your breaking point, and you erupted, fueled by your anger and stumbling your way through a lecture somehow with sobs shuddering through you.

“Who the f-fuck is ‘he’, Joel? Who the hell are you talk-ing about? I was-I waited, Joel. You wouldn’t-you-you didn’t even ask me out to the dance, and it was fi-I was sad at first but then I was like- I thought m-maybe you were be-being shy. For whatever fucking reason. And then-“ you gulp in a shaky breath, swallowing to clear the snot in your throat before continuing. “And th-then I waited there. All-all night. For you. Why would there ever be anyone else? But you’ve be-been so mean and I haven’t done anyth-I don’t deserve it and I miss you. What-why are you angry w-with me?”

You could see your words sink in. His shoulders slumped, mouth pressing into a straight line as he looked down, hands falling. He was ashamed, and he looked like a schoolboy being told off as he did it. But then another one of your tears fell on his hand, and he was looking at you again.

“‘S all my fault, baby. You ain’t done nothin’. “ A deep breath. “I saw ‘m give you the rose. James. Saw you smile at him, real pretty, too. Thought you’d be with him tonight. Got inside my own head, y’know? Didn’t know how’t ask you to the dance, honey. Didn’t know how’t say it. Didn’t know how’t tell you I lov-“ and suddenly the large, stoic man in front you becomes a bumbling mess, trying desperately to cover up the words he’s been struggling to utter for half a decade.

He stutters for a few seconds, then takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, resigning himself to his fate. It takes you fisting his shirt at his shoulder for his eyes to snap open again, confusion written on his face.

“Shut up and kiss me, Miller.”

And for once in his life, he shut his mouth and obeyed.

hello loves, as always - thank you for reading. comment your thoughts or find me on ao3. stay hydrated and have a great day! taglist (message me to be removed, no hard feelings): @imherefordeanandbones, @theywhowriteandknowthings, @josephquinnswhore, @millerscoffee, @nostalxgic, @sscorpiiio, @pedrosaidsheispunk. @its-nebuleuse, @sofiparallel, @mandoisapunk, @bastardmandennis, @pawnshopb1ues, dividers by @reveriesources! go check them out they’re amazing.

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hearteyesforjoel · 8 months

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Old Man

okay okay, we’re FINALLY here, it’s finally done. i’ve had this idea stuck in my head for forever, it’s based on a dream i actually had, go figure lol. enjoy, first fic i’ve written in literal years <3

word count: 1280

jackson!joel x reader

warnings: tbh not much, a creep, heavy kissing, cheeky joel.

Content. If there was one word to describe how you felt at the moment, it would be just that. The radio playing some old country song you couldn’t be bothered with to remember playing softly in the background, not overpowered by the light chatter of the Jackson patrons. It was a quiet night for the Tipsy Bison. It had been a pretty uneventful day of patrol, the only thing keeping you going from lookout to lookout being the promise Joel made that morning before you both left the gated community.

“Sweetheart, we gotta get going for the day”, his voice still raspy with sleep as you both enjoy the comfort and warmth provided by the fluffy duvet. Your head rising and falling on his chest with each breath he took. Through the curtains you could see a peak of sunlight, taunting you to start your day.

You pout slightly, “But I love seeing you like this; so relaxed and cozy. Maybe Tommy can find someone to fill in for us? I know, tell him we came down with a cold?”

He snorted, “Yeah right. The last time we used that excuse, he saw all of those lovely marks you left on me.” Joel smirks as he recalls the memory.

“Well, I’ll just have to hide those marks this time around”, you say as you grin up at him, sliding your hand up his neck and to his scalp, pulling on his hair lightly.

Joel groans, a devilish look flashes in his eyes as he tightens his grip around you. He hums, “How about I make you a deal? If you can behave yourself today during patrol, I’ll take you out tonight. How’s that sound darlin’?”

You raise your eyebrows, “Joel Miller wants a night out on the town with me? Feel like I just won the lottery”, you tease with a smile.

Joel grins a shit-eating grin and pulls you closer. “Don’t push your luck sweetheart”, he says as he places small pecks from your temple to your neck, nibbling along the way.

You’d gotten to the bar before Joel, he mentioned having to stop by Tommy’s. Something about a new area of Wyoming to patrol. You honestly weren’t listening to the details, too excited for the night to come. You hum along to the old country song playing in the background, sipping on a glass of whiskey. The burn providing a warm comfort to the cool breeze from the fall air outside.

“Hey, what are you doing here all alone?”, you heard a familiar voice from behind you as you sat at the bar. When you turn to look over your shoulder, you saw that the voice came from one of the stable hands. Jake? James? Maybe Jason?

“Oh, no, I’m just waiting for someone”, you said with a small, polite smile. If you’re being honest, the guy always gave you weird vibes. Sometimes as you would leave for patrol on your horse, you could feel a lingering stare, leaving the hairs on the back of your neck standing at attention.

As you focused your attention back to your glass, you saw the barstool next you pull out, your pest of the night sitting down next you at the bar.

“Well in that case, I’ll just keep you company until then”, he smirked, looking you up down. There it is, that familiar uncomfortable feeling.

“Ah, no, that’s okay. He should be here any minute, I’ll be fine to wait alone”, you say as you pick at your cuticles, hoping he’ll take the hint. He laughs, resting his arm on the back of your stool.

“Some friend he is. Really, let me get you a drink, sweetheart”, he says, the term of endearment sounding bitter coming out of his mouth.

Before Jake? James? Maybe Jason, can say anything else, you feel a familiar hand rest against waist. “Should I throw your ass out of this bar or do you want to walk out on your own? Think carefully”, Joel nearly snarls as he puts himself between you and the once confident, now tense man.

He raises his hands in surrender, “Hey, man, I didn’t mean any trouble. I’m just, I’m just gonna…”, he slides off the barstool and quickly leaves, tail between his legs.

Joel turns to you, concern all over his face, eyebrows furrowed. “Are you okay? Did he touch you?”, he quickly scans your form. His big, brown eyes fully of worry.

