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pandapetals · 26 days ago

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Sunset On The Fenceline

Summary: In a world still haunted by old dangers, Joel and you have built a quiet life together on a farm outside Jackson. Between playful banter, shared chores, and tender moments by firelight, they hold tightly to the love they fought so hard to find.

Pairing: joel miller x fem!wife reader

Word count: 11k

Content warnings: domestic married life, farm life, soft joel, fluff, oral/p in v smut, flirting, banter, teasing, imagined reader in her 40s (but it's not mentioned), no y/n used, Joel lives and makes amends with Ellie and nothing bad ever happened, Ellie/Dina/JJ appearance

A/N: divider by @/saradika-graphics. I just want a domestic life with him. Okay, had to add...I am a weirdo and do research for my fics a lot. When looking at Google Maps for Jackson…I found out there is a historical cabin called Miller Cabin. So, this is where Joel and Reader live. Headcanon now. ^ middle photo is the real place.

Before the sky transformed into a vibrant blue-gray, Joel was already at the fence line. A loose board, likely knocked askew by an elk during the night, had him muttering softly under his breath. The steady thunk of the hammer against the wood echoed through the crisp morning air. His hands moved with the assured, unhurried grace that comes from a lifetime of building and dismantling things.

Chickens murmured and scratched in the dirt, feathers ruffling as they stirred from their roost. The old dog — a mangy mutt Joel always claimed wasn’t worth a damn, though he snuck scraps to it after every meal — stretched out on the porch in a patch of weak sunlight, one ear twitching at the sound of your footsteps.

You stepped outside, the chill biting at your skin through the worn fabric of Joel’s flannel you’d pulled on. In your hands, his coffee mug, a brown owl printed on the side, the glaze cracked, and a chip missing from the rim. The scent of the coffee curled up in the air between you.

“Joel?” you called, voice soft but carrying in the stillness.

He glanced up, a small, crooked smile flickering across his face. He gave you that look, the one that meant I hear you. I’m not done yet, as the hammer in his hand didn’t pause.

You sank into the rocking chair with a quiet sigh, setting the mug on the side table. The wood was rough and sun-bleached beneath your fingertips. Joel’s guitar rested nearby, strings catching the light like spider silk. You reached for it, the weight familiar and comforting.

A tentative strum sent a warm, uneven chord into the morning air. You tried to recall the chords Joel had shown you the week before, your hand stumbling over the frets. It was hard to focus when your eyes kept drifting back to him. The way his hands gripped the hammer, strong and steady, veins like old rope beneath sun-darkened skin. Those hands had carried you through storms, patched roofs, and pulled you close in the dark.

Even now, they distracted you.

You shook your head, chasing away the images of Joel’s hands—rough, scarred, so impossibly gentle when they held the guitar. But it was no use. The memory of his fingers moving over the frets, coaxing out soft, aching notes, settled stubbornly in your mind.

You exhaled, glancing down at your clumsy and uncertain hands. The guitar felt heavier now; its neck was too broad, and the strings bit into your fingertips like always.

Still, you tried.

Your fingers fumbled for the shape of the chord he’d shown you days before. A rough pluck, then another. The opening notes of Make You Feel My Love drifted thin and uneven, snagging on missed strings and hesitant pauses. It was a ghost of the song, fragile and unfinished, but it filled the quiet morning.

You grimaced at a wrong note, muttering under your breath, “Shit.”

From down by the fence line, the steady thud of hammering stopped.

A beat later, you heard the crunch of boots over the leaves, and Joel’s silhouette appeared leaning against the porch railing, his expression softened by the early light.

“Didn’t mean to distract you,” you teased, setting the guitar in your lap like it might hide the heat rising to your cheeks.

He huffed a quiet laugh, wiping his hands on a rag tucked into his back pocket. “Sounded like someone was tryin’ to murder that poor guitar.”

You shot him a look, but his grin was fond, the kind that melted you down to your bones.

“Here,” he said, crossing the porch and lowering himself beside you. His hands covered yours, guiding your fingers to the right frets. The scent of cedar and earth clung to him.

“Like this,” he murmured, the words threading through the still air. His thumb brushed the strings, and the note rang out clean and sweet.

You swallowed hard, your gaze fixed on his hands as they moved yours, calloused fingers coaxing the right shape out of yours. The steady warmth of his skin against yours made it impossible to concentrate, and you didn’t even try to pretend otherwise.

“Eyes up here, sweetheart,” Joel murmured, the pad of his finger hooking gently under your chin, tipping your face toward him.

Your eyes met his, heat rushing to your cheeks like you’d been caught doing something scandalous. “Sorry,” you muttered, a sheepish smile tugging at your lips.

Joel chuckled, the sound curling around you like the morning chill. “You make an old man like me feel downright irresistible,” he teased, a crooked grin settling.

“Joel,” you huffed, nudging his knee with yours, “you’re my husband.”

He shrugged, his thumb still tracing lazy circles against the back of your hand. “Yeah, well… still. You’re sittin’ here blushin’ over my hands like we’re a couple’a teenagers behind the bleachers. It’s weird.”

You laughed, the sound slipping out before you could stop it. “Can’t help it,” you said, leaning your shoulder against his. “You’ve got good hands. And I happen to like the way you use ‘em.”

He snorted at that, shaking his head, but his grin softened, his gaze lingering on you a little longer. “Keep talkin’ like that, darlin’, and I ain’t gonna be much help with your playin’.”

“Was hoping you’d say that,” you whispered loud enough for him to hear.

Joel groaned good-naturedly, leaning in to press a quick, scratchy kiss to your temple. “Troublemaker.”

“Alright, alright. Just help me,” you finally relented, the words slipping out on a breathy laugh.

Joel’s grin spread across his face, eyes crinkling at the corners. He reached for you without a word, his hands settling at your waist. You barely had time to react before he plucked you right out of the rocking chair like you weighed nothing.

A surprised little gasp escaped you, your hands catching at his shoulders. “Joel!”

He huffed a laugh, sinking into the chair with you cradled against him. The old wood creaked beneath his weight. His arm looped around your middle, pulling you close.

“Oh yeah, that’ll help me focus,” you snorted, wriggling slightly in his lap, the corner of your mouth twitching.

“Quit your squirmin’,” Joel said, his voice low and warm against your ear. “Or I’ll find a better way to distract you.”

You laughed, leaning back against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. The world felt quieter like this, the morning sun brushing over the porch, the faint cluck of chickens in the yard, and Joel’s familiar, steady presence wrapped around you.

“Now,” he said, reaching for the guitar and settling it across both your laps, “let’s see if we can’t keep you from murderin’ this poor thing.”

You grinned, your fingers brushing against his as you both found the strings. “If I mess up again, you can’t make fun of me.”

“No promises, darlin’,” Joel murmured, kissing your temple before guiding your hand to the first chord.

Joel’s hands covered yours, his calloused fingers guiding yours along the strings as the melody stumbled back to life. It was shaky, a little uneven, but better than it had sounded when you’d been struggling on your own.

“Just relax,” Joel murmured, his thumb brushing slow circles against the inside of your wrist. The warmth of his touch chased away some of the tension coiled in your shoulders.

“I’m tryin’,” you whispered, eyes fluttering shut for a second, savoring the quiet kindness in his touch.

Joel chuckled under his breath, his voice brushing the shell of your ear. “Maybe Ellie oughta be the one teachin’ you. You wouldn’t be actin’ all—”

“No!” you cut in too fast, your voice sharper than you meant. His brow arched, a crooked smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he looked down at you.

“Oh?” he drawled, teasing laced in every syllable.

You huffed, feeling the heat creep up your neck. “I like you teachin’ me,” you admitted, your voice softening, “I just… get a little distracted by how handsome you are.”

Joel snorted, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he heard, but the pink dusting his ears betrayed him.

“Jesus, woman,” he muttered with a grin, nudging his nose against your temple. “You’re somethin’ else.”

You grinned, leaning into him, letting the moment settle around you like a favorite old quilt — frayed at the edges but warm where it counted. His hands tightened gently around yours, guiding your fingers back to the strings.

“Alright then,” he said, his voice rough and fond. “From the top. And quit makin’ googly eyes at me while we’re at it.”

“No promises,” you shot back, smiling as you let him pull you through the notes again, your fingers clumsy but eager.

Somehow, you managed to focus, obedient under Joel’s steady hands. He guided you through the chords, his touch gentle, patient in a way only he could be. The notes came softly and unevenly, but they came, and that was enough.

You’d never been able to play without singing. The words found their way out even when you barely knew the notes. Quiet at first, more of a hum than a song as it filled the space between you.

Joel let out a soft sigh, sounding more like contentment than exhaustion, and lowered his head until it rested against your shoulder.

The melody drifted over the porch, catching in the cool morning air. Your voice was unsteady, but Joel didn’t seem to care. His arm slipped around your waist, holding you closer, and you could feel the curve of his smile against your neck.

“You sound real pretty, sweetheart,” he murmured, like gravel warmed by the sun.

Your fingers faltered for a beat, your heart stuttering at the words. You turned your head slightly, your cheek brushing against his. “Only ‘cause you’re helpin’ me,” you whispered.

Joel chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest against your back. “Nah. You’d be somethin’ special with or without me.”

The porch, the rising sun, the whole vast, broken world seemed to narrow down to just the two of you — the old guitar balanced across your laps, your voices tangled together in a half-remembered tune, and Joel’s steady warmth anchoring you to the here and now.

You kept playing and singing, just for him.

And he stayed right there, head on your shoulder, like he belonged nowhere else.

“Quit fussin’, it’s just Ellie—” Joel started, his voice carrying that familiar mix of fondness and exasperation as he leaned against the doorframe, watching you pace the kitchen.

You glared at him over your shoulder, though there wasn’t an ounce of real heat behind it. “It’s not just Ellie,” you huffed, gesturing wildly with the dish towel. “It’s Ellie, Dina, JJ, Tommy, and Maria coming over. So no, I won’t quit fussing. I’m a host, Joel—”

Before you could finish your sentence, Joel crossed the room in a few unhurried strides, slipping his arms around your waist from behind. His chin came to rest on your shoulder, stubble scraping lightly against your skin, and he pressed a soft kiss to the side of your face.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, “you’re actin’ like the goddamn Queen of England’s comin’ over.”

You sighed, your body instinctively leaning back into his, the tension bleeding from your shoulders a little at his familiar weight. His hands settled against your stomach, rough palms warm through the thin fabric of your shirt.

“It’s family,” he went on, swaying you both slightly in place. “Ain’t nobody comin’ here to judge the state of the house or whether you baked enough pies.”

You let out a reluctant laugh, dropping your head against his shoulder. “I just want it to be nice. It’s been a while since we had everyone here at once.”

Joel’s fingers gave your waist a gentle squeeze. “It’s already nice, darlin’. ‘Cause you’re here. And I’m here. And there’s gonna be food, bad jokes, and probably Ellie makin’ fun of me at some point.”

You grinned at that, turning in his arms to face him. “She is ruthless.”

“Downright cruel,” Joel agreed, his grin lazy and fond as he leaned in to brush his nose against yours. “Now, how ‘bout you let me finish settin’ the table while you stop rearrangin’ them biscuits for the third time?”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t protest when he stole another kiss, his thumb stroking lazy circles against your hip.

“Okay,” you breathed, the word soft as you finally let the biscuit drop from your fingers onto the plate. Joel squeezed your hip before releasing you, moving easily around the kitchen to help.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to fall into your old, familiar rhythm — him chopping vegetables while you stirred the gravy, the clatter of dishes and the low hum of the wood stove filling the space between you. Joel hummed under his breath, some old tune you half-recognized, and you found yourself relaxing into its simplicity.

But your ears kept flicking toward the window.

The sound came slowly at first—the faint, steady rhythm of hooves on hard-packed earth. Your pulse kicked up, just a notch, as it always did when they came down the road. It wasn’t far from Jackson to here, but every trip made your stomach twist in the same anxious knot. The world was quieter now, safer in some ways, but old habits died hard.

Joel must’ve heard it too, because he straightened up, wiping his hands on a dish towel as his gaze shifted toward the porch.

“They’re here,” he said, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You moved to the door without thinking, pushing it open just as Ellie’s voice rang across the yard.

“Y’all better have food ready!” she hollered, perched high on her horse, Dina behind her. JJ was cradled in Dina’s arms, bundled tight against the cold, cheeks flushed pink from the wind.

The tightness in your chest eased at the sight of them.

Joel stepped up behind you, his hand settling on the small of your back like it always did. “There’s my girls,” he murmured, voice rough with fondness.

JJ spotted you and let out a happy little squeal, wriggling in Dina’s arms and waving a mittened hand. The sound made something warm and aching bloom in your chest.

“Hey, potato,” you called, waving back, already reaching for the spare quilt draped over the porch rail. “Bet you’re frozen solid, huh?”

“Mom’s been riding like a damn maniac,” Ellie grumbled, but she was grinning.

Dina laughed. “Kid loves it. Don’t let her fool you.”

Joel chuckled, heading down the steps to help them unload. “You all drive your old man to an early grave, you know that?”

“Too late for that,” Ellie shot back. Joel answered with a mock scowl, the kind meant to cover how goddamn pleased he was to see her in one piece, and it didn’t fool a soul.

You glanced past them, scanning the tree line, as if maybe Tommy and Maria would come riding up any second, but the road stayed empty.

“Where’s Tommy and Maria?” you asked, shifting JJ in your arms as he reached up, tiny gloved fingers curling around the collar of your shirt. You tucked the quilt closer around him, his nose cold against your neck.

Ellie swung her leg over her saddle, boots hitting the dirt with a soft thud. She exchanged a glance with Dina, something quiet passing between them before she spoke. “Y’know how it is,” she said, voice a little softer now, less sharp around the edges. “Maria’s got a town to run. Tommy wanted to stick around and help out.”

Joel’s jaw ticked, and you felt his hand brush against yours as he took JJ’s little mittens off, rubbing warmth into the boy’s tiny fingers. Neither of you needed it spelled out — it was code for they’re still working through it. The same way people said she’s just tired or he just needs space—small words for heavy things.

You exchanged a glance with Joel, and both nodded. It was the kind of shared understanding you didn’t need to speak aloud. You hoped they’d find their way back to each other. It was a hard world to stay soft in, harder still to hold on to the ones you loved.

Joel cleared his throat, shaking the tension off with a practiced ease. “Alright,” he said, jerking his head toward the house. “Let’s get inside. Food’s ready, and it ain’t gettin’ any hotter.”

JJ squealed at the sound of food, not knowing what the word meant, and you laughed, kissing the top of his head.

“Bet you made that cornbread I like,” Ellie teased, stepping beside Joel as they headed for the porch.

“Made two pans,” he grunted, side-eyeing her. “One for the rest of us, one for you, since you eat like a damn wolf.”

Ellie smirked. “Guess that makes you the old dog, huh?”

Joel shot her a look, but it was all warmth. Dina chuckled, and you cradled JJ a little tighter, feeling the old porch boards creak under your feet as the house filled with voices, laughter, and family.

After dinner, the lot of you settled into the living room, the last of the evening light giving way to the glow of the fireplace. The scent of woodsmoke clung to the air, mingling with the lingering warmth of cornbread and roasted vegetables.

JJ was perched happily in Joel’s lap, his tiny fingers tangled in the buttons of Joel’s flannel as he babbled nonsense words, occasionally punctuated by an enthusiastic slap to Joel’s chest. Joel bore it patiently, one big hand keeping the boy steady while the other cradled a half-full glass of whiskey.

