#the last of us fanfiction

[joelslastofus]

[SUMMARY: Pregnant reader saves Joel from Abby.]

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

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

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

It had to be Joel’s horse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was Tommy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry” he quickly whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing but Joel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Her lights already out, maybe I can-“

“First thing in the morning”

You assured him with a smile.

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

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

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

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

@ashleyfilm @justajoelsreader @lonely-ey3s

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

@readingiskeepingmegoing

[marscardigan]

red wine supernova

neighbor!ellie williams x reader

neighbor!ellie universe

summary: celebrating your birthday for the first time without your family was hard, but ellie was there to make your special day better.

word count: 4.8k

YOU HEARD the clunk first.

Then came the gurgle. The kind of unsettling gurgle that said hey, I’m broken and probably leaking. You stared at your kitchen sink. The faucet was dripping slowly, then rapidly, and then suddenly it made a soft hissing pop and began a very non-cute stream from underneath the counter. You were already freaking out when you texted Ellie. 'help. the sink just made a sound like a dying animal D:'

Less than five minutes later, you heard a knock on your door, and there she was—smug little smirk, toolbox in hand. "Your handy girlfriend has arrived," Ellie announced, stepping inside dramatically. "I heard there’s a damsel in distress."

You squinted at her. "You’re holding your hammer upside down."

She paused. Glanced at it. "That’s... just how I carry it. For style."

"You sure you know what you’re doing?"

Ellie strutted past you like she owned the place, setting her toolbox on your counter and crouching to inspect under the sink. "I fixed Jesse’s garbage disposal once. Plus I watched, like, a lot of plumbing videos after the shower head incident at my place."

You narrowed your eyes. "The incident where you broke it off the wall and flooded your whole bathroom?"

Ellie’s head popped out from beneath the counter. "Okay, rude. That was sabotage. Gravity was involved."

You sat on the floor beside her, watching her try to identify which pipe did what with the confidence of someone who had no idea but didn’t want to admit it.

"Need a hand, baby?" you asked.

"No, no. I got it. I just.. I’m just surveying. For strategy, you know?"

Unbeknownst to you, Ellie pulled her phone from her back pocket while pretending to stretch and started texting someone. 

"No way," you peeked over her shoulder. "Are you texting Joel?"

Ellie froze. "No?"

You blinked. "Why are you lying?"

She groaned. "Okay, yes. But listen. I’m still doing the work. Joel is just... coaching. Spiritually."

You smirked. "Aren’t you supposed to be handy? You know, being a lesbian and all?"

Ellie sat up so fast she hit her head on the bottom of the sink, cursed, then pointed an accusing wrench at you. "Wow. I could say the same, ma’am."

You blinked, but a small smile appeared on your lips. "Touché."

She rubbed the back of her head, then sat beside you on the floor with an exaggerated sigh. "Okay. Real talk? I don’t actually know what the fuck I’m doing. I just wanted to impress you."

"You don’t need to impress me, El. You already do."

She gave you a sheepish little half-smile, bumping her shoulder against yours. "Even if I can’t fix your sink?"

"Especially because you tried to anyway."

You leaned your head on her shoulder, both of you sitting on the floor beside the broken sink, surrounded by scattered tools. Ellie let her head tilt onto yours, and for a moment the silence felt warm, easy. Comfortable.

Then the faucet hissed again. And it made you both jump.

"Okay," Ellie muttered. "Maybe we should call a real plumber before your kitchen becomes a swimming pool."

You didn’t expect Joel to show up with that much swagger. The moment you opened the door for him, he was already smirking like he had three dad-jokes lined up and a plumber's ego the size of Texas.

"Where’s the patient?" he asked, stepping into your apartment.

Ellie, who had been sulking on your couch with her arms crossed, shot you a betrayed look the second she heard his voice. "You called him?"

"You were texting him already," you pointed out, holding back a laugh. "I just… escalated."

Joel chuckled and patted Ellie’s shoulder on his way to the kitchen. "Don’t worry, kiddo. Some people are meant to fix sinks. Some are meant to break ‘em."

"It was already broken!"

You leaned on the counter and watched as Joel got to work. He made a few small grunting sounds, twisted a couple of things, mumbled to himself, and five minutes later, your sink no longer sounded like a dying animal.

You blinked. "Wait. That’s it?"

Joel stood up and dusted his hands off. "Yeah. It was just a loose coupling and a misaligned gasket. Easy fix."

Ellie was standing with her arms crossed now, jaw tight. "Cool. Thanks for making me look useless in front of my girlfriend."

Joel grinned, but didn’t bother to say anything. He just turned to grab his thermos. "So. You two are still comin’ over next weekend?"

You frowned a little, confused. "Wait… next weekend?"

"Yeah, before your birthday, right?" Joel said, totally casual.

You blinked. "How do you know it’s my birthday?"

He smirked as he took a sip of the coffee you made for him. "Ellie hasn’t shut up about it for two weeks."

You looked over just in time to see Ellie’s soul exit her body. "I—what—okay." She stood up straighter, backing toward the door like she was about to physically eject Joel from the apartment. "Thank you so much for the sink, Joel. Appreciate it. Really. You can leave now. Door’s right here. Bye!"

Joel laughed, deeply amused. "Just sayin’. That girl has been stressin’ about gettin’ you the right gift. Keeps mutterin’ 'what if it’s too much?' and 'what if she doesn’t like sur—'"

"BYE, JOEL!"

You were full-on cackling now, covering your mouth as Ellie turned cherry red and started shoving Joel gently toward the door. "Hey, hey!" Joel laughed, holding his hands up. "No need to assault me for being observant."

"Out." Ellie insisted, dragging him by the sleeve.

Joel turned to you, still laughing. "You’re comin’ next week, though, right?"

You nodded, smiling warmly. "Yeah. Wouldn’t dare to miss it."

"Good." He winked at Ellie, who was as red as her flannel.

Once the door shut, she turned around, arms stiff at her sides, eyes wide like she’d just been hit by a truck. You tried not to laugh. You really did. But her face was so red.

"Couldn’t shut up, huh?"

Ellie groaned and pressed her forehead into your shoulder. "I hate him."

You wrapped your arms around her and smiled against her temple. "I don’t. He’s kind of my favorite person right now."

She peeked up at you with a pout. "I thought I was your favorite."

You grinned. "Well, you were. Until Joel complimented my kitchen."

Ellie narrowed her eyes. But you leaned in and kissed her quickly, soft and sweet. "I love you, dork."

Her face softened instantly. "Yeah," she murmured. "Love you too."

Then she sniffed. "… How did he fix that in five minutes?! I was literally googling what a gasket even is."

You laughed again, pulling her close. "It’s okay, plumber girl. Your efforts were adorable."

She groaned into your shoulder. "I’m gonna hear about this forever."

"You are," you teased. "Forever. Just like Joel said."

She looked up again, defeated but grinning. "Okay. Now I hate you too."

THE TV flickered softly across the dim living room. Ellie’s face as she lounged at the end of the couch, socked feet kicked up on the coffee table. Her hair was a mess, and her oversized t-shirt hung off one shoulder, exposing the faint lines of freckles dancing around her pale skin.

The movie she’d put on was halfway through, and Ellie was narrating more than watching.

"Okay, okay, look— this part? Where Luke flips off the skiff? He actually did that himself, no stunt double. Mark Hamill, certified badass." She leaned toward you, finger pointing at the screen like you might miss it. "Also? Carrie Fisher hated that metal bikini. Like, despised it. Rightfully so."

You smiled faintly, eyes on the screen, but not really seeing it.

Ellie didn't notice at first, she was too busy giving you random trivia in her soft, nerdy ramble that always made you melt a little. But somewhere between the speeder bike chase and the Ewok celebration, Ellie finally glanced over. And paused mid-sentence.

You were curled up at the opposite end of the couch, knees tucked under your chin, blanket tight around your shoulders. Your eyes were dull, unfocused. Your expression that polite, empty kind of neutral you wore when you didn’t want anyone to ask you what was wrong. It was a dead giveaway.

Ellie immediately hit pause. The screen froze on a blurry Ewok mid-jump, mouth open like it had caught the tension in the room too.

You blinked slowly. "Hey, I was watching that."

She didn’t answer. Just turned toward you, her brows gently furrowed. "Okay, spill."

"What?"

"Don’t 'what' me," she said, voice soft but certain. "You’re quiet. That weird, echo-y kind of quiet."

You hesitated, fingers twitching with the blanket fabric. "It’s nothing. I’m just tired."

Ellie tilted her head, unconvinced. "You’re a terrible liar."

There was a long pause. The kind that buzzed in your ears. And finally, you sighed. "It’s just... weird. Thinking about celebrating my birthday without my family, I guess."

Ellie didn’t say anything for a second, and you hated how suddenly vulnerable you felt. You hadn’t cried or anything, hadn’t even planned to bring it up. But there it was, sitting thick in your throat like a rock. 

"My parents usually drove," you added after a second, eyes fixed on the paused screen. "Even if it was just for dinner. They’d bring cake and balloons, even when I told them not to. It was… dumb. But it felt good."

Ellie scooted closer, shifting the blanket without asking and tugging half of it over her own lap. Her hand found yours under the fleece, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

"I’m sorry," she said, voice barely above a whisper. You blinked fast, trying not to let it show how much that small gesture hit you. "But hey," she added, her lips twitching into a little smile. "I’m not, like, blood-related… but I am contractually obligated to be your emotional support."

You laughed softly, pressing your face into her shoulder.

Ellie pulled you close, kissing the side of your head. "We don’t have to do anything big if you don’t want to."

"I don’t know. It’s just… gonna feel different."

"Yeah," she murmured, letting her chin rest against your hair. "Different doesn’t have to mean bad, though."

"I know."

The two of you sat like that for a while — quiet, bundled in shared warmth, the paused Ewok still mid-celebration on the screen.

Then Ellie whispered, "I, uh… may or may not have something up my sleeve for your birthday."

You lifted your head, smiling faintly. "El…"

"No, no — I’m not telling you anything. This face?" She pointed at her own. "Vault. Steel trap."

You gave her a knowing look. "You’re literally the worst at keeping secrets."

"Hey! I kept the Christmas sweater surprise and the concert tickets last month."

"You told me about the concert while you were trying to buy the tickets."

"Anyway," she said, leaning back dramatically. "This one? You’ll never see it coming."

You let yourself sink back into her side, fingers brushing hers again, more at peace than you’d felt all day.

THE CAR was warm from the sun, windows cracked just enough to let the breeze in, and Ellie’s hand was resting on your thigh in that casual, grounding way that always made your chest flutter.

"You sure we have everything?" she asked, as if the road trip didn’t last twenty minutes.

You held up the tote bag you packed. "I got snacks, water, charger, and gum. I am the ideal road trip companion."

Ellie smirked. "Passenger princess, you mean."

You gasped, pretending to be scandalized. "That’s so rude. I am a navigation expert and playlist curator."

"Yeah?" she glanced at you, amused. "Then how come you opened Google Maps like five minutes ago and already told me to turn down a one-way?"

"That was a test. And you passed."

She snorted. "Sure."

You leaned back into the seat, sunglasses perched on your nose, your legs curled up slightly in the seat like you always did. "Okay, okay, serious now. What playlist do you want?"

Ellie raised an eyebrow. "Do you remember the one we did together?" You grinned, nodding. "Play that one."

You queued it up, and within seconds, the car was filled with music. Ellie hummed along under her breath, her fingers tapping the beat against your leg. You watched her drive for a minute — the way her jaw flexed when she focused, the small scar on her temple, the fact that she had her sleeves pushed up and one tattooed forearm resting lazily on the wheel. 

"What?" she asked, catching you staring.

"Nothing," you smiled. "You’re so pretty."

Her face pinked immediately. "Don’t distract me. You want us to crash before we even arrive?"

"I mean… if we crash into a field and get to live off the grid together, I’m not complaining."

Joel’s house at just outside a little forest area, one of those modest country homes with a porch swing and too many bird feeders. It wasn’t far from your apartment complex, but it felt different anyway. When you pulled into the driveway, Joel was already waiting on the porch with two beers and what looked like a glass of lemonade in his hand. You hopped out of the car before Ellie had even turned off the engine, practically bouncing on your feet.

"She’s excited," Ellie muttered, grabbing the bag from the backseat.

"I heard that!"

Joel stood up as you approached, already holding out the lemonade. "Told you she’d be happy to get outta the city."

"I’m always happy when there’s cake," you grinned, accepting the glass. "Hi, Joel."

"Happy early birthday, kiddo." He gave you a side hug and then clapped Ellie on the back. "You two hungry?"

"Always," you and Ellie said in unison.

Inside, Joel had really gone for it: steak, potatoes, cornbread, and now the three of you were settled on his large couch. You were sitting between them, Ellie with her arm casually draped along the back of the couch behind you, her fingers occasionally brushing your hair. Joel had turned on the Western on the old TV. 

Halfway through, Joel paused the movie. "Alright. Gimme a second."

You sat up slightly. "Wait, is it… is it cake time?"

"Patience," he grumbled, disappearing into the hallway.

Ellie gave you a look. "Gift time."

"What?"

Before you could say something else, Joel returned with a small box, wrapped in old newspaper and tied up with a small bow. He held it out to you, slightly awkward. "Here. It’s not much, but… I made it myself."

You blinked and took the box gently, heart already swelling before you’d even untied the bow. Ellie nudged your knee with hers, giving you a soft smile. Inside the box was a hand-carved wooden jewelry tray. The edges were smoothed out and rounded, the inside etched delicately with little stars and crescent moons. The craftsmanship wasn’t perfect, but it was personal. It was special. 

Joel scratched the back of his neck. "Thought maybe it’d look nice on your nightstand. Ellie said you keep losin’ your earrings."

"I don’t lose them—" you started, shooting Ellie a look.

"—She definitely loses them," Ellie confirmed.

You blinked hard, trying not to spill any tear. And then looked up at Joel. "This is… this is beautiful. Seriously."

He looked relieved. "Glad you think so."

You leaned over and gave him a hug without even thinking about it, arms around his middle, head resting on his shoulder. Joel went a little stiff, then sighed and patted your back. "You’re welcome, kid."

He looked over at Ellie, who gave him a thumbs up, smiling so hard it hurt. 

YOU WERE asleep. Deeply asleep.

Tucked into Ellie’s sheets, her warmth curled around you like a blanket of its own — one arm slung lazily over your waist, her breath slow and even against the back of your neck. The world was quiet, the apartment dark and still, save for the faintest hum of the city outside the window and the soft noise of a fan nearby.

"Baaaabe…"

You groaned. A soft kiss landed on your shoulder. Then another. Then one against your cheek. Then your jaw. Your temple. Your eyelid, which made you twitch.

"Babyyyyyy," Ellie singsonged, barely above a whisper but somehow managing to drag the vowels into your dreams like a little menace.

Your eyes fluttered open vaguely. "Ellie…" Your voice was thick with sleep. "Is the building on fire?"

"No," she grinned.

"Did the cat learn to talk?"

"We don’t have a cat."

"Exactly," you mumbled, rolling over toward her, face still half-smashed into the pillow. "Then why…"

Ellie’s face was inches from yours, eyes wide and shining in the dark like an excited kid. "It’s midnight," she said simply.

You blinked at her. "... And?"

"It’s your birthday, dummy."

You blinked again. Then, despite the groggy haze in your brain, you felt something warm pull at your chest. Ellie was grinning like she couldn’t contain it— her fingers gently sweeping a lock of hair from your forehead, her knee nudging yours under the covers.

"You woke me up… to say happy birthday?"

"Of course I did," she whispered, leaning down to brush her nose against yours. "I get to be the first one to say it."

Your heart did a little flip. Even in the dark, you could see the softness on her face. She tucked her face into your neck and kissed you there, just below your ear.

"Happy birthday, baby," she whispered. "I love you so much."

Your breath caught. Even half-asleep, that still made your stomach flutter. You let out a laugh, barely a puff of air. “Oh my god. You’re so annoying.”

"Yup." She pressed another kiss to your cheek. "But, hey, birthday rules. I get to be as clingy and chaotic as I want."

"You're always clingy."

"Exactly. So today I will be even worse." She poked your side gently, drawing out a muffled yelp. "How does it feel? Being the prettiest, coolest, most perfect birthday girl in the world?"

You buried your face in her chest, hiding your grin. "Feels like I’m gonna fall back asleep any second."

Ellie laughed and pulled you tighter against her. "That’s fine. I just wanted to be the first. Didn’t even need fireworks or cake. Just… this." Her voice was quieter now, more serious under the softness. "Just you here. With me."

You closed your eyes, heart heavy in the best way. "Thanks for waking me up," you whispered.

Ellie kissed your forehead. "Anytime, birthday girl."

You were already halfway asleep again when she pulled the blanket tighter over you both, her fingers stroking slow, lazy circles against your hip. But then you felt her smile against your skin. And you fell asleep smiling too.

WHEN the sun came up, you started to notice something was with Ellie. She started to... over-explain things. Like when she insisted you really didn’t need to come with her to the store that morning.

"I just gotta pick up a few things," she said, avoiding eye contact. "For… uh. Repairs."

"Repairs?"

"Yeah. You know, the boring stuff."

You stared at her. She fidgeted. "… Ellie."

"It will be so boring. Not worth your time, for sure." She added, pulling on her hoodie string so hard it almost slapped her cheek.

And when you tried to press further, she kissed your forehead and said, "You’re really cute, but no questions," then tripped over the welcome mat on her way out.

Despite the nerves and the obvious attempts at cover-up, there was something endearing in how hard she was trying. She wasn’t that bad at hiding it. Just… twitchy. And excitable. And grinning to herself when she thought you weren’t looking.

It was honestly kind of adorable.

By the time the afternoon arrived, she was barely keeping it together. She texted you five times from her place. The one that was down the hall. Terrible poker face, Williams.

When you opened the door that evening, Ellie was already outside waiting for you, pretending she hadn’t been nervously pacing the corridor for fifteen minutes. She offered her hand with a shy grin and said, "You look good. Like… criminally good."

You raised an eyebrow. "Criminal?"

"Yeah. Like, if hotness was illegal, I’d be a getaway driver."

You laughed despite yourself. She kissed your knuckles and walked with you down the hallway like she hadn’t spent all week having semi-anxious spirals in group chats with Dina and Jesse.

When she opened her apartment door, a rush of warm air, soft lighting, and music hit you first. Then came the voices.

"SURPRISE!!"

And there they were. Not just Ellie’s friends. Not just Dina and Jesse — who were already grinning ear to ear. But your people. A few from college. A couple from high school. A girl you used to sit with in freshman year creative writing. People you hadn’t seen in forever. Faces from every corner of your past life, standing under twinkling lights and hand-cut banners that spelled Happy Birthday! in mismatched lettering.

You turned to Ellie, stunned. She just smiled back, so damn proud of herself. 

The night unfolded in a blur of laughter, hugs and stories. You caught up with old friends, shared drinks with Jesse who was aggressively proud of Ellie’s 'romantic little brain,' and danced to terrible pop music that Ellie claimed to hate — but still danced with you to.

At one point, you noticed her standing near the back wall, just watching you with the most ridiculous, soft smile on her face.

"How you did this?" you asked, taking her hand. 

She shrugged, ears flushed pink. "You talk about people when you’re happy. I just… remembered the names. Asked around. Dina helped me with the Insta creeping."

Your heart swelled. And you leaned in to kissed her. 

As the party wound down, your friends, who were half-tipsy already, floated the idea of heading to a bar across town.

"You two are totally coming," one of your oldest friends said, tugging at your hand. "We haven’t seen you in years, you can’t just disappear now."

You turned to Ellie, who already had that mischief look plastered on her face.

"C’mon," she said, brushing your hair behind your ear. "I’ll buy the first round."

The bar was dim and neon-drenched, full of people and terrible music. Ellie stayed close to your side, one hand in the back pocket of your jeans, laughing at your stories, letting you steal sips from her drink. It was strange seeing your two worlds blur like this. Your past and your present. Your oldest friends watching the way Ellie looked at you, some of them smirking behind their glasses, others giving you subtle thumbs-up when Ellie leaned in to whisper something soft in your ear.

As the night stretched, the drinks became foggy. You weren’t much of a heavy drinker, not usually. But tonight was different. Your birthday, Ellie by your side, surrounded by old friends and new memories. The kind of warmth that went straight to your chest and, okay, maybe your head too.

Ellie had been keeping count. She wasn’t a buzzkill about it, just quietly attuned. Two cocktails, one shot someone handed you during a toast, and a half-glass of whatever suspicious pink stuff was handed to you by a giggling friend. That was your limit. But Ellie knew better than to tell you that. She just hovered nearby, patient as ever.

You stumbled into her at the edge of the dance floor, head heavy on her shoulder, arms winding around her waist. "You’re so pretty," you slurred, eyes sparkling. "Did you know? God, Ellie. You’re so stupidly hot. Like, offensively attractive."

Ellie laughed, catching you by the waist. "Okay, babe. That’s number four talking."

"Nuh-uh," you protested, poking her chest. "That’s just me. I love you."

You clung to her like a very drunk koala, and she steadied you with both hands on your hips, heart swelling even as she rolled her eyes affectionately. "You do love me, huh?" she said, brushing some of your hair out of your face.

You nodded emphatically. "Like. So much. It’s actually disgusting."

She grinned, soft and crooked, the way she always did when she was trying to mask how much your affection hit her. "Alright, babe," she said, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "Let’s get you some water."

You went willingly, still nuzzling into her side, giggling every time she called you a nickname. The bartender handed over a tall glass of ice water with a straw, and Ellie pressed it to your lips. "Sip. You’re gonna thank me later."

You sipped. And she grinned, whispering a soft ‘atta girl’ in your ear. 

"You’re so bossy," you mumbled, cheeks flushed.

"Yeah, and you like it."

"Love it, sure." you whispered, leaning up to kiss her cheek.

Ellie stilled for a second, watching you with that soft, unreadable expression she always got when she was feeling more than she could say. Then she smiled, tucked your hair behind your ear, and gave your forehead a gentle kiss.

"Alright, lover girl," she murmured. "We’re going home," Ellie said firmly, glancing at your friends with a nod.

You whined quietly. "I don’t wanna go yet."

"Yeah, I know. But your eyes say you’re five minutes away from sleeping standing up."