You grab his bicep, pulling him closer to you. His familiar scent putting you at ease. “I’m fine, I’m just glad you’re finally here”, you say as smile, happy to finally have a relaxing night with the love of your life. Neither of you have had a night to yourselves, usually spending your nights enjoying dinners with Tommy and Maria, movie nights with Ellie. It’s not that you don’t enjoy the company of your family, but sometimes you just want Joel all to yourself.

“I’m sorry it took so long, Tommy found an abandoned town a few miles out, thinks there could be supplies worth the trip. We’re gonna head out first thing in the mornin’, there’s an old clinic we need to check out. Could be medicine there.”

You sigh, knowing you’ll both have to cut the night short. Defeated, you stand up from your barstool, grabbing his bicep to lead Joel out of the quaint bar. “Well, come on old man, you need your beauty sleep if you want to get up bright and early”, you tease him, sliding your hand to the back pocket of his jeans.

Slowing down his stride, Joel stares into your eyes. His once soft brown eyes, now dark, a devious glint in his eyes. Without hesitation, he grabs your arm and pulls you to the side of the bar, away from any prying eyes. His actions surprising you.

You inhale sharply, your whole body heating up from just the simple touch on your arm. “Joel? Joel, what are you doing?”.

He quickly pins you against the brick wall behind you, caging you in between his arms. Joel leans in, his lips grazing your neck, his warm breath bringing chills to your skin. You’re breathing heavily at this point, your insides practically begging for him to do something, anything to alleviate the burning desire within you. Joel begins to coast his lips up from your neck, your jaw, and finally hovering over your own. With heavy eyes, you both stare into one another’s eyes, waiting for the other to break.

You can’t take it anymore. Finally, you give in and roughly bring your lips together, his chapped, yours soft. Quickly, you bring one hand to comb through his dark hair, the other to rest against the back of his neck. His own grabbing at your waist, placing one hand to your neck, just under your jaw. Softly, you whimper against him as he bites your bottom lip, allowing him to take control of the kiss, his mouth exploring your own. You sigh heavily, the hand in his hair pulling on his roots. He groans, pulling away from the kiss, both of you gasping for air.

“Where did that come from?”, you whisper, slightly out of breath.

Joel smirks, eyes still heavy and burning with want, “You wanna call me an old man, sweetheart? Let me show you what this old man can do“. He grips your hand, pulling you back onto the street, beginning the short walk back to your shared home.

There it is, that fiery desire that only Joel can ignite.

Yeah, you were in for a long night. Maybe you’ll tell Tommy you both caught a cold?

______________________________________________

if you read all the way through this, i love you.

thank you so much for reading, i definitely need to keep writing, ya know, leveling up my skills.

prompts and requests are always open and welcome! xx

#omg i did it #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller #jackson!joel #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #pedro pascal #writing #my writings #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction

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rosepompadour · 2 months

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Unlike Jo, Amy embraces her budding womanhood, which she feels empowers rather than diminishes her. At sixteen, she has the air and bearing of a full-grown woman” and has “learned to use the gift of fascination with which she was endowed.” Although not a natural beauty like Meg, the blonde, blue-eyed Amy easily succeeds at making herself into a fashionable work of art, gaining first the attention of Laurie's college friends, then Fred Vaughn, and finally Laurie himself. It is not only with men that she succeeds, however. She wins over her fellow art school students, the mean girls at the fair, and then her aunts, one of whom takes her to Europe. Once abroad, Amy blossoms further. “Always mature for her age,” she now becomes “more of a woman of the world.” She enjoys her power over men (including Laurie) and tears around Nice in her own carriage, taking the reins herself and yelling out to Laurie in the street, her “free manners” scandalizing a French mother who hurries her young daughter in the opposite direction. Amy was the daring American girl abroad ten years before the publication of Henry James's Daisy Miller. In the end, of course, Amy wins Laurie and decides that she won't be an artist after all (because she possesses talent but not genius, something Laurie also discovers about his music). Readers often forget that Amy wants to become a famous artist because she gives it up so easily. She will become instead, as the wealthy Laurie's wife, “an ornament to society.” To many readers, Amy has seemed to be the clear winner among the four March sisters. In her New York Times essay “Amy Had Golden Curls; Jo Had a Rat. Who Would You Rather Be?” film and book critic Caryn James wrote that favoring Amy over the other girls was a "no-brainer." Pretty Amy went to Europe, had adventures, and married the dashing boy next door, while Jo lived in a dumpy boardinghouse in New York and married a boring professor. - Anne Boyd Rioux, Meg, Jo, Beth, Amy: The Story of Little Women and Why It Still Matters

#amy was always my favorite #that was a very controversial stance to take pre-florence pugh #so many slumber parties ruined!#but she's artistic and funny and not nearly as preachy or infuriatingly moral as her sisters #going to europe and snagging the rich boy was just the icing on the superior cake that has always been amy march #little women #little women 2019 #florence pugh #florencepughedit #perioddramaedit #perioddramasource #littlewomenedit #bookedit #filmedit #louisa may alcott #*

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d0wnb4df0rf1cm3n · 1 year

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Let me

Anthony Lockwood x F!Reader

Summary: You got hurt. It was his fault. And he feels absolutely awful.

Word Count: 3.4K

Warnings: Angst, Claustrophobia, Near-death situations, Some lightly mentioned family issues, Arguing, Couples? Quarrels, ANGST.

AN: The summary is awful - I feel like I say this every time. Idk if Reader and Lockwood are a couple, they don't have to be, but they can be if you want to. Love you all! (BTW I have not read the books in years so creative liberties were taken - I'm sorry for any and all book inaccuracies.)

The body of one 'Sergeant M. Bowers' floated precariously towards Lockwood. He backed up against the door of the bedroom, eyes darting between you and Bowers, rapier extended in front of him. You rifled through the bedroom, looking for anything precious or valuable. You had to find the source for Lockwood.