Ellie was sprawled across the floor in front of the hearth, one leg stretched out, the other bent, picking at a loose thread on her sock. Dina sat cross-legged beside her, leaning into Ellie’s shoulder as they swapped stories about Jackson’s latest gossip. Who was sneaking out after curfew, which old timer claimed he’d seen a clicker near the old mill, and a petty feud over who had the nicest tomatoes this season.

“I swear to God,” Ellie snorted, tossing a peanut shell into the fire, “if I hear one more argument about whose chickens lay better eggs, I’m movin’ to another town.”

Dina grinned. “Sure you are. You barely leave your house unless there’s food involved.”

“I leave for important things,” Ellie shot back, smirking. “Food. Booze. Threatening people.”

Joel grunted, taking a slow sip from his glass. “Sounds like a hell of a role model for this kid,” he muttered, jostling JJ gently.

JJ let out a happy squeal, and Ellie pointed a finger at Joel without missing a beat. “You’re one to talk, old man. Kid’s already learning how to scowl just like you.”

“He’s got my charm, too,” Joel drawled, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied grin.

“God help us all,” you teased from where you sat curled up on the couch, a warm quilt draped over your lap.

Joel’s gaze flicked over to you, the firelight catching the soft curve of his smile. “You love it,” he said, voice quieter, meant just for you.

You smiled, eyes soft as they lingered on him, the flicker of firelight catching in the lines of his face. “’Course, I do,” you murmured, the words easy and sure, like saying I love you without needing to.

Leaning forward, you reached your arms out, palms open. Joel gave a mock sigh, shaking his head like it was the greatest burden in the world, though the warmth in his eyes betrayed him.

“Alright, c’mere, you little traitor,” Joel grumbled good-naturedly, lifting JJ from his lap.

The boy let out a delighted squeal, wriggling excitedly when Joel passed him over. His tiny hands immediately latched onto your collar, tugging with surprising strength as if you’d been gone for hours instead of minutes.

“Hey, little man,” you cooed, settling him against your hip as he giggled, his face nuzzling your neck. His skin was cool from sitting near the window, and he smelled like woodsmoke and cornbread crumbs.

“Already got him spoiled,” Joel teased, leaning back in his chair with a smug little grin. “Can’t stand to be five feet from you.”

“And yet you pretend like you’re not the same,” you shot back, raising a brow at him.

Ellie groaned dramatically from her spot by the hearth. “God, you two are worse than a couple of teenagers.”

“Don’t start, kiddo,” Joel replied without missing a beat, earning a laugh from Dina.

You just shook your head, rocking JJ gently in your arms as his giggles turned to soft, contented little sighs, his weight settling warm and steady against your chest. With the fire crackling low, the room bathed in soft, flickering light, and your family gathered close. You thought — this, right here, might be what peace feels like.

“Would you stop squirming?” you murmured, your voice thick with sleep. Your words slurred a little as you reached blindly across the bed, fingertips searching for him in the dark.

Joel grunted, the soft, rough sound you’d heard a thousand times — equal parts irritation and tenderness. He batted your hand away with little force, and when you opened your eyes, you found him sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand kneading at his knee.

The room was dim, and the dying fire cast a faint orange glow across the worn wooden floorboards. The wind rattled against the window panes, reminding you of the cold biting at the world outside.

Your expression softened, the haze of sleep falling away as you took him in. The tight line of his shoulders and thumb worked over the same spot as it might undo years of aches.

You shifted closer, the quilt dragging with you, and reached out to touch his shoulder, your hand warm against the chill of his skin. “C’mere,” you coaxed softly, your thumb brushing the curve of his neck.

“I’m fine,” Joel grumbled, though the rasp in his voice and the way he lingered beneath your touch said otherwise. “It’s just goddamn cold.”

“Stubborn,” you muttered under your breath, catching the faintest twitch of a smile from him.

Before he could argue, you gave his shoulder a nudge and tugged him gently back down. He sighed, a little huff of resistance that didn’t stick, and let you guide him onto his back.

“You could’ve cuddled up to me for some warmth, y’know,” you teased, shifting so you could settle against him, one leg draping over his, careful of the knee you knew gave him hell.

“Mmm,” Joel grunted, but he didn’t move away. His arm slipped around your waist, fingers curling at the curve of your hip, holding you like he always did.

You reached for the salve on the nightstand, the little tin cold against your fingers, and without a word, you pulled back the covers just enough to bare his knee. The scars there were old, pale against his skin, but you knew them like you knew the lines of his face.

He hissed softly when your fingers brushed over the tender spot.

“Easy,” you murmured, working the salve in slow, practiced circles. The scent of eucalyptus and pine filled the space between you. “I got you.”

Joel let out a long, quiet sigh, the tension leaving his shoulders as he closed his eyes.

“Dunno what I’d do without you,” he muttered.

“Good thing you’ll never have to find out,” you murmured, leaning in to kiss his shoulder.

Outside, the wind rattled against the side of the house, making the windowpane shudder in its frame. You glanced back at it instinctively.

“Don’t worry about it,” Joel whispered, his version of a promise. You knew that tone — it meant he’d be out there first thing in the morning with a hammer in hand, probably cursing under his breath the whole time.

You nodded, stifling a yawn behind your hand, then reached over him to tuck the tin of salve back into the nightstand drawer. The quilt slipped down your shoulder, cool air brushing your skin. You moved to pull away, but Joel’s hand shot out, catching you by the wrist.

You paused, hovering above him, a sleepy chuckle slipping from your lips. “What?”

Joel didn’t answer right away. His gaze drifted from your face down to where the neckline of your nightgown had dipped, a bit of cleavage visible in the low light.

“Just admirin’ the view,” he drawled, one brow lifting, that unmistakable smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You huffed a laugh, rolling your eyes as you swatted lightly at his chest. “Old man,” you teased, but there was no bite.

“Hey,” Joel murmured, catching your hand in his again, holding it against his chest. His voice softened. “Lucky old man.”

Your smile returned, slower this time. You kissed him softly before pulling the quilt around you both.

“Go to sleep, Miller,” you whispered against his lips.

Joel let out a low, contented grunt, sinking deeper into the mattress as his arm tightened around your waist, pulling you snug against him. The moonlight’s glow painted soft silver lines across the room, flickering over the weathered planes of his face.

“Can’t sleep,” he whispered, voice rough and lazy, “when I’ve got a beautiful wife lyin’ next to me.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, the sound small and fond in the hush of the room. You opened your mouth to toss some teasing remark back, but the words caught in your throat when Joel’s hand slid lower, settling at the curve of your butt, his palm warm through the thin fabric of your nightgown.

Your breath hitched, eyes fluttering shut at the easy, familiar touch.

“One who takes care of me,” Joel went on, voice barely above a whisper now, “even when I’m too damn stubborn to deserve it.”

Your heart tugged at that, the quiet sincerity in his words weaving through your chest like thread. You shifted, lifting yourself just enough to lean over him, one hand brushing through the soft, graying hair at his temple.

He tilted his face toward you instinctively, and you pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the scar that cut across the bridge of his nose. The old wound was a rough line beneath your lips, a story you didn’t need retold because you already knew it by heart.

Joel let out a breath, his hand flexing against your hip. “You always do that,” he murmured, a little wonder in his voice.

“Do what?” you asked softly, resting your forehead against his.

“Kiss that ugly thing,” he said, the faintest trace of a smile playing at his lips.

You smiled too, fingers tracing down the side of his face. “Ain’t ugly to me.”

The wind rattled against the window again, and Joel’s other hand cradled the back of your head, holding you there like he couldn’t quite bear to let go.

You closed your eyes, your words catching in your throat, settling somewhere deeper than speech. You kissed him again, slow and lingering, savoring the taste of him, the scrape of his stubble, the warmth of his breath against your skin.

“Gettin’ me all warm now, darlin’,” Joel rumbled against your lips, that lazy grin you could feel more than see.

You smiled, dragging your teeth lightly over his bottom lip before pulling back just enough to whisper, “Maybe that was the plan.”

Your hands roamed up his chest, fingers threading through the soft hair dusting his skin, the heat of him under your palms chasing away the last of the chill. His muscles tensed under your touch, a low sound catching in his throat.

“That so?” he muttered, and before you could answer, his hand slid down, fingers digging roughly into the curve of your ass. The sudden squeeze made you gasp, your body arching into him, a spark of arousal pooling low and thick between your thighs.

“Joel,” you breathed, as his mouth moved to your jaw, then lower — hot, wet kisses trailing down your throat, teeth grazing just enough to leave your skin tingling.

In one easy motion, he rolled you onto your back, settling between your legs, his weight delicious and solid above you. His mouth found your collarbone, where the strap of your nightgown had slipped down, and he followed it with his lips, pressing hot kisses to every inch of exposed skin.

“Oh, fuck, Joel,” you whimpered, your hips shifting restlessly beneath him, desperate for more.

That earned you a smirk, the kind that made your stomach flip. “Such a dirty mouth,” he teased, voice rough against your skin. “Oughta put it to good use.”

He kept kissing lower, his stubble scraping a path down your chest as his hands found the straps of your nightgown, tugging them down your shoulders, dragging the thin fabric with agonizing slowness.

“But,” Joel murmured, his mouth trailing over the swell of your breast, “I wanna make my beautiful wife feel good first.” His gaze flicked up, locking with yours filled with warmth and hunger.

You bit your bottom lip, a whimper catching in your throat, your body already trembling beneath him. “Joel… please,” you whispered, the ache inside you sharp and sweet.

He groaned softly at that, clearly savoring the way you begged for him. “Mmm, what a good girl,” he rasped, his breath hot against your sensitive skin as he kissed over one nipple, his hand kneading the other, rough palms and gentle touches making you shudder.

“Don’t have to beg, honey,” he murmured. “Just relax… let me take care of you. You’ve earned it.”

Joel’s mouth drifted lower, leaving a heated trail of kisses from the swell of your breast to the edge of your nightgown. His stubble scraped over your skin, a delicious contrast to the warmth of his lips. You shivered beneath him, your fingers threading into his hair, clinging just enough to make him smirk against your skin.

Without a word, he shifted down, settling between your legs. His big hands slid up your thighs, rough palms coaxing the nightgown higher, the fabric bunching around your hips until you felt the cool air of the room kiss against your bare skin.

Joel stilled momentarily, his gaze locking on the sight of you lying open for him. A low, guttural groan rumbled from his chest, his thumb grazing along the soft inside of your thigh.

“Fuck,” he rasped, his voice rough. “So goddamn pretty.”

You let out a soft whimper, your hips tilting instinctively toward his touch.

His hands spread you open with practiced, careful ease, thumbs pressing into your skin, the pressure just enough to make your breath hitch. Joel leaned in, pressing a slow, unhurried kiss to the top of your pussy, the heat of his mouth making you jolt.

“Been thinkin’ about this all damn day,” he groaned against you, his breath hot, the gravel in his voice sending a shiver down your spine. “You always get me like this.”

Your fingers tightened in his hair as he kissed lower, teasing, taking his time like he wasn’t in any rush to let you go. His tongue flicked out, a light, maddening touch that had your thighs trembling around him.

“Joel—” you gasped, your head tipping back into the pillows.

He chuckled, and glanced up at you from between your legs, his eyes heavy-lidded and hungry. “Patience. Gonna take my time with you tonight.” His hands smoothed over your thighs, thumbs pressing gently into your skin.

You barely managed a nod, your fingers threading into his hair, the strands warm and soft under your touch.

Then Joel’s mouth was on you again. His tongue moved with maddening precision, every flick and stroke drawing out a fresh wave of heat that made your back arch and your breath break apart. He wasn’t in any rush, savoring every sound you made, every tremble in your thighs, the way your hands tightened in his hair when you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Christ,” you gasped, a soft, helpless sound you didn’t mean to make.

Joel’s grip on your hips tightened, holding you steady as he looked up at you again, his lips slick and curved in the faintest smirk. “That’s it, honey,” he rasped. “Lemme hear you.”

Joel’s mouth never relented, his tongue and lips working you open with devastating precision. His hands gripped your thighs, thumbs stroking soft, soothing circles against your skin even as he kept you pinned in place. Every flick of his tongue, every careful pull of his lips sent another pulse of heat through you, winding you tighter and tighter until you felt like you might come apart.

And then you did.

Your body arched, a choked cry slipping from your lips as release crashed over you. Joel groaned against you, the low, rough sound sending another shiver through your spent body. He didn’t stop — his mouth gentler now, but still savoring you, lapping up every last tremble, every aftershock, until you were breathless, your voice wrecked from the way you gasped his name.

“Joel… please,” you managed between shallow breaths, your fingers threading through his hair, tugging lightly as the overstimulation made your thighs twitch around him. “I can’t—”

He chuckled, a satisfied sound that rumbled against your skin. Pressing a tender kiss to the inside of your thigh, then another a little higher, his scruffy beard grazing your sensitive skin in a way that made you shudder.

“Alright, alright,” he murmured, voice rough and full of affection. “Wrecked you good, huh?”

You let out a shaky laugh, your chest still heaving, as he kissed his way up the length of your body, savoring every inch like it mattered. When he finally reached your mouth, he paused, cradling your jaw as his thumb brushed your cheek.

Joel kissed you, deep and warm, tasting you and lingering with want.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, both of you catching your breath in the hush of the room.

“Love seein’ you like that,” he whispered, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. “Ain’t never get tired of it.”

You smiled, fingers still tangled in his hair, your touch gentle, affectionate even in your haze of want. “Wanna make you feel good,” you whispered, your voice shaky but sure.

Joel let out a soft groan, the sound thick with need. His lips brushing your jaw, he lowered them to the sensitive spot beneath your ear. “You do, sweetheart,” he murmured against your skin, his breath hot and uneven. Every damn time.”

His hand cupped your cheek, holding you there for a beat, his thumb stroking over your flushed skin. His voice dropped, rough and tender all at once. “Gonna let me have you now?”

“Yes,” you gasped, your body arching toward him, trembling with a fresh wave of need.

That was all he needed.

Joel wasted no time, rising onto his knees, shoving his boxers down just enough to free himself. His cock was hard, thick and already leaking, and your mouth watered at the sight of him. He stroked a hand down himself, eyes locked on yours, watching the way you shivered beneath him.

“Been thinkin’ about this since dinner,” he confessed in a gravelly murmur, a small, crooked smile tugging at his lips.

You bit your lip, reaching for him, your touch making him hiss through his teeth. “Then stop takin’ your time, Miller.”

Joel chuckled, leaning down to steal a slow, heated kiss, his hand sliding between your thighs, parting you with the same care he always took.

“You got me,” he whispered, lining himself up, the head of his cock nudging against you. “Always.”

Joel pushed the tip inside with slow, steady pressure, and the moment he breached you, both of you let out a low, broken moan. The stretch, the heat, the sheer ache of having him fill you made your head fall back against the pillows, your fingers gripping at his shoulders, needing something to hold onto.

“Oh, Joel,” you whimpered, your voice catching on the way your body opened for him, already trembling with the desperate need for more.

He groaned at the sound, leaning over you, his lips finding your throat in a series of open-mouthed kisses. His stubble scraped your sensitive skin, a rough contrast to the softness of his mouth as he murmured your name against your neck.

“Goddamn… you feel so good,” he rasped, his voice thick with hunger and something deeper beneath it. Something that sounded a little like awe.

His hands slid down your sides before guiding your legs around his waist. His touch was unhurried but sure, as if he were fitting you exactly where you belonged. You locked your ankles at the small of his back, and he let out a shaky breath, bracing one hand beside your head while the other gripped your thigh.