"I don’t want to go to my apartment, El. I wish we could live together. It’s not fair," you mumbled, barely audible. "Can’t wait for you to be my forever home.”

Ellie froze. Looked down at you. And something in her expression softened so completely it nearly melted. "Jesus Christ," she whispered, more to herself than anyone. "You’re gonna ruin me."

You smiled sleepily into her collarbone, not fully aware of the words you just spilled, and how much they affected Ellie for the rest of the night.

After saying goodbye to your friend, Ellie called a cab, half-carrying you inside it, holding your hand the entire ride home while you talked in dreamy, quiet nonsense about clouds and cake and her freckles. When you reached the apartment building, Ellie kept an arm tight around your waist as she guided you down the hallway. You were still humming something that sounded vaguely like a love song, leaning all your weight on her and whispering, "I’d die for you, you know that?"

"Let’s not be dramatic," Ellie muttered, but her heart was a puddle.

Back at her place, she helped you out of your boots and your jacket, guiding you gently toward the bed. You flopped onto the mattress like a fainting Victorian lady.

"God," you mumbled. "You’re the best. You’re actually the best thing in the universe. I’d fight a bear for you."

"Good to know," Ellie said, pulling a blanket over you. "Just, maybe fight your hangover first, okay?"

You reached for her hand, and she took it instantly, sitting down beside you, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

"Stay here," you whispered.

"I’m not going anywhere."

You were asleep two minutes later. Ellie stayed up longer, watching you, brushing hair away from your face, and thinking about forever homes and just how fucking lucky she was.

YOU WOKE up to the soft buzz of your phone vibrating under your pillow, and the too-bright morning light pouring through Ellie’s bedroom window. Your head was pounding, your mouth tasted vaguely like tequila and regret, and you were about 85% sure you told Ellie you wanted to marry her in the middle of a bar last night.

Ellie was sitting at the edge of the bed when you finally groaned and shifted under the blankets. Her hair was a mess, and she still looked beautiful. 

"Morning, lover girl," she said softly, holding out a big glass of water.  "Survived?"

You took the glass, sip, and glare at her weakly. "Barely. You didn’t even drink."

"Someone had to be the responsible adult," she smirked, then leans over to press a kiss to your temple. "Also, watching you proclaim your undying love to me in front of your friends was kind of the highlight of my week."

You covered your face with a groan. "Fuck."

"No, no—don’t be embarrassed." Ellie was laughing now. Finally, she leaned in and rested her forehead against yours. "Next time," she murmured, "you propose, can you do it when I’m not holding your hair back in a bathroom?"

You snorted. "Noted."

Ellie pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose. "You want pancakes?"

"God, yes. Can we get greasy diner pancakes?"

"Absolutely."

You smiled, rubbing your hands over your face. "You’re the best."

"I know," she said, standing up with a stretch. As she left the room to get dressed, you flopped back into the sheets, smiling into the pillow. Your head still hurt. Your throat still burned. But your chest? Your chest felt light.

It had been a very different birthday, but your favorite by far.

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[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Jesse X Virgin!Reader: Curiosity killed the cat.

a/n: this is so random but i needed to write about him, so yeah

Warnings: this is pure filth, porn with no plot, handjob, fingering, talks about sex, smut, kissing, making out, cursing, male anatomy, female anatomy, virgin reader, innocence kink (i think?), virginity kink (is that a thing?), weed, being high, vulgar language, no use of y/n, not proofread

Word count: 2,2K

You knew about sex. Well, in a broad sense anyway. You knew how it worked and the consequences that came with it but you'd never actually done anything other than touching yourself. Maybe it was the weed. Maybe it was the crush you'd been harboring for Jessie for the past year. It didn’t matter what caused it, the fact is that the words had left your mouth and now you couldn’t take it back.

“Can I see your dick?”

You expected Jesse to jump from the couch and look at you like some sort of pervert. But he surprised you.

“It's not hard.”

Maybe his brain was foggy with weed too.

“So what?”

“So it's not nice to-um-look at, I guess.”

He gave you a small shrug, looking at nothing in particular but actively avoiding your gaze. 

“Dina’s never seen it soft?”

Jesse recoiled a bit at the mention of Dina and you immediately regretted bringing her up.

“Sorry. I’m just curious, I've never…”

You forced yourself to stop talking, opting to pick at your shoes instead.

“You’re a virgin?”

He didn’t ask like he was judging, he asked like he was genuinely surprised. Your heart sped up a bit. Had he revealed something to you just now? Or was it just in your head?

“Yeah.”

Jesse stayed quiet for a moment, thinking about something as he stared off into space. He was struggling to decide what was or not appropriate to say. You’d started this conversation but he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable by accident. He didn’t know how innocent you were. 

“Normally people only see it when it's already hard.”

You bit into your cheek, nodding in understanding. No one had ever told you that but it did make sense with the little knowledge you had. Jesse watched you think for a second. His eyes scanned your body. You seemed calm but that could be because of the weed. You turned to look at him, your eyes catching the way his eyes raked over your body. Ok so you definitely weren't imagining things. There was something there. But just how far would Jesse let you go? You intended to find out. 

“If i made it hard would you show me?”

You where already starting to make him hard with all your fucking questions. His brain took every word that slipped from your mouth and turned it into a dirty little fantasy. Harmless but very effective. He hesitated for a bit but then the horniness got to him and he simply nodded at you.

“Yeah ok.”

You lifted off your spot on the floor, moving towards him. He shifted on the couch, moving so that he was sitting instead of laying down. You stopped when you got in front of him, hands unconsciously tugging at your jacket. Jesse waited, his eyes moving over your body until they reached your face. You looked at him with wide eyes. It was then that he realised you were waiting for him to tell you what to do. 

“Have you ever made out with someone?”

“Like kissing them? Yeah I've kissed people Jesse, I'm not that inexperienced.”

Jesse sighed. He hadn’t meant for it to sound like he didn’t think you could manage to have someone want to kiss you, but by the way you’d crossed your arms in front of your chest he could tell he’d touched a nerve. He rose from his spot, closing the distance between the two of you. You took a step back at the action, not because you didn’t want him close but because you didn’t know what to expect from him. Jesse noticed the uncertainty in your eyes.

“Hey it’s ok. It’s just me.”

You nodded, allowing him to move closer. His hand found your cheek, his thumb running over the skin as he spoke.

“There's a difference between kissing and making out. That’s why I asked.”

Before you could answer he leaned down. His lips found yours, placing a small kiss to them before backing away. 

“That’s a kiss.”

His hand moved to rest on your waist, pulling you flush against his body. His lips crashed into yours, hands trying to tug you impossibly closer. Your heart was beating so fast it was the only thing you could focus on. This was so different from the gentle kiss he’d just given you. This was hungry. Carnal. 

Your body reached for him in desperation, arms moving to wrap around his neck as he deepened the kiss. His hands squeezed your hips before shifting to your ass. You gasped at the movement and Jesse took it as his opportunity to shove his tongue in your mouth.  When he finally pulled away you were gasping for air. Your chest heaved with every breath, lips swollen as you stared up at him like he’d just shown you the secrets of the universe. He couldn’t help but smile at your expression.

“So, I take it you’ve never made out with anyone.”

“No I've never done…that.”

A laugh slipped from your mouth before you could help it. Jesse joined in, his hands never leaving your body. When you both got your laughing fit in controle you leaned into him, placing a kiss to his lips.  Your mouth chased him as he moved away, a small whine leaving you. Jesse’s dick twitched at the sound. It didn;t help that you were practically pouting at him. 

“It’s easier if you're sitting down.”

“Okay.”

You watched him move back to the couch. He took a seat, manspreading as he stared up at you. You took a step forward, hesitating for a moment before placing one knee on the couch. Jesse nodded his head at you, approving your movements, so you continued. You settled on his lap, hands resting on his shoulders. Jesse's hands rested on your hips as he waited to see what you would do. Your eyes moved from his lips to his neck, tongue moving out to wet your lips.

“Can I try something?”

“Of course.”

“And you’ll tell me if it's bad?”

“If you want me to.”

“I do.”

“Then yeah, I will.”

Satisfied you leaned down. Your lips found his neck with caution, placing small pecks to the skin. Jesse shifted beneath you, head moving to the side to give you more access. You took that as a sign to keep going. Your kisses became more confident and Jesse responded to every single one. When you finally found his sweet spot he let out a groan, hips bucking up into you. The action caused you to stop licking at his neck. Jesse's eyes snapped open when he felt you pull away from him.

“What is it?”

“You’re hard.”

He had completely forgotten about how all this had started. But you were right, he was hard.

“Does that mean I did it right?”

Jesse smiled at you before he could help it. He tugged you into a kiss and you accepted it. You ground down into him, searching for relief without even knowing why you were doing it. Jesse pulled away, his forehead resting on yours.

“So…can I see now?”

He had promised and Jesse was a man of his word. 

“Yeah. Do you want me to take it out or do you wanna do it yourself?”

“You can do it.”

“Okay. Move back a bit.”

You did as he asked, shifting slightly on his lap so that he could reach his pants with more ease. Your eyes followed every movement. He moved slowly, drawing the moment out longer than necessary. You could tell he was doing it on purpose. Just as you were going to scold him his dick sprang free. Your lips parted in confusion, head tilting to the side as you took in the sight before you. It wasn’t pretty. It looked kind of weird actually. But you felt a desire to sit on it. How strange. 

Jesse watched you take it in. He could see the wheels turning in your mind. He hadn't expected you to scream out in joy or anything but the silent observation was killing him.

“Can I touch it?”

“Sure.”

Your hand moved to grab his dick. Jesse hissed at your skin met his, causing you to look up at him.

“Did that hurt?”

“Not exactly, it's just sensitive”

You gave him a tentative stroke. Jesse's head fell back onto the couch with a small pant so you repeated the action. 

“Is it true that people put it in their mouth?”

“Yeah its-shit- that's a blowjob.”

“Is it good?”

“Very.”

“Better than this?”

Your hand hasn't stopped moving as you spoke and Jesse was finding it harder and harder to keep his voice leveled.

“Much.”

“Do you want me to? Put it in my mouth I mean.”

Oh, he so very much wanted that. But not right now. Right now he wanted to show you he could make you feel good too. So despite his brain yelling at him to say yes he moved to grab onto your hand. You gazed up at him as his hand warped around yours, stilling your movements.

“Maybe another time. Can I show you something instead?”

“Okay.”

Jesse's hand moved to your pants, looking up at you in a silent question. You understood his request. Once you’d nodded your okay, Jesse unbuttoned your pants and pulled your zipper down. You were already panting from the anticipation. When his fingers found your folds a moan ripped itself from your throat. You’ve touched yourself before but it felt so different when it was someone else doing it. Jesse's fingers were thicker than yours so the feeling of fullness was more predominant. 

“Jesse it's…oh wow.”

“Fuck you’re wet.”

He added another digit and you gasped.

“Just wait till you feel my dick.”

You clenched at his words and Jesse couldn’t help but smile.

“You want that huh? Want me to fuck you?”

You were nodding with all your might, fingers gripping onto his shoulder as he continued to finger you. 

“Can I sit on it?”

“Next time. It’s better to be laying down for the first time.”

“Okay.”

“I need you to cum first though ok?”

You nodded, allowing your head to rest on his shoulder. Your hips rocked against his fingers, searching for your release. When  his thumb found your clit you were gone. You fisted at his shirt, mouth opening to release a moan of his name as you gushed onto his fingers. Your body sagged into his completely as you reached your high. Jesse placed a kiss on your shoulder as he removed his fingers from inside you. 

“You want a taste?”

As curious as you were, your body was too tired to focus on anything other than the sudden euphoria that has washed through it. So you shook your head. Jesse moved his fingers away from your face, shoving them into his mouth before licking them clean. You watched the action, clenching around nothing. You looked down at Jesse's crouch, finding him still rock hard, possibly even more than he ahd been when you’d been touching him. Jesse caught onto your stare, hands moving to wrap around your chin. He lifted your head so that you were looking into his eyes.

“Do you really want it to be me, or were you just saying it because my fingers felt good?”

“Not just because of that. I like you Jesse and I trust you. I want it to be you. If that's alright with you I mean.”

“It's more than alright with me.”

He gave you a loving kiss, shifting around so that he could tug you out of his lap and lay you down on the couch. You spread your legs for him, allowing him to slot between them. 

“It’ll hurt a bit at the start but it gets better. And if you want me to slow down or stop you tell me ok?”

“I will.”

“Good. You ready?”

“Hu huh.”

Jesse was right at first it stung, even with how slowly he was entering you the discomfort was present. Your brows furrowed and Jesse noticed. He moved to caress your thighs trying to pull your attention away from the pain. It worked well. Before you knew it the pain had turned into pleasure. 

Jesse started rocking into you slowly. With every move you gasped, hands clawing onto his back. That only spurred him on. His movements became more erratic, his whines louder. He was trying to be a gentleman but you kept clenching around him like a vice. His head fell onto your shoulder, hips moving faster and faster with each of your moans. You could feel the pressure in your stomach. The more he moved the closer it got to snapping. And then with one well placed thrust Jesse had you biting into his shoulder as you came. It took everything in Jesse to not cum inside as your body threatened to swallow him whole but he managed. Afterwards the two of you lay in eachothers arms snuggling to keep the cold at bay. 

“Do you think we’ll be here long?”

Jesse glanced out the window. The storm was still raging outside.

“At least a couple hours.”

“Does that mean we can go again?”

Jesse let out a laugh. He’d created a monster. 

“Yeah we can go again.”

“Can I sit on it this time?”

“Sure. Just give me a couple minutes.”

“Alright.”

You settled on the couch nuzzling into Jesse, your body buzzing with the promise of what was to come.

[esotericverse]

Gibson Girl - Joel Miller x OC

Fic masterlist/summary here

Read prologue first!

CW: DDDNE, Child abuse, eating disorders

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Chapter 1

3 months later

A gentle rocking slowly tugged at Mary’s conscious until a light burned at the corners of her eyes and the sounds beyond became too loud to ignore. Her hazy mind slowly cleared and she grimaced as she remembered where she was.

The gentle humming of an engine and the low garble of music mixed with radio static drowned out the remaining remnants of sleep. She felt something cold and wet on her face, and her brows knitted when she found drool in the corner of her mouth. Gross.

A groan escaped her lips as she shifted her stiff body. The worn leather beneath her was cool and soft, but her body had contorted into quite an uncomfortable position. Pins and needles prickled at her feet as she untucked her legs, causing her to wince.

She stretched her arms high above her head, feeling the blasting AC hit her bare stomach as her upstretched arms tugged her shirt along with them. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and slumped back, turning her head to look out the window.

“Where are we?” She asked, her voice still thick with drowsiness. She turned her head back to look at the man sitting next to her in the drivers seat.

Her father.

Andrew Gibson was a large man, and everything about him was harsh. The angles of his aged yet striking face, the creases in his pristine suit, and his voice as he answered her brusquely.

“The freeway. About 30 minutes to home.”

Mary nodded, shifting her body back towards the window. She hated having to be in the car with him, but at least she had slept through most of it.

30 minutes wasn’t so bad.

The freezing blasts of the AC blew all over her body, causing her to shiver. Despite the glacial temperature in the truck, she was still dressed for the hot Kentucky summer. She had cut off a pair of her old jeans to accommodate them for the sun, and they barely covered her thin legs. She hadn’t minded the length at all till now.

While she had been alone all summer, swimming in creeks and hiding under bridges and thickets of trees, what she wore was the least of her concern.

She had felt so carefree, so happy, that she forgot to feel guilty about the things that usually plagued her conscious. The crucifix she normally strung around her neck by a delicate silver chain had been discarded in a dresser drawer, freeing her of her culpability. The only time she made herself presentable was for dinner a few times a week with her grandmother.

Her Nana had softened with old age, and Mary suspected that the beginnings of dementia were creeping towards the old woman’s mind. She often forgot simple things, sometimes not even remembering Mary was staying with her, getting spooked near out of her mind if Mary slipped downstairs in the night for some water or came home too late.

Mary still hated the woman, but this summer in particular she had seemed gentler, maybe even sometimes kind. She had not once hit Mary, and had only thrown a bible at her once. As long as Mary minded her manners and showed up to dinner and church, she had been free to roam.

And oh, Mary had the time of her life. While initially hesitant to leave her beloved house behind, she had slowly settled into a peaceful rhythm on the Kentucky farm that left a pit of dread in her stomach every time she thought about leaving. She never thought she would be missing that devil woman’s house, but here she was.

She had spent the summer outdoors, exploring back roads and deep marshes, occasionally halting her adventures to read in a tree or write in her journal. She smoked out of her bedroom window, never afraid of getting caught. The smell of her cigarettes mingled with the fumes of her grandmother’s pipe, concealing her sin.

The truck hit a pothole, jerking her abruptly from her reminiscing.

“Goddamnit!” her father exclaimed, swerving the wheel sharply to the left.

The truck veered into the shoulder of the bustling freeway, pulling to a stop. The radio blared awkwardly as they sat in silence, reeling from the force of the impact. Mary clutched the armrest, trying to steady her breath.

“Don’t think the preacher should go around using the Lord’s name in vain like that”

“You don’t fuckin tell me what to do, girl”

The back of his hand came towards Mary’s face and she turned her cheek out of instinct. The impact hit her hard, and her father’s large ring that bared the cross of the Lord dug into her cheek. Tears instantly filled her eyes and she swatted them away quickly.

“You’ve been awake for 15 minutes and already starting this shit. Maybe we should just turn around and take you back.”

Wouldn’t that be nice.

She knew it was a fucking stupid thing to say as soon as it had left her mouth. Why did she always have to do this?

She turned her head towards the window as she felt the truck pull back out onto the road. She wasn’t going to bait her father anymore. She didn’t have the energy.

The scenery that whizzed by the window was vibrant, and she tried to focus her mind on that and not the burning on her cheek. She caught a glimpse of her face in the side view mirror. Yikes. She looked like total shit.

The braid she had woven her curls into was coming loose, and dark wavy locks were falling loosely around her face. The cross-shaped welt on her face was ugly and red. Her eyes were bloodshot from the tears she had tried - and failed - to stop from falling.

Mascara caked under her eyes and mixed with her tears, drying in streaks down her skin. Her lips were red and bruised from the way she constantly chewed and picked and them.

Her eyes flitted back to the pastures and barns that lined the freeway. The late-August sun still burned high in the sky. Her father had arrived at the ass-crack of dawn to haul Mary’s bags into his trunk and speed back to Wallows as fast as his piece-of-shit truck would let him.

As fast as he was going, she wished he could go faster. The quicker she could get back on her bike the better. The house and the lake awaited her. While summer had been fun, she was itching to get back up on her roof and converse with the moon again. God, she couldn’t believe she was actually excited to go back to Wallows. Never thought that would happen.

The click of the blinker and the flashing light on the dashboard indicated that the exit to home was approaching. The truck shifted over dashed white lines, pulling in front of other speeding cars until it reached the exit ramp.

The blue exit sign was faded and scratched, with the only recreations offered on the display being a Shell gas station and the Hinky Dinky grocery store. Well, the Shell only has two working pumps and the Hinky Dinky was vandalized and broken into by delinquent teenagers every other week.

Yeah, Wallows was deep in the outlands of Nebraska. The town truly had nothing to offer, and Mary often thought that if a sickness swept through and killed everyone off, nobody from the outside world would even notice. If one day the town caught fire and burned to the ground, not one person would ever drive up and find the remains.

Maybe the smoke would catch the attention of a farmer miles away. “Look at that, somebody’s having a bonfire!” He would say to his wife. She would nod, and they would watch the black tendrils swirl in the sky as the sun went down. But that’s the last time Wallows would ever impact someone else.

Maybe, by some play of fate, 10 years in the future a family would drive off the exit looking for a restroom. The sign would be long fallen. How odd, the mother would think. But she would tell the father to pull off anyway.

They would drive slowly through the ashes, the charred bones of buildings long gone still standing ominously. An eerie weight would settle over their shoulders, as the memory of people who once lived here surrounded their minivan. The mother would shudder, asking her husband to find another exit.

They would leave Wallows behind, never to be discovered again for another 10 years. Wallows was a ghost town now, and it was doomed to remain one for all of time.

Mary fucking hated it. Wallows was a prison, and she was chained to the floor with not so much as a window to offer relief.

She wanted more than anything for someone to cut through her bars and free her, because Lord knows she couldn’t do it herself. She was too broken, too tired.

Maybe a few years ago, when she was still clutching onto any shred of hope like her life depended on it. But she had let go. She wasn’t sure exactly when, only that one day she woke up without that tiny spark. The little fire that burned deep in her heart, her soul, that told her to keep going. To continue fighting, even if it was hard.

But Mary didn’t have any fight left it her. It had been beaten out of her by hands and whips and bibles. Ejected out of her stomach by her own angry finger. Snuffed out by angry words and whispered insults. She was tired.

The road shifted under the tires from pavement to dirt. She knew the sensation well. She could sense the sign for Jackson Street as she passed it, like a pair of eyes watching her.

Or maybe what she was feeling was her father’s eyes, which were boring into the side of her face. Maybe he felt guilty for the welt that was surely still raw. She doubted it.

“What?” she asked, turning to stare back at him.

His eyes quickly diverted back to the curving road. “Just. . . Don’t start anything at the house”

Mary rolled her eyes, instantly regretting it. He obviously didn’t see, or surely she would be feeling the back of his hand again.

“Your mother has been doing everything by herself all summer, and she’s going to need some help.”

Mary nodded, keeping her eyes fixed on the approaching mailbox in front of her. It was old, but still stood with the little red flag waving proudly. Gibson was painted on the side in her mother’s loopy cursive.

She felt her braid being tugged back, and she gasped in pain as her heart jumped.

“You know to answer me when I tell you something” she heard in her ear.

“Ok!” She cried “Yes, yes I’ll help her!”

Her hair was released with a shove and she heard her father huff.

The fuck did he have to sigh about?

The truck pulled onto the driveway with a lurch. Years of wearing down the dirt had caused a small divot to form in the earth between the road and driveway. Mary had been shot off her bike from flying too fast over it countless times.

Her stomach clenched as the ridges and dips of the driveway bounced her in her seat. She physically cringed before looking up to see her house.