Lockwood had taken the case of this particular house out of pure greed. Mrs. Miller was willing to pay a pretty price to take care of her 'little problem' as she called it. You had warned him against it - the Bowers' manor was about a mile outside of the town you grew up in and you'd heard almost every story there was to hear about the house. About the family that inhabited the house. Lockwood hadn't listened.

He'd convinced you to come, saying the stories were 'probably just stories told to children to scare them away.' He assured you they weren't true. After George had done his research, you were more confident - apparently, reports of apparitions of children predated the problem and were therefore hoaxes.

The Bowers were an affluential aristocratic family before the war - the First World War, that is. "They were known for hosting Gatsby-esque parties to celebrate the most menial of affairs - like their dog turning one." George had rolled his eyes at that pushing the picture of the newspaper your way. April 6th, 1912. A week before the Titanic sank.

The sinking of the Titanic began a series of unfortunate events for the Bowers family, starting with the death of the youngest son, James. James and his to-be wife, Miranda, died aboard the ship, thrusting the family into a long period of mourning. In the following two years, 6 of the 12 members who lived in the house had passed away, forcing the rest to flee the countryside manor, claiming it had been cursed - which brought about the misfortune of the family.

The last of the family to inherit the manor was Sergeant Michael James Bowers, who was the youngest nephew of James. He had lost his life in the second World War; after being shot in the arm and leg, he had been honourably discharged and sent home. He succumbed to sepsis not long after, surrounded by empty halls and unhappy memories. Apparently, he had never left.

You shook your head in discomfort - dispelling the dark feeling that had crept over you since reading about the family's terrible fate. Something seemed off about this case - something seemed to have been omitted from all the research you and George had done.

At first, you disregarded it as nerves. The Bowers manor was big - bigger than any other case you had taken. Plus, it was close to home, which was full of unpleasant memories. Maybe the added pressure was playing on your mind. You tried to explain yourself to Lockwood, who dismissed you. Apparently, Lucy had to help Kipps with some research, and George was working on another case. There was no point in arguing with Lockwood when he had made up his mind, and he was not going to budge on this case.

Which led you to your current predicament.

There were many ghosts haunting the halls of the Bowers manor. It seemed that everyone who had died here didn't want to leave. You had rid the house of most of the ghosts - sealing almost ten sources in different iron boxes. Lockwood had danced his way through the Type Ones that he was dealing with - he was evidently the better agent out of the two of you. You had lucked out - you came face to face with a Type Two. The small girl kept repeating about her teddy which you had found in an upstairs bedroom covered in filth and cobwebs. You threw an iron net over it before leaning against a wall to catch your breath. You were exhausted - and you hadn't even dealt with the real problem.

Sergeant Bowers.

Sergeant M. Bowers was a lot more tortured than you had initially thought. His wife left him when he left for the war, leaving to follow her true love into the country - countless correspondences scattered across the rooms told you as much.

Then came the matter of a child - Timothy. Pictures of him were littered through the halls - toys left to rot in the hallways. Clearly, no one had cleaned it until Mrs. Miller bought it at that country house auction. Except the trace of him ended there. There was nothing in your research to tell you about him, nor any sign of him outside the walls of this home.

It was peculiar.

You had tried to tell Lockwood, but he brushed you off. "The kid must have died - explains the tortured relationship between his parents."

It seemed odd to you. What kind of mother would run off without her child?

A glint caught your eye. A small jewellery box lay on the vanity, dust laid over it as if it hadn't been touched in decades. You dashed towards it, opening it quickly to find a simple silver band inside. A wedding band. A source.

You placed the ring in a small iron box - one of your many engineering feats that made your job safer and easier to do. Bowers disappeared from over Lockwood and you ran over to help him up.

"See? Not too bad, was it?" Lockwood joked, taking the box from your hand and putting it in his bag with the rest of them.

"The only reason I'm glad we don't work with Fittes is the paperwork. We'd be drowning in it after tonight. Can you imagine? With all those Type Ones and the two Type Twos. I'd be crying into my pillow for weeks." You grabbed the rest of your equipment and headed towards the stairs. Lockwood's fingers wrapped around your arm, pulling you back sharply.

He pulled out his rapier and pointed it toward the woman - an apparition of a young woman, dressed in a maid's uniform and carrying a basket, seemingly full of laundry.

"Another Type Two. Great." Lockwood sighed, "You check downstairs and I'll check upstairs. She's a maid. Look for... maid things? I don't know." You nodded before hopping downstairs, armed with your rapier.

You went down to the servants' quarters, which you had seen on the blueprints of the house. The room was small, just off the side of the kitchen - and was perhaps the cleanest room in the house. The maids had been let go long before Sergeant Bowers had inherited the house. Clearly, they had taken the cleanliness with them.

You looked around for anything that could be a source. Why would staff die here, you thought, when the Bowers were known for treating staff well? And why would she choose to stay? You walked around the room, running your fingers over the sparse wooden furniture around the room, leaving trails in the dust in your wake. You tripped by the door to the bathroom, cutting your hand on a small loose nail by the door - probably used for hanging coats or aprons. You winced as you stretched your hand, closing your fist to stop the blood from dripping all over the floor.

You heard footsteps coming down the stairs. "Did you find anything, Lockwood?" No response. "Lockwood?" The door to the servants' quarters slammed shut. You pressed up against the door, trying to force it open. "LOCKWOOD? LOCKWOOD, HELP!" You screamed, trying to push the door hard. "LOCKWOOD, PLEASE! I NEED YOU!"

Lockwood called to you from the landing, telling you he's found something interesting. You tried screaming for him again, but he was too far away to hear you, just like you were too far away to help. Ghostly yelling startled you as you turned around. The maid was here, clearly oblivious to you in the room. She was humming softly as the ghostly yelling continued.

You watched her from a distance as she folded some invisible clothes, her humming still ringing out around the room. She laughed at nothing, before turning towards the door, expectantly. You turned towards the door, expecting to see some other apparition in the doorway but there was nothing. She seemed to get frantically worried by the lack of whatever presence she is expecting, her humming becoming erratic and eerier by the second.