“Hold on to me,” Joel muttered, his voice a low promise as he pushed in deeper, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt, the stretch making your body arch into his.

A gasp tore from your lips, your nails digging into his back. Joel cursed under his breath, his lips brushing your ear. “That’s it, honey. Just like that.”

His body blanketed yours, his skin hot and slick against yours. Joel’s hand slid up your side, rough fingers trailing over your ribs before cupping your breast, his palm warm as he kneaded the soft flesh. His thumb brushed over your nipple, teasing it into a tight peak before rolling it between his fingers, and the jolt of sensation made you arch into him.

His hips rocked against yours, deep strokes that filled you perfectly, each one hitting that spot that made your toes curl. It wasn’t rushed — it never was with him. Joel fucked like a man who meant every movement, like he could live in the moment forever if you let him.

A breathy moan slipped from your lips, your head tipping back as pleasure coiled tight in your belly, building with every unrelenting, perfect thrust.

“Feels so good,” you panted, your voice breaking on the words as his fingers tugged and toyed with your nipple. Your thighs clenched around his waist, your hands gripping his shoulders, nails digging into sun-warmed skin.

Joel groaned low in his throat, ducking his head to press his mouth to your collarbone, his stubble scraping deliciously against your skin. “Yeah? Can feel you squeezin’ me. So fuckin’ perfect.”

Sometimes you wished he could stay like this, buried deep inside you, his body over yours, the world outside forgotten.

You let the thought slip past your lips in a ragged whisper, “Wanna keep you like this… always.”

Joel’s pace stuttered briefly, a rough, wrecked sound leaving him before his mouth found yours. The kiss was all heat and tenderness, tongues tangling as his hand cradled your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Joel rasped, breath hot against your ear. “Wanna feel you make a mess on my cock.”

The words hit you like a jolt, a needy moan slipping from your lips as you buried your face against his neck, your teeth grazing his skin. Joel groaned at the sensation, his hand sliding down from your jaw, fingers trailing over your flushed, sweat-slick skin before settling between your legs.

His thumb found your clit, circling maddening patterns in time with the steady, deep thrust of his hips. The friction sent sharp sparks through your nerves, the pleasure building too fast, too much, but you didn’t want him to stop.

“Oh, Joel… fuck,” you gasped, your voice breaking, your whole body trembling beneath him.

Joel smirked against your shoulder, feeling the way your thighs tightened around his waist, how you clung to him like you might fall apart if he let go. His gaze stayed on you, drinking in every flicker of pleasure that crossed your face, the way your lips parted in a soft, helpless cry.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he growled, his thumb pressing just a little harder, his cock driving deep and slow. “Let go for me. Lemme see you.”

Your fingers dug into his back, nails leaving faint crescents in his skin as your release finally tore through you, your body arching into his. A raw, breathless sound escaped you — a mix of his name, a gasp, and a whimper.

Joel’s pace slowed, his hand steady on your hip as he rode you through it, watching you fall apart like it was the best thing he’d ever seen. “Atta girl,” he murmured, his thumb easing up but never leaving you entirely. “Just like that. So goddamn beautiful when you come for me.”

Your chest heaved, the aftershocks making you shiver as you clung to him, the warmth of his body anchoring you to the here and now.

Joel’s lips brushed your temple, his breath hot and ragged against your hair as he slowed, his hips stuttering. He started to pull out, muscles tense like he was holding back, when your eyes flew open and your hand shot out, catching his wrist in a firm, desperate grip.

“No,” you breathed, voice trembling as you looked up at him, your gaze locking on his. “Come inside me.”

Joel’s breath hitched, his jaw tightening as his brow knitted. His eyes searched yours as a storm of desire, hesitation, and tenderness flickered across his face.

“Sweetheart—” he started, his voice rough and uncertain in that way he rarely showed.

“Please,” you whimpered, your legs tightening around his hips, clenching around him as if your body could keep him there on its own. Your fingers traced up his arm, over the tense line of his shoulder, to cradle his face.

Joel groaned, the sound breaking low and deep in his throat, his eyes fluttering shut like he didn’t stand a chance against you. “Christ, honey…”

His restraint shattered.

He rocked back into you with a sharp, shuddering thrust, burying himself to the hilt, and your body welcomed him like it was made for it. His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as his release hit, his whole body trembling as he spilled inside you.

You felt him tense, felt the warmth flood through you, and the sound he made — a low, wrecked groan into the crook of your neck — left you almost desperate for him again.

“Fuck,” Joel whispered against your skin, his breath uneven, his hold on you unyielding. He stayed buried deep, like he couldn’t bear the space between you.

You pressed your lips to his temple, your fingers gently carding through his hair as you both came down, your bodies still tangled together.

Eventually, Joel moved to lie beside you, one arm draped heavy and warm across your stomach, his fingers absentmindedly tracing lazy circles against your damp skin.

Your chest still rose and fell in uneven breaths, the aftershocks of sex lingering in the ache of your muscles and the pleasant haze behind your eyes. His scruffy cheek brushed your shoulder as he shifted closer, pressing a kiss beneath your collarbone.

You let your fingers card through his hair, tugging gently at the damp strands. Joel hummed low in his throat, that rumbling sound you loved, and nestled his face against your neck like he was trying to soak up every last trace of you.

“Hell of a way to warm a man up,” he said, voice thick and hoarse but threaded through with a rare, unguarded sweetness.

You smiled, your eyes closed, and the ache in your limbs was welcomed. “Told you it was the plan,” you whispered, your palm sliding over his broad back, the ridges of old scars familiar beneath your touch.

Joel huffed a quiet, contented laugh, his hand smoothing over your hip and pulling you impossibly closer. The quilt had slipped to your waist, the cool air brushing against overheated skin.

Outside, the wind had quieted, leaving the night still and heavy with the scent of rain in the distance. The world beyond the walls felt far away. The steady beat of Joel’s heart beneath your palm, and the deep, bone-deep peace that followed a storm.

He shifted enough to press another kiss to your temple, lingering there like he wasn’t ready to let the moment go.

“Love you,” Joel murmured so softly it was barely a sound, his lips brushing your skin as the words slipped out.

You didn’t say it back. You didn’t have to. Instead, you turned your face to his, caught his mouth in a tender, unhurried kiss, and let him feel it.

And in the quiet, with nothing but the steady rise and fall of your breathing, Joel smiled against your lips.

The morning had passed in the slow, easy rhythm you’d come to love. Feeding the chickens as the sun climbed over the hills, collecting a handful of stubborn eggs from beneath their nesting boxes, and brushing down the two horses you and Joel had kept since settling on the farm.

Dusty and Apollo — named with Ellie’s enthusiastic help — shifted lazily in their stalls, the scent of hay and earth hanging thick in the air. The old barn was cool despite the warmth rising outside, beams of sunlight slipping through the weathered slats to stripe the floor in soft gold.

“There you are, darlin’,” Joel’s voice carried through the space, low and familiar, like a song you knew by heart. You glanced up to see him wiping his hands on his jeans as he stepped into the barn, a crooked little grin on his face.

You offered him a smile, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. “That window give you any trouble?” you asked, lifting a brow in challenge.

Joel huffed, shaking his head as he came closer. “Please. I've been fixin’ worse than that since before you were walkin’.”

You snorted, though warmth bloomed in your chest at the easy way he teased you. He reached for your hand, the one still holding the brush, his calloused palm covering yours. Without a word, he guided your stroke lower along Dusty’s dark coat.

“Start from the bottom,” Joel said, his voice soft as his thumb brushed your knuckles. “Work your way up. Feels better for ‘em.”

You glanced at him, catching his gaze on your face before flicking back to the horse. The years had etched themselves into his skin, but his eyes — warm and impossibly kind when he let you see them — made your heart flutter.

“Gentler, too,” Joel added, his lips curving into a fond smile as he watched you follow his lead.

You bit back a grin. “I can be gentle.”

“Oh, I know you can,” he drawled, a glint of something playful in his voice. “Just like teasin’ you about it.”

You rolled your eyes, bumping your shoulder against his as you worked the brush through Dusty’s coat. Joel let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling deep in his chest, but said nothing, content to fall into the quiet rhythm of the barn. The scrape of a hoof against straw, the muted clatter of chickens pecking outside, the steady rise of warmth as the morning stretched on.

After a while, you glanced up at him, brushing a hand down Apollo’s nose as the big chestnut gelding nuzzled against your palm. “Ellie told me someone in Jackson’s has coffee to trade.”

Joel grunted, hauling a bundle of hay over to Dusty’s stall. “Yeah? What they askin’ for?”

You smirked, watching him out of the corner of your eye. “Chickens.”

He paused mid-toss, brow arching. “How many?”

“Four.”

Joel straightened up, scoffing under his breath. “Christ. Four chickens? What kinda coffee we talkin’ here? Magic beans?”

You bit back a laugh, moving to stroke Apollo’s flank. “Don’t act like you’re not tempted. We both turn into miserable assholes without it.”

Joel gave you a sidelong look, a crooked grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Speak for yourself, sweetheart. I’m delightful.”

You snorted. “Sure you are. Real ray of sunshine before your first cup.”

He stepped closer, hand reaching out to tug playfully at the loose tie of your braid. “If I give up four chickens for some half-assed coffee, it better be strong enough to put hair back on my head.”

“Too late for that,” you teased, grinning as you reached up to smooth a hand over his graying hair.

Joel chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re real funny, you know that?”

“I try,” you shot back, leaning in to brush a quick, affectionate kiss to his cheek before moving toward the feed bins. “We’ll talk about it later. You know you’re gonna cave.”

“Might,” Joel muttered, grabbing another flake of hay. “But you’re pluckin’ the damn birds.”

“Deal.”

“C’mon,” you murmured, brushing hay from your hands. The sun hung lower now, casting long golden streaks through the slats in the barn. “We’ve worked hard enough for one day.”

Joel looked at you, one corner of his mouth tipping up in that slow, familiar way, and gave a slight nod. Without a word, he reached out, his calloused hand slipping easily into yours.

Neither of you spoke as you walked back toward the house, the worn path beneath your boots soft with dust, the last of the chickens clucking softly in the yard. The quiet between you was filled with little touches. Joel’s thumb brushed over the back of your hand. Your shoulder bumping his. The occasional glance traded like secrets.

Inside, the house smelled faintly of woodsmoke and something sweet from the pie you had made earlier. You slipped into the kitchen while Joel stoked the fire, grabbing ingredients with practiced ease.

“Hope you washed up good,” you teased, glancing over your shoulder as he came to stand beside you, sleeves rolled up, hair mussed from the wind.

Joel snorted, holding his hands up. “Clean as I’m gonna get,” he drawled, though you caught the faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“Uh-huh.” You reached for his wrist, pulling his hand toward you to inspect it like you might catch a stray bit of dirt. “Hmm. Debatable.”

He stepped in close, hand slipping to your waist, his voice dropping low. “You wanna check me head to toe, darlin’, just say the word.”

You laughed, swatting at his chest with the dish towel, but your heart ached a little at the easy, worn-in affection of it all of having him here, cooking dinner like any other ordinary night in a world that hadn’t offered many of those.

“Maybe later,” you whispered, giving him a smile that held a little more than teasing.

Joel’s gaze lingered on yours a moment longer, something quiet and certain in it, before he turned to start chopping vegetables. The two of you moved around the kitchen with ease.

After dinner, your mind was already drifting toward a hot bath and a quiet night in bed — a book in your hands, Joel’s arm heavy around your waist, the world kept at bay. You started up the stairs, stretching your arms above your head, when a warm, calloused hand caught you gently by the wrist.

“C’mere,” Joel said, his voice a little rough, but soft in that way he saved just for you.

You turned, one brow lifting, a smile tugging at your lips as you took in the look on his face — part mischievous, part tender, eyes shining in the room's low light. “What’s that look for?”

He didn’t answer; he just tilted his head slightly. “Just… c’mere.”

Curiosity bloomed in your chest as you let him tug you along, following him toward the living room. The fire there burned low, casting warm, flickering light across the old wood floor. Joel moved to the corner, crouching by the old record player he’d scavenged years back on some long-forgotten patrol. The thing had scratches on the wood and a crack in the lid, but it still functioned properly.

A worn copy of Otis Redding’s These Arms Of Mine sat beside it, the vinyl already resting in place.

“What’s going on?” you asked, your brow furrowing as he dropped the needle. The soft, familiar crackle filled the room before the first notes hummed through the air.

Joel didn’t say a word. He just turned to you, held out a hand, and waited.

Your heart gave one of those quiet, aching stutters in your chest, and you crossed the room without thinking, slipping your hand into his.

His other hand settled at your waist, pulling you close, your bodies fitting together. The music wrapped around you both, the gentle sway of the melody guiding your steps as Joel led you in a slow, unhurried dance.

His thumb traced soft circles at the small of your back, his breath warm against your temple. You closed your eyes, your head resting against his chest, the steady beat of his heart syncing with the song's rhythm. The world outside the house, the years of danger and loss, all slipped away in the quiet safety of his arms.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” Joel said against your hair, his voice a little hoarse, like maybe it caught in his throat before it made it out.

You smiled, tilting your face up to his. “Takes one to know one, Miller.”

He chuckled before kissing your forehead.

“Since someone’s in a good mood—” you started, a teasing lilt in your voice.

Joel shook his head before you could finish, a knowing grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Ain’t happenin’, sweetheart.”

“C’mon,” you coaxed, tipping your head back to look up at him, eyes shining with mock-innocence. “Just once. Please?”

“I’m too old for that shit,” Joel drawled, though his hands stayed firm at your waist, his thumb brushing soft circles against your hip. “You try jumpin’ on me, we’ll both be flat on our asses before you even leave the ground.”

You pouted, leaning into him, arms looping around his neck. “Alright, fine,” you sighed dramatically, though the smile tugging at your lips gave you away. “But a woman can dream.”

Joel huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he dipped his face close, his stubble scratching against your cheek. “You keep dreamin’,” he said, his voice teasing, but full of affection. “Ain’t no way I’m recreatin’ some damn Dirty Dancing scene.”

You grinned, swaying in his arms as the record crackled on. “You’re no fun.”

“Mm,” Joel smirked, pulling you closer, his hand sliding down to the small of your back. “That so? I seem to recall you weren’t complainin’ about my kind of fun last night.”

Heat bloomed in your cheeks as you laughed, pressing your forehead to his chest. “Point taken.”

He hummed, content. The two of you were still swaying long after the song faded out, the world narrowed down to the steady beat of his heart and the warmth of his arms around you.

The ride to Jackson wasn’t far. Just a few miles of winding trail through dense trees and open fields, but it never felt easy. Even with Joel at your side, the moment you crossed beyond the fence line of your land, a familiar unease crept in like a second skin.

You rode atop Dusty, his ears flicking with every distant sound, while Joel kept pace beside you on Apollo, his rifle slung over one shoulder. The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine. The only sound was the soft clop of hooves against the dirt path and the occasional rustle of wind through the trees.

It was always quiet on these rides — a silence born not from peace, but necessity. Both of you scanning the tree line, eyes flicking to the shadows, muscles tensed in that old, familiar way you never quite unlearned.

Joel rode like a man still expecting the worst. He never admitted it or spoke it aloud, but you saw it in the tight set of his jaw, how his broad shoulders stayed stiff beneath his jacket, how his gaze never stopped moving — left, right, behind, and always watching, counting.