It was beautiful, that’s for sure. Large and picturesque, and quintessentially American. The wooden walls were painted a pale baby blue, and the many white gables and shutters were carved with delicate trimmings and flowers.

The windows were large and inviting, and lace curtains could be seen hanging from inside. When the sun went down, gentle candlelight would spill out of the windows and illuminate the beautiful interior.

A large porch wrapped around the exterior, and the white railing was broken up by flower boxes, with roses and carnations thriving in the late summer weather. Swings hung from the porch ceiling, and various shoes and flower vases littered the floor planks.

The lawn was immaculate, trimmed to perfection and glowing an almost too-bright green. Large, well-kept hydrangea bushes lined where the grass met the house.

The home was by far the nicest in Wallows, and the cross hanging over the large front-door, while inviting to some, seemed almost ominous to Mary. If only they fucking knew.

With her attention focused right above the door, she almost didn’t notice the woman standing in the frame. The sight of her mother sent a shock wave through Mary’s body.

Margaret Gibson was a small woman, and Mary thought she looked quite mousy. She was, honestly. Slight and slim, with delicate features. She maybe once was quite beautiful, but years of terrorizing her daughter and being a two-faced bitch had definitely aged her.

She stood with her arms crossed, a stern look across her elegant face. Her dark straw hair was pulled into a tight updo. She was wearing a long dress patterned with delicate flowers. That was weird. Mary only ever saw her mother dress nicely on Sundays, usually sticking to jeans and blouses.

The truck pulled up to the side of the house next to her mother’s Jeep Grand Wagoneer. It was the newest model, and Margaret drove the damn thing in circles around town just to show it off. Mary thought it was the ugliest car she’d ever seen. It was long and brown and looked like a turd, but Mary didn’t say that.

She did get embarrassed though when Margaret insisted on driving her around town or to church instead of letting Mary ride her bike. She was seventeen years old and still didn’t know how to fucking drive.

Her father put the car in park and opened his door, not bothering to open her door or help her with her bags.

Mary pushed her door open and swung out of her seat, hopping to the ground. She grabbed her bags from the back and hauled them along the path up to the porch steps.

She saw her mother grab her father’s arm and say something in a hushed tone, and he turned away from her and stalked inside as a way of greeting. Her parents hated each other, and they had for as long as Mary had been born. She knew why, and she still hated them, but part of her wished she could have been around for a time where it was different.

“Hello Mary” Her mother greeted her on the porch, still with a scowl on her face.

“Hello Mother, I missed you”. No she hadn’t.

Margaret stood in front of her, slightly shorter than her daughter but still frightening somehow. Her harsh brown eyes roved over Mary’s body, taking in her disheveled hair and marred face. As her eyes traveled lower, her frown depended and her eyes narrowed.

“Mary, go upstairs and change your clothes. You look like a slut.”

This was typical. She should have been more thoughtful when picking her outfit. Honestly, Mary had just grabbed the first thing she saw from her small pile of remaining clean clothes. The DIY shorts that were far too short and a band t-shirt Mary had bought at the general store one day after she fell in a creek and thought it best not to return to her grandmother in a soaking wet slip.

Mary nodded and replied “Yes ma’am”, hoping that would satisfy her mother. Of course it didn’t. As she pushed through the front door into the foyer, she heard Margaret’s grating voice following behind her.

“I mean honestly Mary. I get all dressed up to welcome you home and have a nice dinner, and you show up looking like a skank. You’ve got makeup all over your face, your hair looks like it hasn’t been brushed in days, and you’ve barely covered yourself. And heaven knows where you got that devil shirt, I know Nana didn’t buy it for you. You should be ashamed of yourself, wearing that cross around your neck.”

The chastisement grew fainter as Mary made her way up the stairs, turning to drag her bags down the hall to her room. She still caught the end of Margaret’s rant, hearing “Lord, help that girl, she knows not what she does.”

Then to her father, “I hope you’re happy Andrew, knowing you’ve raised a wild child.”

Mary shut her door before she could hear her father’s response.

She slumped on the floor of her room, leaning back against the door and reaching up to turn the lock. She tilted her head against the wood and closed her eyes, the blood rushing to her ears drowning out the noise downstairs. Peace and quiet didn’t exist in the Gibson household.

For a house so big and spacious, Mary’s room was quite small. It had been her nursery when she was a baby, and she was pretty sure it was some kind of closet before that. Not that there weren’t other bedrooms to move to - the house had five - it was just that every time Mary brought it up she was shot down immediately.

Your room is perfectly fine, Mary.

There’s no good reason to move all your shit somewhere else.

Honestly, you’ve grown to be so ungrateful.

Girl, you’re lucky to even have a room at all.

She looked around the small space with disdain. The walls were covered with delicate floral wallpaper that had been rolled on when the room was still a nursery.

A narrow window that faced the front yard took up most of the back wall, and a wooden twin bed stood against the left wall. A small table made of the same wood as the bed stood underneath the window, baring a candlestick, a figurine of Jesus on the cross, and a brown bible.

Fixed in the right wall was a small fireplace that hadn’t been used since before Mary was born, and maybe not even then. But, if she stuck her arm up just a bit, there was a ledge large enough for a few books and her journal to be placed. Mary had discovered it when she was thirteen, and she had immediately moved her favorite books from the white house to the hidden alcove.

The books she kept there were constantly in rotation, always including her favorites but alternating whatever her current read was. Her journal was always there unless it was safely tucked in her bag. Her parents were none the wiser, and she was glad. If they ever found out, she wouldn’t be allowed leave this room for Lord knows how long.

Next to the fireplace stood a wooden dresser of six drawers, where Mary now stood throwing clothes from her bags into the open drawers, not bothering to be neat. Her mother would come through and fold them later anyway.

“Mary! Get down here for dinner.” Margaret called.

“Ok, I’m coming!”

Mary shuffled her clothes around, pulling out a dress she thought should appease her mother. Pink roses with leaves surrounding the buds patterned the soft fabric, and a rounded collar decorated the neckline. It was Margaret’s favorite. If she had gone through all this trouble to make a nice dinner, Mary might as well go along with it.

She ripped off her old clothes and pulled the dress over her head. She pulled the crucifix out from under the collar, letting it fall over her chest.

She peered into the mirror on the wall over the dresser, sighing once again at her appearance. Scars littered her arms, and she often used makeup to cover them. No use doing that here.

She licked her thumbs and rubbed them under her eyes, wiping away the mascara and rubbing her dirty hands on her discarded band shirt. She reached back to unwind her braid, letting the mass of waves fall freely over her shoulders. Her unruly mane had grown even longer over the summer. She pulled off her sneakers but left her socks on, turning in the mirror to view different angles of herself. Unsatisfied yet resigned, she turned to leave.

The Gibsons sat around their large dinner table, separated by multiple chairs in between all of them. Andrew sat at the head, and Margaret and Mary each had their own side of the round table they claimed at every meal.

Mary did her best to avoid eye contact with both of them, keeping her eyes to her plate. Her mother had seared steak and served it with mashed potatoes and large, fluffy rolls. It looked delicious, but Mary couldn’t bring herself to do much more than push it around the plate with her fork. She hoped the sound of utensils clanking and mouths chewing was loud enough to mask the low rumbles of her stomach.

“Can I turn on some music?”

“Whatever for Mary, do you not want to speak to us?”

“What? No, I didn’t say that!” She exclaimed.

“Alright, then why don’t we have a conversation? How was your summer?”

“It was fine” Mary grumbled, slumping back in her chair.

“Speak up when your mother asks you a question.” Andrew snapped, looking up from his steak for the first time all night.

“You really have no damn respect for your elders.”

Mary clenched her teeth. “It was excellent, Mother. I had a great time with Nana.”

Margaret completely ignored her strained reply, switching the subject to what Mary knew she had been itching to bring up all night.

“Well, Mary, you begin your senior year in just a week. You need to start preparing. Honestly, you should have come home and started getting ready sooner.”

Mary’s senior year of high school. It was all Margaret had wanted to discuss when she called Mary on her grandmother’s landline, her voice always distant and barely distinguishable thanks to the shitty service.

Mary had been homeschooled her whole life, and she had liked it that way. Yes, she was lonely, but she had always had a hard time making friends. She had never been accepted in Sunday school as a child, despite being the preacher’s daughter.

She was odd. She stared too much and didn’t speak often, but when she did it was always unsettling or rude. She had so many thoughts in her head, but whenever she tried to convey them to other people they got lost in translation. Her mouth had never moved as quick as her head, and her social life paid for it.

She had a few friends at church now, but nobody she could share her thoughts with. Nobody she could tell secrets to or be herself around. Just acquaintances she survived awkward church picnics and town events with. As much as she longed to be seen, she still liked to be alone. It was peaceful, and easy. The thought of school made her stomach turn.

Margaret would do anything in her power to keep up appearances, and when she heard the church ladies whispering about how odd little Mary didn’t seem to have many friends, she suddenly decided it was time for Mary to “branch out” and “consider her future”.

It was all bullshit, Mary knew. Her parents would never let her go to college. But Margaret had gotten herself all worked up about the idea of Mary “coming of age” and had talked endlessly over the phone about how this was Mary’s “last big milestone”. Maybe she should learn to fucking drive and maybe attempt speaking to a boy first. But whatever.

Her mother’s voice had been droning on behind her thoughts, and it caught her full attention when she snapped “Mary!”

“Mary, did you hear anything I said?”

Mary stared at her across the table with a blank expression.

“I mean honestly Mary, I’m trying to help you. The least you could do is listen.”

Mary looked down at her plate in shame. She didn’t feel sorry. She hated her mother. But she shame still churned in her stomach, making her feel sick. Her mother had a way of making her feel small and stupid no matter what she did.

“I was listening” Mary mumbled.

“Then what did I say?”

Another blank stare.

“I said that tomorrow I need you to go into town with me and get some school supplies.”

Mary perked up at this. The perfect opportunity to escape for a few hours. Margaret noticed the way Mary’s eyes lit up and a surprised smile played on the edges of her usually stern mouth.

“Could I go by myself? I can take my bike.”

Her mother’s ghost of a smile disappeared, her mouth returning to its normal straight line.

“Well . . . I suppose. You are seventeen now, you should be learning to do things for yourself.”

Mary couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Since when did her mother say yes to her?

“You’ll have to be careful with the money, if you lose it you’ll just have to do without any supplies at all.”

Mary nodded eagerly. “Yes, ok, I’ll be careful, I promise. I’ll keep it in my bag. Can I stop by the library?”

“I don’t like the sound of that” Andrew’s voice came from the end of the table.

Mary scoffed. “Are you kidding me? I’ll be an adult next year! I can take my bike into town for a few hours!”

He stood up quickly, his chair scraping back loudly and his fist coming down on the table.

“You better-“

Margaret jumped up, holding her hands out between the two.

“Enough!” She shrieked. “We haven’t even been together for two hours and you two are already at it!”

She turned to Andrew, seething.

“You make everything impossible. We can’t even have a nice dinner together after our daughter has been gone for three months!” Her voice became shriller and louder with every word. Her anger was directed at Mary next. “And you, you ungrateful little bitch.”

Mary was taken aback by her mother’s harsh words. She was used to them, but she really hadn’t thought she’d been too bad tonight.

“I slave in the kitchen for hours making something nice for you, just for you to only take two damn bites. You don’t listen when I speak even though I’m only trying to help you, and then you mouth off to your father the second you hear something you don’t like!”

Margaret was hysterical at this point, waving her arms around like a mad woman while her father watched with a look of disgust on his face.

“You don’t want to eat my food, you barely speak to me, you wont even let me shop for school supplies with you. I do everything for you, and what do I get in return? Ungratefulness and a disgusting attitude. Jacob would have - “

Her father’s fist slammed into the table again, sending shock waves through the tense room.

“Margaret, shut your damn mouth” He spat out.

She instantly sank back into her seat, knowing full well she had gone too far.

“Mary, you get upstairs to your room right this second. If I see or hear you before tomorrow morning I’ll make sure you won’t even want to be seen by your mother”

Mary pushed back from the table, shocked by what just happened. The room had been somewhat peaceful just minutes ago.

She stumbled out the dining room and up the stairs, running to her room and locking the door behind her. She stood in the middle of the small space, staring blankly at the cross above her bed. What the fuck just happened.

This was how it always was with her parents. They would act normal enough for a while, almost like real humans and not devils in disguise. But then something would set them off, and the anger and hatred that simmered just below their fake exteriors would spill over. It was usually aimed at her.

Her father was easy to read. He was a self-righteous, egotistical man who carried hate and anger in his heart that he had no idea what to do with. Most of the time he took it out on his daughter, and occasionally his wife.

But he was respected in the community. He was the preacher, for heaven’s sake. Nobody would believe the things these walls had seen. She supposed at one point he must have been a godly man. But the devil had crept into every facet of him and taken hold, until he was only a shell of a man, left with nothing but demons swirling beneath his skin.

Her mother though, was harder for Mary to understand. She often thought of her mother in two different ways. One of them was the version Mary had created in her mind when she was younger. This version of Margaret Gibson was a coping mechanism of Mary’s, conjured in her mind to make the knife of her words and hands a little less sharp.

This version of Margaret was the one Mary found herself empathizing with, some kind of tragic anti-hero trapped by circumstance. Once a kind woman, married to a kind man who slowly turned evil, taking her down with him. She had no choice, Mary told herself. But that wasn’t true. Margaret was smart, and capable. Mary had watched her hold her hold her own many times.

That was the other version of her. A woman who consciously chose to harm her daughter, however burdened and sad she may be. Mary knew her mother walked through life with a heavy heart. She saw it in her eyes.

Maybe in another lifetime, in some alternate universe Margaret would tell Mary what plagued her mind, what anger and regret she held behind her beautiful eyes. She would learn Margaret’s past, learn the things that made her the woman she is today.

But that was nothing but a fantasy. In this life, Mary was left only speculate what burdens her mother was forced to bear, and to wonder what she did to deserve her wrath.

The exhaustion of the day began to creep through her. She was tired, and her heart and body were aching. She slipped off her dress and replaced it with a nightgown.

Before she collapsed on her bed, She grabbed her leather bag and slipped a small stack of books out. Northanger Abbey, The Phantom of the Opera, and The Great Gatsby, all stolen from Nana’s shelf.

She slipped them up onto the fireplace shelf on top of Persuasion and Jane Eyre . The stack was getting too big. She would have to move some to the house tomorrow.

She grabbed her journal and lodged it in between the books and the side of the wall. Tossing her bag into the corner of her room, she slumped onto her bed, burying herself in the quilt.

The cool pillow and soft mattress enveloped her frame and felt like a warm hug. When was the last time she had one of those?

As her mind slowed in preparation for sleep, the events of dinner played out in front of her eyelids again. It was honestly a typical night with her parents, but something about it felt different. Shouldn’t they be at least a little glad to see her?

No, she had to stop. She couldn’t keep doing this to herself. Every time she wished or expected something different from them, she was always disappointed.

Why had her mother brought up Jacob? That was low, and she knew the only reason she’d done it was to anger her father. But why would she want to upset him? It’s always what she was telling Mary not to do. Had they been in a fight before she arrived? This time of year was always hard on them, and her as well, if she was being honest. Their anger and sadness spilled out on their only remaining child, making her more of a target.

It was too much for her tired head to wrap around tonight. She could ponder it in the morning. She let the promise of sleep take over as she sunk deeper into her mattress, safe under the covers, at least for now.

Next chapter

[pedge-page]

Joel Dealing with Wifey: Happy Mother’s Day!

Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Mother's day starts with a bang of bad luck

Warnings: Oral F!receiving, period, period eating (accidental), descriptions of blood, almost shower sex, thigh fucking

18+ONLY

- - - -

A beam of warmth shines directly onto Joel’s face through the cracked blinds. He blinks, rousing himself awake, and the first thing that comes into focus is you: your peaceful, sound-asleep, drooling, smooshed face halfway onto his pillow, nose tucked into the fabric like a bird nestled safely against the warmth of her nest. He can’t help but grin, squinting with heavy eyelids as he moves to caress your cheek gently with his knuckles, only to just feel your soft skin, knowing you’re really here in this beautiful morning, in bed, with him.

You begin to shift slightly, a frown creased on your lip. “nnMmmnn,” you groan lightly. Your brows furrow slightly as you crack open one eyelid, then another. You almost look like you’re scowling when first awakened until you get a clear image of Joel’s  big stupid dopey grinning face. Then you quickly relax, smiling too. 

“Good morning,” you grumble. You feel soothed, feeling his still cup your chin with his thumb.

“Good Morning, Momma. Happy Mother’s Day,” he whispers. His breath fans across your eyelids, and you wrinkle your nose. It’s both horrendous and yet delicious morning breath, and it’s only the latter because it’s your husband’s stinky pinky self.

“I had the craziest dream last night,” you say.

His ear perks up, listening intently. “Was I in it? Giving you the best morning tongue fuck of the century?”

“You were in it, except you were on a unicycle, and there was a bear playing a banjo, and Tommy Lee Jones was narrating this apocalypse movie set 2 years from now, but it was dated 15 years ago, and the sperm whale—“

“You had chocolate last night?”

You think for a moment before nodding vigorously. A big fat fucking chocolate shake.

“Ah huh.” He brushes the strand of hair covering your eye. “You know what I dream of?”

“Triplet girls?”

He gives you a warning look before pulling your wrist up to his lips, kissing it. “Nothin’.”

“Well, that’s boring.”

“I don’t need to dream. My perfect little fantasy is already waitin’ for me when I wake up.”

You’re left completely gagged. He holds your gaze while giving your hand another deep kiss against your palm. Oh fuck him, he’s too good.

With a giggle, you bring his lips to yours. He pecks you, then again, and once more, until they’re no longer pecks and now full hearted kisses, drawing you closer to him as he encases his arms around your back. 

He slowly slides over your body, his face nuzzling your own as he continues to shower you with kisses. You groan with each progressively more intimate movement of his lips on your body, until he’s trailing down your neck. 

“Joel,” you whimper. Your head is feeling clouded with pleasure, overriding the sleepiness of your body. “I’m so wet for you right now.”

You feel him grimace against your chest. “Already? Let me feel…” His deft fingers trail down your stomach, squeezing your plush thighs and creeping in towards your sex. He dips his fingers, your legs instinctually spreading to allow him passage. The first little squelch can be heard from under the covers.

Joel lets out a satisfied growl. “Oh baby, you’re absolutely fucking drenched.” He continues to part your folds, fingering your entrance with twisted motions. Your wetness is insane, giving him perfect lubrication to finger-fuck you leisurely.

“Fuck—“ you toss your head back. He nibbles along your chin, sucking in your pulse right below your jaw.

“Angel—Jesus. You get this wet for me? Dreaming’ bout bears and banjos?”

You can’t even let out a chuckle. “Please…”

“I know, I know. Fuck, baby. I can’t wait— gotta taste ya.”

He shifts lower down your body until he’s disappeared under the covers. 

You feel his breath over your mound before his tongue delves right inside. “Baby—fuck!” You whine.

He’s voracious, lapping up at your clit with quick flicks of his tongue. You can feel yourself gushing, your juices leaking onto the bed like a flow of river.

Joel hums loudly—“MMMMM.......mmmmm........nnnmm.......mmm?"

He pulls away briefly, the top of his noggin poking up through the sheets. You can hear the smacking of his lips.

“Pennies?”

“Pennies?” you repeat, confused. What, is he suddenly calling me his cheap date? What happened to being his perfect little fantasy?!

You draw back the covers, revealing Joel and…a fucking crime scene.

His face is absolutely drenched in your blood, from the top of his nose to his chin. The crimson color staining his white shirt and all beneath you in a large rounded puddle on the bedsheets, and smeared against the inside of the covers.

“OH NO!” You cry, terrified and leaping out of bed. Your period blood is smudged all throughout your inner thighs, complete with Joel’s handprints on the outside of your thighs. “Fuck fuckfuckfuck! I’m so sorry, I didn’t know—“

Joel chuckles, instantly holding your hand. “It’s totally okay, baby. There’s nothin’ to worry about. I’m gonna clean this all up; why don’t ya hop in the shower? Clean yourself off, freshen up a bit? I’ll take care of everything. Just relax.”

You whimper, unable to do anything but offer a soft smile at him. You almost go to kiss him, but the bloodied mess on his face stops you in your tracks. “You should uh, wash up too.”

“Yeah—yeah you get started in there and I’ll join ya in a second. Finish what we started…” he wiggles his brows.

You shake your head and head into the bathroom, already starting up the shower water.

Joel puts his hands on his hips, surveying the mess. It does look like a murder in bed. He’s gonna have to use some heavy duty cleaner if it soaked to the mattress, though nothing he can’t tackle. Might just need to air out the room for the rest of the day…

He doesn’t hear the patter of four feet rushing down the hallway. The click of the bedroom door snaps his head over too late as Ellie and Sarah, promptly 2 and almost 6 now, burst through excitedly.

“HAPPY MOTHER’S D—“

The girls stop mid track, a loud gasp at the scene in front of them: Their mom’s side of the bed vacant, except for a massive splatter of blood all over the sheets, and their dad, soaked red all over his clothes, mouth and neck, standing motionless as he’s caught in the midst of it.

Their eyes shift back and forth through it all, quickly again and again, until they fill overwhelmingly with terror and tears, trembling lips ready to burst like a damn, and Joel internally panics.

Oh shit, oh fuck, this looks—bad. Shitshitshit! No it’s ok, it’s just… it’s just period! It’s nothing to be scared of. Oh fuck this is not how he wanted to do the period talk. And they were also a little too young! I mean sure they’ll have it eventually, and it’s important they not be scared or unprepared when it happens, but he wasn’t expecting to talk it now. In fact, he wasn’t ready to talk to him on his own! You should be here—it’s much better coming from Mommy to daughters. Ah fuck how the hell is he gonna explain that. And then even worse, even if he can somehow patch an impromptu women’s nature speech after telling them about Mommy’s period, the next inevitable question will leave him speechless: why is mommy’s period on Daddy’s face? THAT he has absolutely no way to weasel out of. He’s frozen in place, mouth agape, unable to reason the fact that —

“DADDY. ATE. MOMMY,” Sarah screeches in horror, letting out the most devastating sob he’s ever heard. Both girls eyes spill with tears and erupt into a raucous of screaming-crying.