Her eyes grazed over you, and she seemed to relax. She spoke to you gently, reaching her hand out to you, "Come, Elizabeth. There's no need to be scared." You felt the effects of Ghost-lock wash over you, as lethargy numbs your senses. You saw her drifting toward you, but you had no energy to run or even to poise your rapier in front of you. And she seems so nice.

You heard the door fly open and felt someone grab your arm, tightly. You were pulled out of the room and back into the kitchen. "Thanks, Anthony." You whispered, resting on the kitchen counters.

"Anthony? Who's Anthony?" You looked up, unamused by Lockwood's attempt at a joke.

Your jaw dropped. In front of you was a man that you thought you may never see again, "Grandpa? What the hell are you doing here?"

"I heard you screaming. Just wanted to make sure you're okay?" He said, eyes looking you over, searching for injuries. You hid your arm further behind your back, not wanting to worry him more.

He brought his hand up to brush your cheek, staring down at you lovingly. "I'm sorry about this, kiddo."

You felt hands pulling you up off the floor, and a strangely familiar voice whispering soothing words in your ear. You struggled in the grasp of this strange person, trying - unsuccessfully - to flee. They held you firmly, arms tucked neatly beneath you.

Tired from your busy night, you gave up, resting your head against the person's chest. You knew this cologne. It was Anthony's - you teased him for putting on too much and the scent lingers in the hallways some mornings. You settled, seeking his warmth and his comfort.

"Nice to have you back. You worried me for a minute back there."

"Lockwood? Worried? God, are there pigs in the sky?" You bantered back, your voice weak with exhaustion. He laid you down on the stairs, running back to grab your rapier and your flares. You must have dropped them when your Grandpa showed up. Grandpa?

Where did he go? You stood up trying to walk back to the kitchen. Grandpa couldn't see any apparitions - if one came for him, he'd be as good as dead.

"Whoa, slow down, Usain Bolt." Lockwood caught you as your legs folded beneath you. "You took a nasty hit to the head, plus you might have had a bit of ghost-lock as well."

"Lockwood, my grandpa," You said, looking past him, and back at the kitchen door, "He can't see them. We have to help him."

"Your grandpa? Honey, there's no one here." The nickname fell on deaf ears. You tried to scramble back towards the room, but Lockwood held you tightly.

He walked with you back to the kitchen - to prove there was no one there. There was no sign of anyone being there - nothing at all.

"Look - there's no one else here. You must have hit your head while getting away from the maid. Just," He huffed, pulling you closer to him, "let me get you home. Let me check you over - make sure you're alright."

You let Lockwood drag you towards the taxi and push you inside. You let him maneuver your body so that your head is resting on his chest and your legs dangle over his. You let him carry you like a rag doll into the house and set you down in the kitchen.

You shivered slightly - involuntarily - but Lockwood noticed. He draped a large blanket over you, boiling some water for hot tea. He grabbed the first aid kit from under the sink and sat down in front of you.

He held out his hand for yours, "Let me clean it for you." So you do.

He spent the better part of the next hour meticulously cleaning every scratch and scrape he can find - only slowing down when you wince, or to pour you more tea. He makes it how you like it - a spoonful of sugar and a dash of milk

Once he's done, he lifts you again and carries you to bed, tucking you in like a mother would their child. He turns out the lights with a soft goodnight and crosses the landing to his own bedroom. The first floor is plunged into darkness, but you stare up at the ceiling.

Sleep doesn't come to you easily. When you close your eyes, the maid's face is above yours - her hand reaching out to you, beckoning you. You want to take it. You see her holding Elizabeth, cradling her as she cries. Your grandpa's face comes up next to the maid and you see your grandpa die. How he screams for you to help him as the plasm burns through his skin. Your mother blames you - tells you that she should never have let you go to Fittes. The maid shields Elizabeth from the loud arguing coming from upstairs. No, not from upstairs. The arguing is happening below you. You shake yourself awake from your restless night, wincing as you contort your bruised body. You slip on your Fittes hoodie and creep downstairs.

Lucy and Lockwood are facing off in the kitchen. Again. You sit on the step, listening in.

"She told you she didn't want to go! And now, there's a chance she won't be able to go into the field."

"She'll be fine. She's tough, she'll get through it."

"You don't know that, Lockwood! You can't just assume that everything will be fine just because you want it to be." You could hear Lucy's voice breaking as she fought back tears.

"Maybe, she won't want to go on missions anymore," George piped up. Clearly, he'd been forced to sit there through breakfast and listen to the argument, "After all, you didn't listen to her doubts when she said she was scared."

"No, she didn't. She just had nerves."

"No, Lockwood. I was terrified. And you didn't hear me out."

"You're awake!" Lucy threw her arms around you, hugging you tightly. "God, I'm so happy you're okay!" You smiled at her warmly, hugging her back. She moved past you, saying something about needing to meet Kipps to finish their case.

"I'd hug you too, but you should probably shower first. Who knows what kind of bacteria fester in hundred-year-old manors? I'll see you after lunch - heading to the archives." George walked out quickly, almost as if he was being chased out by rats.

Lockwood stood in front of you, straight as a board, "You look like you've been electrocuted. Sit down. I'm not going to bite." Lockwood sent a weak smile in your direction.

You poured yourself a mug of tea and put some bread in the toaster. You made a mental note to send George a shopping list before he came back.

"So..." Lockwood started, and you wanted to laugh. In the almost three years you'd lived with him, you'd never seen him so nervous.

"So?"

"We should probably talk about what happened back there." Ah. He wanted to do this now.

"Yeah. We probably should."

"What happened? I mean, one minute you were fine, the next you were unconscious in the kitchen?" Lockwood said, leaning back in his chair slightly.

You grabbed your mug and sat in the chair opposite him, "Was I, though?" Lockwood raised his eyebrows, "Was I really fine, Lockwood, or did you just want me to be fine?"

"I don't understand?"