He hated leaving the farm. Hated stepping away from the safety of what you'd built together. But he wouldn’t leave you to ride in alone either. Not a chance in hell.

You nudged Dusty a little closer, your knee brushing his for a fleeting second. Joel glanced over, and for a beat, his face softened. That quiet look that only ever seemed meant for you. A flicker of warmth in otherwise storm-weathered eyes.

“Should be an easy ride,” he muttered, though you both knew it wasn’t about the distance.

You gave a small nod, your fingers tightening around the reins. “It better be,” you replied, a wry smile tugging at your lips.

He snorted, a sound more habit than humor, but the tension in his shoulders eased by a hair.

Eventually, Jackson's worn timber walls came into view, rising from the trees like a promise of safety. Smoke drifted from chimneys, the faint clang of metal on metal carried on the wind, and the murmur of life happening just out of sight.

You and Joel approached the gates, the patrolmen up top giving curt, familiar nods as you passed beneath. One of them tipped his hat, and Joel returned it with a lift of his hand. His expression was unreadable, but his posture was a touch looser than it had been on the trail.

Joel swung down from Apollo with practiced ease, boots hitting the packed dirt with a soft thud. He tied the reins to a post, his movements quick and efficient, like he couldn’t shed the tension of the ride fast enough. Before you could swing your leg to dismount, he was already there, one hand steadying Dusty’s bridle while the other reached up for you.

“C’mere,” he said, his voice low but roughened by the morning’s quiet.

You let him help you down, your hands briefly finding his shoulders as his firm grip circled your waist. When your boots touched the ground, you muttered, “Thank you,” a small smile tugging at your lips.

He gave a soft grunt, the corner of his mouth twitching as his hands lingered at your waist a beat longer than necessary. “Course, darlin’.”

You reached to brush a bit of dust off your thigh, suddenly remembering. “Dammit, I forgot—”

Joel cut you off with a slight shake of his head, already anticipating you. “I remembered,” he said, a faint grin pulling at his mouth as he tipped his head toward the stables. “Told Ellie last time she was by to bring four chickens back for that damn coffee trade.”

You huffed a laugh, leaning closer as you stepped beside him. “You’re a good husband, Miller.”

Joel slung an arm loosely around your shoulders as you made your way toward the town square, the scent of fresh bread and woodsmoke filling the air around you.

The trade went through without much trouble — four chickens handed over, a large sack of precious coffee beans in return — though Joel grumbled about it the whole damn time.

“Can’t believe we’re givin’ up good layers for this,” he muttered, eyeing the beans like they might disappear before he could get them home.

You just chuckled, shaking your head in quiet amusement as you looped your arm through his, steering him toward the rest of your errands. “You’ll be singin’ a different tune when you’ve got a hot cup in your hands tomorrow morning.”

Joel grunted, but the corner of his mouth twitched, the hint of a smile breaking through his usual gruffness.

The two of you spent the next hour wandering Jackson’s main street, gathering what you needed — extra nails from the smithy, a spool of thread from Susan’s store, dried herbs Dina swore would help settle JJ’s fussy nights.

By the time you stepped into the dining hall, the warmth from the fire inside wrapped around you like an old quilt. The scent of stew lingered in the air, mixing with fresh bread and something sweet baking in the back.

“Heard from Ellie y’all were comin’ into town,” a familiar voice called, and you looked up to see Tommy striding over, a wide grin splitting his face.

Joel met him halfway, the two men pulling each other into a rough, back-patting hug.

“Tommy,” Joel grunted, patting his brother’s back twice before stepping back, though the warmth in his eyes lingered.

You smiled, watching the easy way they fell into step together. It wasn’t always like this between them, but lately, it was better. Softer around the edges.

“Good to see you,” you said, squeezing Tommy’s arm.

“You too,” Tommy grinned. “C’mon, Maria’s around here somewhere. And Ellie’s been talkin’ about that coffee since sunrise.”

Joel rolled his eyes with a huff, but his hand brushed against yours as he moved to follow Tommy. You laced your fingers with his without a word, and Joel didn’t let go.

It was simple. Easy. Cozy in a way you never took for granted anymore — a full meal, the warmth of good company, and the quiet comfort of knowing you belonged to this small, stubborn patch of world.

By the time you, Joel, Tommy, and Maria stepped out of the dining hall, the evening light had faded to a dusky gold. The air had cooled, lanterns flickered along the street, casting soft pools of light as folks made their way home for the night.

“Y’all should stay here,” Tommy offered, leaning casually against the porch rail with a hopeful grin. “We’ve still got that extra room fixed up. Warm bed, decent mattress. Better than ridin’ back in the dark.”

Maria gave a slight nod, folding her arms, her gaze slipping between you and Joel. “Wouldn’t hurt to stay in town now and then.”

Joel shifted his weight, his hand instinctively finding the small of your back. “Nah,” he said, his voice low but kind. “We need to get back. Y’know I don’t like leavin’ the farm alone too long.”

You gave a soft smile, leaning a little into his side. “Yeah. It’s a quick ride. We’ll be fine.”

There was a brief pause where you could feel unspoken words hanging in the air. Tommy let out a breath, shaking his head like he knew better than to push. Maria’s mouth twitched in reluctant amusement.

“Stubborn as ever,” Tommy muttered, a grin tugging at his lips.

Joel gave him a look — half fond, half warning. “Runs in the family.”

That earned a quiet laugh from Maria, who stepped forward to press a hand to your arm. “You two be careful.”

“Always,” you promised with a soft squeeze of her hand.

Joel tipped his chin at Tommy. “We’ll be by the end of next week with those tools you wanted.”

Tommy clapped a hand to his brother’s shoulder. “I’ll hold you to it.”

You and Joel made your way toward the horses, the quiet hum of Jackson winding down behind you. Lanterns glowed in windows, soft voices fading as folks headed home, and the cool night air settled gently against your skin. The path back to the farm stretched ahead.

You caught Joel squinting as he adjusted Apollo’s reins, his brow furrowed, eyes narrowing toward the shadowed trail beyond the gate.

“Should’ve worn your glasses,” you said, a grin tugging at your lips.

Joel huffed, shooting you a look as he swung into the saddle. “Don’t need glasses. It’s dark.”

You mounted Dusty, leaning slightly in your saddle to smirk at him. “That why you’re squintin’ like an old man tryin’ to read fine print?”

Joel’s glare wasn’t the least convincing. “Keep talkin’, woman,” he grumbled, though his voice was thick with amusement. “See how far that gets you.”

“Probably about halfway home before you admit I’m right,” you teased, nudging Dusty forward with a light kick.

Joel clicked his tongue at Apollo, riding up alongside you, his posture loose now, some of the tension from earlier replaced by the easy banter between you.

“You’re lucky I like you,” he muttered, giving your reins a playful tug as he passed.

You grinned into the darkness, heart warm in your chest. “I know.”

Together, you rode out into the night, the stars scattered above like pinpricks in velvet, the world around you hushed and still. The only sounds were the steady clop of hooves on packed earth and the occasional rustle of wind through the trees. The cool night air brushed against your cheeks, carrying the scent of pine and distant woodsmoke.

For a while, neither of you spoke; it was the kind of easy, companionable silence you had both grown accustomed to over the years. But as the trail stretched and the landmarks shifted in your periphery, a faint prickle of doubt worked under your skin.

You glanced around, frowning as you recognized a familiar old tree, crooked and leaning with a wide, twisted branch that reached out like a bent arm.

“Joel,” you called softly, pulling Dusty closer. “You’re headin’ the wrong way.”

Joel grunted, squinting ahead as he kept Apollo moving. “No, I ain’t. I know this path like the back of my hand.”

You raised a brow, nudging Dusty so you rode side by side. “I know you do, but we just passed that big split oak instead of the hollow stump by the fork. Which means…” You gestured ahead with a chin tilt, “We’re headed toward Flat’s Creek. Not home.”

Joel slowed Apollo to a stop, turning his head just enough to glance at you. His brow furrowed in mild irritation.

“You wanna say you don’t need glasses again?” you teased, a gentle, knowing smile tugging at your lips.

Joel let out a sharp breath, shaking his head as he rubbed a hand over his face. “Goddamn trees all look the same in the dark.”

“Mm-hmm,” you hummed, leaning in a little. “I can lead us back, old man. No shame in lettin’ me take point.”

Joel gave you a flat look, but the affection in his eyes softened it. “You’re enjoyin’ this way too much.”

“Maybe a little,” you admitted, unable to keep smiling as you reached out and let your hand brush his arm. “C’mon. I’ll get us home.”

Joel sighed, a low, fond sound as he let you take the lead. He muttered something you didn’t catch, falling beside you as you turned Dusty toward the right path.

You stirred, furrowing your brow at the emptiness beside you. The bed was still warm where he’d been, but the absence of his steady weight made the room feel too big. You blinked up at the ceiling, the faint glow of dying embers from the hearth down the hall casting a soft flicker of light across the walls.

It wasn’t the first time.

Joel had nights like this. Nights where old ghosts kept him restless, where the quiet pressed too close. Sometimes it was bad dreams, other times just that wired, sharp-edged instinct neither of you had ever truly shaken. He’d slip out of bed without a word, wander the house, check the locks, listen to the night.

You lay there a while, eyes tracing the shadows on the ceiling, hoping you’d hear the floorboards creak and feel him settle in beside you again.

But he didn’t.

With a sigh, you slid out of bed, bare feet brushing the cool wood floor. You grabbed his flannel from the back of the chair, pulling it over your shoulders, the scent of him wrapping around you.

The house was quiet, save for the soft pop of the last logs in the stove. A lantern on the kitchen table cast a faint, wavering light, shadows dancing across the walls as you padded through the hallway.

You caught a flicker of movement through the window.

There he was—Joel, sitting in the old chair on the porch, the rifle leaning against the house nearby. His shoulders were hunched, one hand wrapped around a half-forgotten mug of coffee gone cold, his gaze fixed on something far beyond the dark tree line.

You hesitated, your hand resting on the window frame. You knew that look. He wasn’t really seeing the night, not anymore. He was someplace else.

Grabbing a blanket off the couch, you pushed open the door, the night air cool against your skin.

“Can’t sleep?” you asked softly, not wanting to startle him.

Joel turned his head, his eyes meeting yours in the low light. Unsurprisingly, he’d heard you coming before you stepped onto the porch. He reached a hand out toward you, palm open in silent invitation.

You smiled faintly, moving toward him and settling yourself in his lap without a word. His arms came around you automatically, pulling the blanket over your shoulders, tucking you in against his chest like he’d been waiting for you to do just that.

Your eyes drifted to the rifle, propped against the house within reach. “You hear somethin’?” you murmured, your brow creasing as your hand brushed his forearm.

Joel exhaled, the sound rough and tired. “Just a few elk movin’ through,” he muttered. But his eyes didn’t leave the treeline.

You rested your head against his shoulder, feeling the tension still coiled tight in him.

“It’s not them,” you whispered, because sometimes you both needed to hear it.

“I know,” he said, and you felt it in the way his arms tightened around you and his lips brushed the top of your hair. “Doesn’t stop my head from goin’ there sometimes.”

“Mine too.”

You both sat in the quiet, the night pressing around you, familiar and heavy but softened by the warmth between your bodies. The wind rattled the branches in the distance, but here on the porch, wrapped up together, it felt a little safer.

A little easier to breathe.

Joel sighed, tipping his chin against your temple. “Guess neither of us’ll ever fully shake it.”

“No,” you said, your voice barely more than a hush between you. “Ain’t easy lettin’ your guard down. Not after all this time. But I wanna be here… with you. Always here.”

Joel said nothing, but his hand found yours under the blanket, fingers threading together as he held you closer.

You closed your eyes, savoring the simple weight of his hand in yours and the warmth of his body against your back. The old ache—that restless worry, the quiet fear that one day the world might come for what you built—lingered. It always would. You both knew it. The ghosts never stayed buried for long.

But here with Joel’s arm around you, and the steady sound of his breathing, it was enough. You wouldn’t trade this life with him for anything else.

The night stretched quietly around you, the wind carrying the scent of pine and distant rain. Joel shifted, pressing a soft, unhurried kiss to your temple.

“C’mon, darlin’,” he murmured. “Let’s head in. Reckon it’s cold as hell out here.”

You smiled against his chest. “Not so bad, long as you’re here.”

Joel gave a soft chuckle, the sound rumbling through you as he helped you to your feet. The blanket was still wrapped around you both as you stepped inside. The porch light flickered out behind you as the old house settled with a sigh.

taglist: @probablyreadinsmut @lowrisemiller @millersdoll @daddypascal17 @mystickittytaco @risingwolf97

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #tlou #joel tlou #the last of us #joel x reader #joel the last of us #joel miller fluff #pixel joel #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n

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floweroflaurelin · 2 years ago

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This is also the only huevember painting to be made in conversation with the equivalent colour from the previous year :’)

Both pieces are available on my print shop!

Huevember day 20: Home 🕯️

Pixlriffs tweeted this photo that happened to have the Vigil in it so I simply had no choice but to make this quick lil painting <3

The photo ^

#it’s the exact same colour palette and motif except that the one of the Vigil in the heart of Pixandria has more of those warm colours #in the first one they’re kept to his skin and all around him is a cold purple expanse #but now in ‘Home’ the warm colour pops up in everything—the stone‚ the candles and lanterns‚ the buildings #his entire silhouette #and the star chart doesn’t focus on him anymore. it’s not the passage of a lonely navigator #it’s a map and all the paths lead back home #🕯️#morning rebagel

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arkaiveofurown · 2 months ago

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he overheard you saying you love him

Pairings: Sabo x Reader, Ace x Reader, Law x Reader, and Zoro x Reader

Word Count: ~1,000 - 2,000 words each character

tags: pre-relationship, fluff, confession

my masterlist here ♡

——-

Sabo

You weren’t sure when it had started.

Maybe during that first mission with Sabo—when he pulled you out of a collapsing tunnel with smoke in his lungs and soot in his hair. Or maybe it was the way he looked at you during meetings, when everyone else spoke over each other and his eyes quietly sought yours like they were the only steady thing in the room.

Regardless, you’d never told him.

Instead, you wrote letters. Quiet, aching, folded-up things in the corners of notebooks and between pages of Revolutionary Army maps. Pages filled with things you could never say aloud. Sometimes it was just a sentence. Sometimes full confessions. But you never gave them to him. You didn’t need to. Writing them was enough.

Tonight, the base was quiet. Outside, a soft breeze shifted through the trees, and the only sound in your room was the scratch of your pen.

You were curled up at your desk, writing again. Candlelight flickered beside you. You didn’t hear the knock. You didn’t notice the door creak open.

“Y/N?”

You jolted. “Koala—!”

She froze in the doorway. Her eyes dropped to the open page on your desk before you could hide it.

“Wait. What is that?”

“Nothing.” You slammed the notebook shut, your voice too sharp.

Koala blinked. Then her eyes narrowed.

“…That’s your handwriting.”

“So?”

She stepped in, shutting the door behind her. “So that was definitely Sabo’s name.”

You groaned. “Koala—please.”

She raised a brow. “Is that a letter to him?”

You turned away. “It’s not for him. I mean—it is, but—I wasn’t gonna give it to him.”

A beat of silence passed.

“…You’ve written more than one, haven’t you.”

You didn’t answer.

She came closer, her voice gentler now. “Y/N.”

Your shoulders dropped.

“It’s just… easier to write it than say it,” you whispered.

Koala sat on the edge of your bed. “You really like him, don’t you?”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Yeah. I do.”