Oh.

He can’t even utter a word, their hopeless bawls scratching his eardrums.

The bathroom door flicks open angrily, a billow of steam dissipating towards the ceiling. 

“Oh my god, I can’t even take a shower for 5 freaking minutes, WHAT is going on—!”

You step out, a towel turbaned over your head with another wrapped around your chest, skin still glistening with fresh water.

“MOMMA!” The girls scream, instantly running towards you. Sarah wraps her arms around you so tightly, her tearful face buried into your towel like she was worried you’d disappear into thin air. She continues to cry, all while Ellie, standing at a solid 34 inches tall, holds position in front of you defensively, her arms spread in T pose with her back to you, facing Joel with a mixed expression of fear and betrayal as if to guard you from his harm.

“What is—Oh Joel—“ You notice the bloodied mess still everywhere, especially on him.

He tosses his arms up in defeat. 

Mom mode activities almost instinctively as you squat down to wipe their tears off their cheeks. “It’s okay! Nothing happened! I’m okay, Daddy is okay—“

“Did—d—Daddy—t-try—eat—eat mommy…” Sarah hiccups, her fists balled against her puffy eyes. 

“No Daddy didn’t eat me. I’m right here. There’s nothing to be scared of. Its—its just—“

Oh shit you weren’t ready to give them the period talk. Especially when they’ll inevitably ask why would Daddy have Mommy’s period all over his face—

“Do you know what happens when…” you pause, everyone hanging on the edge of their seats.

“…when…when you don’t floss your teeth before bed?” You ask them, a serious tone in your voice.

The girls look at one another, unsure.

Your eyes sideways glance over to Joel, the dried blood trailing from his lips. “Well…guess what Daddy didn’t do?”

Sarah’s breath is caught in her throat. Ellie quickly mimicking her.

you raise your one brow, shrugging. “I don’t know…I’d be pretty worried if I didn’t floss either…”

The girls look at one another with wide eyes before bolting out of the room, down the hall, straight to their bathroom.

Joel lets out the breath he’d been holding for the last two minutes. “Jesus, you’re amazin’.” He strides towards you for a hug and kiss, but you hold him at arms length again.

“Please, you really need to clean off.”

He smirks, grasping your hand and pulling you close to him anyway. “Yeah? I think ya kinda like seeing’ me like this.”

Your cheeks feel hot, and it’s not just the temperature change from your incomplete shower. “Okay…maybe a little…”

“Mmmm, got my wife all in there steamin’ hot, all by herself. Didn’t even get to fuck ya properly before—“

The door flings open again, and little Ellie, fresh out of breath, looks up to the two of you with big round eyes.

“I ne’ know how to floss me teef,” she pants innocently. 

“Oh. Sorry baby, I forgot you’re two.”

As you usher her back out the door, you point to Joel and then the shower with a wink.

He quickly bunches up the sheets, immensely grateful it only stained the washable topper rather than the mattress, and tosses them in the hamper. Stepping out of his briefs, then ripping his shirt of his head, he flashes on the shower again. The immediate heat of your previous wash has him yelping.

It’s only a moment before you’re latching the door closed behind you, stepping into the shower, and wrapping your arms around his midsection. The two of you naked, blood draining from your bodies.

“You know…you kinda should be celebrated today too,” you moan, planting a kiss to his chest. 

He pulls his hair back, those light curls darkened and straight to give him a much more mature look. “S’that right? And why’s that?”

He rasps unexpectedly when you grip his hardening length. “I wouldn’t have been a two time mommy were it not for you.”

He kneads your ass cheeks with both large hands, pulling you flush against him. His happy trail tickles your belly, a steam of water catching between your tits and his chest. Joel’s cock nestles between your thighs, slipping between your folds as he humps you with slow thrusts. 

“Let’s make you a three-time mommy,” he growls lowly. 

You’re about to yank his head down for a hot make out session when a soft voice and a knock on the door stops you two.

“Mommy, did Daddy lose all his teefs too?”

“I wanna see, I wanna see!”

You both giggle. Your forehead slaps against his chest bone. 

“Daddy has all his teeth still,” he shouts reassuringly.

You clear your throat, mom voice back on: “Can you girls make your beds and we’ll be out in 5 minutes?”

There’s a brief pause behind the door. You and Joel listen with hopes that they’ve pattered off again when—

“Why are you both in the shower together?” Sarah asks curiously. 

Joel’s panicked eyes meet yours. 

- - - -

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop @himboelover @callsignwidow @wintersquirrel @fluffygoffpanda @picketniffler @bbyanarchist @94namkooksworld @urlivingdeadgirl @yourmommycallsmemommy @kellielovesmovies @whoaitspascal87 @jeewrites

[whywaittofallinlove]

off limits ch1 | jesse x miller!niece reader

pairing: jesse x miller!niece reader

summary: as tommy and joel’s niece, there is an unspoken rule in jackson that you’re off limits. jesse, someone known for sticking to the rules, breaks this one rule

words: 854 words

warnings: barely there smut

Chapter 1

The early morning sun slips through the gaps in your curtain, scattering warm rays across the room, across the bed. The light catches on the faint scars and toned contours of your lover, painting him in an almost ethereal glow.

You tilt your head back, slightly breathless as you grind your body back and forth. Strong calloused hands grip your waist, guiding your thrusts.

Three sudden knocks on your garage door causes you to halt your movements, your brow furrows in annoyance. A whispered groan escapes from the man tangled in your sheets. “Yeah?” Your voice unsteady and low.

“Just makin’ sure you’re up, you’re patrollin’ with Jesse today. He don’t like tardiness.” Your uncle Tommy’s Southern drawl commands from the other side of the door. At the mention of his name, you watch as Jesse lifts his head to the look at the blaring red numbers illuminating from your alarm clock, his hand raking through the mess of his dark hair, his head dropping to the pillow in frustration.

“I’m sure he won’t mind.” You call out, your tone full of mischief as your hands drop to either side of Jesse’s head, caging him in. Your bare breasts brushes against his warm chest as you begin to slightly roll your hips, Jesse still very much hard inside you. You bite your lip to stop yourself from moaning Jesse’s name.

“Get your ass movin’.” Tommy fires back, unimpressed and completely unaware of what is transpiring just behind the wooden door. ‘Don’t mind if I do.’ For a moment you wait, listening as Tommy’s footsteps crunch over the snow covered driveway, each step growing fainter.

Jesse shifts beneath you, his hands moving to lift you off him, but you press down firmly on his chest, keeping him in your bed. You press your lips to his, your kiss deepening as you ride him with more urgency than before.

Jesse swings his legs over the edge of the bed, you sit up behind him, still breathless, your fingers faintly ghost over the red scratches across his shoulder blades, vivid against his pale skin. Jesse glances over his shoulder at you, an amused glint in his dark eyes. “Admiring your handiwork?”

You inch even closer until you’re pressing your breasts against the warmth of his back, your arms loosely resting against his torso. Resting your chin on his shoulder, “You know, I seem to recall you enjoying it last night.”

“Oh, I very much enjoyed it.” He turns to face you, his hand comes up to cradle your face as he places his lips against yours in a quick kiss. “We have to get moving.”

You sigh and lovingly roll your eyes at your lover. Jesse has always been a stickler for following the rules, always the one who shows up early, triple checking every route before delegating patrols. Except when it came to being with you. With you, he became a little bit more reckless, a little more free.

Being Tommy and Joel’s niece made you off limits, not just to Jesse, but to everyone. If there was an unspoken rule within Jackson, that was it.

Out of the two of you, Jesse had the most to lose. He had earned his place beside Tommy through years of hard work, commitment and dedication to the community of Jackson. He had finally gained a seat on the council, a seat elected by the community.

That’s why you had resorted to sneaking around, the late nights, early mornings, brief glances when they thought no one was looking. All to keep Jesse’s integrity intact.

You glance at the Korean man as you step into your jeans, his eyes already on you, watching you unashamedly. “Stop staring.” A smile tugs on the corner of your lips. “Can’t help it.” Jesse replies, his own smile, the one solely reserved for you etched on his face.

You both dress quickly with almost military precision. No fumbling, no stalling, just practice that came with years of survival.

Both you and Jesse walk to the window at the back of your garage. You ease the frosted glass open, careful and quiet. Jesse braces himself on the frame, one leg already over the sill. His glances back at you one last time. “I’ll see you out there.”

You gently cup his cheek, eyes full of affection. He leans in, brushing one final kiss on your lips, then disappears into the cold morning.

Pulling your jacket over your shoulders, you step out of the garage, the bite of the cold December air not the only thing to send chills through your body.

Maria stands on the patio of the main house, arms tightly crossed, her gaze flicking between you and Jesse, who’s been caught red handed, in the act of slipping away. Neither of you move.

You watch as Maria gently closes the door behind her, before slowly descending down the patio stairs. She stops just a few feet away from the both of you, her eyes narrowing as she takes in the sight before her. She raises an eyebrow, silently gauging both of your reactions. “You’re both lucky it was me… if it was Tommy…”

[joelcrush]

Let Me Learn You

pairing: joel miller x f!reader warnings: mdni, | age gap | oral (f & m) | fingering | unprotected sex | size kink | dirty talk | praise + possession | face grabbing | mild & mutual obsession | Joel being emotionally unwell about it in the hottest way | no outbreak word count - 7.7k summary - Your dad’s old friend Joel helps you move. You don’t see the tension—but he does. And when it finally breaks, there’s no going back. A slow build into something filthy, soft, and completely his.

part one part two

✧˚ · . ୨♡୧ . · ˚✧

Your place was already too warm by the time the couch got wedged in the hallway.

Boxes everywhere. Cabinets open. You’d been living out of a backpack for three days and still hadn’t figured out where to put your bath towels or your coffee mugs. But it was your first place, and the chaos felt kind of earned. You weren’t expecting help until later, but someone knocked just after noon. When you opened the door, a man was already walking up the short front path. Mid-40s, maybe older. Black shirt. Solid frame. A calm face that didn’t give much away.

“Your dad said you might need help with furniture,” he said. “Oh—yeah. I didn’t know he sent someone already.”

He nodded once, like that was enough talking, and stepped inside when you held the door open. You moved a box out of his way and watched him take in the space.

“Sorry it’s such a mess. I’m still figuring things out.”

“That’s what movin’ is,” he said, and then he gestured toward the hallway. “You want that couch in there?”

You nodded. “Yeah, that’s the living room.”

He got to work without another word.

You grabbed the lighter end automatically, even though he didn’t ask, and together you managed to get the thing unstuck from the hallway and into place. He didn’t struggle much. Barely looked winded. You didn’t talk a lot while he moved the rest. Just helped where you could—pointed at where things should go, said thank you more than necessary. He wasn’t cold, just quiet. Direct. There was something steadying about it, actually. The way he barely blinked when you offered him a half-finished bottle of water or said you were probably gonna live with a broken bookshelf for the rest of time.

“You don’t need a new one,” he said. “Just better anchors.” “That sounds like something a bookshelf would say right before collapsing on me in my sleep.”

That made him smile. Small, quick, but you saw it.

He finished sooner than you expected. Wiped his hands on his jeans. Gave a little grunt of finality like he was mentally checking the job off a list. You followed him toward the door, grabbing a new bottle of water from the fridge.

“Thanks again,” you said, handing it to him. “Seriously. I would’ve been here all day trying to flip the mattress on my own.”

“No problem.” He took it, his hand brushing yours. “Glad to help.”

Then, like it was nothing:

“Take it easy, sweetheart.”

The word didn’t stick. Not in a weird way. Just something he said, maybe a habit. You smiled, nodded.

“See you around, probably.”

He left with a short nod and a low “mmhm” that barely registered before the door clicked shut behind him.

You didn’t think twice about it.

⊹₊˚⋆☾⋆˚₊⊹

He wasn’t planning on saying yes when her dad called.

It was supposed to be his day off. A list of errands to half-ignore. Tools to clean, laundry to avoid. But then the man mentioned his daughter—first place on her own, said she was “barely five feet and stubborn as hell,” trying to move a bed frame solo.

Joel didn’t ask for details. Just wrote down the address and showed up twenty minutes later with a socket wrench in his back pocket and a short list of things he was telling himself this wasn’t. He was expecting someone anxious. Chatty. The kind of girl who got overwhelmed easily and didn’t know the difference between drywall and brick. He wasn’t expecting her.

She opened the door barefoot, shirt hanging off one shoulder, hair barely held in place by a clip. A box cutter was still in her hand. She blinked like she forgot anyone else existed.

“Oh—yeah. Hi. Come in.”

She didn’t look twice at him. Didn’t pause or fidget or start fixing her hair. She just waved him in and apologized for the mess, like he gave a shit. Joel followed her inside, slow, eyes catching on the curve of her back as she bent to move a box. Her legs were bare—soft, clean skin above the knee, and a pair of shorts that weren’t trying to be anything but comfortable.

It didn’t mean anything. Didn’t have to. He kept his voice steady.

“Your dad said you needed help with the bed frame?”

She nodded, smiled like it was nothing. “Yeah—it’s in the bedroom. Not built yet. It’s kind of in pieces, sorry.”

Joel just grunted, made his way down the hall, and tried not to think about how small her bed was. How soft the mattress looked when he pressed it into place. How nice her voice sounded when she laughed at herself.

She stayed close. Helped with one end of the dresser. Pulled things out of boxes while he worked. Told him about the bookshelf she half-built and already gave up on.

“It’s gonna collapse on me in my sleep. Death by IKEA.”

He’d smiled. Couldn’t help it.

She had no idea how easily she pulled reactions out of him.

She moved like no one was watching. Sat with her legs folded under her. Hummed along with her phone when music came on. Handed him tools without making it weird. Said thank you every single time like she meant it. He tried not to stare at her mouth when she talked. The way she bit her lip when thinking. The little breath she let out when lifting something heavier than expected. By the time he finished, his hands were itching. His jaw ached from how tight he’d kept it the whole time. He took the water bottle she offered him, let their fingers brush for half a second too long, then stepped toward the door before he did something dumb.

“Thanks again,” she said behind him, voice easy, warm. “I would’ve been here all day trying to flip the mattress on my own.”

“No problem.” He forced the words out. “Glad to help.”

He turned back to her. She was smiling, casual, eyes bright but unreadable.

“Take it easy, sweetheart.”

It slipped out. Not flirtation. Not even affection. Just… instinct. Something familiar to fill the space before it got quiet enough to admit what he was actually thinking. She didn’t react. Just nodded and said see you around.

She didn’t know.

Didn’t even fucking know.

Joel walked down the steps with his jaw tight, grip still too firm around the neck of the water bottle. He told himself he wasn’t coming back unless she called. And that if she did—

He’d keep his hands to himself.

✧˚ · . ୨♡୧ . · ˚✧

Your shelf gave out around 11:45 on a Tuesday night.

You weren’t surprised. It had been tilted since move-in, bowing just slightly in the middle. You told yourself it’d be fine as long as you didn’t put anything too heavy on it—which was, in retrospect, a lie. Three cookbooks and a ceramic bowl later, it tipped forward and slid halfway off the wall with a low, dramatic creak.

You stared at it for a minute from the hallway, then texted your dad.

Me: hey do you still have joel’s number? the guy who helped move the bed?

He sent it over right away.

Dad: What’d you break lol Me: nothing important

You stared at Joel’s number for a second. Then tapped out a quick message.

Me: hi! this is y/n, from the move-in last week. my shelf kinda fell off the wall and i think i stripped one of the screws trying to fix it. no rush at all but if you’re around sometime this week, i’d really appreciate the help.

You hovered over “send” for about half a second—then hit it.

He replied later that morning:

Joel: I can come by after 6.

You changed into a hoodie and shorts after work, didn’t think twice about it. Hair up. Face clean. You weren’t trying to impress anyone—you were just tired. You cleared the area near the shelf, shoved the broken screws into a Ziploc, and ate half a granola bar standing at the counter while you waited. 

When the knock came, you opened the door barefoot again.

“Hey,” you said, stepping back. “Thanks for coming.”

He nodded once, stepping inside, his tool bag slung low in one hand.

“This the one?” “Yeah. It gave up.”

He crouched without hesitation, unzipping the bag and pulling out a drill. You moved to the side, then bent down next to him without thinking—knees close to his, your hip brushing his arm as you leaned on one hand. 

He stilled, just for a second. You didn’t notice.

“I tried to tighten it again myself,” you said, squinting at the side bracket, “but I think I stripped the screw.”

“Probably,” he said. “Wrong kind for drywall.”

You rested your chin in your hand, watching as he fit a new anchor in place. His hands moved slow, careful. He didn’t fumble or double check. Just measured, placed, and drove the screw in clean.

“You make it look easy,” you said, and you meant it.

He didn’t respond right away.

“It is,” he said eventually. “Just takes practice.”

You stretched your arms overhead with a soft breath. Felt the hoodie rise slightly against your ribs but didn’t bother fixing it.

“I should learn,” you said. “So I don’t have to keep bugging you.”

“You’re not,” he said. Quick. Low.

You blinked. Looked at him.

He was still focused on the wall. Like the drywall had something real important to say. When he finished, you stood and stepped back, brushing off your legs as he gave the shelf a firm test tug. It held.

“All good now,” he said, rising.

You smiled. “You’re magic.”

He didn’t smile back—not fully—but something in his face shifted. Like he wanted to.

“Seriously, thank you,” you added, walking toward the kitchen. “Do I owe you anything for the anchor things?”

“No.” “Not even like, a coffee or something?” “You don’t owe me,” he repeated. “You needed help. That’s all.”

You turned, leaning your hip on the counter, granola bar wrapper in your hand.

“Well I still appreciate it.”

Joel adjusted the strap of his bag.

“Text if anything else breaks.” “Hopefully that’s not a weekly thing.” “You never know.”

He walked to the door, pulled it open.

“Night, Joel.” “Take care,” he said. Then, after a pause—“See you.”

You nodded once. Locked the door behind him. Then turned back to clean up the mess of drywall dust on the floor, not thinking twice about how close you'd been. Not even wondering what he’d seen when you bent down next to him.

⊹₊˚⋆☾⋆˚₊⊹

He shouldn’t have said yes.

He told himself that the first time, and again when her text came in. He sat there with the phone in his hand, staring at the words like they meant something bigger than they were.

Her: hi! this is y/n, from the move-in last week. my shelf kinda fell off the wall and i think i stripped one of the screws trying to fix it. no rush at all but if you’re around sometime this week, i’d really appreciate the help.

It was polite. Friendly. Clear. Not flirty. Not suggestive. Still ruined him anyway.

He told himself not to answer right away. Answered anyway.

Him: I can come by after 6.

And that was that.

She opened the door in that same kind of outfit—something soft and small and lived-in. Hoodie half-tucked, legs bare to mid-thigh, hair up in a clip that didn’t look like it was doing much.

He looked at her face. Only her face.

“Hey,” she said, stepping back to let him in. “Thanks for coming.”

“This the one?” “Yeah. It gave up.”

She smiled like it was no big deal, then followed him to the wall.

He crouched low, unzipped his bag, pulled out the drill.

And then—then—she crouched down beside him. No hesitation. Her knee knocked gently into his. Her hip brushed his arm. She planted her hand beside him, close enough to feel the heat coming off her skin.

Joel’s heart stuttered hard in his chest.

She didn’t notice.

“I tried to tighten it again myself,” she said, leaning in closer. “But I think I stripped the screw.”

“Probably,” he said, throat dry. “Wrong kind for drywall.”

She rested her chin in her palm. Her shorts rode up slightly as she shifted her weight.

He didn’t look.

He absolutely looked.

“You make it look easy.”

He didn’t answer right away. Couldn't.

“It is,” he managed. “Just takes practice.”

And then she stretched. Arms over her head. Hoodie lifting just enough to expose the soft dip of her waist, a sliver of skin above the waistband of her shorts. She sighed like she’d been holding her breath all day.

He almost did something stupid.

“I should learn,” she said. “So I don’t have to keep bugging you.”

“You’re not.”

Too fast. Too hard.

She blinked at him, caught off guard. He didn’t meet her eyes. Couldn’t. Focused on the drywall like it was going to crawl off the wall if he didn’t stare it down.

When he stood, she did too. Watched him test the shelf, nod in approval.

“You’re magic,” she said.

He wasn’t. If he was, he’d disappear before he did something he’d regret.

“Seriously, thank you. Do I owe you anything for the anchor things?” “No.” “Not even like a coffee or something?” “You don’t owe me,” he said again, voice rough. “You needed help. That’s all.”

That was supposed to be it. His line. His boundary.

Then she leaned against the counter. Granola bar in hand. Hoodie sleeves pushed up. Looking at him like he was just… normal. Like she wasn’t killing him without even trying.

“Well I still appreciate it.”

“Text if anything else breaks.” “Hopefully that’s not a weekly thing.” “You never know.”

He turned toward the door before his mouth could get ahead of him. Opened it. Let the cooler evening air hit his face.

“Night, Joel.”

“Take care,” he said.

He hesitated and looked back.

“See you.”

Then he left before he could fuck it all up. He didn’t even make it to the car before he had to stop and breathe. Stared at his truck like it might help. Gripped the edge of the driver’s side door like he needed something solid to hang onto. She had no idea.

Didn’t even know what she was doing. Didn’t know what she’d done.

And that? That was the worst part.

✧˚ · . ୨♡୧ . · ˚✧

You hadn't seen Joel in almost two weeks.

You hadn’t needed anything since. The apartment was starting to feel like yours now—boxes gone, rugs laid down, kitchen mostly organized. You spent your mornings with coffee by the window and your evenings on the couch with a book or something half-watched on TV. Quiet. Repetitive. In a good way.

Some nights, you stayed up too late just rearranging cabinets or deciding which drawer made the most sense for silverware. It wasn’t that deep. It just felt nice—having your own space, your own rules, your own rhythms.

Every once in a while, you’d think about Joel. Not in a way that meant anything. Just—when something squeaked. Or when the fridge made a sound you didn’t trust. He was the kind of person who’d know what it meant. That’s all.

So when the kitchen drawer started acting weird—handle loose, catching on something inside—you didn’t think twice.

You grabbed your phone and texted him:

You: hi. sorry to bother you again but my kitchen drawer is being weird. handle’s all wobbly and i have no clue what i’m doing. if you’re around, i’d love the help. but no pressure!