"Lockwood, I voiced my doubts to you! I told you to let it go! That this was a case we didn't have to take! That we'd find something better." You were standing now, leaning over the table, staring Lockwood down.

"Worth more than 90 grand? Do you have any concept of how much money that is?"

"YES! YES, LOCKWOOD, I DO! IT'S NOT NEARLY ENOUGH MONEY! We fought how many ghosts? 10? 12? Do you even consider that?"

"14, actually."

"YOU ARE NOT HELPING YOURSELF. YOU MAY BE THE LITTLE PRODIGY OF FITTES, BUT SOME OF US ARE NORMAL. SOME OF US ARE AVERAGE." You sat back down, your legs shaking. You were still too weak to force this argument. Your voice trembled, "I can't keep up with you, Lockwood, none of us can. Lucy, maybe, but even she needs a break. Hell, even you need a break sometimes."

"We're fine, aren't we? We're all alive and kicking, still fighting ghosts another day?"

"Yeah, but for how long? How long do we keep getting to cheat death?" How long until one of us gets buried for the unnecessary risks we keep taking? You didn't say it but the question took root in the back of your mind.

Lockwood sighed, "I don't know where this is even coming from. We survived. We did the job. We got our money. Aren't you happy-"

"HAPPY! HOW CAN I BE HAPPY, LOCKWOOD? I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED IN THAT HOUSE YESTERDAY! One minute, we were sealing up a source, the next I was being lured in by a Type Two, ghost-locked and bleeding. Somehow, my GRANDPA WAS THERE, AND THEN I'M UNCONCIOUS ON THE FLOOR. NONE OF IT MAKES SENSE, nothing - nothing makes sense. I feel - I feel like my brain's been scrambled. It just - I can't - I don't-" Lockwood kneeled next to you, his palm gently cradling your face, and let you cry. You stayed there for a few seconds before you looked up into his face, eyes brimming with tears, "You know what the - what the worst part was?"

"What was the worst part, honey?" There it was again, the nickname. Your heart skipped slightly at the sound of it.

"That you couldn't hear me." Lockwood looked at you, pain sweeping over his expression. "I called for you. In the servants' quarters. I needed you, but you couldn't hear me. I screamed and I cried and I begged and I- I needed you, Lockwood."

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his lap, before stroking your hair. You cried into his shirt, the white fabric turning translucent in the dampness.

"I will always come." He whispered to you, eyes bright with determination. "I may not have always been there before, but I will be now. I promise. No matter where or when, if you call, I will come to you." He cradled your face in his hands again, thumbs gently rubbing away your tears, "I will listen to you - and George, and Lucy. If you tell me you're scared, I'll hear you. I won't take jobs out of greed, we'll make decisions together. We're a team. I'm sorry I haven't been acting like it."

You wrapped your arms around his neck, tucking yourself into his neck, "I like the sound of that."

You felt Lockwood smile against your neck. "I'll take care of you. If you'll let me."

You pulled back, "Taking care of each other goes both ways. You have to let me take care of you too." He scoffed lightly, but you knew that he had agreed. He couldn't ever say no to you. Not even at Fittes.

"As much as I hate to ruin the moment, George was right. I don't want to think about how much bacteria was probably growing in that house." Lockwood helped you up, "You should probably shower." You nodded your head, chuckling lightly. You grabbed Lockwood's phone from the table and before he could steal it back, you sent a text on the group chat.

"We need food. PLS. WE HAVE NOTHING." You threw him his phone as you ran up the stairs. Lockwood laughed at the text.

"They'll know it's you." He said waving his phone as you grabbed your towel.

"Or they'll have a heart attack knowing that Frosty can change his mind."

fin.

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guess-my-next-obsession · 9 months

Text

In the Cold, Cold Night, Chapter Two:

pairing: cowboy/frontier!joel miller x oc (Dorothea) / unrequited tommy miller

rating: E (18+ only, western stuff, innocence kink if you squint? more just period-realistic virginity vibes from dorothea, buckle riding (i had to), secret relationship, talks of religion/sinning)

wc: 3.5k

series masterlist | series playlist

What started out as an exciting morning—the thought of heading over to Joel’s house giving Dorothea a pep in her step—quickly dwindled into something more busy than she hoped.

After having to spend the morning tending to Robert and Paul’s hangover at the request of her father, the two young men going out of their way to take advantage of her obedience by demanding a special breakfast, she was sent out into the yard to supervise her youngest brothers, Bo, Ed, and James, as they cleaned and refilled every single trough they had as a punishment for skipping church the sunday prior. Dorothea didn’t have to do much but sit, the momentary break giving her a chance to catch up on her latest knitting project—a blanket for a childhood friend's newborn.

The last nail in the coffin was her mother’s request to join her at the church for her prayer group meeting—though, it was less of a request and more of an obligation given how devout her mother was.

She sat in that tiny, sweltering hot church with a hand fan batting air at her face, her eyes shut as the women around her seemingly prayed for every single person in town, her mind lost in sinful thought about what occurred in Joel’s kitchen the night before. It wasn’t until the pretty, young, school teacher took her turn praying that she actually listened, the sound of Joel’s name slipping from her lips piquing her interest.

“Dear lord,” she started, her voice honey sweet. “I wanna pray for a young man and his daughter, Joel and Sarah, that just moved into town. I pray that you give him the means to lead her in your path, lord. Pray you protect ‘em. Amen.”

Though any good Christian woman would’ve said an “amen” before moving on to whatever the next person was praying about, Dorothea was occupied with jealousy, her stomach turning sour at the thought of some pretty, red-haired young woman caring so much for Joel that she talked to God about him.

Did they know each other well? Did Joel lay the same moves on this pretty school teacher that he did on her? Why did it matter?

Her mind ran miles in the time it took for the meeting to end, each of the women filing out of the church-house and into the dry heat.

“Alright, let’s go on home and get supper started,” Jessa said, looping her arm with her daughter’s. “Know it ain’t good to gossip, but…ya hear that teacher lady? Prayin’ like a saint.”