Your voice cracked a little when you said it. You didn’t even mean to. You covered your mouth, eyes burning suddenly with tears you hadn’t expected.

You hated this—how hard it was to hold it all in sometimes.

“I like him so much it hurts,” you confessed. “And he doesn’t even know.”

Another voice answered:

“Yes. I do.”

⸻

Your head whipped toward the door.

Sabo stood there, hand still on the knob. He looked as if he’d frozen in place. Behind him, the hall was dark—he’d come alone. No footsteps, no warning. Just his silhouette framed in low light.

You stared. “Sabo—?”

He stepped in slowly. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I came to return Koala’s map notes. I wasn’t—” He cut off, brow furrowed, and looked at you. “You really meant it?”

Your throat felt tight. “I—I didn’t know you were listening.”

“I was,” he said softly. “Every word.”

You turned to Koala, but she was already slipping out the door with a sheepish shrug. “Sorry!” she mouthed before vanishing.

Now it was just the two of you.

“I didn’t plan to say that,” you said, voice trembling. “I just… It’s been a long time. I’ve been trying to keep it in.”

Sabo’s steps were slow. Careful.

“How long?”

You couldn’t meet his eyes. “Since Baltigo.”

“That long?”

You nodded.

He moved closer. You felt him pause just beside you.

“…Why didn’t you tell me?”

You hesitated. “Because we’re in the middle of a war, Sabo. And you’re important. And brave. And reckless. And always getting yourself into danger—”

“That’s not a reason not to tell me.”

You looked at him then.

His eyes were soft. No teasing, no judgment. Just that same steady, thoughtful Sabo you’d always known—only now closer than he’d ever felt before.

“I was scared it would ruin everything,” you said quietly.

He gave a small, almost broken laugh. “I’ve been scared of that too.”

You blinked. “What?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve liked you for a long time, Y/N.”

You stared, stunned.

He gave a small, sheepish shrug. “I never wrote letters or anything, but… if I had, I probably would’ve filled a hundred pages by now.”

Your breath caught. “You really mean that?”

He looked away, ears turning red. “Yeah. Every word.”

A laugh broke from your lips—half disbelief, half relief. “You idiot.”

He looked back at you with a faint smirk. “Says the one who actually wrote letters.”

You let out a shaky laugh.

And suddenly it felt all real.

——

A few days later, Sabo knocked on your door. When you opened it, he was holding something out.

Your notebook.

“The one with the letters,” he said with a grin.

Your eyes widened. “Where did you—?!”

“I didn’t read them,” he promised. “I swear. But… if you want me to, I will.”

You stared.

Then you reached out—and flipped to the last page. Your handwriting was still there. The ink fresh. The one you’d been writing the night he overheard.

You tore it out, folded it neatly, and handed it to him.

He blinked. “Just this one?”

“For now.”

He looked at it like it was something precious. “Can I read it in front of you?”

You nodded.

He opened it slowly.

You watched his eyes move across the page—watched the flicker of a smile, the subtle shift of his expression. By the time he finished, he was quiet.

Then, carefully, he looked at you.

“Do you want a letter too?”

You blinked. “You’d write one?”

He leaned in, closer than ever before. “I’d write one every day.”

And when he kissed you, it felt like the answer to every unsent word you’d ever written.

——

Ace

It was a quiet afternoon on the Moby Dick. The sun hung lazily above the sea, casting golden warmth over the deck. Laughter echoed faintly from the other side of the ship, but Ace wasn’t with the others. He sat alone near the back, arms crossed over his knees, a troubled expression clouding his usually bright face.

He’d overheard a few new crewmates whispering—again.

“Roger’s son, huh? No wonder he’s so reckless.”

“I still don’t get why Whitebeard lets him wear the mark.”

Their voices replayed in his head, sharp as knives. No matter how far he came, how hard he fought, those words always lingered. Was he just his father’s shadow? Was he even supposed to exist?

You found yourself talking to Marco later as you leaned against the rail, eyes watching the horizon.

“You think Ace is okay?” you asked softly.

Marco raised a brow. “You’ve been watching him all day.”

You hesitated, then sighed. “He always looks like he’s trying to prove something. Like he doesn’t believe he’s enough. I just wish he’d let himself feel… loved.”

“You’re in love with him, huh?” Marco said with a smirk.

You didn’t even deny it.

“Yes. I love him.” Your voice dropped. You hadn’t noticed Ace was nearby—standing still behind the corner, frozen as the words sank in.

——

Ace kept tossing fire between his fingers like nothing happened, but his heartbeat wouldn’t slow down. She loves me? The words played over and over in his head.

He approached casually, as if he hadn’t just overheard something that shook him to his core.

“What are you two whispering about?” he asked, flopping down beside you, a teasing grin on his face.

You jumped a little. “Ace! Uh—nothing really. Just… talking.”

Marco snorted and walked off, giving you two space.

Ace tilted his head, pretending to look bored. “Sounded like something deep.”

You hesitated, then offered him a gentle look. “I just… worry about you sometimes.”

His smile faltered slightly. “You don’t have to.”

“But I do,” you insisted. “You’re always trying to be the strongest, the most reliable… You don’t need to carry it all alone.”

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes dropped to his hands.

“Sometimes I wonder if I should’ve been born at all,” he said quietly, voice barely audible over the waves.

Your heart clenched. “Ace…”

“I hear the things people say. About my father. About me. It never really stops.”

You touched his arm gently. “You’re not your father.”

He glanced up at you, eyes guarded.

“You’re you, Ace. I care about you because of who you are—not because of your name, and definitely not in spite of it.”

⸻

Ace couldn’t sleep that night. He paced the deck in the dark, wrestling with your words. He’d heard so many lies in his life. So many people who wanted something because of the blood in his veins—or wanted nothing to do with him because of it.

But your voice was different.

He found you in the galley, wrapping up a late-night snack. You turned, surprised.

“Ace? You okay?”

He looked… unsure. And for someone like Ace, that was rare.

“I heard what you said to Marco earlier,” he admitted, leaning against the doorway.

You froze, eyes wide. “You… you did?”

“Yeah.” He chuckled, but it was hollow. “Didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Just… kinda happened.”

You shifted awkwardly. “Well… I meant it.”

He looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time.

“I’m not my father, Y/N. But sometimes I think people only ever see him when they look at me. Like I’m just waiting to become him.”

You walked up to him, eyes soft.

“You’re not him. You never will be.”

Ace stared at you, caught in the sincerity of your gaze.

“I love you,” you said, voice steady. “Not because you’re Gol D. Roger’s son. Not because you’re Whitebeard’s commander. But because you’re Ace. And that’s enough.”

Ace stared at you, his eyes flickering with something raw and real. Then he leaned down and pressed his forehead to yours.

“I love you, Y/N,” he breathed. “Not just because you see me… but because when you do, I finally feel like I deserve to be here.”

Your heart swelled as you wrapped your arms around him.

“You do, Ace. You always have.”

And for once, he let himself believe it.

——

Law

The Polar Tang was unusually quiet that evening, save for the hum of the ocean against the hull. You sat in the galley with Shachi and Penguin, half-listening to them banter while organizing mission notes. A familiar name drifted into the conversation.

“I’m just saying,” Shachi smirked, “if Captain has a secret admirer, it’s gotta be someone on board. Who else could handle that grump 24/7?”

“Yeah, right. Can you imagine anyone confessing to Law?” Penguin snorted.

Your hand froze over the page, heart thudding. You gave a weak chuckle, trying to stay casual.

“…I think he’s different than people think,” you said quietly.

The two fell silent, glancing at each other before looking back at you. “Different how?” Shachi asked.

You stared down at your notes, unsure why you were still speaking. “He’s cold sometimes, yeah, but there’s a reason. He’s… carrying a lot. But underneath that, he’s kind. Steady. I admire him. I love him, actually.”

You didn’t notice the door slightly ajar—or the shadow that had paused just outside. Law, on his way to the infirmary, heard every word. He didn’t move. Just stood there, stunned, your voice echoing quietly in his chest like a scalpel carving into old scar tissue.

——

Later that night, you found yourself sitting near the back of the ship, watching the stars shimmer through the porthole. You didn’t expect company—until his footsteps neared.

“Working late?” Law asked, standing behind you.

You turned, startled. “Oh. Hey. Yeah. Just… couldn’t sleep.”

He didn’t sit. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and added, “Neither could I.”

You nodded slowly. There was something unusual in his gaze—measured, intense. Like he was holding back words with every breath.

“I heard you,” he said bluntly. “In the galley.”

Your heart stopped. “What?”

He didn’t look away. “You said you loved me.”

The silence stretched long between you. Your breath caught in your throat.

“I didn’t mean for you to—”

“You meant it though,” Law interrupted. “Didn’t you?”

“…Yeah,” you whispered. “I did.”

He stepped forward. Just one step, but it felt like a line being crossed. His voice softened. “Why?”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Why me?” His tone was flat, but his eyes betrayed the storm behind them. “Why would anyone… love me?”

You swallowed hard. “You’re strong. Not just in power—emotionally. You always show up. You carry so much but never drop any of it. And you… you protect people. You saved me more than once, Law. You care, even when you act like you don’t.”

He looked away sharply.

“You don’t have to earn it,” you added quietly. “Love doesn’t work like that.”

His breath hitched.

Law didn’t answer for a long time. Then, quietly:

“You sound like him.”

You blinked. “Who?”

He sat down at last, elbows on his knees, eyes far away. “Corazon. He told me once, I didn’t need a reason to be loved. That someone could love me just because.”

“…He was right.”

Law’s hand twitched. “I hated hearing it back then. Thought it was a lie. After he died… I convinced myself I wasn’t meant for that kind of thing. Not after what I did to survive.”

You looked at him—truly looked. His jaw was tense, but his shoulders were slumped like someone carrying too many ghosts.

“Sengoku told me, after everything… that Corazon loved me like family. And I kept asking myself why. Why me? Why would he care so much? I’ve been so bad to him. Even now, I still don’t know.”

Law leaned back against the wall, head tilted up toward the ceiling.

“You know,” he said, “I used to think if I kept everything locked up, it wouldn’t hurt. That if no one knew what I felt, no one could use it against me.”

“That’s a lonely way to live,” you whispered.

“It was.” His voice was quieter now. “Until you.”

You inhaled sharply, heart catching in your throat.

“I’ve been watching you too, Y/N. I always noticed when you sat closer during meals. Or brought coffee when I was holed up for hours. You always knew when to say something—and when not to.”

He looked over at you now, eyes unreadable but softer than you’d ever seen.

“You’re not a secret I want to keep locked away anymore.”

The words hit you like a wave. “Law…”

He stood slowly, stepped in front of you, and reached out—hesitating just for a breath—before his fingers gently cupped your face.

“I’m not good at this,” he said. “But I want to try. With you.”

Your eyes stung with tears you hadn’t realized were forming. “You’re already doing just fine.”

His lips brushed against yours, tentative at first, then fuller, deeper. You melted into him, and he kissed you like someone who finally let the gates fall. When he pulled away, he stayed close, forehead resting against yours.

“No more secrets,” he whispered.

——

Zoro

The fight had been brutal. Zoro, despite his immense strength and endurance, had taken a hit he couldn’t recover from quickly. Blood stained his clothes, and the crew had rushed to stabilize him, quickly patching him up as best they could on the ship.

You were a wreck. Despite being part of the crew for so long, despite the battles, seeing him hurt like this… it was too much for you to handle. You were pacing back and forth near the medical room, your heart in your throat as your mind raced with worst-case scenarios. Nami and Robin stood nearby, trying to comfort you, but nothing could settle the growing panic inside.

“I—I can’t do this,” you muttered, wiping away the fresh tears that had formed. “What if—what if he doesn’t make it?”

Robin placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, her voice soothing, but there was an undercurrent of concern there too. “Zoro’s strong. He’s not going anywhere.”

But you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t stop worrying, couldn’t stop the tears from falling. Your chest ached at the thought of him not making it through this.

Nami’s voice, usually so steady, was now quieter, though there was still a reassuring edge. “You need to calm down. He’s tough. Zoro will pull through.”

But no matter how much they tried to comfort you, the fear was too overwhelming. You couldn’t stop thinking about the worst outcome—what it would be like to lose him. How he was always so strong, always so dependable, and yet, this time, you weren’t sure it would be enough.

“Please,” you whispered through your sobs, barely audible but full of pain. “Please don’t leave me, Zoro. I love you… I love you so much. I can’t lose you.”

You didn’t realize how loudly you’d said it. You were too caught up in the panic, in the fear of losing him, that the words just spilled out without thinking.

In the shadows of the hallway, hidden from your view, Zoro had heard everything. He had been leaning against the doorframe, trying to muster the strength to stand up on his own after the injury, when your words reached him. At first, he wasn’t sure if he’d heard you correctly. But when you repeated it, in that broken, desperate tone, he felt the weight of your confession hit him like a freight train.

He stood there, frozen for a long moment, a strange mix of emotions swirling within him. His heart thudded in his chest, and for a moment, everything felt overwhelming—more so than the injury itself.

——

Zoro had managed to make his way to the deck quietly, not wanting to disturb you. He needed a moment to process what he’d heard. But it wasn’t just the words that had shaken him—it was how much they revealed. How deeply you cared, how much you were hurting, how afraid you were for him.

He’d always known you cared for him. You had always been there for him, quietly supporting him, and he’d grown fond of your presence more than he ever intended. But hearing it like this, in a moment of vulnerability, brought something to the surface that he had spent so long suppressing.

The wound on his side throbbed painfully, but it wasn’t the physical pain that weighed him down. It was your words. The quiet admission that you loved him. Zoro leaned against the railing, trying to clear his head, but the ache in his chest wasn’t going away.

Meanwhile, you had secluded yourself in your room. The crew had calmed down enough to leave you some space, but you couldn’t stop thinking about Zoro. You kept replaying the words over and over in your head, cursing yourself for letting them slip. You didn’t want to burden him.

But what if he didn’t feel the same? The uncertainty gnawed at you, and you hugged your knees to your chest, your face buried in your arms.

——

It wasn’t long before there was a knock at your door. You didn’t want to face anyone, but the soft voice that called your name made you hesitate.

“Y/N? It’s me. Can I come in?”

Your heart jumped in your chest. You didn’t have to ask who it was. You stood and opened the door to find Zoro standing there, looking tired but determined. His clothes were stained with blood, and his usual carefree posture was slightly off, but there was something in his eyes that made you freeze.

“You shouldn’t be up yet,” you said, voice cracking. “You’re injured. You need rest.”

Zoro smirked, but there was no usual arrogance in it—just a tired, soft kind of affection. “I’m fine. I’m not the type to stay in bed when I’m still breathing.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Zoro cut you off before you could speak.

“Listen,” he began, his voice uncharacteristically gentle, “you don’t need to apologize for what you said earlier.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “Zoro, I didn’t—”

“Don’t deny it.” Zoro took a step closer, his hand reaching out and gently lifting your chin so that your eyes met. “I heard you.”

You swallowed, heart racing. His gaze was intense, but it wasn’t cold. It wasn’t distant. It was something more—something you hadn’t dared to hope for. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t want to make you feel awkward.”

Zoro’s fingers brushed lightly against your skin, his touch warm and reassuring. “You don’t have to apologize. I just—” he hesitated, his usual tough exterior faltering for just a moment, “I need to say it too.”

You blinked, your heart thumping painfully in your chest. “Say what?”

Zoro’s eyes softened, his usual guarded nature slipping just slightly. “I’ve known for a while now. I’ve just been too stubborn to admit it to myself. But I care about you too. I think… I think I love you.”