He replied an hour later:

Joel: I’ll be there after five.

He showed up in a navy work shirt this time. Sleeves rolled to his elbows. Same tool bag. Same quiet expression.

“Handle loose?” “Yeah. It’s barely hanging on.”

You gestured toward the drawer, stepping out of the way. He crouched beside it, tugging gently on the knob. Watched it tilt sideways and catch.

“You got a screwdriver?”

You blinked. “Somewhere. I think.”

He gave a low hum—noncommittal—and set his bag down.

You turned toward the junk drawer, rummaging through it with one hand, then realized the screwdriver you did have had rolled under the counter the other night when you tried to open a wine bottle with it.

You spotted it—tucked just behind the leg of the lower cabinet.

“Wait—I think it’s down there.”

You bent at the waist, one hand on the counter, reaching for it blindly. 

Behind you, Joel went still. You didn’t see it—didn’t turn around. Didn’t notice how close he was standing. Just grabbed the screwdriver, stood back up, and turned to hand it to him.

“Found it. Not that I know how to use it.”

He took it slowly. Said nothing at first.

“This one’s fine,” he said, glancing it over. “You wanna try?”

You blinked. “You mean actually fix it?”

“Why not.”

You smiled, stepping in beside him as he held the drawer open. He pointed to the screw just inside the panel.

“This one’s backing out. You wanna keep it flush. Push in, twist clockwise.”

You crouched down again beside him and lined it up—then tried to turn it. It slipped.

“Here,” he said, quiet again.

His hand came around yours, firm and steady, guiding your wrist. His palm covered the back of your hand easily, fingers calloused but warm.

“Like that,” he murmured. “Gentle pressure.”

Your breath caught—not sharply, just enough to notice. Enough to make you pause. His chest brushed your shoulder. He didn’t move away. You kept your eyes on the drawer. Focused.

“I think I got it.”

He let go a beat later. Stepped back just slightly.

“Good,” he said. “It’s in.”

When you both stood again, you smiled without thinking. A little dazed, maybe, but content.

“Thanks,” you said, and meant it. “That was kind of satisfying.”

“Yeah?” he said, voice a touch rougher than before. “Guess it’s worth teaching.”

You laughed. “Well I’ll still probably text you next time something breaks.”

He nodded once. Looked at you for just a second too long.

“You’re welcome,” he said finally. “Glad to help.”

He left not long after. And once again, you stayed in the kitchen long after he was gone, still holding the screwdriver in your hand like it was worth something.

⊹₊˚⋆☾⋆˚₊⊹

He told himself it didn’t mean anything.

It was just a drawer. A loose handle. Five minutes of work, tops. She’d probably be busy—on the phone, cleaning, half-distracted. He’d fix it, nod politely, get out before he did something stupid.

And then she opened the door. Same bare legs. Same oversized hoodie, sleeves pushed up her forearms. Her hair was clipped back messily, like she hadn’t thought about it once.

She smiled when she saw him.

“Yeah. It’s barely hanging on.”

She pointed to the drawer like it wasn’t a trap.

Joel crouched, checked the damage, asked for a screwdriver even though he already had one. Just to hear her laugh. Just to keep her talking.

“Somewhere. I think.”

She turned to look for it, rummaging like she’d forget it halfway through.

And then she bent.

Bent.

At the waist. One hand braced on the counter. Shorts lifting just enough to expose the full curve of her thighs, the soft underside he’d been trying not to think about for weeks. He was behind her. Close.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

She had no idea. She came back up like nothing happened. Smiled as she handed it to him. No pause, no shift in her voice. Like she wasn’t burning him alive.

“Found it. Not that I know how to use it.”

He wanted to tell her. You don’t know what you’re doing to me.

But he just nodded. Told her to try. Handed her the screwdriver like it was a test.

She crouched beside him. Elbow bumped his. Her shoulder brushed his chest.

He stared at her hands, small and careful, fingers slipping once.

“Here.”

He wrapped his hand over hers, gently. Guided her wrist, pressed his palm to the back of her hand to steady her grip. 

And that was it. That was the fucking moment. He felt it—heat, want, something hard and undeniable sparking low in his spine. She was so close. Warm. Smelling like laundry detergent and faint vanilla and something softer underneath it all. She looked so serious. So focused.

She didn’t notice. Didn’t shift away. Didn’t tease. Didn’t flinch.

When he let go, her fingers flexed just once. She smiled at the drawer like it had passed a test.

“Thanks,” she said quietly. “That was kind of satisfying.”

Joel couldn’t speak for a second. His jaw was locked. His pulse loud.

“Yeah?” he managed. “Guess it’s worth teaching.”

She laughed, soft and light. Like nothing had happened.

He nodded when she said she’d probably text again soon. Forced himself to turn around. Told her “glad to help” like it wasn’t the fucking truth.

He made it out the door without letting it show. Made it to his truck before his breath caught.

But he didn’t drive home right away. He sat there with his hands on the wheel, hard and shaking, and his dick aching so bad it bordered on painful. Her laugh. Her legs. Her little thank you. The fucking bend.

He drove home with one thing on his mind. Locked the door behind him. Dropped the bag. Went straight to the bathroom. Unzipped his jeans, fist already tight around the base of his cock before he even got the water running. Leaned hard against the counter, eyes closed. Thought of her on her knees—not because she meant to be there. Just crouched beside him, bare skin brushing his arm, looking up like he was someone worth listening to.

He came fast.

Too fast.

Palm braced to the mirror. Breathing rough.

Still hard. Still wanting.

It wasn’t the first time. He thought of her more than he admitted. At night, especially. When the house was quiet and the TV was off and there was nothing left to distract him. He saw her laugh. Saw the way she sat cross-legged on the floor. The way she always said thank you. The way she smiled when she held the door open and didn’t look at him twice.

She didn’t know.

And that was the thing he hated most.

Because part of him was starting to hope that one day she would.

✧˚ · . ୨♡୧ . · ˚✧

Your door wasn’t broken, not really.

It latched. It locked. But sometimes it stuck, and sometimes it didn’t. The key turned stiff. The frame shifted just slightly when it rained. You weren’t sure if it was normal, but the idea of it not working right—the thought of forgetting to double check it before bed—had started to settle in your chest the way small anxieties do.

You told yourself it wasn’t worth bothering anyone. Then you texted Joel anyway.

You: hey—sorry again lol but do you mind checking something with the door lock? it’s probably fine but i’m paranoid and you’re the only one who knows what they’re doing.

He replied quickly, like always.

Joel: I’ll stop by. Be there in an hour.

You didn’t rush to get ready. Just changed out of your tank with the bleach stain and pulled on a clean one. Combed your hair. Opened the windows to let the evening breeze in. You weren’t trying to make anything of it.

But when he knocked, your stomach did that quiet fluttery thing anyway. He looked the same. Always did. Button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled high, work-worn jeans, one hand loose at his side and the other around the handle of his tool bag.

“Door’s acting up?” he asked as he stepped inside.

You nodded. 

“It’s probably nothing. The latch just sticks sometimes. Or it clicks too fast. I don’t know—I don’t want to lock myself out one day and realize it’s been busted this whole time.”

He gave a small grunt in response, already crouching near the frame, running his hand along the wood with practiced ease. You leaned against the counter and watched him move—quiet, focused, not in a hurry. There was something oddly calming about the way he handled things. Like he could break something down and make it make sense without saying much at all.

He worked in silence, checking the alignment, nudging the hinge with his thumb. He didn’t ask for tools. Didn’t explain what he was doing. Just moved like someone who’d done this a hundred times before. You stayed still. Tried not to let your eyes linger too long.

But when he bent to inspect the strike plate—shoulders flexing under the fabric of his shirt, jaw set tight as he leaned into the motion—you looked. Just for a second. It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen him crouched over things before. You had. The bed, the shelf, the drawer. But something about tonight felt… closer. Or quieter. Like your apartment had shrunk while he was in it.

He stood again, twisting the deadbolt back and forth until it slid smoothly.

“Heat’s probably pushing the frame out a little,” he said. “Wasn’t latching clean. Fixed now.”

You nodded. “Thanks.”

You didn’t move right away. Neither did he. He glanced toward you, eyes unreadable, and for just a second the silence stretched—not awkward, but full. Charged. Something in your chest stuttered.

“I feel like I should pay you for this,” you said lightly, voice thinner than you meant it to be.

Joel shook his head. “You know I don’t want that.”

The way he said it made your throat go tight.

He stepped forward to put a tool back in his bag, and as he passed, his arm brushed yours—bare skin to bare skin—and the contact left something behind. Something warm. You could still feel it after he moved away.

Your fingers curled around the edge of the counter.

He picked up the bag, slung it over his shoulder, and didn’t speak again until he reached the door.

His voice was low this time. Softer.

“You keep the bolt oiled, it’ll stay smooth.”

You nodded. Didn’t say anything.

“Night, sweetheart.”

You heard the door click behind him. And you didn’t move for a while.

Just stood there, hand still pressed to the spot where he’d touched you, wondering when his voice started sounding like that in your head. Then—

The doorknob turned again. You’d forgotten you hadn’t locked it yet.

He hadn’t made it far—probably still on the porch—maybe he forgot something, maybe—

You opened it just a little.

Joel was still there. One hand at his side, the other adjusting the strap of his bag over his shoulder. He looked up like he was about to say something, but didn’t.

And before you could stop yourself—

“Wait.”

He blinked.

You opened the door a little wider. Stepped back.

“Do you… wanna stay a little longer?”

It came out too fast. Not flirty. Not smooth. Not even really intentional.

You didn’t know why you said it. You weren’t lonely. You weren’t scared. You didn’t need anything. You just didn’t want him to go. Joel didn’t move at first. Just looked at you—slowly, like he was trying to understand something you hadn’t even figured out yet.

“I mean—if you’re not busy,” you added quickly. “Or if you don’t want to drive yet. I don’t know. It’s dumb. Forget it.”

He didn’t let you spiral. Just said it, quiet and even:

“You sure?”

It wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t hopeful. It was serious. Rough around the edges. Like he needed to hear you say it twice, just so he wouldn’t do something he couldn’t take back.

You swallowed.

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

Joel didn’t smile. Didn’t nod. Just stepped back inside. You shut the door behind him, heart hammering like you were the one who had something to hide. You didn’t know what you wanted. But you wanted it to be him. 

You didn’t know what to offer him. He’d already fixed the door. Already stepped back inside. It wasn’t like there was something to do—no show to watch, no dinner to finish.  

So you said:

“You can sit if you want.”

And he did. Took the end of the couch like he was still on duty. Leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, hands folded. He didn’t relax. He didn’t sprawl. Just… sat.

You curled into the other corner. Pulled your legs under you. Told yourself not to overthink it.

At first, it was small talk. Something about the weather. The construction noise a few blocks down. You said your neighbor’s dog barked like it had been through a war and Joel let out the smallest huff of a laugh. It was easy. Comfortable.

Until it wasn’t.

Until the quiet stretched again and your eyes drifted—slow, unthinking—to the way his forearms rested across his thighs. To the line of his profile in the soft light. To the way he looked at the floor like he was trying not to look at you.

You shifted slightly, adjusting your legs. Your knee bumped his.

Just a brush. Just skin.

But it was something. 

Joel didn’t move. Didn’t pull away.

Your breath slowed in your chest like it was afraid to make a sound. You said something then—you couldn’t even remember what. A question. Something about where he grew up. Or maybe if he liked his job. Anything to fill the space.

He answered softly. Nothing too deep. But his voice had dropped again—lower, quieter, like it only belonged in the room you were sharing. You nodded along. Fiddled with the hem of your tank top. Your hands were warm. You didn’t know why.

A few more minutes passed. A few more glances. The energy never spiked. It just sat between you—thick and warm and new.

Eventually, he checked the time.

“I should head out.”

You nodded.

“Yeah. Sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you.”

You walked him to the door again. He didn’t look at you quite the same way. And when you said goodnight, it came out quieter than you meant.

He said your name, low and even.

“Take care.”

You locked the door behind him. Checked it twice, like that would make the moment last longer. The living room felt different after he left. Not colder. Not empty. Just… aware. Like the air had shifted around you and was still trying to settle. You stood there for a while. Then turned out the lights. Got a glass of water. Tried to act normal. But when you passed the couch—that spot—you felt it again.

That hum under your skin.

The tension in your chest.

The way your breath had slowed when his knee touched yours.

You went to bed without brushing your hair. Climbed under the blanket and stared at the ceiling like it had answers. It didn’t. You closed your eyes. And the first thing you thought of was his voice. That low “take care” at the door. The way he said your name. The way his hands looked when he fixed things—rough, steady, careful. You exhaled, quiet and shaky. Your thighs pressed together beneath the blanket.

You didn’t mean to. Didn’t plan it. But your hand slid down anyway.

Just over your stomach. Just under the hem of your shirt. You weren’t thinking clearly, weren’t even sure why you were doing it—but your body was buzzing, hot, still echoing from the way it had felt sitting next to him. You touched yourself softly. Slowly. Just enough to take the edge off the ache you didn’t know how to name.

You didn’t say his name. But you thought about his hands. And somehow... that was worse.

⊹₊˚⋆☾⋆˚₊⊹

It was around 8 pm the next day when she texted.

Her: hey—are you around?

No other details. No broken drawer. No explanation. Just like the night before.

Joel had spent most of that day trying not to think about her. Didn’t work. He kept seeing her—how she looked when she asked him to stay. The way she leaned on the counter, lip tucked between her teeth like she didn’t know what she was doing to him. He kept hearing her voice in the dark. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

He didn’t know what the hell she thought this was. He didn’t even know what he thought it was anymore. But when she sent that message, he didn’t hesitate.

He answered.

Him: Yeah. You need something? Her: no just—wanted to see you if you’re not busy

He read that last part twice. Then grabbed his keys.

Her apartment was dim when she let him in—lights low, one lamp near the window, something soft playing in the background. She wore a ribbed tank top and sleep shorts, her hair half-clipped up, a faint line across her cheek like she’d just woken up from a nap on the couch.

She didn’t look nervous. But she didn’t meet his eyes right away either.

“Hi,” she said.

That was it. No reason. No problem to solve.

Joel stepped inside and felt his body lock up almost immediately. The air felt too warm. The room too quiet. Like the walls knew something he didn’t.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded. Smiled. Tucked her leg up on the couch and motioned for him to sit.

“I just didn’t feel like being alone tonight.”

She said it lightly, like it didn’t mean anything. But Joel could feel it. Something was different.

He sat at the opposite end of the couch. It felt too small. She curled up in her usual spot, blanket draped over her legs, a glass of water resting on her thigh. Her foot brushed against the cushion near his hip when she shifted. She didn’t pull it away.

He couldn’t focus on what she was saying. Some story about her neighbor’s smoke alarm going off for two hours, about how she tried banging on the wall but it didn’t help. He nodded when he should. Said “yeah” once. Let her talk.

But all he could think about was how good she smelled.

How soft her voice was.

How close her knee was to touching his.

The worst part was how normal it looked. From the outside, it could’ve been nothing. Just two people sitting. One talking. The other listening. But inside him, everything was clenched.

Every time she tucked her hair behind her ear. Every time her tank top shifted when she reached for her glass. Every time her voice went quiet at the end of a sentence. It was like being on fire. Quietly. And she didn’t even notice.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat like that. Maybe an hour, maybe more. The sound of her voice, the way she laughed at her own joke, the curve of her body under that blanket—it all started to stack up. He shifted once. Adjusted the way he sat. It didn’t help. His hands were too still. His legs too tense. His jeans too tight across his thighs.

He wanted to leave.

And he wanted to stay forever.

Eventually, she leaned back a little, head against the cushion, voice low.

“It’s nice when you’re here.”

Joel didn’t respond. He couldn’t. 

She looked over at him. Eyes soft. Barely searching. And God help him—he almost reached for her. Almost touched her ankle where it peeked out from the blanket. Almost slid his hand over her knee and just held it there. But he didn’t.

He just nodded once.

“Yeah,” he said. “It is.”

When she walked him to the door an hour later, she said goodnight the same way she always did. But her voice had changed. And Joel? Joel barely made it to his truck before he gripped the steering wheel with both hands and sat there in the dark, breathing like he’d just run six miles uphill.

She didn’t need anything from him. She just wanted him there. And he didn’t know how much longer he could keep coming over without letting her know what that did to him.

✧˚ · . ୨♡୧ . · ˚✧

It was 6 pm on a Thursday. You had just gotten home from work and settled in.

You weren’t expecting anyone. You hadn’t texted him. Hadn’t broken anything. You’d just been pacing a little—half-folding laundry, checking your phone without a reason, replaying the sound of his voice from last night in your head. It was quiet. Too quiet. 

You were mid-sip of water when the knock came. Not loud. Just two firm knocks—confident. Familiar. Your breath caught before your brain caught up. You set the glass down and wiped your hands on your shorts. Walked to the door slowly. When you opened it—he was already looking at you.

Joel. Still in work clothes. Shirt wrinkled, sweat at his collar, bag slung off one shoulder. His eyes didn’t move like they usually did. No casual sweep of the room. No distant quiet. They were on you. And they stayed there.

“Hi,” you said, soft. “I didn’t know you were—”

“I know.”

His voice was rough. Tired. Not angry. Just… decided.

You blinked. Your fingers curled lightly around the edge of the door.

“Everything okay?”

He didn’t answer right away. And then, without breaking eye contact— “Can I come in?”

⊹₊˚⋆☾⋆˚₊⊹

She opened the door wearing that same look she always had with him—soft, unsure, like she didn’t even know what she was doing.

But he did. He knew. It had hit him earlier that day, hours after he left—when he realized how long she’d watched him from the couch. How quiet she’d gone. How the blanket had slipped down just far enough to show the top of her thigh and she hadn’t pulled it back up.

She’d wanted him there. Not because she was lonely. Because she wanted him. And that was it. That was the fucking end of his restraint. He hadn’t called. Hadn’t thought it through. Just got in the truck. Drove straight to her door. And now he was standing inside her apartment, watching her back away slowly as he stepped in. She looked nervous—but not scared. Like her body was catching up to something her brain hadn’t named yet. 

Joel dropped his bag by the door.

“You sure you’re not just bein’ polite?” he asked quietly. “What?” she blinked. “You didn’t ask me to fix anything.”

She shook her head once, eyes wide.

“No. I just… wanted to see you.”

He stared at her. Then took one slow step closer.

“You ever let anybody else in here just because you wanted to see ‘em?”

She didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. Joel’s jaw clenched. His voice dropped.

“Didn’t think so.”

She was still standing by the doorway, arms at her sides, breathing like she didn’t trust her own chest to move too much. Joel took another step.

Closer.

Slow.

The silence between them folded into something heavier.

“Why’d you really want me here?”

She blinked, lips parting. No words. Just air. He could see it in her eyes—the hesitation, the pull, the heat she hadn’t admitted to herself yet. And it wrecked him.

“You don’t even know,” he murmured. “Do you?”

She swallowed. Didn’t speak.

“You got no idea what you’re doin’ to me.”

That made her breath catch.

He stepped even closer, so close now he could feel the warmth coming off her skin, could see the pulse fluttering at the base of her throat.

“Every time I come over here. Every time you call. Every time you smile like that like I ain’t comin’ apart at the fuckin’ seams…”

His hand twitched at his side. He didn’t touch her. Didn’t move.

“You sit there in your little tank tops. You lean close. You say my name like it don’t mean nothin’. And you don’t even know.”

She was staring up at him now—still quiet, still frozen—but there was something in her eyes.

A question.

A need.

She whispered it, like it wasn’t even meant to be heard.

“What if I do?”

Joel went still. Just for a beat. Then—

He moved. Not rushed. Not soft. Just real—a hand at her jaw, fingers curling gently but firmly, tilting her face up. Not a kiss. Not yet. His mouth hovered just over hers, breath mingling, eyes locked.

“You say that again, baby… I won’t be able to walk away.”

Her eyes flicked down to his mouth. Then back to his eyes. She didn’t say it again. But she didn’t move. And she didn’t stop him when his forehead came to rest gently against hers.

“Tell me to leave,” he rasped, jaw tight. “If I stay, I won’t keep pretendin’ I don’t want you.”

She didn’t say a word. And that silence? 

That was all he needed.

She just looked up at him with those wide, careful eyes, breath slow and warm on his mouth. And he knew.

Joel’s hand slipped from her jaw to the back of her neck, slow and certain, and the second his mouth touched hers—it was over.

Soft at first. Gentle. Like maybe he could stop himself if he started slow. But then she made a sound—something small, something like a sigh—and it wrecked him.

He pulled her in. Gripped her waist, pressed her back against the wall without meaning to. Mouth open now, kissing her like he needed it, like it had been building for years instead of weeks. Her hands slid up his chest, shaky, unsure, fingertips digging into the fabric like she didn’t know what to hold on to.

“Joel—”

She breathed it like she couldn’t help it. Like it was already a habit.

He groaned, low and deep into her mouth, then pulled back just enough to look at her.

“Tell me to stop.”

She blinked, lips parted, cheeks flushed. Didn’t say a word.

He kissed her again. This time rougher—hands in her hair, thigh between hers, tongue tasting the little gasps she gave him. She clung to him like she didn’t know what else to do, and he let her. Let her pull, let her press up against him, let her feel everything he’d been trying to hide.

He dragged his mouth down her neck, nipped lightly at her collarbone.

“You don’t know what you’re doin’ to me,” he muttered, voice ragged.

She whispered back, almost dazed:

“I want to.”

That was it.

Joel lifted her without thinking. Hands on her thighs, walking her backward through the apartment until the backs of her knees hit the couch. He laid her down gently. Crawled over her slow.

She looked up at him like she was still trying to believe this was real.

He kissed her softer this time—one hand braced by her head, the other brushing her cheek.

“You sure?” he asked, voice barely there.

She nodded—then paused.

Eyes searching his face. Lips parted, like the words were already sitting there, waiting to fall out.

“I’ve never…” she breathed. “Not like this.”

Joel froze. Not because he was surprised. But because of how softly she said it. Like it mattered. Like it meant something. Like it wasn’t just about sex—it was him.

She looked up at him, nervous. Exposed. Brave.

“I’ve never been with anyone like this before,” she said again, quieter now.