“Yep,” Dorothea nodded.

“Ain’t that that boy y’like? Joel?” she asked.

“Never said I liked’m,” she said.

“Right,” Jessa smirked. “Regardless, I’ll see what gossip I can get outta the ladies at church. See if maybe his boots’ve found a home under her bed.”

“Mama,” she scolded in a gasp, shaking her head as they continued down the road.

“Alright, I’ll quit,” she said, patting her daughter's hand. “Must be cute. Got all these pretty ladies fawnin’ over him.”

“Mama, you said you’d quit,” Dorothea recalled with a flat tone.

“Alright, I’m done for good,” she promised with a smirk. “For now.”

It was late in the afternoon by the time they got home and started out on dinner, just some cornbread, mashed potatoes, and chicken.

While Robert and Paul were back off to the saloon, the younger boys stayed home—James and Ed playing out back with Sarah who’d come by sometime while Dorothea and Jessa were gone, and Bo who stayed to help his mother and sister with supper.

“Who’s ‘at out front?” John Mackey walked into the kitchen where Bo, Dorothea, and Jessa were sitting at the table peeling and chopping up potatoes.

“Who?” Jessa asked, her brows lacing as she leaned over to look out of the dusty window, the silhouette of a grown man dressed in blue jeans and a white shirt catching her eye. “Oh, that must be Sarah’s daddy.”

“Is it?” Dorothea sprung up from her chair and walked over to the window, practically pressing her nose to the glass to get a good look at him in all his sweaty glory.

“Bo, go on out back and call Sarah in,” Jessa ordered.

“Dot, go on and invite ‘em in for a cup ‘a water. Swelterin’ out there,” John added, taking his seat at the table.

“Yes sir,” she nodded, biting her lip as she practically ran out of the house, the screen door whacking the wooden frame behind her as she jogged down the steps of the porch. “You here for Sarah?”

“One ‘a the reasons,” he smiled, meeting her halfway between the fence and the porch. He stopped just short of touching her, his eyes meeting hers before traveling down her frame. “Lookin’ awfully pretty today.”

“Must’a known you were comin’ by,” she smirked. “Sorry I couldn’t sneak out today.”

“S’alright, got caught up with workin’ anyways,” he shrugged, squinting at the sun behind her.

“I could…sneak out later,” she shrugged, lifting her hand to ghost over his chest before deciding against it. “After dark.”

“Sounds risky,” he smiled, reaching forward to loop his pointer finger with hers. “Don’t want your daddy showin’ up on my doorstep with a shotgun.”

“He won’t know,” she assured. “Sleeps like a rock after supper.”

“I’d have to come get ya,” he said. “Ain’t safe to be walkin’ around after dark by yourself.”

“You gonna take me ridin’ on that pretty horse you got?” she purred.

“I could,” he nodded, his eyes falling to her lips, the pink hue calling his name. He shook his head at her affect on him and took a necessary step back. “Am I blushin’?”

“Just a little,” she chuckled before remembering why she came outside in the first place. “My, uh, my daddy wanted me to invite you in for some water.”

“That’s awfully kind of him,” he replied, looking over her shoulder at his daughter as she stepped through the front door. “I’ll have to take him up another time, got supper goin’ back home.”

“But tonight?” she asked, trying not to look too hopeful.

“I’ll be here waitin’ if y’want me to,” he assured.

“I want you to,” she affirmed, clasping her hand with his and squeezing it before letting it go, Sarah’s boots crunching on the dirt behind her pulling her away from him.

“Hi, daddy,” she smiled, hugging her father’s hip. “Time for supper?”

“Yep,” he nodded, turning his eyes back to Dorothea. “I’ll see ya, ma’am.”

She smiled smittenly at him as he tipped his hat at her before turning to walk Sarah to his horse that was tied up on the fence post. She admired the pull of his shirt across his back as he hoisted the little girl up onto the saddle before climbing up himself and trotting off down the road.

“Where you off to?” Tommy asked from the sofa as Joel tried to sneak out of the house around midnight.

“What’re you doin’ up?” Joel asked, shifting his weight to one hip as he stayed standing right by the front door. “Drunk?”

“Not tonight,” he said, somewhat forlorn. “Just thinkin’…’bout that Dorothea.”

“What about her?” Joel asked, hoping that he wasn’t giving anything away with his soft scowl.

“I like her,” he said. “She’s quick, pretty, soft. Kinda woman ya settle down with.”

“Mm,” Joel grunted, nodding his head.

“Just thinkin’ ‘bout whether m’ready to settle down,” Tommy continued.

“You’re young,” Joel said, shrugging his shoulders. “Be young.”

“You’re always naggin’ at me to settle down, now y’want me to be young?” Tommy chuckled. “No pleasin’ you.”

“I just ain’t sure you’re ready t’give it all up yet,” he reasoned. “No need to go breakin’ any hearts until ya know for certain.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Tommy nodded, a soft, tired smile on his face. “Where y’goin’?”

Joel turned sheepish.

“Is Joel Miller goin’ to see a woman?” Tommy teased. “Bordello?”

Joel only grunted, considering it less than a lie.

“Well, good on you,” Tommy nodded. “Need me t'stay up?”

“Just watch Sarah,” he said, walking back to the front door. “No drinkin’.”

“No drinkin’,” Tommy agreed, gesturing at the door. “Now go on. Lord knows y’need it.”

Joel offered up a smile and nodded before grabbing his hat off the hook and heading outside. The moon was high in the sky, the stars shimmering like diamonds above him as he walked to the small stable and walked his horse, Callus, out, saddling it up before climbing on and trotting off down the long, lonely road with his pistol on his hip for safe keeping.

When he pulled up to Dorothea’s house, he spotted a shadow sitting on the front porch with a lantern. Pulling the reins, he got Callus to stop and waited as the shadow stood up and ran down the dirt path to the gate.

“Took ya long enough,” Dorothea said, handing him her lantern as she climbed onto Callus behind him, her arms wrapping around his middle as he hung the light from the saddlebag.