The words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, neither of you moved. You were both standing there, both finally facing what had always been there but had remained unsaid.

“I—I love you too, Zoro,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “I was just too scared to say it.”

Zoro’s lips tugged into a faint, almost shy smile. Then, without another word, he closed the distance between you and kissed you softly, his hand still gently holding your face. The kiss was slow, tender, filled with everything that had been left unspoken for so long.

When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath shaky. “I’m not going anywhere. Not if you’ll have me.”

And at that moment, everything fell into place.

——

a/n: my first ever multi-character fic phew that’s challenging! haha hope you guys like it ♡ feedbacks are greatly appreciated xoxo

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mrsketchy · 2 months ago

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He's a Phantom

Heya, I've been meaning to post my parts for the Rephanimated project and suffered a terrible case of procrastination.

I have a few scenes in the MAP, so more posts to come~ Behind the scenes and animation progress under the cut:

Part One: Base sketch and keyframes. Pretty self explanatory, redrawing Danno in my own style and figuring out his moving parts

Part Two: I wanted to have his eyes react to the light somewhat, so I workshopped some ideas regarding pupils and shine. I usually try a few different effects in the draft stage before I decide on which I'll choose

Part Three: While I took some time to think about it, decided to move on to the line art and blocking out the silhouette.

Part Four: By now I had a better idea of how I wanted to animate the eyes, having them follow the light along with the cat pupil (because why not) I coloured the base here too

Part Five: I continue colouring like any regular drawing, adding overlays and shadows (multiply layer) to give it a bit more vibrancy.

The eyes also get a shine effect that I had attempted in the draft, just a lot cleaner looking

Part Six: This part was painful, since I knew what I wanted to do but didn't have the know how on how to make it happen. Turns out masking/clipping can be temperamental for animation if you don't plan ahead. I ended up getting it to work after several attempts

Part Seven: Now I was ): because the eye animations were mostly hidden, so I decided to copy + paste them onto a new layer, then have them fade out so you have a few extra frames of spooky atmosphere

Part Eight: Lastly, darkening the scene and exporting

Thanks for coming to my TED Talk, I hope some of you's found this interesting. If you have any questions on how I did stuff, feel free to ask~ I look forward to animating more in the future, this project was a real learning curve, but very rewarding to work with everyone ty

-mrsketchy

#fashing gif #gif warning #mrsketchy #danny phantom #rephanimated #behind the scenes #step by step #clip studio paint #reanimated

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embosscreativestudio · 2 years ago

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Ethiopia praying, Kneeling and raising hand to God Art.

Ethiopia in prayer and worship. A man raising hand in prayer with a beam of light in the Ethiopian map silhouette. high quality vector illustration.

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hcneymooners · 6 months ago

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⋆ and if we bite each other, the pain is sweet.

farmhand!sevika x farmer’s daughter!reader. men & minors dni.

synopsis: you find a woman in your barn who looks suspiciously like the fugitive who remains wanted on your town's bulletin board. but you've always a soft spot for the strong ones.

cw: age difference, older woman/younger woman, outlaw!sevika, farmhand!sevika, farmer's daughter!reader, reader has curly hair, reader is in her twenties, reader is feral for sevika but tries to keep it cute, soft!masc!reader (i'm not sure if she counts as masc in this but that was the intention! i said soft bc there are times where she dresses overtly femme in the beginning), muscular!reader, strong!reader and sevika is insane about it, touch starved!sevika, soft!sevika, sevi getting praised and spoiled as deserved, petnames, non-sexual intimacy, seduction, dirty talk, praise kink, strength kink, you manhandle sevi like a mf, begging, cunnilingus, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, vaginal fingering, tribbing, face riding, nipple play, reader waxing poetic about sevi and pretty she is, dom!reader, pleasure domming, sub!sevika, bdsm elemetns, dom/sub, power play, subspace, implied switch!sevi, mommy kink (specifically mama!). notes: guys i'm so fucking PISSED because tumblr deleted the fucking ask that made this even happen. but nonnie please know this is for you and i hope you love it, mama. also this got a little crazy. did not intend to write sub!sevi but then i was possessed and saw the light.

The morning mist hasn't burned off yet when you find her. In the barn's half-light, dust motes swim like sparks around the stranger's sleeping silhouette, her broad shoulders rising and falling against the hay. There's dried blood on her knuckles, you notice, but her hands are curled gentle as a child's against her chest.

Your daddy's shotgun rests steady in your hands, barrel aimed low but ready. The wild dogs haven't raised any alarm; they're curled near the woman like she belongs there. You watch her breath, take in the way her mouth hangs a little open like she’s aching to feed. Moths flutter against the high windows, their wings catching dawn's grey light.

"Daddy's gonna want to know why I didn't shoot you," you say softly, your voice carrying in the hollow space.

Your short hair tickles your jaw as you tilt your head, studying. You’ve chopped it for the summer and the heat you applied to it is lifting. You can feel the curls right bursting around your cheeks.

There's something about the woman's face - even in sleep, it holds a story you've seen somewhere before, maybe on that board in town square you've trained yourself not to look at too closely.

The stranger's eyes open - dark and steady as well water. She doesn't startle, despite the gun trained on her. Just watches you like she's reading something written in the air between you both, her gaze catching on the way your corset top pulls tight across your chest, the intricate lace trim exposing your shoulders to the morning air and accentuating the swell of your breasts.

"Would you have?" the woman asks, voice rough with sleep and something else. Her accent isn't local - has too many edges.

Your lips curl.

"Ain't shot a thing yet that didn't deserve it."

You shift your weight, dark jeans whispering against your boots. The corset suddenly feels more revealing under the stranger's gaze, dawn light playing across the ropy back. "You got a name?"

"Sevika." A pause, heavy as August air. "You always dress up to do barn chores?"

"Only when I've got a feeling about something." You step closer, morning light catching in your hair like a halo, shotgun lowering just slightly. You can smell gunpowder and road dust on her, underneath the hay. "Kitchen's got coffee on. Might even have some bacon, if you can convince me you're worth feeding."

Sevika sits up slow, careful, like she's trying not to spook a wild thing. Her shirt is rolled to the elbows, revealing forearms mapped with scars and something that might be tattoo ink. "That an invitation or an interrogation?"

"Guess that depends on what kind of answers you give."

You rest the shotgun against your shoulder, turning toward the barn door, letting morning spill across your exposed skin. You don't look back - don't need to. You can feel Sevika's eyes on you like a physical touch, can hear the soft grunt as she stands.

The horses shuffle in their stalls, steam rising from their backs. Outside, a rooster crows - late, like always. Everything's waking up slow and sweet, the way summer mornings do.

Your pulse thrums steady in your throat. There's danger in this - in the way Sevika's boots fall into step behind you. But you've never been one to let fear stop you from taking in strays. Even ones that look at you like they'd like to devour you whole.

As you walk, you can tell that she’s drinking in the sight of the farm as strangers tend to do. The acres go for miles, the sky straining and stretching across its great, green rolling body. Most of the buildings—the farmhouse, the barn, the bustling chicken coop—were built raised by your mother’s hands. She was an architect romanced and rescued by your father, though you suspect she did the rescuing more than him.

You shimmy a hand down the downy back of one of the newest calves, nose scrunching with affection as he moos back at you. Eventually the house looms before you, the windows popped open and laundry swaying outback despite the expensive machine your mother couldn’t do without.

“You comin’?” You murmur, and Sevika blinks from where she’s been watching you stand in the doorway, your back well-muscled and strong.

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The screen door snaps shut behind you both with a familiar whine. Morning floods the kitchen through tall windows—your mother's insistence on "proper light for proper cooking"—and catches on the copper pots hanging above the island. The coffee pot gurgles its last, right on time.

You set the shotgun in its place by the door, muscle memory, though you keep half an eye on Sevika as she takes in the space. The kitchen tells its own stories: your mother's architectural drawings spread across one end of the table, your daddy's mud-caked boots by the back door, fresh-cut flowers in a Mason jar that catch the light just so. The dishes on the side of the sink are speckled stone, sanded and glazed by the artistry of your older sister. The washing machine hums through the wall, keeping time like a heartbeat.

"Sit," you say, gesturing to the worn oak table. It's been scratched and stained by three generations of family suppers, and something in you stirs at the sight of Sevika pulling out a chair—this stranger inserting herself into your history. "Less you'd rather stand."

She sits, those capable hands folding on the tabletop. Her shoulders are still coiled tight, ready to run, but her eyes follow you as you move through the kitchen's familiar dance. Two mugs from the cabinet (your favorite and daddy's backup), bacon from the icebox, cornbread left from last night.

"Sugar?" you ask, though you've already reached for it. The container clinks against your rings as you set it down.

"Black's fine." Her voice is softer in here, like the domesticity of the space has gentled her edges. But when you lean past her to set down her mug, you catch a whiff of leather and gun oil beneath the barn hay. Your curls brush her shoulder, and you feel more than hear her sharp intake of breath.

You take your time settling into the chair across from her, adding three sugars to your own coffee with deliberate movements. Your mother would be appalled at you entertaining company in just a corset top, but there's something thrilling about the way Sevika's gaze keeps catching on the lace trim, on the exposed line of your collarbones, the rise of your breath.

You let her observe because you’re doing the same. Sevika is gorgeous, the kind of beautiful that sinks deep inside of a woman and wears her out. Her grey eyes are like two beacons and they remind you of the deer you’d beg his father not to shoot. The ones you would run after, flapping your arms to get them to scatter.

Her face is almost ridiculously romantic, with a strong nose sitting pretty in the middle that reminds you of royalty. Her eyes are never-ending, a pit that gapes into who she is. Her skin is textured, as it gets when you’re (allegdly) living on the edge of the law. You can tell she’s older than you without her saying it. Something about her radiates maturity, the same as your mother who’s practically seen the world rise and fall.

"So," you say, watching her over the rim of your mug. "You gonna tell me what brings a woman like you to sleep in my barn? Or do I need to go take another look at that board in town?"

Her jaw tightens, but she doesn't flinch.

"Would it change your mind about the bacon if I did?"

"Depends." You lean back, let your chair creak against the floorboards. Through the window, you can see the laundry dancing on the line, your mother's favorite dress a splash of yellow against the morning sky. "On whether you deserved what put you there."

Sevika's fingers tighten around her mug, and you catch sight of old burns across her knuckles. "Most things ain't that simple."

"Most things worth protecting ain't either." You slide the plate of cornbread toward her, a peace offering. Your voice softens; you were never good at acting hard. "Eat something, sugar. Then we'll talk about what kind of work needs doing around here, if you're planning to stay.”

Something shifts in her expression—surprise at the endearment maybe, or relief. When she reaches for the cornbread, her sleeve rides up, revealing more of that tattoo. It looks like a snake, or maybe a dragon, curling up her arm. You wonder how far it goes, what other stories her skin might tell.

The washing machine clicks into its spin cycle, and somewhere outside, your daddy's truck rumbles to life. The morning's moving on, and there's work waiting. But for now, you let yourself sit in this moment: the sun warming your bare shoulders, the quiet sounds of Sevika eating at your family table.

“I suspect,” she says, her throat bucking as she swallows, “that your parents will have a bit more sense about hiring a fugitive for farm work.”

You shrug, pick a corner off the cornbread on her plate.

“Everyone out here is struggling. We all need someone or something. The only reason we’re faring slightly better is because this place was paid off as an anniversary gift by my grandparents.” You glance out the window. “Plus, I’m my daddy’s favortite. He tends to listen to me.”

There’s something sad about the way you say it, as if it aggrieved you to be so loved. But the moment passes and you’re looking back at her, lips full and curved like the moon.

“It’ll be good for us,” you decide and she lets it go. “Get seconds if you’d like, sugar. I'll intercept them.”

“I’m older than you,” Sevika rumbles and you hide a smile, cock your hip out as you grab a basket for the chickens.

“Doesn’t make you any less sweet on the eyes.”

At that her head ducks down and you laugh, the sound clear and bright like a bell.

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With that Sevika finds herself hired as a farmhand under the stern eye of your father and the knowing eye of your mother. The work is honest and she relishes being able to lose herself in it, settle into the rhythm and flow of this little world your blood has built.

She doesn’t know what to do with you however.

Now, Sevika has lived several lives at this point. In fact sometimes she awoke in the night under the strain of them, the urge to run stampeding from where it sits behind her teeth and under the flat of her tongue. She understands on some level that women find her attractive, brooding. She’s unsurprised at the hints you keep dropping over the weeks. You probably find her intriguing, see her as a means to rebel with her older age and criminal nature.. (“I’m literally in my twenties, Sevika. ‘M not a baby.”)

At least that’s what she thinks at first. But then, she begins to doubt herself and overanalyze your rather…creative attempts to satisfy your coveteous nature.

The first is when she wakes up one early morning, the sky slurred between cotton candy pink and a warm lilac, to find you taking a bath in a two-bit shining steel contraption of a tub. Your body is trembling, but you seem at peace. Your curls are heavy and swollen with water, made longer by the weight of the moisture. She watches your back flex as you move, takes in the hidden strength of your arms and peeking thighs. Your muscle takes her aback, makes her stomach warm real down low.

She should move—your parents will be up soon—but you’re just so captivating when you’re kissed by the dawn. The water sloshes as you pour it over yourself, the underside of your breasts flashing as you soap down. And then you turn, peeking over your shoulder and gazing at her with faux-bambi eyes as you trace a hand up and over your chest to get your back.

She feels warm, teased in a manner that makes her throat squeeze and her hands clench. She doesn’t know what to do with this, doesn’t know how to naviage this eager rabid want that you show her so openly. And it just doesn’t stop.

But what really gets under Sevika’s skin is the kindness that you insist on bludgering her with, especially when no one’s watching. It’s genuine, unexpecting, and claws at her skin with tender phantom fingers.

Just the other day, Sevika had been unable to successfully ward off a duo of wolves and three sheep had been lost in her efforts. She’d apologized gruffly and repeatedly until your mother stepped forward and cupped her chin with a firm hand, telling her to “fuck off with this bullshit because it wasn’t intentional and you tried your best.” What was with you women and nurturing her?

After, Sevika had gone back to where the lasty wooly body lay—the small innocent bones of a lamb. She had felt sick at the sight because the lamb wasn’t a lamb in that moment; she’d seen something else. You saw the lean figure of her body as it bent over in some sort of grief, distraught at the sight of the dead animal beneath it.

Sevika, You had said with shining eyes. Are you alright?

Sevika had looked at you long and hard before making a noise from deep within her throat. Turning swiftly, she tried to block you off from the sight.

I don’t think you’ll want to see this, she’d muttered and you’d settled your hands on your hips.

I’ve lived this long before you were working here, you reminded her.

Sevika’s face was still broken in an open expression of confusion and remorse when you moved forward. Carefully, you swallowed the bulk of her body into the warmth of yours. You weren’t nearly as big, but you held your own and you held her fast. The two of you stayed just like that, with your hand tucked neatly behind her head as you steadied her.

Now, she watches as your broad shoulders dip as you kneel to pick up the limp body of a fallen chicken. These goddamn wolves needed to be dealt with.

It’s in their nature, sugar, you’d told her.

“Wait,” she calls out and you turn to look at her, your cheeks apple-full under the thicket of your lashes.

“Hmm?” you say back, your voice curious.

“Put gloves on if you’re gonna touch it. It probably had some sort of disease.”