Something in Joel’s chest cracked wide open. He touched her face, thumb brushing her cheekbone.

“You don’t have to explain that to me, baby.”

His voice was low, almost reverent. His hand cupped her jaw like she was breakable. Like he’d do anything not to hurt her.

“You just tell me how to touch you,” he murmured. “Tell me what you like. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Eyes locked on his. Lips parted. Like something was about to come out, but her breath caught instead.

“I—I don’t know what to… I mean, I’ve never—”

Her voice cracked. She swallowed. Blinked fast like she was frustrated for even trying to say it. 

Joel leaned in, hand cradling her face, steady and warm. He kissed the corner of her mouth—just once, gentle—then pulled back just enough to meet her eyes.

“You don’t have to know what to do.”

“You just let me learn you.”

Her fingers curled into the front of his shirt. He brought his forehead to hers.

“I’ll go slow,” he murmured. “You wanna stop, you tell me. You want more—I’ll give you more.”

“Joel…” she whispered.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

She looked at him—wide-eyed, nervous, open.

“I want it to be you.”

Joel exhaled like her words physically hit him in the chest. But he didn’t move forward. He leaned in, kissed her—once, slow, firm. Then pulled back just enough to look her in the eye.

“You don’t know what you’re askin’ for.”

Her face faltered. She looked like she was about to apologize. Joel shook his head—soft, gentle—thumbing her cheek before she could look away.

“I like that you’re new to this. Like that you trust me.” “But I’m not in a rush, baby.”

He kissed her again. Deeper this time.

“Not gonna take you fast. Not gonna take you like you’re just somethin’ I can fuck and leave. I want you feelin’ safe. Wanted.”

She blinked up at him—something between a gasp and a breath catching in her throat.

“I do,” she whispered. “Feel safe.”

That almost did him in. Joel groaned softly and dipped his head, kissing her slower now—longer, lips moving against hers like he was savoring the shape of her mouth. Like he had all night to learn it.

Her hands came up around his neck. Her body pulled him closer. The couch shifted beneath them as he laid her back gently—not to take, not to fuck—but just to have her close.

He kissed her jaw, her cheek, her neck—each one softer than the last. Her fingers slid into his hair, tugging gently. He let out a breath against her skin.

“You tell me when you’re ready,” he said, voice low. “Until then… I’m gonna take my time.”

She nodded, eyes fluttering shut as he kissed her again.

And for a while, there was nothing but the sound of mouths meeting, breath between them, the soft drag of his fingers over her waist and thighs—not pushing, just exploring.

Not claiming. Just caring.

✧˚ · . ୨♡୧ . · ˚✧

You didn’t expect it to feel like this.

His weight above you. His hands slow and steady. His mouth moving like he wanted to memorize you—not take you apart. Joel wasn’t rushing. He wasn’t even undressing you anymore. Just kissing. Letting the couch shift beneath your backs while his hands slid over your waist like it was something precious.

“You tell me when you’re ready,” he’d said.

And you believed him. God, you believed him.

Now his lips were on your throat. Your collarbone. His hand was smoothing over your thigh—up, down, warm, patient—like he wasn’t trying to get anywhere. Just feel. Just touch. You didn’t know your body could light up like this. Every place he kissed felt like it meant something. Your skin tingled. Your breath kept catching—right in that tight little place under your ribs.

You didn’t feel nervous anymore. You felt wanted. Not like a thing. Not like a curiosity. Like something he needed. Like something he’d been waiting for.

“You’re killin’ me,” he whispered suddenly, voice thick and low in your ear.

You smiled—barely.

“Why?”

He kissed your neck again, then your jaw.

“’Cause you don’t even know what you’re doin’ to me.”

That made your stomach drop. Your hips shifted before you could stop them. You didn’t mean to grind up against him—but you did. And he groaned. Deep. From the chest. His body stiffened. Then he backed off just an inch—eyes meeting yours, wild but controlled.

“You want me to stop?”

You shook your head immediately.

“No.”

It came out faster than you meant. Hung in the air between you. He nodded once—then leaned back down, kissing you softer now, his hand cupping your face, holding you like he didn’t want to let go.

“We don’t have to do anything tonight,” he murmured. “You just let me hold you like this, and that’ll be enough.”

And God— that made your throat tighten. Because you didn’t want to stop either.

You just didn’t know how to say: I want to feel like this forever.

So instead, you whispered,

“Okay.”

And then you let him hold you. Let him kiss you slow. Let his hands slide over your skin like he was trying to learn every inch of it before asking for more.

And for the first time in your life, you didn’t feel nervous about being touched.

You just felt like you wanted to be.

✧˚ · . ୨♡୧ . · ˚✧

Joel: “Go out with me.”

You hadn’t seen him in about a week.

Not since the night he held you on the couch like something worth keeping. Like he didn’t want to rush, or take, or ruin anything. Just learn you. Kiss you slow.

But he texted. Every day. Never too much—just enough to stay in your head.

Sometimes it was a joke. Sometimes something stupid he saw at the hardware store. You smiled every time his name popped up. Sometimes you reread the things he sent you when you couldn’t sleep. Tonight was quiet. Laundry folded. Tea in your mug. You were halfway through some show you weren’t paying attention to when your phone buzzed again.

Joel: You eaten tonight?

You smiled.

You: not yet. why?

There was a pause—long enough you almost thought he got busy or changed his mind.

Then:

Joel: Thought I’d take you out.

You stared at the screen.

Out.

Not over. Not “swing by.” Not “grab something on the way.”

Out.

You: like… out out? Joel: Yeah. A date.

Your stomach flipped. Then a second message came in.

Joel: Unless that’s not what you want.

You answered fast.

You: no. I do. I want that. Joel: Friday okay? I’ll come get you. You: what should I wear? Joel: Somethin’ you feel good in. Joel: Don’t dress up for me.

Another pause. Then:

Joel: You’re already pretty.

You set the phone down. And sat there for a while, smiling at your hands.

[millers-girl]

in the quiet

chapter 8 of willow & whiskey

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: it took five days for you to tell Joel you couldn't trust him again, but only one for you to desperately beg him to stay.

warnings/tags: age gap, adult language, blood and violence, injury, stab wound

word count: 5.5k

series masterlist

It took five days to get to the Firefly base at the University of Eastern Colorado.

Five easy days, Ellie had called them, counting the lack of Infected and ambushes as a win. But for you, they were five long, grueling days – sleepless, aching, every mile dragging beneath the weight of Joel’s actions.

You hadn’t lied when you said you understood why Joel made the decision to stay behind in Jackson and hand you and Ellie off to Tommy for the last leg of the trip. He thought he was doing the right thing; thought he was protecting you both, from the inevitable fallout of letting people get close. 

But understanding and being okay with it were two different things.

You weren’t okay. You weren’t even close.

You were still angry, disappointed, even heartbroken – though you’d never admit it to him. The resentment curdled inside you, hot and sour, spilling into every interaction. 

You made a point of keeping your distance: falling behind him on the trail, slowing your steps until the gap widened between you two, then speeding up when he deliberately hung back to match your pace. You dodged his painful attempts at tentative small talk. You only spoke when necessary – and really only to take extra watch shifts or chores to avoid downtime with Joel.

And Joel noticed. Of course he noticed.

He began quietly hovering, staying close enough to be protective, but clearly unsure how to bridge the emotional gap between you two. He kept trying small ways to show he was there – offering to carry something for you (you insisted you were fine), adjusting your pack straps when you weren’t paying attention (of course you were, but you pretended not to notice), and even sliding an extra blanket your way at night (you took it, mumbling a stiff thanks that tasted like ash in your mouth).

You were hurting, and you were guarded. Every night, you turned your back to him by the fire, wiping at your eyes in what you thought was secret. Every morning, you steeled yourself before meeting his gaze, if you even did.

“Don’t worry about me,” you told him flatly one afternoon, when he tried to offer a hand up a steep incline. “I can handle myself.”

He let his arm fall, silently resigning.

On the fourth night, to both your surprise, Joel finally decided to say something. 

That day, Ellie had chosen to ride with Joel, her small hands clutching his jacket as she leaned her cheek against his back, giggling at whatever story he was telling. You’d trailed behind on Orion, watching from a distance as the two of them shared a softness you couldn’t bring yourself to touch.

Joel’s lips had twitched upward at her giggles and when he looked back, he caught you just as you scrubbed a tear from your cheek. His smile instantly fell as he watched you avert your eyes to the first road ahead.

Now, here he was, watching you take first watch, Ellie already fast asleep, and in the dim glow of the fire, he finally had the courage to ask, “Are you ever gonna talk to me again?” 

You turned, meeting his gaze over the flickering flames. Your chest tightened at the hope woven in the question, the way it softened his rough edges. This exact tone was what got you in the first place. So, now, you forced a shrug. 

“What’s there to talk about?” you asked, voice clipped and hollow, matching the tone he had taken on those first few weeks traveling together. 

He flinched at the coldness. He hated hearing it coming out of your mouth, replacing that lighthearted, playful and sweet tone that was your default.

“I’m… sorry.” 

You’d imagined him saying those words a hundred times over the past four days, dreamed of them like they would magically fix everything. Instead, they only made your heart clench tighter. 

You looked away, the fire’s heat barely touching the chill settling into your bones now. “It’s fine.” 

“It’s not,” he insisted.

And for whatever reason, that was what set you off – where did he get off trying to make everything right now? Trying to pretend like him leaving hurt him as much as it did you? Like it was the toughest decision he ever made? 

Your eyes snapped back at him, anger rising sharp and bitter. “Why does it matter?” you bit out. “You made it very clear we’re not family. So why are we even having this conversation?” 

“I was wrong,” he admitted, words landing heavy between you. “I just want to explain why I thought it was the right thing to do. I didn’t want to leave you, I just – I didn’t know what else to do.”

To his surprise, you said, “I understand why you did it.” 

His brows lifted, hopeful. “You do?” 

You gave a sharp nod. “You were scared – scared you were getting too close to us, starting to care, worried about losing us like… like you lost Sarah – ” Joel’s eyes darkened at the mention, but he didn’t interrupt. “I get it. But I never would’ve made that decision… Ellie is my Sarah. I love her, I’d do anything for her. And I’m scared every single day of losing her. But I’m never gonna leave. 

“I’ve protected her for fourteen years and I’ll protect her until I die. She’s my sister. My responsibility. Everything I do is for her, and you…” You weren’t sure if this was the right time to bring it up but the words spilled out of your mouth before you could stop them. “Look, I respect you. I care for you, if that wasn’t abundantly clear already. But you have a habit of self-sabotaging, and this last time really hurt Ellie… and it hurt me. So, when this is over and we get back to Jackson… I’m gonna ask Tommy to find me and Ellie a house to stay in.”

Joel paused for a moment, frown deepening as he pointed out, “You already have a house.” 

“We can’t stay there.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because I can’t trust you not to leave again.” The words fell heavy in the night air. “You dumped us on Tommy like we were a problem, Joel. Like the last half a year didn’t mean shit.” You shook your head. “I don’t care that you changed your mind thirty minutes before we left. It doesn’t change anything. We’re creatures of habit, us three. You always leave and we always get left behind.”

His voice cracked. “I’m not leavin’. Not this time.” 

You met his gaze across the fire, your own breaking under the weight of it. “I don’t believe you.” 

A twig snapped in the woods beyond, and both of you jerked toward the sound. Instinct surged through your veins like electricity – you raised your rifle; Joel reached for the knife at his ankle.

After a pause, a fawn emerged from the brush, its delicate legs carrying it past the camp without fear, vanishing into the night.

Your shoulders sagged with relief, though your pulse still thundered in your ears. “Go back to bed,” you mumbled, keeping your eyes on the treeline. “I’ll wake you when it’s time for second watch.” 

Joel hesitated, lingering a moment longer before finally retreating into the warmth of his sleeping bag. You listened to the restless rustle of his tossing and turning until it was time for second watch.

The hours of the next afternoon were spent with you listening to Ellie and Joel converse about the rules of American football. By the time the campus came into view, you were grateful for the distraction. If you had to hear the word “touchdown” one more time, you’d bash your head into a wall.

To your favor, the conversation shifted to college as the three of you passed through the quiet, overgrown campus, your horses’ hooves crunching over old leaves and cracked pavement.

“So people would live here and go to classes and stuff?” Ellie asked, craning her neck to take it all in. “Even though they were adults?” 

Joel gave a small nod, shrugging as his gaze swept the empty grounds. "Sort of adults. I think it was just as much about partying and findin' themselves as anythin' else. Figuring out what they wanted to do with their lives."

"What they wanted to do with their lives..." Ellie echoed thoughtfully, then turned her curious eyes to you. "What did you want to do with your life? Before all this, I mean. Did you ever think about college?"

You flicked a glance at Joel, who was already watching you, then narrowed your eyes at Ellie. "I was seven when the outbreak happened, El. You know this." 

"Yeah, but like… dream job. Didn't you ever think about what you wanted to be when you grew up?"

You hesitated, thoughts swirling in your mind. "Before the outbreak, we used to have these neighbors. The Sinclairs –” 

“The ones with the telescope in their backyard?” Ellie perked up, piecing it together. “The one that got you interested in space?”

You smiled faintly at the memory, nodding. “Mrs. Sinclair used to be a ballerina. And on days that my mom was late coming home from work, she’d send me next door, and Mrs. Sinclair would put on old records and teach me little bits of her old routines. She’d tell me stories about being on stage, about the music and the lights, and I couldn’t get enough of it.

"That year for Halloween, Mom bought me this pink leotard with a little tutu, and Mrs. Sinclair gave me one of her old ballet pins to wear with it – in the shape of a tiny silver slipper. ‘Just to borrow,’ she’d said. ‘Until you earn your own someday.’”

You paused, swallowing the lump rising in your throat, blinking against the prick in your eyes.

“I wore that pin every day for nearly a year after that. Always in my hair, always in a bun. Like if I kept it close enough, maybe it’d come true.”

When you looked back at Ellie, she was smiling softly, almost wistfully. “You would’ve made a great ballerina,” she said gently, making your smile widen.

“The best,” Joel added, his voice quiet but certain. You really met his eyes then – brown and steady and watching you with something careful and protective. Your chest ached. You searched his gaze for some hidden meaning or ulterior motive tucked behind the compliment, but found only honesty. It unsettled you, in a way. You looked away first, breaking the moment, fixing your eyes ahead.

Joel cleared his throat, shifting his weight as if shaking something off. “So I've been thinkin',” he began, addressign Ellie. “I don’t want a sheep ranch, actually. I mean, if I can do anything – well – when I was a kid, I wanted to be a singer.” 

Ellie let out a surprised giggle, and despite yourself, a huff of a single laugh escaped your lips. Joel didn’t miss it. 

“Why’s that funny?” he challenged, though his eyes crinkled faintly.

Ellie grinned. “You gotta sing something now.” 

“No.” 

“Come on,” she pressed. “We’re not gonna laugh.” 

“You’re already laughin’,” he pointed out, deadpan. 

Ellie had no defense, only a shrug. “Well, you’re singin’ for me later. I’m gonna save the fucking world, man. It’s the least you can do for me.” 

After a pause, Joel conceded. “Fair enough.” 

You refused to glance his way after that, but your mind betrayed you, spinning with images of Joel singing. You wondered what his voice sounded like? Probably rough and low.

Wondered what he would sing – country or something softer?

Wondered if he’d ever give in to Ellie’s relentless requests to sing Take On Me – God, you’d heard her play that on the radio for hours back in the QZ. You missed those nights sometimes, when danger felt more distant, and laughter was louder than worry.

But the moment slipped away from you as the Biomedical Sciences building, the unofficial headquarters of the Fireflies, came into view. You slowed instinctively, unease crawling your skin. Something was off – it was barren and quiet. The guard stations had no guards; the inside was eerily still. Joel even found a packing list, like they were leaving. No Fireflies.

The three of you did find a map pinned to the wall, the route traced in red leading to a hospital – St. Mary’s, in Salt Lake City. Your stomach dropped. The journey wasn’t over, not yet.

A scrape of boots echoed from outside. Joel stiffened, pulling you and Ellie back into the shadows. A group of four armed men entered the building, scanning the area. They hadn’t seen you – yet.

“Go,” Joel murmured, ushering you and Ellie toward the back exit. You moved quickly, heart pounding in your ears, weaving through the building until you spilled out near the horses. So close. Almost home free.

Then, Ellie shouted, “Look out!”

A man lunged from the side, swinging a bat at Joel. The crack of wood splintered against a tree snapped through the air. Joel grabbed the man, wrestling him into a brutal chokehold until his body went limp.

You barely had time to process before you turned, saw Joel… and saw the knife lodged into his abdomen, the hilt slick with his blood. Your breath caught, a frozen gasp in your throat. 

Joel’s eyes met yours, steady even now as he gripped the handle and pulled it free. The blade clattered to the ground, darkened with red.

“Oh, my God. Oh. my God,” you whispered, frantic, rushing to him as he staggered. “Joel – ” You helped him up onto Callus with a strength pulled from panic. “Ellie, get on Orion – now!” 

Ellie scrambled onto the horse as the other looters rounded the corner, weapons raised. “They’re coming!”

“We need to go – now!” you shouted, snapping the ewins, urging Callus into a gallop. Behind you, Ellie fired blindly, the crack of her pistol mingling with shouted curses. Your heart pounded so loud it drowned everything else. Hooved thundered beneath you. Trees blurred past. You didn’t dare look back.

Not until the sounds faded behind you, not until the adrenaline finally slowed and cold reality seeped in. Only then did you glance at Joel. He was slumped back, his weight leaning heavily into you. “Joel?” you called, voice shaking.

No response.

“Joel,” you repeated, louder now, as fear clawed up your spine. “Joel, stay with me – please – ”

But his body tipped sideways, sliding off the saddle before you could stop him. He landed in a snowbank with a dull, sickening thud.

“Joel!” You dropped down beside him, knees hitting the snow. “Joel, open your eyes!” Your hands pressed hard against the stab wound, but the blood kept coming, warm and wet beneath your fingers. 

Ellie dismounted, kneeling opposite you, her face pale. “Joel – come on. You gotta get up!”

“I can’t fuckin’ do this without you,” you growled, pushing harder, desperate, the snow beneath him staining red. “Joel, get up!” 

Ellie’s breathing hitched, tears welling in her eyes. “Joel!”

You leaned closer, hands trembling over the wound. “Please,” you whispered, voice cracking as tears lined your own eyes. “Please, Joel. Please get up.”

Somewhere in western Colorado, inside a house long since abandoned––its walls brittle, windows coated with grime, and air thick with mildew––you knelt beside Joel, ripping a spare shirt from your pack into uneven strips. Your hands moved fast but clumsily, fingers trembling as you worked.

The cold bit at your cheeks, but you barely noticed; your pulse thrummed loudly in your ears, drowning out everything but the sight of him bleeding beneath you.

You yanked open his shirt, buttons echoing on the floor as they scattered, and pressed the makeshift cloth firmly against the wound. Joel gasped awake with a sharp inhale, his body aching. His hand shot up, gripping your forearm, knuckles white, skin clammy and pale beneath the flickering light of your flashlight.

Your breath came fast, shallow, a tinge of fear clawing up your throat. “Stay with me, stay with me,” you whispered under your breath, like a mantra, a prayer.

“Holy shit, that’s a lot of blood,” Ellie said, hovering nervously nearby, her voice thin and small.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you muttered, the words spilling out in rhythm with your heartbeat. The cloth was already darkening, and despite everything, you latched onto the silver lining that at least he was conscious – even if his face was contorted in pain.

"Leave," he rasped suddenly, his voice rough and breaking. His brown eyes locked onto yours, urgent. “You have to leave.”

The shock of his words knocked the air from your lungs. “What?” you breathed, stunned.

Ellie was quicker to respond. "Shut up, Joel." 

But Joel wouldn’t let it go, wouldn’t stop. "Take the gun,” he pressed, his grip on you tightening.

"Joel, shut the fuck up!" you snapped, a wild panic edging your voice. What was he saying? How could he say that, after all you’d been through together? "Let me think!"

But Joel was relentless, dragging you closer by the collar of your jacket, his strength frightening despite how much blood he’d lost. “You go,” he ordered, fierce and fading all at once. “You take Ellie and you go north. Go to Tommy. You go.”

With the last of his strength, he shoved you back, hard. The force sent you stumbling, landing on your ass, the wind knocked clean from your chest.

You stared at him from the floor, heart pounding, torn between fury and terror. But there wasn’t time for either. You pushed yourself up, jaw clenched, and grabbed Ellie’s wrist. “Come on.”

You pulled her upstairs, the old wooden steps groaning under your feet. “Check every drawer. We need medicine, bandages, something for the stitches. We need to find something!”

Ellie nodded, splitting off, and you both rifled through the dusty remnants of another family’s life: broken dishes, scattered photos, clothes long moth-eaten. Drawers squeaked and banged, every sound loud in the stillness. 

“Here!” Ellie called, thrusting a small tin sewing kit into your hands. You didn’t even look at her, just sprinted back downstairs, knees hitting the cold floor beside Joel with a painful thud.

His eyes flicked open at your arrival, hazy but locked on you. There was something in them – raw, unguarded disbelief that you’d came back.

“We’re not leaving,” Ellie vowed behind you, moving closer. “We're not going anywhere." She took his free hand in hers, and your chest clenched painfully at the sight of Joel’s fingers squeezing hers, grounding himself to her.

Your own hand hovered above his chest before settling, trembling slightly over his weak heartbeat. "If I’d known a stab wound would've turned you into a big softie, I'd have done it myself ages ago, old man," you teased, voice thick with emotion. 

A faint smile ghosted over Joel’s lips, brief but real, and you cupped his cheek for a fleeting second, thumb brushing over his stubble before turning back to the wound. 

“I’m really sorry about this,” you warned quietly. “Trust me, this is not how I pictured my first time taking off your shirt going, either.” 

You drew in a long breath, trying to steady your hands. “Okay,” you whispered to yourself, building up your confidence. “Okay.”

And then you got to work.

The first time the needle pierced his skin, Joel groaned, his grip latching onto your bicep like a vice. His whole body tensed under your hands, and you felt his pain ripple through you, raw and electric.