“My apologies, ma’am,” he said, turning his head to glance back at her with a smile. “Y’ready for an adventure?”

“Y’takin’ me somewhere special?” she asked, giving him a squeeze.

“Yep,” he nodded and turned his eyes forward, clicking to get Callus to turn around and trot off in the direction he came from.

“Where we goin’?”

“S’a surprise,” he said, moving one hand from the reins to rest over hers on his stomach.

“What if I don’t like surprises,” she smiled, resting her cheek on his shoulder blade.

“Well, guess ya ain’t gonna like it, then,” he drawled, lacing her fingers with his. “What’d you get up to today?”

Dorothea sighed and shook her head. “Too much.”

“We got time,” he smiled.

“Just a lot of housework,” she shrugged. “Takin’ care ‘a my drunk brothers.”

“Your daddy don’t care what they do?”

“Don’t seem like it,” she said. “Bet I’ll have t’nurse ‘em back to health tomorrow, too.”

“What’d ya do after that?”

“Went with my mama to the church.”

“Didn’t know you were the holy type,” he teased.

“I ain’t,” she replied, splaying her hand across his lower stomach. “But my mama is, and I love her, so…off to prayer I go.”

“What’d ya pray about?”

“You’re awfully chatty tonight,” she teased.

“Would’ya like me to shut up?”

“No,” she hummed, closing her eyes as the warm breeze brushed her face. “Not yet, at least.”

“Alright,” he chuckled. “You gonna answer, then?”

“I didn’t pray,” she said. “My mind was…other places.”

“Like where?”

“Like back in your kitchen.”

“Not sure God would approve of those thoughts,” he said, turning to glance down at her hand inching dangerously close to his lap.

“You know that school teacher?” she asked, lifting her head up to stare at the back of his neck. “The young one?”

“I met her a few times,” he said. “She teaches Sarah.”

“Well…you’re in her prayers,” she mumbled, still sickened with jealousy.

“Ain’t that nice ‘a her,” he smiled, picking up on the dryness in her tone. “She ain’t in mine.”

“You pray?” Dorothea quirked an eyebrow at the back of his head.

“Not much,” he said. “‘N only ‘bout the things that matter.”

“Well then, you must matter t'her,” she said. “Any reason?”

“If you’re tryin’ to ask somethin’, darlin’, I ain’t pickin’ up on it.”

“Mmhm,” she rolled her eyes and smiled at his playful ignorance. “Wouldn’t blame ya. She’s a pretty woman.”

“I’ve seen prettier,” he said.

“Like who?”

Joel chuckled and shook his head.

“Now who’s playin’ dumb,” he smiled. “Y’know you’re the prettiest damn thing within a thousand miles of here. Maybe more."

"Maybe?" she repeated. "Why's it a maybe?

"Ain't seen that much ‘a the world yet.”

“Guess I’ll take it, then,” she grinned, nuzzling back into the warmth of his back. “You're pretty, too. In a…rough kinda way.”

“Well, ain’t you sweet,” he chided, squeezing her hand.

“Meant it,” she said.

“Guess I’ll take it,” he echoed.

Joel and Dorothea rode out for an hour, the town fading behind them as they wandered through the Texan plains and desert. Callus seemed to know exactly where they were heading off to, Joel's hands hardly doing any steering as the horse trotted down a ditch and then back up. Dorothea watched as a sparse line of trees came into view, their once-green leaves yellow dying under the blazing sun.

Soon, the sight of a riverbank just past the trees caught Dorothea’s eyes as Joel got Callus to stop. He felt her hop down off the horse before he climbed off himself, watching her as she started off towards the trees. Her feet were quick as she wandered through the tall, dry grass to the glimmer of water just a few yards away, her head turning back to grin at Joel.

“This your surprise for me?” she asked, kicking her boots off once she reached the soft, wet, and darker dirt by the water, her dress scrunched in her hands to lift the hem as she leaned a foot out to kick the water, testing the temperature.

“You like it?” Joel asked, grunting softly as he sat down on the cool ground, his knees hugged close to his chest by his strong arms.

Dorothea turned around and smiled brightly, nodding her head as she walked over to sit beside him. “S’real nice.” A comfortable silence fell over them for a few beats, Dorothea’s eyes swept up in this small oasis just outside her town limits, it’s sparse but flourishing trees, the shimmer of the water, the starlight overhead. “Y’know…I don’t think I’ve been this far from home in—actually, I’ve never been this far from home.”

“How’s it feel?” he asked, brushing his shoulder against hers, his eyes fixed on her profile as she gazed up at the stars.

“Feels nice,” she whispered back, her demeanor turned gentle as awe took hold of her. “I haven’t looked up at the stars ‘n a long time. Silly. They’re right there, every night, all ya gotta do is look up, but…I never do.”

“Y’should,” he said, reluctantly turning his eyes away from her and up at the stars twinkling overhead in the pitch black sky.

“D’you?” she asked, turning to look at him, watching him nod thoughtfully.

“Most nights,” he replied. “Sometimes I get worn out ‘fore they come out, but if I’m up…I like t’go out ‘n watch ‘em. Puts everythin’ into perspective.”

“D’ya know anythin’ about ‘em?” she asked, drawing his eyes to hers.

“Like what?” he chuckled.

“Like…their names…n’things like that.”

“No,” his amusement faded into a sweet smile, his head shaking softly. “Don’t know any names or nothin’.”

She frowned slightly and nodded, turning to look back up at them for a minute before lifting her finger to point one out.

“That one,” she said, drawing Joel’s attention, his eyes following the line of her arm to the tip of her finger. “That pink lookin’ one…she’s Betty.”

“S’that right?” he chuckled, his heart swelling with endearment.

“Yeah—Betty,” she nodded.

Joel took his time to scan the sky for a star of his own, his finger lifting to point at a bright blue speck.

“He can be Butch,” Joel said, giving her a smile.

“Betty and Butch,” she agreed, turning to meet his eyes, their mouths just a few inches apart.