Sevika walks closer, grabbing a spare pair of gloves she usually keeps for the other town boys who your father has helping him throughout harvesting week. She holds them out, those dark eyes glittering like grey moonstone.

You look up at her then, curls haloed around your soft face. They’re still kept short, dust your dimpled chin. You look so young and probably always would, the baby fat clinging to your cheeks like the hands of a lover. Sevika continues to gaze down at you, firm and unrelenting, and you smile gently as she eventually looks away.

You’re not moving fast enough, so she crouches down and takes your hands, sliding each glove on and making sure the fingers fit. She notes that your nails are square and glossy, painted an icy pink. You watch with an affected air, scooping the small body up when she finally lets go.

“I’m sorry,” You say to the glassy eyes of the hen and Sevika’s heart seizes.

“‘M sorry, sweetheart,” she tells you, gentle and understanding.

You glance at her and then back at the animal you hold.

“No need to apolgize, you didn’t do anything wrong. Can you help me dig a grave for her?”

Sevika doesn’t know if it would really be worth it to bury it, but you’re a little sad and so obviously cold in your oversized cotton tee and denim shorts. Your skin lights up with the mid-afternoon sun and Sevika can see all of your goosebumps and the fine dusting of hair.

“I—sure,” she agrees and You nod, walking away and trusting her to follow.

Before you begin to lead the march, you turn back and cup her elbow.

“Thank you, sugar.”

And that’s all. She wants to fucking eat you.

You continue to unravel her expectations like cotton thread.

You catch her before dawn another morning, when the sky's still tender with sleep and dark like the evening is loath to leave. She's checking the fence line, and you appear like a vision with two thermoses of coffee and your father's old flannel draped over your worn dark green longsleeve. When you pass her the coffee, your fingers linger on hers longer than necessary.

"Thought you might be cold out here, sugar," you say, and the endearment makes her throat tight. She's not used to being the one called sweet things.

You settle beside her on the fence, close enough that she can feel your warmth. The morning fog rolls across the fields like a dream, and Sevika finds herself watching the way it catches in your hair and the bones of your fingers, how it makes you look ethereal and solid all at once.

"You don't have to keep doing this," she says roughly, though she cradles the thermos close.

"Doing what?" Your voice is innocent but your eyes are knowing.

"Taking care of me. Bringing me things. Being..." she gestures vaguely, unable to name the way you make her feel seen.

You laugh, and she shivers. "Sugar, has it occurred to you that maybe I want to? That maybe I see something in you worth cherishing? That I’m just being genuine?"

The word ‘genuine’ hits her like a physical thing. She ducks her head, unused to this kind of naked affection, but you just reach over and touch her jaw with gentle fingers.

"You're allowed to let someone be sweet on you," you murmur. "Even if you're pushing forty."

There's teasing in your voice, but your touch is reverent. Sevika wants to protest—about the age difference, about her rough past, about how someone as bright and whole as you shouldn't want someone as weathered as her. But you're looking at her like she’s the human version of the Promised Land, and all her arguments die in her throat.

"I don't know how to do this," she admits, voice barely above a whisper.

"Do what?" You're stroking her jaw now, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth.

"Nothing. I need to get back to work."

You lean back, let her go.

“If it’s about learning,," you call, your voice trailing after like smoke, "the good thing is that I'm a real good teacher."

The next time I’m in town, she thinks, I need to buy a pack of damn cigarettes.

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From then on, you start to learn her tells. Like how she always positions herself between you and any perceived threat, how her hands flex when she's trying not to reach for a weapon that isn't there anymore. How she startles, less now, when you're gentle with her.

You catch her in the barn one afternoon, trying to wrap her own ribs after a particularly rough day breaking the new stallion. Her knuckles are white with the effort of reaching around, face drawn tight with pain she won't admit to.

"Sugar," you say softly, and she freezes like a spooked deer. "Let me help you with that."

Her eyes dart to you, then away. "I've had worse."

"Ain't about what you've had." You cross to her, boots quiet in the hay. "About what you deserve now."

You take the bandage from her callused fingers, and she lets you - that alone feels like a victory. This close, you can see the way her breath catches when your fingers brush her skin. Like caring for her is its own kind of violence.

"Lift your arms for me, darlin'," you murmur, and something in her expression cracks when you call her that. Like she can't quite believe the sweetness in your voice is meant for her. But she obeys, raising her arms slowly, letting you wrap her ribs with careful precision.

"You don't have to-" she starts, but you shush her.

"I know I don't have to. Want to." Your fingers trace a scar on her side, old and silver in the afternoon light. "Anybody ever just take care of you, Sevika?"

She doesn't answer, but the way she trembles under your touch says enough. You secure the bandage and let your hands linger on her waist, thumbs brushing bare skin above her jeans.

"Well," you say, pressing a lingering kiss to her shoulder, right where that dragon tattoo curls toward her neck, "better get used to it. I take good care of what's mine."

Her sharp inhale sounds like thunder, and when she turns in your arms, her usual swagger is nowhere to be found. Just vulnerability, raw and beautiful as a sunrise. You cup her face in your hands, thumbs stroking her cheeks, and she leans into your touch like she's starving for it.

"When did you decide tha?" she asks, voice rough. "That I’m yours?"

You smile, soft and sure, and smooth out the furrow in her brow. "You were mine the moment you settled onto my land, sugar. Just took us both a minute to catch up."

And maybe you came on too strong, ‘cause she yanks herself back and straightens her shoulders.

“Thanks.”

You sigh, loud and irate. She’s so fucking—

“No problem, honey.”

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It happens during the last heat of summer, when the air sits thick as honey on your skin. You're in the barn, having just finished moving hay bales—work that would've taken twice as long if you weren't so used to it. Your blue and white bandana top clings to your chest, sweat stealing out from under it, and you can feel Sevika watching you from where she's meant to be fixing the tractor. You arch your back a little more, make sure to display the way your little rose-bud panties poke over the worn mouth of your lightwash, knee-length jean shorts.

You've caught her looking more and more lately. Noticed how her eyes track the contraction of your arms when you're lifting feed bags, the way she startles when you easily hoist yourself into the saddle. Like she can't quite reconcile your soft curves with the strength beneath them.

"You gonna fix that tractor, sugar?" you ask without turning around, smile curving your lips when you hear her shift. Your desire is practically shaking the bones of your teeth."Or you just gonna watch me work?"

Her throat clicks.

"I’m—I'm nearly done."

You hum, reaching up to stack the last bale. Your shirt’s knot loosens a little ‘round your back, exposing the dip of skin, and you hear something metallic clatter to the floor behind you. When you turn, Sevika's staring at you with those storm-grey eyes, wrench forgotten at her feet. There's grease on her forearms, sweat at her temples, and she's looking at you like she's finally ready to break.

"Something wrong?" you ask innocently, crossing to her. Your bare feet are silent in the hay.

She swallows hard when you reach her, especially when you grip the tractor's edge on either side of her, caging her in with arms that could just as easily lift her. "You know exactly what you're doing."

"Do I?" You lean closer, letting her feel the strength in your body. "Tell me what I'm doing, sugar."

Her hands flex at her sides, like she's fighting not to touch you.

"You're driving me crazy," she admits roughly.

“Oh,” you whisper, pursing your lips. “Do I make you nervous, baby?”

She flushes, tries to scramble back, and you laugh, soft and low.

"Driving you crazy, huh? Only fair. You've been driving me crazy since I found you in my barn." You trace a finger down her jaw, feeling how she trembles. "The way you look at me when you think I can't see. The way you try so hard to be good, to keep your distance."

Your other hand finds her hip, grip firm. You squeeze them in warning.

"I've seen how you watch me work. You like that I'm strong enough to handle you?"

She makes a broken sound, head falling back. "[Name]."

"I've got you," you murmur, and then you're lifting her onto the tractor's edge like she weighs nothing, stepping between her legs. Her eyes go wide, pupils blown, and her hands finally, finally come up to grip your biceps. "Been wanting to do that for weeks. You know you gotta tanline right here?"

You finger the thin edge of her boxers from beneath her jeans,

"Christ," she breathes, fingers tightening on your arms. "You're gonna kill me."

“Are you religious? That’s cutesy,” You smile, pressing closer until you can feel her heartbeat racing against your chest. "Nah, sugar. Just gonna take real good care of you." Your hands slide up her thighs, feeling the way she shivers. "If you'll let me."

She answers by pulling you into a kiss that tastes like summer storms and surrender, and you smile against her mouth. You've got her right where you want her—trembling and warm in your capable hands.

"That's it," you whisper when you pull back to breathe, one hand coming up to cup her face. "Let me handle you, mama. Just like you need."

And Sevika, who's spent years being the strong one, the dangerous one, the one who protects—she lets herself fall into you, lets herself be gentled by your hands. Maybe this is what surrender feels like: not a defeat, but a coming home.

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Your most prevailing thought is that you’re pissed you didn’t get to see Sevika like this earlier.

Her back arches beautifully, her chest rising with pleasure as you hold her down on the floor by the hips. Your mouth is relentless, suckling at her warm pussy with fervor. She tastes sweet and she’s so soaked, her arousal dribbling out of your mouth and onto your chin. You hum as she roots a hand in your hair, tugging harshly as she grinds down in tight little circles.

She’s whimpering, high breathy sounds that you’re determined to keep streaming from her slick lips. She’s still quiet, as you expected, but Christ does she want it. You let her use you, sliding your hands from her hips up to cup and grope her tits. Her nipples are erect, so hard and pretty and pointed toward heaven like she’s trying to tempt God. She’d probably succeed.

The sun slips through the slats of the barn and it illuminates her skin, the brown of it so warm that you almost feel as if you’re both on fire. You slip your tongue into the tight clutch of her cunt, gently dipping back and forth so that you’re fucking her on your tongue, and squeeze her ass in silent demand. She digs her nails into you, moans loudly, but still doesn’t heed.

With a groan of irritation, you clutch her ass with a grip of steel and begin to bounce her on your face until she starts to see the bigger picture. Eventually, she’s moving on her own—fast and uncoordinated as that bright spiral begins to coil in her stomach.

“Oh my God,” she groans. “Just like that. Please.”

You pull away, spread her apart.

“I know, mama,” you murmur and then dive back in.

Her thighs come up around your head and you let her crush you, shaking your head like a dog in heat as you nurse and lap at her pussy. Above you, Sevika twists one of her nipples and you feel her body tense in response. You bring a hand up to rub at her clit, and she jerks.

When she cums, she’s so bright and beautiful—like a star imploding onto itself. Her legs fall open and she lets out a low whine, like an animal, her hips still circling as she attempts to ride it out.

“Hold on, mama,” you tell her. “I’m gonna give it to you.”

You move quickly, undressing completely and laying your body against hers. Your tits push into hers and she nuzzles into your neck, mind still hazy. You soothe her, digging a thumb into her lower back as you slip two fingers into the meat of her. She lets out a strangled yell at the overstimulation, but you hold her to it.

You fuck your fingers into her, until the squelch is more than obscene, watching as she shakes and writhes alongside you. You use your other hand to guide her to your mouth, kissing her messily as you introduce a third finger to her pussy.

“Oh,” she moans, low and raspy, and you coo at her. “Oh, shit. Holy—holy fuck.”

“Yeah? Does that feel good, baby? You have to tell me what you like.”

“I—mmm. Yes. Yes, it feels good. I need—I need—”

Sevika trails off, eyes wide and watery. You roll over, tucking her under you while you continue to finger her. You raise one of her legs, widening the angle, and she squeals. You laugh lowly into the seam of her neck before sucking the skin between your teeth, biting down and bruising her.

“What do you need, mama? More?”

“Yes, but—,” She blinks, attempting to clear her head. “I want you too. I want you to finish with me.”

“With you or on you?” You watch her face as you ask, eyes following the twitch of her brow. “Maybe in you?”

That makes her shiver, and you smile as you sit up.

“Whatever you want, baby,” you mutter as you manhandle her into how you want her. “I’ll give you whatever you want.”

She shivers again and you pull her up, drawing her against your chest so that your tits are once again pressing up against each other. Carefully, you extend her strong legs over yours and inch forward until your clits catch. The friction is insane and your mouth drops open along the same time that Sevika goes ramrod straight.

You dive right in, fucking up so that your cunts slide and swallow each other. She’s so creamy, her previous orgasm sliding down her thighs. There’s a moment where your control dips, where she’s the one ramming the two of you together and leading you up so that you can grind harder until she stutters again.

Then it’s back and you’re holding her down, spreading her even further open as you rub your pussy roughly against hers. You need her to stay down, need her to take what you choose to give. Sevika is beneath you, trembling and open mouthed, and you stick two fingers down her throat ‘till she’s gagging wetly around them.

“Oh m’God,” you moan, your eyes never leaving hers. “You’re such a fucking slut, mama. Jesus.”

That does it and you feel her pour into you, thick and warm. You follow shortly after, rocking and pushing down against her as you chase the feeling. She’s sobbing, a hand coming up to grip at her throat as she tries to match your movements.

You slow, come to a stop, and stroke her face as you rise off of her. Tenderly, you kiss at her cheeks and eyelids as you sush her.

“I know, baby. You were so good. Such a good, perfect, strong woman. Hmm?” You kiss her temple. “You did so well, mama.”

She’s shaking, so you hold her until she’s less far away. You want to get up, get her some water and maybe something to eat but she’s holding you captive. Sevika turns into you, body big and curved like the moon come to earth.

The afternoon light paints everything gold, and you know you’ve got work waiting—always do, on a farm. But for now, you just continue to hold her. Somewhere outside, those wild dogs are keeping watch.

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jarofstyles · 17 days ago

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Worshiped

Who doesn’t love a simp-y Harry? I’ve been in a kick lately of writing him but this is next level. He loves his girl and does not play about her!

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WC- 4k

Warnings- smut, soft dom!H but some switch vibes, praise kink, spit play, unprotected sex (wrap it up), slight pain kink on his end, oral, etc

With her standing there in the dress he had bought her, he found himself thoroughly distracted by the way the fabric hugged her body. A body he had no idea how whoever was the creator of life itself managed to sculpt, because just being able to see it was a gift from the gods. His hands traced her silhouette, starting from her shoulders and slowly moving down her arms, then around to her waist.

"Fuck me, Angel…." His lips muttered softly, more to himself than to her. "You have no idea how stunning you are, do you?" Thumbs gently traced the waistline of the dress, admiration clear in his voice. It would be hard for her to forget with how often he tried to remind her, but he still did wonder if she ever truly got it. If she could fathom how insanely other worldly she was.

The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast a warm, golden hue over the room, highlighting her in a different way than the rest of the night had. The candlelight in the restaurant had been incredible to see her in, but this was special.. Any difference if lighting had him appreciating her in a different way, but something about the glow of their bedroom, the most intimate place of the house had him feeling it tenfold.

Harry lingered behind her, unashamed as he allowed his ring clad hands to slowly explore the dips of her body. Y/N was a masterpiece he couldn't get enough of, as if someone had dipped their paintbrush into the depths of his foggy brain and brought his ideal to life. Nimble fingers traced the delicate lace detailing on the bodice of the lavender dress, feeling the soft fabric breathe heat against her skin. He leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to the back of her neck, grinning to himself as he felt her shiver at the touch.

"I need this off you, please." Returning to her shoulders, he made work of slowly pushing the delicate straps down her arms. As the fabric fell away, exposing her bare décolletage, he let out a soft puff of a breath against her hair. “You are… Unreal.” His words were quiet, but he knew she could hear them over the sound of the fabric being dragged down her form. In his mind, it was in the top five sounds he could hear from her, right underneath the breathy moan of his name and slightly above the little gasp she made when he smacked her ass.