"I know, baby. I know," you murmured, the words falling automatically as you worked, threading the needle through torn skin, pulling it tight, again and again. as you threaded the needle in and out of his skin. Hot tears continued to burn as they slid down your cheeks. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

Joel’s eyes fluttered shut before you were even halfway done, his weight sinking heavier into the ratty mattress. You pressed harder, worked faster as the stitches held but the bleeding didn’t stop as quickly as you’d hoped.

When it was finally over, Ellie helped you by covering Joel with the thickest blanket she could scrounge up from upstairs. She curled up beside him, her hand resting on his chest, her body seeking his warmth. You watched Joel, unconscious, instinctively tilt his head toward her, leaning into her touch even as he drifted deeper into sleep.

A tiny, exhausted smile pulled at your lips.

You lay down beside him, your sleeping bag doing little against the hard concrete. The cold crept up from the floor into your bones, but you barely felt it. Your eyes stayed fixed on Joel’s pale face, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, counting every breath like a lifeline.

You reached out hesitantly, your hand finding his where it rested limply by his side. You threaded your fingers through his, squeezing tightly, silently begging him to stay.

Your thumb brushed over the back of his hand, tracing the scars and calluses, grounding yourself in the reality of him, alive and here, even if hanging on by a thread. 

But Joel Miller was a fighter – a thread was all you needed.

Ellie’s quiet snores filled the room, soft and steady, and for a moment, you let yourself breathe.

But as you lay there, tethered to him by the small, stubborn clasp of your fingers, the weight of it all settled deep into your chest. It felt… complicated. 

Complicated because of how you’d left things with Joel – the silence, the tension, the unspoken things you were both too stubborn to say.

And yet, somehow, it felt like the simplest thing in the world.

Because the second he was hurt––bleeding and broken beneath your hands––nothing else mattered. Not the fights, not the distance, not the walls he insisted on building around himself.

All that mattered was him. Saving him. Keeping him alive.

You closed your eyes, pressing your forehead lightly against the back of his hand. 

“I’m not leaving you,” you whispered, voice horse. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And in that quiet, flickering dark, you knew you meant it with everything you had. You didn’t care if he pushed you away – you’d keep coming back. Because that was what you did… for people you loved.

You didn’t sleep that night, afraid of what would happen if you woke up and Joel had stopped breathing. So you spent the night on your side in that uncomfortable sleeping bag, eyes glued to his chest, finding comfort in the rhythmic way it went up and down as he breathed. Every once in a while, your gaze would flicker to his face, to how peaceful he looked, even if he didn’t feel it. 

You only realized it was morning when daylight began to filter through the broken window panes, casting pale patterns across the floorboards. Now awake, you sat up, resting our back against the nearest wall, arms loosely draped over bent knees. Outside, the wind howled through the bare trees, reminding you of the wintery mix existing outside.

When Ellie woke up, she fidgeted with her pocket knife, scraping the dull blade against the concrete floor around her. Every few minutes, she glanced over Joel’s still form lying on the mattress, as if waiting for him to stir awake. You followed her gaze every time, your own heart sinking deeper at the sight of his pale skin. 

For a long while, neither of you spoke. The quiet wasn’t awkward – it was heavy, thick with the unknown of the future. You watched Ellie scratch patterns into the concrete, her lights pressed tight, shoulders tense.

It reminded you of before. Before Jackson. Before Kansas City. Before Joel. Back when it was just you and Ellie against the world. Just two people surviving day by day, moving forward without knowing where forward even led.

You swallowed hard, thinking about how lonely it used to feel. And you hadn’t even realized it then. You hadn’t known how much lighter it could be with someone else helping you carry the weight. With Joel carrying more than his fair share. You didn’t realize how much his presence had changed both of you, made you more than just two survivors scraping by.

Ellie finally broke the silence, her voice soft and steady. “What are we gonna do if… I mean, what if he doesn’t…” 

She couldn’t bring herself to finish the thought but she didn’t need to; you understood exactly what she was asking.

What if he doesn’t wake up?

The question made your chest tighten. You looked at her, then; really looked at her – at the circles under her eyes, the way her mouth trembled just a little as she spoke. Maybe she was asking it partly out of fear, but you knew it was mostly out of a need. Because she deserved an answer. 

You didn’t realize how much Joel’s interactions with Ellie affected you. He treated her like an adult, like she was capable of handling the harsh cruelties of the world you lived in. And she’d only thrived in that environment. She’d loved learning how to hunt from Joel, how to shoot the rifle, how to take watch. 

She deserved to be treated like an adult by you, too. She deserved for you to be honest, even if it was hard, because it was necessary. You couldn’t shield Ellie with false hope anymore; now, you had to honor her strength the way Joel had. The way Joel does.

You inhaled deeply, letting the breath linger in your lungs before exhaling. “I don’t know, Ellie.” 

She blinked at you, surprised, maybe expecting you to lie to protect her, as you’d done her entire life. You shook your head gently. “I won’t bullshit you. I wish I had a plan. I wish I knew how to fix this. But…” Your gaze drifted back to Joel. “I don’t know what to do. I’m honestly just trying to get through the next hour.”

Ellie nodded slowly. Her lips pressed together again, but she didn’t argue. Didn’t tell you to come up with something. Instead, she scooted closer, crossing her arms over her knees and resting her chin atop them.

“I hate this,” she mumbled. “Just waiting.” 

“Me too,” you admitted.

You let the silence fall again, but this time, it felt companionable. Ellie’s presence beside you was a quiet reminder that you weren't alone in this, even if it felt that way. Her head on your shoulder grounded you. 

Joel had changed everything. And God, you hadn’t seen it back then. You hadn’t realized how much warmer things had become with him in your orbit. He made you both better, stronger, more stubbornly hopeful.

You didn’t say any of it aloud, but you knew Ellie felt it too.

You leaned your head atop hers, arm coming to wrap around her. “We’re gonna figure it out,” you reassured her, keeping the truth at the center of your hope. You two would figure it out, because you always did.

Ellie gave you a small, tired smile, agreeing. “Yeah. We always do.”

After another bout of silence, Ellie stopped chewing her lip and stated, “He was trying, you know.” 

You furrowed your brows. “Trying what?” 

“To fix things with you.” 

The words landed like a stone in your chest. Ellie glanced up at you then, serious in a way that made her look older than she should’ve. “I could tell… even if you couldn’t.” 

You sat up a little straighter. “What do you mean?” 

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Just… stuff. Like when we were crossing that creek last month? You slipped on a rock and he grabbed you. Real quick. But he didn’t let go right away. I thought – I thought maybe he was just steadying you. But he kept his hand there. On your arm… He does that a lot.” 

You stared at her, words caught in your throat.

“And when you got clipped by that guy’s knife in Denver? You were bleeding from your shoulder and he went to you first. Before he even checked himself. I mean, if it had happened back when we were near Boston… he never used to do that.”

Memories flooded you – moments you’d brushed off, or told yourself didn’t mean anything. Joel shifting your sleeping bag closer to the fire one cold night. Waking you up gently for your watch shift so Ellie could sleep longer. The way he’d listened when you told that stupid story about how you’d spent that one birthday at the pancake house. He’d turned his entire body toward you as you spoke, his tired gaze softened like he was letting you in without saying a word.

“You didn’t notice,” Ellie added, a little quieter.

You pressed your palms against your knees, blinking hard. “I… I think I didn’t want to.” You rubbed your face. “Fuck, I was so stubborn.” 

“He wasn’t mad about it,” Ellie said. “He just… kept trying.” 

Something in your chest cracked open. You pressed a hand there, feeling the ache widen. “I should’ve told him I saw it. That it mattered.” 

“You can tell him when he wakes up,” Ellie said, simple and certain.

You looked at her then, this scrappy kid who was fighting tooth and nail to hold onto hope. And you remembered just how much stronger, braver, and softer Ellie made you.

You swallowed again, voice thick. “Yeah. When he wakes up.” 

The rest of the day was spent scavenging the house for any leftovers you could eat and making sure Joel was comfortable. Ellie found some canned food to hold you over until tomorrow, at least. It would’ve eased your stress if Joel didn’t look like he was getting worse. 

The botched stitching job you’d done was starting to grow darker, more tender. You only realized after Ellie had fallen asleep, curled up beside Joel on the mattress, her small form pressed protectively against his side. Her hand came up to rest over his chest like she could hold his heart inside his body, keep it beating, keep it from slipping away.

You shifted to sit nearby on the floor, knees hugged tight to your chest beneath your blanket. The wind outside picked up again, rattling the loose shutters of the basement windows, howling through the cracks. Shadows danced along the walls from the flickering flashlight you’d lit earlier. 

You couldn’t stop watching Joel’s face, his chest rising and falling shallowly beneath Ellie’s hand. You counted every breath like it might be his last. 

The tightness in your throat built under it forced you to move. You crawled closer, kneeling beside him. His skin felt warm beneath your hand, feverish. You pressed your palm gently against his forehead, feeling the damp heat, and then let your hand slide to his cheek. 

“Hey,” you whispered, even though you knew he couldn’t hear you. “Joel…” 

Your thumb brushed over the stubble along his jaw. “I know you’re not awake. I know you can’t answer me, but… I need you to hear this.” 

You closed your eyes for a moment, grounding yourself with the weight of his hand beneath yours. Then you leaned forward, pressing your forehead to the side of his temple.

“I forgive you,” you whispered. “Okay? I forgive you for what happened in Jackson. I forgive you and I mean it. I'll forget it, I'll never bring it up again. Just come back to us, please, Joel... come back to me. I need you. I can't do this without you. So please just come back."

You pressed a templing kiss to his temple, closing your eyes tightly, letting your tears freely fall now.

“I don’t even know if you can hear me,” you whispered into the dark. “But if you can, just hold on. Okay? Hold on for me… cause if you die, I’ll kill you.” 

The words felt fragile, ridiculous like tossing pebbles into the void. But you said them anyway, again and again, until they dissolved into broken sobs.

“I’ll do anything,” you breathed. “I’ll stop avoiding eye contact. I’ll laugh at those horrible jokes you tell. I’ll let you carry my pack. I’ll thank you whenever you give me your jacket to sleep in. You can keep adjusting my pack straps, keep checking my boots for wear, keep giving me the biggest portion of Chef Boyardee because you know I love it.”

You laughed through the tears, willing Joel to wake and join you. But he didn't.

You didn’t know how long you stayed there fore, forehead pressed against his, hand gripping his tightly like you could tether him to this world. Eventually, your voice gave out, raw and hoarse, and you simply sat there, holding onto him.

Somewhere in that endless night, something inside you shifted.

You sat back slowly, wiping your face with shaking hands, and stared down at him. Your jaw tightened. 

Your gaze flicked toward the window, toward the cold wilderness beyond. You thought of what little food you had left. Of the likely infection burning through Joel’s body. Of what you had to do next.

And the determination rose beneath the exhaustion.

Tomorrow, you’d find a way. Tomorrow, you'd’ save him.

No matter what it cost.

.

.

.

taglist: @orcasoul @lizlil @littleshadow17 @joeldjarin @mrsyixingunicorn10 @luvwanda @escaping-reality8 @hoddystark @mmkkzz @victoriaholland @xodilfluvr @ilovetoomanymen @21tao @mystickittytaco @keileighr @buckyandlokirunmylife @deesparticus @underchaos @keepingitlokiii @silas-aeiou @underchaos @tjohn63 @princess76179 @umadirectioner

[dykebehaviour]

girls like girls!

chapter 1. who is ellie williams?

streamer!ellie x youtuber!reader

⭑ streamer smau. ellie is a loser lesbian streamer and you’re a cool girl youtuber. what happens when she accidentally lets it slip that she’s a big fan of yours?

⭑ a/n: i still have no idea what i’m doing helpp

⭑ masterlist

⭑ next | previous

꙳ ੭ * ‧ ⨯ . ⁺ ✦ * ꙳ ੭ * ‧ ⨯ . ⁺ ✦ * ꙳ ੭ * ‧ ⨯ . ⁺ ✦ * ꙳ ੭ * ‧

[angelickks]

01. LES - Joel Miller

▶︎ •၊၊||၊“Girl, I wanna know, are you ready to cry? ʻCause I'm no good.” He tells you he’s bad for you. Then makes you come so hard you forget your own name.

𝑸𝑼𝑬𝑼𝑬 ☰ 𝐎𝐅𝐅 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐒

𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝑹𝑼𝑰𝑵 𝑴𝑬 • pedro pascal mlist!

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒): nsfw. mdni! 18+. emotionally unavailable smut. toxic. emotionally constipated!joel. unprotected p in v. creampie. oral (f!recieving). rough sex. implied grief/ptsd. power imbalance (emotional). angst. emotional manipulation. unhealthy coping mechanism. reader knowingly engaging in toxic relationship dynamic. pussy pronouns. written as a bunch of diff scenes but still a cohesive drabble if that makes sense?? (gif not mine)

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: joel miller x fem!reader

────────

YOU KNEW BETTER. You always knew better when it came to him.

Or did you?

He told you from the beginning. Voice low, eyes flat, like a man trying to be kind when he’s never been taught how.

“You don’t want this.”

“I ain’t what you think.”

“I’m no good for you, sweetheart.”

But the way he looked at you said otherwise.

The way his hands shook when he touched you like you were holy.

The way he kissed you slow at first, then harder, like he was mad about how good it felt.

The way he always stayed a little too long after. Never in the bed, but in the doorway, as if he wanted to say something he never would.

You knew what he was before he ever laid a hand on you. That look in his eyes, like he’d been through the end of the world and didn’t come out the same. The way he spoke, always a little hoarse, always a little heavy, like everything hurt.

You could’ve walked away. You didn’t.

You let him take you instead.

He doesn’t fuck you like a man in love. He fucks you like a man trying to forget.

────────

It’s late. Always is.

You’re half-asleep when he shows up at your door again, guilt in his eyes and sin in his hands.

He doesn’t kiss you at first. Just pushes you against the wall, unzips your jeans, and slips his fingers between your legs like he’s checking to see if you still want him. You’re wet—of course you are—and he groans like he hates that about you.

When he finally speaks, it’s against your throat.

“I’m an awful guy.”

You don’t answer. Just pull him into your bedroom, into your sheets, into your skin like maybe you can fix something broken just by holding it hard enough.

────────

He kissed the inside of your thighs first. Then your stomach. Your ribs. And always last, your lips, like he was scared of the repercussions of it.

You’ve learned his rituals by now. They live in the bruises he leaves behind, etched into your skin like scripture. Joel always kisses every part of you but your mouth. He saves it for last, or never at all. Like kissing you there would be too intimate, too indulgent. It’s too honest. Like the softness of it might undo the ruin he’s already made of you.

Because God forbid he offer tenderness in the aftermath of his destruction. Whether it's your body he’s wrecked, or your heart.

“Always so soft f'me, such a sweet thing” he whispered, voice shaking, his southern drawl thick with something shy of love. You smiled and reached for him, guiding his cock to your entrance.

He rocked into you slowly, holding your gaze. No growling. No urgency. Just slow, full, relentless strokes. His hands were mean, his grip bound to leave bruises.

Perhaps, a new addition or just the same ones he always made sure to keep blooming. A cruel reminder.

It made you cry. You didn’t mean to. But you did.

He wiped your tears with his thumb and groaned like you’d slapped him, “This ain’t good for you, baby.”

But he didn’t stop. In fact, his hips drove impossibly deeper.

The line between your moans and choked sobs and his incoherent words and groans blending together like perfect sin.

────────

He takes his time. Makes you feel every inch. Fingers digging into your waist, mouth between your breasts, sucking and biting. Groaning your name like a warning and a prayer.

His thrusts are deep, deliberate. Slow at first, then rougher, meaner. He calls you sweetheart and baby, but he doesn’t mean it the way you want him to. Not yet.

You scratch at his back and he moans through gritted teeth, "So fuckin' tight, baby. Tell me who fucks ya this good." You beg for more and he gives it, like it’s the only thing he knows how to offer.

When you come, he kisses you like he shouldn’t have. When he comes in you, it sounds like an gruff apology.

────────

He’s on his knees, again.

Not because you asked. Not because he’s gentle. But because something in him can’t not do this. Like eating you out is the only way he can say the things he refuses to speak.

His palms are heavy on your thighs, thumbs pressing bruises into your skin as he spreads you wide on the edge of the bed. He’s looking up at you like a man praying at the altar of a sin he’ll never give up.

"Keep your eyes on me," he rasps. His voice is thick with heat. All raspy and ruined, just how you like him.

Then he lowers his mouth to you and devours.

Not soft. Not teasing.

He tongues you like he’s starving, like the slick between your thighs is his only salvation.

The first drag of his tongue has your head falling back, your hips jerking. He pins you down with one arm, growls against your cunt like it pisses him off how sweet you taste.

"Fuckin’ hell, baby... you always this wet f'me?"

He knows the answer. You’re soaked. You always are for him.

He licks slow at first—long, lazy strokes that make your thighs tremble. Then his lips wrap around your clit and he sucks, messy and rhythmic, the kind of motion that’s got your legs trying to close around his head, your moans raw and desperate.

And Joel? He groans into you like he’s addicted.

His beard is soaked. His fingers move to dig into your hips to keep you still. And when you start to cum, he doesn’t let up. He pushes his in tongue deeper, buries his face in you like he wants to drown in it, uses your orgasm as his absolution.

You whimper his name. He just moans in response.

Like he can’t stop. Like he won’t stop. Like getting you off is the only way he knows how to be good.

And maybe—just maybe—it’s the only time he doesn’t feel like a monster.

────────

After, he doesn’t move. Just breathes beside you, chest heaving, hand still gripping your thigh like he’s scared of what comes next.

You reach for him, just a brush of fingers across his ribs. He flinches.

“Joel…” you whisper.

He shakes his head. Presses his forehead to yours.

And still, you let him stay.

Because you’ve never been good at letting go of the things that ruin you soft.

[mountainsandmayhem-updates]

✨ chapter 3 tomorrow! ✨

Maid Discreetly

Tommy Miller x Female OC

18+ || The BDSMaid Series

Summary: After what he did to your best friend, fuck Joel Miller and the horse he rode in on! But a twist of fate has you falling for his brother, who is also your dad’s friend. Oh, and did you mention that you hate him? Can love really conquer all, or should you just settle for kinky hot sex with an older man?

TW: age gap, open door romance scenes involving aspects of BDSM, sub/dom dynamics, fully described female OC. Similar to BDSMaid, TW will be below the cut in small, red lettering to avoid spoilers to those who care.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3 - May 12

Chapter 4 - May 26

Chapter 5 - June 9

Chapter 6 - June 23

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Epilogue

Chapter dates not listed are TBD, chapter numbers and dates are all subject to change

[saintrvckwell]

The fair and the brave and the good must die (joel miller x platonic!reader)

joel miller x platonic!reader

summary: it felt frightening when the world gave you a second chance. but how many chances could you give joel, before it was too late?

warnings: angst at times (what a shocker with me), joel sees his daughter in reader, they travel to find her family but instead, find it in each other (sappy at times, lol almost never), reader is somewhere in her mid-teens, appearance not really specified, the father-daughter dynamic hitting as per usual, joel sabotaging himself 24/7

wordcount: 7.1k

a/n: well look at that, me releasing two pieces in one year, wow. well anyway, i got this idea last year, wrote it last year and then rewrote the ending this year. it's very much chaotic but thought the idea was cool. with the new season around, figured we need some joel x platonic!reader. well lmk what u guys think! hope u like it, it's a mess

A few months ago, if you were to describe what kind of man Joel Miller was, there probably would not be enough curse words to spit out. A few months ago, if you were to choose between saving him and saving yourself, you would probably be the one responsible for his demise. A few months ago, Joel's presence in your life was a mere part of the deal and nothing more, or less. A few months ago, you would not allow his existence carry that much importance in your life.

But now, no question needed to be asked. No hesitation on your side, no second thoughts. Just a gun in your hand, finger on the trigger, eye focused on the one who would stand in between. Because for Joel, you would not question anything. For Joel, you were prepared to walk to the edge of the universe and back. For Joel, you would lose yourself.

Not him, never.

You walk through half of the continent with someone, expecting to keep to yourself. The final destination hanging in your mind like a warning. You are not here to make friends, you are not here to share wholehearted life stories around the fire. The only reason your steps kept following Joel's, was his lead. Lead towards someone you have been searching for ever since you escaped the FEDRA school. With stolen ration cards in your back pocket and shiv attached to your belt. In the dark of the night you ran through the Boston's quarantine zone, knowing exactly who you were looking for.

He was the best at this, you kept hearing. No one had the soldiers wrapped around their finger like him. Side to side, the word didn't change. If you wanted to find someone who decided to become unwanted, he was the right fit. You bet your everything on Joel Miller. He was your one-way ticket out of this shithole. Following the same tale you had been studying since your mother died. 

Whether there was some credibility to her words, you never found out. But she made a plan for you, from one connection to another, from person onto the next one. Until you found yourself standing by his door, knocking so persistently until he could no longer pretend he was not there.

Disgruntled and annoyed, he looked at you, your hair wet from the rain, muddy clothes. He was prepared to send you away, tell you to go back where you came from. He was no babysitter, no tour guide. 

But then, you pulled out the picture. Ripped in the middle, old polaroid picture taken by your mother, you presumed. And he wondered. If it were her, looking for him. If she were to survive, get lost in the escaping crowds. Would she be standing in your place, at someone else's house, with his picture?

The salvation was something he could not decline.

Not when you kept looking at him that way. The desperation hidden behind your determined stance. The little child in the eyes of someone who had to grew up before the world did it for them. You were too much of a painful reminder to shut the door in your place. Especially once he let you come inside and saw the scars on your neck, from pulling through all the wired fences around your school. Fresh, washed down with the rain, drips of blood on your collar. It was either him or some other smuggler. Who would use the desperate adolescent asking for help.

Taking more without giving anything in return.

No, Joel made the decision. Let you lay out on the table all of the leads you had gathered over the past few weeks, from the connections your mother had left you. Day and night, he planned, he searched. And before long, he knew exactly where your father happened to be. There was a warrant on his head, not so long ago. Nothing good came his name.

Except for you.

At dawn, three days later, you set off. You noticed, second before the door shut, that he had left a note on the table. For a moment, you wondered for whom it was written but before you found the answer, Joel was already nudging into your shoulder, urging you to move faster. You had one shot at sneaking out of the zone. And although Joel had become experienced traveler over the years, he did not take your inexperience into consideration.