Joel’s eyes wandered first, studying the soft plushness of the lips he’d tasted the night prior.

“Y’gonna kiss me again?” she whispered, a smug smile on her face.

“Just admirin’,” he said, flickering his eyes back to hers. “‘Less you want me to.”

Dorothea bit her lip as she stayed smiling at him, not willing to break contact first. Instead, she kept her eyes glued to his as she sat up and hiked up the skirt of her dress, Joel instinctively dropping his knees to guide her as she tossed her leg over his lap to straddle it. His hands rested on her waist, his eyes locked on hers as his lips parted in awe at the sight of her moonlit form on top of him.

“I want you t’do more than kiss me,” she said, draping her arms around his shoulders and rocking experimentally against his belt buckle. Joel let out a soft groan as his eyes fell to his lap, his hands bunching up the hem of her dress until he could see her work against him, bare and wet.

“Jesus,” he swore, his eyes shooting up to meet hers as she let out a soft moan, her head tipping back. “Feel good?”

“Feels—like heaven,” she moaned, lifting her head up to look at him through scrunched brows and lidded eyes, her hips continuing their shaky rock back and forth. Joel’s hands dropped her dress to fit on either side of her face, pulling her down to meet his lips, her moans flowing straight into his open mouth as he swiped his tongue over hers.

“Just like ‘at,” he whispered. “Keep goin’.”

“Feels so good,” she whined, her thighs trembling. “Feels like…I don’t know.”

“Just keep goin’,” he cooed. “S’gonna feel good.”

Dorothea’s head fell into the crook of his neck as she inched closer to a euphoria she had no idea even existed, her moans joining the crickets chirping in the background.

“Joel—“

“C’mon, darlin’,” he rasped softly in her ear, his hands gripping the globes of her ass through the cotton of her dress, guiding her hips against the cool metal buckle as they grew unsteady. “C’mon.”

“Oh,” she drew in a sharp gasp and held it as she seized up with her climax, the warmth and pleasure shooting through every nerve in her body causing her to cling to Joel for grounding. “Jesus—felt so good.”

Joel smiled, kissing her temple until she lifted her head up to look at him with a lazy, sated grin.

“That was fun,” she said. “S’it always like that?”

“Should be,” he smiled, his chest practically puffing with pride as he lifted a hand up to her cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of her smile. “So damn beautiful.”

Dorothea leaned in, brushing the tip of her nose against his before pecking him softly.

“Makin’ me crazy,” Joel added in a mumble against her lips. “All I think about.”

“S’that true?” she asked, pulling back just enough to look him in the eye.

“Yes, ma’am,” he smiled, nodding at her.

“Glad I ain’t the only one, then,” she grinned, kissing his cheek. “What can I do t’make you feel that good?”

Joel sighed, the strain against his jeans aching, but there wasn’t time for him tonight.

“Need t’get ya back home,” he said.

Dorothea frowned and nodded, dropping her eyes to his lap.

“I wanna, though,” she said. “Another time. Wanna learn how t’make you feel good.”

Joel’s cock twitched at her request.

“Promise,” she said. “Next time we get a chance…promise you’ll teach me.”

“I promise,” he nodded, his voice a breathy rasp. “God, you’re makin’ me crazy, darlin’. Let’s go ‘fore I get us into trouble.”

“Can’t have that,” she chuckled, standing up and offering him her hand as if he needed it. Joel took it anyways, just barely letting her pull to help him off the ground, his hands dusting the back of his jeans off.

“Your carriage awaits n’ all that,” Joel said, nudging his chin towards the horse.

“That make you my knight in shinin’ armor?” she teased as she walked over to her boots, slipping them back on her dirty feet before stomping through the grass back to Callus.

“Guess so,” he smiled to himself as he followed her. “Long as you're the princess.”

“Hm,” she turned to face him as she reached Callus, waiting for his help in climbing on. “Never saw myself as much of a princess.”

“Never saw myself as much of a knight ‘n shinin’ armor,” he countered. “Yet here I am, helpin’ you onto the horse even though I know y’know how t’do it your damned self.”

“Maybe I am a princess, then,” she said, earning a chuckle.

“Maybe I’m a knight.”

Joel lingered longer than he probably should’ve, Dorothea’s lips causing him to lose track of time as they stood in front of her farm, her hands tangled in his hair, his gripping onto the fabric covering her waist.

“Need’a go inside,” he mumbled against her jaw as his lips trailed down to her pulse.

“Then let me go,” she said, smiling up at the sky as Joel only held her tighter.

“Can’t,” he rasped close to her ear. “Taste too good.”

“Joel,” she moaned, guiding his lips back to hers. “I wanna taste you, too.”

“Mm,” he groaned into their kiss, his hand smoothing down her back to cup her ass. “Tomorrow.”

“Got bible study t’morrow night,” she said, watching him as he pulled back to look at her through lust-darkened eyes, his lips bowed and parted.

“After,” he said, smiling sinfully. “Give ya somethin’ to repent for.”

“You gonna take me straight t’hell, ain’t ya?” she smirked, wiping the shine off the plump of his bottom lip. “Alright. T’morrow.”

“Go on inside ‘fore your daddy comes out with a pistol,” he smiled, patting her hip as she started to head past the fence. “Have a goodnight, Dot.”

Dorothea smiled at the nickname, turning around to walk backwards, her hand lifting to her lips to blow him a kiss. “Y’too, Joel.”

Neither one of them got much of any sleep that night, and yet neither cared. They’d never sleep again if it meant sharing their nights together, under the dark veil of the night sky, the stars dancing above them, their bodies and minds intertwined.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal smut #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x oc #joel miller tlou #joel the last of us #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #itccn

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downbadf0rficppl · 4 months

Text

let me

Anthony Lockwood x F!Reader

Summary: You got hurt. It was his fault. And he feels absolutely awful.

Word Count: 3.4K

Warnings: Angst, Claustrophobia, Near-death situations, Some lightly mentioned family issues, Arguing, Couples? Quarrels, ANGST.

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