Y/N simply stood there, letting him remove the dress completely until she was standing before him stripped bare. The dress fell from her body and onto the floor with a soft whisper, allowing Harry a moment to truly appreciate the view before him. Her body was like a damn map that he had become all too familiar with but wanted to study every day so he never had the opportunity to forget. The dip in her lower back that he loved to kiss. The waist that his hands loved to grasp. The pretty ass that he had smacked more times than he could count. Her long legs and those thighs that had his mouth watering, he had a hard time keeping it together. Her stomach, soft and sensitive every time he kissed it. Her breasts were made for his palms and nipples perfect to pinch. He loved her body. He loved her body. every single part of her called to the base level of his attraction. He couldn't help himself.

Harry had always been a man who appreciated a woman's body, but the higher power had truly outdone herself with Y/N's.

It was hard to not love her body. Especially when it fit every part of him like a puzzle piece. He loved how it was soft where he was hard- How it was round where he was angular. He had a hard time getting over the dip in her waist and how his large hands could span it. God, did he adore her thighs and how they felt wrapped around his waist. Sometimes his favorite was the curve of her ass and how it fit up against him when he bottomed out inside of her- but he was careful to choose favorites when he had so many. She was made out of a fantasy he hadn’t been creative enough to conjure up himself, only able to fathom it in front of his own eyes.

She let out a small hum, shivering slightly as his eyes worshipped her body. Y/N knew he loved looking at her naked. He was almost like an artist, taking his time to study every little thing. She trusted him implicitly with her body, so when she felt him press against her back, she automatically leaned back into him, letting her body mold against his like it always did. Her bottom pushed back against his crotch, making him grunt softly. Her head fell back against his chest, baring her neck to him.

"Fucking beautiful." The man murmured against her skin, his voice husky as it remained quiet. His hand palmed her breast, his fingers splaying out to cover as much of her soft flesh as possible. It was selfish of him to want to be all over her, but it’s all he wanted. Really, it felt like a need to have his hands touching every inch of her even if it wasn’t fully possible. Kneading the soft mound of her breast, his thumb brushed over her hardening nipple with a soft coo. Feeling her react was a privilege he didn’t take lightly. His other hand wrapped around her waist, keeping her flush against him. Nuzzling himself into the crook of her neck, he pressed open-mouthed kisses to her sensitive skin.

"God, you're gorgeous. Can’t get over it.” He whispered against her, his touch soft and slow. His fingers gently pinched her nipple, making her arch back against him with a soft whining sound leaving her swollen lips. "Look at you. My gorgeous girl…" The man murmured, taking her in. "You're a damn goddess. Every inch of you is made to be worshipped. N’I’m your main follower." His lips found the particular spot she liked underneath her ear, letting his tongue brush it before sucking softly on the skin. "Y’know I'm obsessed with you, yeah baby? Like dangerously obsessed?"

Y/N could feel his obsession in every touch, in every whispered word. She loved how he worshipped her and how he always made her feel cherished. Most of all, she loved how he talked to her like she was the most precious thing in the world to him. She loved his hands on her nearly all the time, like he couldn’t help but touch her- and how he always made her feel protected, honored. Even when he was filthy, in the depths of their passion, Harry had no issue with making her feel worshiped. She turned her head to the side, allowing him better access to her neck as she whispered back "You are. I love it."

It was the truth. Y/N had wondered if someday, someone would be able to match the amount of passion she knew she could bring into a relationship. It was hard to imagine someone feeling so intensely in the way that she did, but she had met her match when Harry had waltzed into her life.

"You love it?" he murmured against her skin, a coo of pleasure in his voice. He nipped at her spot to make her squirm a little in his arms, soothing the small sting with his tongue. "You love how fucking obsessed I am with you, my perfect girl?" His hand slid down her stomach, his fingers splaying out possessively. "You love how I can't keep my hands off you? How m’always touching you, kissing you, fucking you until I break? Because that’s what y’do to me. Ruined and saved me all at the same time.” He was waxing on and he knew it, but it was only her right to know how twisted up she managed to get him. “All I can think about is how much I love you,I spend my days dreaming about you. S’that make you happy?"

"Yes." The word came out breathy and needy as he continued to run his hands south. "I love how you can't keep your hands off me. I love how you make me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world every single day." She met his eyes in the mirror as she continued in the whisper, despite there being no need to keep the volume low. The intimacy of it all had it cocooning them in their own personal bubble.. "I love how you speak to me like I'm your own personal heaven."

"Oh, but darling… You are." Harry groaned, his hand sliding between her legs to get a taste of it. "My own personal fucking heaven. If I’ve died n’this is where I end up, I don’t want anyone t’bring me back. I want to live here." The words were murmured against her neck, his fingers finding her wet and ready for him between her sacred thighs. "So sweet and so fuckin’ mine," he praised, his touch gentle and calculated as he pet her, making her gasp. "You're my everything, Y/N. My love, my life, my whole fucking world." His other hand came up to cup her breast, rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger again to get her to let out one of those pretty noises again.

"My beautiful girl," He crooned, his damp fingers slipping through her slick folds, parting her gently. "My precious, precious love…" His fingers found her sensitive bud, circling it slowly and feeling her pulse against his fingertips. Having the key to his pleasure in the palm of his hand was a gift he wasn’t going to waste. "What am I going to do with you, hm? How should I spend my night ensuring you know just how much you make me feel?”

His fingers continued their maddeningly slow circles around her clit, teasing her mercilessly. "Tell me," he spoke, his voice a low rumble against her ear, "Do you want me to fuck this sweet cunt until you're screaming my name? Or should I worship it with my mouth until you're dripping down my chin, begging for my cock?" His other hand tweaked her nipple sharply, sending a jolt of pleasure through her. "How should I show my goddess that she's worshipped?"

"Both," Y/N gasped breathlessly, her body arching into his touch. "Fuck, please..." Her eyes fluttered closed briefly before catching his gaze in the mirror again. "I want... I want your mouth first. Make a mess on your face. I want to watch you worship me." Her hips rolled forward, pressing against his fingers that were still teasing her clit. "Then... God, then fuck me into the mattress." She was already panting, her body completely pliant against his. Even if he held the physical power, he would bend at the knee for her. His girl was the one in charge.

"Knew you'd be a greedy little thing today. S’a good thing I love fulfilling all your desires." He loved how she wasn't shy about telling him what she wanted. She knew exactly what she liked and how to ask for it, and it made his job of giving it to her a million times easier. "On the bed, then. I’ve missed that cunt. Show it off for me." He removed his hands from her body, albeit a challenge, giving her a gentle pat on the bottom to urge her forward.

Y/N's legs shook slightly as she moved towards the bed, feeling the familiar adrenaline light her up. It was hard not to feel on the good side of the edge knowing she had a man who never, ever failed on delivering what he promised. Once she was standing next to the bed, she slowly climbed on her knees, gripping the duvet with both hands. She looked back over her shoulder at him, her eyes burning with need. "Like this?" She asked hoarsely, spreading her legs wider to expose her glistening cunt to him.

Harry's gaze was riveted to the sight before him. his love, on her knees, bare and open for him. The sight was exquisite. he couldn’t believe how perfect she was. “Yeah, I love you like that. Fucking stunning.” He murmured as he slowly crept closer to her, crawling onto the bed. His large hands gripped her ample ass, his thumbs spreading her wide for his own inspection. “S’My favorite view.”

Harry couldn’t deny that it filled him with a sense of pride to see evidence of her arousal like this. He pushed his fingers through her messy slit, spreading her juices around. The sound of wet, squelching noises filled the room as he touched her, making her whimper softly. "God woman, you're so fucking wet." He muttered, dragging his fingers back and forth through her dripping cunt. It would almost sound like he was pissed but he was anything but. He was aroused, more than ever.

"Look at me." He commanded, his voice deep and authoritative as he continued to spread her juices around her slick cunt. She immediately turned her head to look back at him over her shoulder, her eyes glassy with need. Without breaking eye contact, Harry leaned down and spat directly onto her cunt, the warm liquid mingling with her own arousal. "So fucking filthy," he growled, using his fingers to massage the saliva into her folds. "Just like my girl should be."

Y/N felt slightly lightheaded at the view, the feeling, all of it. As filthy as he claimed for her to be, he was her perfect match. He knew how to make her crazy because he was just as insane. He brought his spit covered fingers up to her mouth, pressing them against her lips. "Taste yourself." Harry ordered. "Taste how fucking wet you get for me. How your cunt cries for me." He held his fingers there, not moving, waiting for her to open up and take them inside. "Go on, baby. Show me how you clean my fingers."

She parted her lips obediently, taking the digits into her mouth. Humming softly, the taste of her arousal sending a fresh wave of heat through her core. It was very dirty, something she wouldn’t have ever thought of liking before, but Harry had managed to open her up to all sorts of things she never thought she would like. Being spit on and cleaning off her taste off his fingers was one of them. As she sucked his fingers clean, she maintained eye contact, her gaze smoldering with lust and obedience because she knew what it did to him. Playing with fire? Perhaps. But Harry would give her what she wanted. After a long moment, she released his fingers with a soft pop, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his digits for a brief second before breaking.

"Fuck, I love you." It was a strange time to declare it but seeing her do that stuff had him feeling every sort of insane that he ever could. He couldn’t get enough of how she tasted, how she looked on her knees, how she whimpered and begged when he touched her. Slipping his wet fingers back into her cunt, he let out as he moved where he wanted to be- with his mouth right on her. as he buried his face between her thighs, his long fingers curling up to hit that spot inside her that drove her wild and had her humping back to chase the feeling. "My filthy, perfect girl," he mumbled against her flesh, his hot breath making her shudder. "Spread wider f’me, baby. Let me in." He demanded, pushing her thighs further apart to give himself better access.

Finding her clit with his lips, Harry latched onto the sensitive bud and sucked hard, letting his tongue flick over it. Her taste coated on his tongue and he groaned in pleasure, the vibrations sending waves of ecstasy through her. His arm wrapped around her hips, pulling her cunt closer to his eager mouth as he devoured her like a starving man presented with a feast- his favorite meal. "Fuck, you taste divine." he murmured before sucking her clit back into his mouth eagerly. Harry had tasted plenty of people before and as cliche as it most definitely sounded, Y/N was by far the best he ever had. He could spend days here and not get tired, wear her on his skin if it was appropriate.

"Oh my fucking God," she whimpered, her hips bucking forward as she pressed against his face. Her fingers tangled in his hair as she reached behind to grab him, holding him exactly where she wanted him. "Right there, baby... just like that..." Her voice was breathy and urgent, completely lost in the sensation of his tongue against her sensitive nerves. She could feel every suck, every flick sending jolts of pleasure through her entire body. It was so hot having a man who wanted to make her feel good, but knowing he got off on it too? Hearing his groans and moans and feeling them vibrate against her? That was a whole other level.

"Harry..." She gasped, spreading her legs wider for him, because fuck, what wouldn’t she do for him in this position? " Holy shit." Her back arched slightly as he continued to suck her clit like it was his favorite candy. "Baby, wait..." She tugged lightly on his hair, her thighs tensing around his face. "You're- You're too good at this..." The whimper was lost as his fingers slid back inside her hole, curving up to hit that sweet spot again. "Oh my God." Her inner muscles clenched around his digits.

Y/N was getting close, he could feel it in the way her legs trembled and her cunt clenched around his fingers. But suddenly, she pulled him away, panting heavily. "Wait, wait.” she gasped, turning around to face him. "I need your cock, Harry. I need you inside me right now." Her eyes were wild with desire, her chest heaving with every breath. "Please, baby. Fuck me."

He wasn’t sure why she didn’t want to finish on his face this time around, but he wasn’t ever going to say no to being inside of her.

"With pleasure." He growled, quickly unbuckling his belt and pushing his pants down. His hard cock sprang free, already leaking precum. Like she was weightless, there was no hesitation in grabbing her hips and flipped her onto her back, settling between her spread thighs.

The days at the gym spent specifically to be able to toss her around were proving to be very successful, and Y/N made a mental note to test some of that out later.

"You want my cock, baby?" He asked, teasing her entrance with the head of his dick. "You want me to fill you up?" He leaned down to kiss her deeply, silencing the moaned response she gave. He knew what she wanted- that was his job.

With a deep groan against her mouth, his hips pushed forward, sliding his thick dick deep into her. He panted into her mouth as her walls stretched to accommodate him, wrapping around his shaft like a vice. "There we go. S’perfect. M’home." he mumbled against her lips, beginning to move his hips in a steady rhythm. It may be very cliche, cheesy to say, but nothing made him feel as at home as being close to her did. Nothing. He pulled back until just the tip remained inside, then pushed heavily back in, skin colliding with a solid thud.

"Ahh- fuck. Harry…" She cried out, her back arching off the bed as he filled her completely. Her nails dug into his toned back, sure to make the marks he loved as she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.

He set a slow, sensual pace, angling his hips to bury himself as deep as possible with each thrust. Harry wanted to feel every inch of her gripping his cock, each deliberate movement dragged his shaft along her inner ridges, have her feel it just as much. They were made for each other just based on how she took him and he wanted to remind her each and every time. "Feel that, baby?" He purred, his breath hot against her ear. "Feel how deep m’getting? Claiming every fucking inch of this perfect cunt."

He made love to her slowly, his touch everywhere as he adored her body. His thick hands roamed over her, his calloused fingers tracing her soft skin. "My beautiful girl," he murmured, kissing down her neck as he continued to fill her completely as she clung to him. "My precious, precious love..." His touch was soft and gentle the best he could, his movements slow and deep, taking his damn time with her. Every single time he got to be with her in this way was one he cherished, but it was hard to pound into her when he felt overcome with how much he loved the woman. "My treasure..." He whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "My heaven...S’what you are.”

There had been no exaggeration on his end. Being inside of her, being close to her was what he considered perfection. Getting to have the woman he would have only ever dreamt about in his physical hands, feeling the heat of her skin on his palms and the pleasure of her wrapped around him like a lock to a key, it was unreal to him at times. Waking up to her face or her voice, getting to be the one she loved was everything he could have asked for.

"You're my everything," he breathed, his pace unhurried yet intense. Each thrust was deliberate, designed to hit that spot deep inside her that made her eyes roll back. All he wanted was for his sweet angel to feel good. His thumb brushed gentle circles over her clit in time with his movements, his touch light. "I worship you." The man confessed, voice hitching as she squeezed around him. "Your body... your heart... your fucking soul." He leaned down to capture her mouth in a deep, loving kiss, swallowing her whimpers and moans.

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me," he murmured against her lips. His eyes met hers, burning with an intense, adoring gaze. The longer he was with her, the more the fire was stoked. He was engulfed in the flames of her but he never felt it burn. Only the most comfortable warmth someone could ever imagine.

"I was a lost, broken man before I met you. But you... you put me back together. You made me whole again." His movements were slow and deliberate, each thrust meant to draw out their pleasure as long as possible. They were both too close and he knew it, but this wasn’t the end of their night. It was only the beginning. Burying himself deep inside her, his hips grinding against hers as he felt the nails dig into his back and her mouth open to whimper his name, he let out a breathless laugh as she lost herself on his cock. "Yeah- that’s what I want, baby. Let go on me. Give me everything, and M’gonna give it right back.” It was what he was meant to do. Harry didn’t know before Y/N, but he sure as hell knew now. “You're my redemption, my salvation, my fucking everything. M’gonna spend my whole life showing it"

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