And thus, how the trial started.

It appeared the second you and Joel set foot out of the quarantine zone; trouble seemed to follow you everywhere. Closed calls turned out to be a daily dish and ammunition rarity that you almost never stumbled upon, unlike the traps in each city you wandered in. Just two days in and Joel started to regret not thinking this through. 

No amount of ration cards was worth saving you from every trap you managed to step into, he thought. You were a loose cannon, catastrophes seemed to walk hand in hand with you.

"How was I supposed to know it's going to be a trap?" you mumbled, whilst trying to fix the cut on your left ankle.

Joel looked up from his backpack, where, just a second ago, was trying to find what was left of his first aid kid. If he knew you would be such liability, he would pack more. No, he would not have gone in the first place.

"Common sense?" he hissed, walking over to you. "Didn't they teach you that in school?"

"No, they just taught us how to hang smugglers on the streets," you replied.

The amount of sarcasm accompanying your cutthroat response kept making it harder for Joel to maintain his calm demeanour.

Without much thought, he threw the bandage away and got up. "Fix it, smartass. We're leaving in ten minutes."

Not wanting to poke to bear any more, you hurried up and managed to join Joel back on the street. With revolver in his right hand, he looked at you, disgruntled.

"Move, we gotta make it before sundown."

You didn't know at which particular comment or situation Joel started to withdraw. His patience seemed to be running out with each day he was forced to pull you out of the trap or save you from a close call you had caused. Every time, you would be sitting on the ground, fixing up, looking at a dead point, trying to get through his scolding. He would yell, throw hands in the air, taking out all of his anger. 

At a certain point, you weren't sure whether your behaviour was truly the reason, or his chance to get everything out of his system and blame it on your recklessness.

Neither did Joel know. 

There was something so triggering about seeing you so helpless. Seeing you get into numerous troubles that could have cost you your head. He had no emotional attachment to you whatsoever, you were a business part -- if a teenager setting off with smuggler could be even called something like that. But the look, the damned look in your eyes. Each time, with each moment, his paternal instincts awakened a little more. You were a walking reminder of what he had lost, what could have been.

He would be sitting by the window, late at night, keeping the watch, wondering. How easy it would have been to take his backpack, walk through the door and never look back. No note, nothing. Go back to what he had got used to -- the stillness of life in Boston. Where nothing would remind him, nothing would pull out those rotten roots. That settled somewhere in the pits of his mind, along with the shame. No one to force him to face his mistakes.

It was odd what power your presence had in Joel's life, despite knowing nothing about you. Perhaps, when you stick to someone, twenty-four hours a day, when someone else's life depends on your actions, the fine line becomes thinner. 

Until there's none.

In certain aspects, at certain points, he could no longer tell the difference between you and Sarah. The way you quickly came to enjoy making fun of him and testing his patience. The days you spent on foot, you kept irritating the living soul out of him. You found the string to play on and there was no reason to stop. You hated the silence, that he was subtly trying to enforce.

You noticed pretty quickly the effect your comments could have on him. And, of course, you found amusement in it. The days on the road were long, especially without a vehicle so you were looking for anything that would distract the anxious thoughts in your mind. 

The longer you were gone, the more second thoughts arrived.  

You had never met your father yet here you were, travelling across the infested country to see a man who, perhaps, was not even interested in acknowledging your presence.

Why did he leave your mother? Why did he leave Boston? Did he know about you and if so, what did it say about him?

And why would your mother send you to look for someone who might not even be aware of your existence?

The answer was simple, at least according to your conclusion.

You had no one.

Your mother was the last person you had and when she died, you found yourself living in a tiny, three-bedroom dorm room at the military preparatory school. And every night, after the curfew, you kept on reading her notes. The letter she had left you. Place like that did not leave enough space to carry a hope, yet you managed to squeeze it in. But were her last words enough of a reason for you to risk your own life? Perhaps, you were about to find out.

Although, probably not from Joel.

He was not the most talkative individual. After all, his only job was to lead you to your father, collect the rest of the ration cards and head back. This was strictly a business deal, which he kept reminding himself, each time he caught glimpse of you. Looking at you made him wonder -- about you, your life. Where your parents had been. He knew that now, in the world, there were far too many children like you, wandering alone. 

Even in the Boston QZ, there would not be a day that Joel would not run into a child, sitting on the pavement, counting their last ration cards. He usually paid no mind to it, fed with false belief that he was not interested to care in the first place.

But then, there were you. And that hopeful spark you had every time you looked at him. He was there to protect you, despite the reasons. So, naturally, after years of almost forgetting how it had felt, you found comfort in Joel's presence. He could have been mean and spiteful. And you could send him to the deepest pits of hell, screaming your lungs out.

And yet, you would not turn back.

You could have screaming matches all the way through abandoned suburbs, you could slam the door in his face and ask him to go fuck himself for being such an asshole to you.

Despite the inner voice telling him to leave, he would sit down on the stairs and wait. Until an hour later, when your anger boiled down, you would open the door and go back on the road. And he would follow. And that conversation would never be brought up again.

That was the cycle.

Through the cities, through the suburbs, through the meadows, through the highways.

There were times, where Joel's patience ran over the edge, and he ended up going further than he had initially intended. Only then his falsely justified arguments came to slap him in the face. When his eyes would lock with yours and he could see how determined you were to keep your tears back. 

"You are being an asshole," you whispered, grabbing your backpack from the floor, not giving your impulsive ideas second thoughts.

Joel sighed, rubbing his chin, before he looked your way. "Where are you going?"

"Anywhere," you shrugged your shoulders, opening the doors. "Anywhere but here."

He chuckled, crossing his hands over his chest. "Good luck with that."

Your eyes fell on the cracked floor, as you let out a deep exhale. "You really are an asshole," you whispered. "Fucking asshole."

Trying so hard to keep it together, not giving him the pleasure of winning over you, you stood by the door, watching the raindrops outrunning each other. It was already dark out there, the storm was settling in the skies, as quickly as one falls asleep, and you had no idea where to go. And when you thought about it, it was probably better to draw your guns now, as opposed to coming back here, hours later, soaked and cold. Serving the win on a silver platter.

Joel waited, convinced you would not leave. He was the compass holding this plan together and besides, as he knew, you had nowhere else to go. Your father was your only remaining connection. Joel was aware of the position he found himself in. An argument he already knew was a win. But in his preoccupied mind, there was no lust for such thing.

Perhaps, not now. Not when he noticed how swiftly you wiped away the tears with your sleeves. Of course, it was not the first time that Joel had become the reason of your momentary sadness. His words managed to hit your sore spots one too many times. 

Though, why now? Why would the guilt float above the surface of his false beliefs, waving the red flag? Why now would the regrets start to squash his entire, washed-out being?

He would ask, despite already having the answers.

There was something about watching you sit there, on the floor, leaning against the door. The shouting, the threats of leaving. It was as though he was back in Texas, twenty years ago, sitting in the kitchen and listening to Sarah complaining about short curfew. Begging Joel to let her go out with friends, stay a little longer. And he would refuse, being as stubborn as he is. Inheriting those qualities, she would insist on her wish. Until it ended up in a scream match and she would threaten to go anyways, with or without his approval.

Then both sides ended up defeated. Sarah, sitting in her bedroom, listening to the regrets setting down in her mind. And Joel, sitting by the kitchen table, cursing himself for being too harsh. He was a man of few words, always has been, when it came to expressing his feelings out into the world. So instead of struggling to find the right ones, he would take her favourite DVD of Curtis and Vipper and knock three times on her bedroom door.

She would know exactly what he meant.

But you were not Sarah, you were not Joel's daughter. There was no relation, other than the business one.

Which, in the end, did not even matter anymore.

"You should have said no," you whispered into the rain.

The reality pulled Joel out of his thoughts.

He frowned, puzzled over your statement.

"You should have just said no," you mumbled, turning around.

He stood still.

"I should have talked you out of it," you whispered. "If I knew how much you will hate me, I would never knock on your door."

And suddenly, everything he had convinced himself with, came undone.

You found all the sore spots, striking into the pits of their existence. Until the shadow of man, he once used to be, stood right behind you, looking into his eyes. What he thought had died that night with her, was standing in one piece. He had nowhere to run, no beliefs to feed himself with, only the truth. Now it was up to him whether he was going to face it.

You wanted him to say something, more than anything. Even if he should just scream at your existence, damning you to hell. Everything would have been better than him, surrendering to his shame. The anger in you was starting to boil. You loathed Joel -- simply for the fact of what his role now meant in your life. Joel was your source of safety, despite the arguments, the curse words headed into his direction. And the only thing you wanted was to know whether there was at least a part of him that would sympathise.

You knew giving your hopes into someone like Joel was a risk with little to no chance of winning. Yet, you allowed yourself to hope, as you looked at him, awaiting.

You should have known how that would end.

Putting a faith in a man who’s past has been coming to haunt him every night for the last twenty years was perhaps as reckless, as running towards a clicker, with a friendly handshake. It would cost you an arm and a leg, you knew it. Of course, you knew it. 

But the hope, rotten to the core. The sweet-talking hope. 

Which he was well aware of, seeing it in your desperate eyes. The guilt was about to swallow him all. What Joel wanted and what he allowed himself to want were two different categories. And what frightened him the most, was the fact that you were in both. 

Despite his best of efforts to bury it. No matter what he tried, the truth could not be undone or destroyed. Even though his guilt kept feeding him with the false claims. Convincing him that after betraying her, he was no longer worthy of that title. When in reality, he would never become someone else. It was who he had always been. 

Didn't matter where would he run, what amount of liquid courage his organs would absorb to numb the pain, it would always be there. Waiting for him, waking up from a hangover. Joel spent twenty years searching for salvation in the wrong places, in the hands of wrong people. 

And there he was, scarred, old and defeated. 

You were his second chance. 

"Stop confusing me with the man you are looking for." 

But the anger, oh the anger. And the frustration he fought with. The what ifs, the possible scenarios recreating his life-long failure that haunted him relentlessly. It could go wrong, he thought. He could not even count the exact number; it was too many of them. 

So, he settled with the thought of doing what was best for both of you. But selfishly, as he was well aware, he welcomed the pain with open door and a handshake. Whilst you were left in the rain, watching it close. 

It would have been too dangerous to act differently, he continued to sweet-talk himself with lies as the dawn fell upon his feet. The truth kept on eating him alive, through the roads and through the woods. Flesh by flesh, until there was nothing left. Joel stood against his own mind, his own beliefs. 

How long could he keep on denying them? 

You wondered about it, even though you forbid yourself from doing so, when you stood in the door the following morning, eyes swollen from how you quietly cried yourself to sleep. The consequences of Joel's previous actions were falling down on you. You avoided him like plague, waking up before sunrise and hunting in the nearby woods before the two of you set off. 

He did not comment on your unannounced morning trip but with all honesty, there was not much to say anyway. One thing that Joel knew, which you were grateful for, although you would never admit it out loud, was to keep quiet when it was needed. 

Unfortunately, this habit of his showed up even when it wasn't required. 

The distance he created between the two of you could not be erased. So, for your own sake, you followed his lead. There were no more jokes, no more comments about Joel's age being close to dinosaurs. Because there was nothing left to say or do. 

And as the days continued, your guilt and regret, naturally, turned into anger. 

Anger towards Joel. 

The more you thought about it, the more resentful you had grown to be. You gave him a chance; you gave him a piece of something only your mother has been worthy of. Something you had once buried but for Joel, you would search for it through the deepest pits of your soul. 

You wanted to feel safe, more than anything else in this world. And there he was. When you looked at the picture of your father, then back at Joel, you knew which one was the option you would choose. 

But what would that be good for, when Joel did not choose you?

As hurtful as it might have been to admit it. 

It was pointless, stupid, you kept telling yourself. Joel's reasoning for this voyage was simple, different from yours. And it would always be different from yours. 

That's how it started to bubble up inside of you. Through days, through nights. It would take one look at him for you to clench your fists and curse yourself for ever being this naive. At a certain point, there was no reason for you to hide it. 

And Joel knew it. He knew how you felt when you yelled at him, spilled out that he should not care whether you had eaten or not, whether you had got enough sleep or not. You would let it all out, frustrated and disappointed. 

He would never say anything, just let you get it out of your system. And once you were done, he would hand you the last bits of jerky from his backpack because he was right -- you did not eat that day. But he would not once try to get back at you.

Perhaps, when he stood against you, watching your eyebrows dance up and down, your hands gesticulating in the air, hearing each word sounding faster and angrier than the one before, Joel had realised he now stood in your position. 

There it was. 

The metaphorical blink, perhaps? 

That found Joel standing above the map, marked with your estranged father's supposed location. 

If you kept heading east, you would arrive to his quarantine zone by next week, according to his counting. A week. 

Seven days. 

There was an odd feeling, growing inside his chest. The symptoms of guilt had arrived into their places, occupying his indecisive existence. The time was slipping through his fingers and selfishly, Joel did not anticipate the meeting that was yet to happen. Despite not doing anything to stop it. 

Your father was no exemplary man, quite the opposite. He made trouble wherever he went, so it was not that shocking when one day, Joel saw a soldier putting up a warrant flyer with your father's face. 

He was supposed to be hanged, the day he vanished from the Boston quarantine zone. FEDRA was searching through every place that could carry his trace, but nothing. A few months later, via radio tower, Joel heard his name again. 

With his connections around the zone, it was not too difficult for Joel to find his current supposed whereabouts. Still, as the days on the road went by, he started to have less and less sympathy for finding someone like him. If there ever was some. 

For personal reasons, of course. Being too attached and too subjective, he could not see past his selfish mind, despite doing everything in his power to have you run to your father with open arms. 

He could only blame himself for not seeing how lost you were. For not seeing through the opportunities falling upon his feet. Especially when they started to run out. 

"How long, Joel?"

Your voice pulled Joel out of his frustrated thoughts as he looked back at you, sitting by the fireplace. He realized he has been standing above the table the whole time, gripping the pencil. 

He has been still all evening, which you tried your best to not care about. Spent almost two hours drawing things on the map, running around the house, looking for more pencils. For a moment, you thought he was going insane. 

Would not be so shocking. 

You attempted to pay no mind to it, mostly browsing through the farmhouse, looking for something to kill your time with. The books were ripped apart, rooms raided, so eventually, you ended up sitting by the fireplace to warm yourself up. 

While you waited for the answer that did not seem to be coming. 

"Week or more," he replied, after another minute. "Though we will be lucky if he's still there by the time we arrive," he mumbled, packing up the map. 

The tone of his voice raised your eyebrows. You could have let it go. 

But weather got you both stuck here in the first place, you might as well square up. 

„Well, you won't be there to see it," you whispered. 

He looked at you, confused over such statement. 

"What?" you got up, "Wasn't your whole plan to drop me by the gate like some baggage? Suppose that was the only thing I ever was for you.“

There was no reason to suppress your frustrated thoughts inside. At such point, there was nothing to lose, not on your side. Miles away from Boston, in the middle of nowhere, your hands were empty. Nothing to treasure, nothing to hold. 

Nothing to hope for, anymore. 

The spark in your eyes that once scared the living soul of Joel was fading away. Perhaps, the reality of that became much more frightening for him. 

"You seriously don't have anything to say to me?" 

The desperate tone of your voice, breaking at the end, frustrated you. 

Not more than Joel's nonexistent stance, though. That was still at the top of your list. 

Just two feet away from you, halfway in the shadow of the night, he stood there defenceless.  

"Seriously, Joel?"

But then, for reasons unknown to your being, the cycle had fallen apart. 

"What the hell do you want from me?" his voice echoed around the living room. "We had a deal. That did not include reading you a goddamn bedtime story and tucking you in." 

Joel himself did not know why he was so harsh. The defence mechanism was running on its own system, leaving him out of the door. 

You could not help but chuckle over his angry statement. 

If he was going to cut deep, so were you. 

"Don't flatter yourself," you whispered, stepping closer. "I don't even think someone like you could ever be capable of that. You will always be too selfish for that." 

He knew he had it coming, of course he knew. Just, perhaps, did not realize how severely he would lose this war. How severely would the last strike hurt. 

Until those words left your mouth. Only then the dust settled as the room had fallen into a deadly silence, with Joel's dignity vanishing into the fireplace, like a lonesome soldier surrendering. 

There was no desire to look into your eyes. On Joel's side, there was no anger left; he waisted it all out. Now, the guilt had won the war, creeping through the pits of his mind, sitting on his shoulder, trying to pull down the rest of his tired, scattered being. 

The shame has been weighing on his shoulders for the past twenty years. Its existence could never be denied nor annihilated. He knew, somewhere in his heart, she would never want him to wander through life like this, of course. But choosing to let go was a price he was too afraid to pay. 

When in his mind, he was not allowed. To have life she could have had. It would have been a betrayal, he thought. To leave it all behind, to prove to you that there once had been and always will be part of him that would do anything for his child. 

Joel was aware of the amount of childish naivety you had within yourself when you knocked on his door. The dedication to see through the plan your mother had prepared for you, Joel knew the final moment would never live up to the expectations you had fostered in your mind. The salvation you had been waiting for. 

And there, it ached. The idea of having you reach the final destination, only for the spark of light in your eyes to die once and for all. To see the disappointment settle in your mind for the rest of the days. 

Same as the one you had; every time Joel let you down. 

By the time the truth had dawned on him, you were already sitting on porch, right by the stairs, wiping away the rest of the tears you had waisted on him. If it were not for the lack of weapons and dark night, you would have been gone. 

But where to road would lead, suddenly remained unknown. In the middle of nowhere, stuck by an old farmhouse, you wished to retrace your steps. Stay in Boston, pull through the military school, become another soldier without a soul and eventually, walk into death with open arms. 

What else would the world give you anyways. When what you had yearned for, has been declined. 

By Joel, standing still in the living room, analysing the spot you occupied just a few minutes ago. He looked around, seeing the glimpses of life this place had before outbreak. The last bits of wallpaper, the broken framed photographs on the credence. He used to wonder what it would have been like to set up a little sheep farm, somewhere outside the Austin, just him and Sarah. 

The two of them running the place, not needing anything or anybody else. Occasionally, they would spare a room for Tommy, force him to help out with the livestock, to repay Joel for bailing him out of the jail, again. It sounded almost idyllic; what could have been and never was. 

Joel knew that he was not the only father losing part of himself on the night of the outbreak. Yet, he found no comfort in this fact. If anything, it added another layer of guilt upon his shoulders. He thought, there was no father who had failed as miserably as him. In his eyes, there was no father guiltier than him. 

What he had buried under glasses of moonshine and traded pills, you ripped out. Pulled it on the surface and close the door on your way out. 

After everything that happened, all through the woods, all through the meadows, there was one, last question Joel had to face. 

Was surrendering to his shame worth losing, perhaps, the very last chance of making things right? 

Of honouring what he once had, instead of grieving what he once lost. 

Of being the one for whom you had knocked on his door in the first place. 

Despite his actions, Joel was not an idiot. He was well aware that the chances and opportunities you had given to him would run their course soon. And then, then -- he will be left alone, awaiting the arrival of his remorse. Why couldn't he try, you wondered by the moon. 

You sat there, eyes on the skies. 

The thought of your mother danced in your tangled mind. Of the wish she had put together for you. Back in Boston, you would do anything to fulfill it -- after all, that is how you found Joel. 

But now, there was no desire to continue. 

Of course, there was the urge to know your father. The other half of you. But would he do what you had done? Would be travel across the states, just for you?

Even if he would, you thought, he could never live up to Joel. 

Whose steps pulled you out of your thoughts, as you heard him closing the door. 

Not so long after, he found himself sitting on the opposite side of the stairs -- doing so, when he realised how persistently you tried to maintain your distance. He would not blame you, only the numerous times he had managed to disappoint you. 

There was no desire to look at him. Part of you wished for him to never speak, to collect the little he travelled with and set off, for good. Part of you wanted to curse him out. 

But the other part, oh the other part. 

That damned part. 

The questions that came along, the thoughts. 

The fear. 

That joined you on the stairs, in the dark of the night. 

The fear you caught in Joel's eyes. Clear as the skies above you. 

There was one last battle remaining, for Joel. 

The broken watch sitting on his wrist caught Joel's attention. The crack was bigger than Joel had remembered. Surely, as the years went by, as the roads came along, some of the glass pieces fell out. But the hands stayed the same. The time forever more imprinted in his scarred mind.

Long ago, he convinced himself his clock would never resume, never having a reason to do so, without her. 

But, perhaps, the reason was sitting right next to him. 

"I know you think I am an asshole," he whispered into the night. 

Joel had to think. It has been a while since he led a conversation with an adolescent -- a conversation, not a screaming match. Surely, he had his fair share of arguments with Sarah. But the differences were incomparable. 

Unlike her, you grew up in the world where kindness came with a price ticket and dignity as an exception not many accomplished to hold onto. You had no recollection of what it meant to have a home. 

Or perhaps?

"That is an understatement," you mumbled. "It is not fair, you know?"

Joel's gaze met with yours. The sadness danced in your eyes. 

"It's not fair how hardly I tried to hate you, Joel, but failed miserably, whilst you succeeded for both of us," you uttered, not letting go of his sight. "You have to hate me, you made it so obvious. But, I  still wonder. Why walk through the woods, through the roads, through the cities with someone whose presence holds no meaning in your life?"

You got him, time and time again. How far was he willing to test your abilities to forgive him? Until there was none?

"Did you walk all the way because of the pity you had stored for me? If your guilty conscience needs a verbal order, then you are free to go," you mumbled. 

The silence entered the empty sphere. Your trembling voice went quiet, as the sleeves of your jacket wiped away the rest of the tears, strolling down your red cheeks. The anguish seemed to never end. 

"Joel, leave," you whispered, not daring to meet his gaze in such condition. "Pack your shit and just leave."

"Actually," he spoke, as though ignoring your disheveled state of mind. "Now, that the deal is off, I think I might stay for a while.“

For a short moment, you could not say for sure whether was mocking your statement or happened to be deadly serious about staying in this half-destroyed house. The jury was out. 

You dared to look up -- solely to convince yourself that there would be a vicious smirk on Joel's face, hitting the final nail in the coffin of hope you had left for him. 

There was no such thing, other than him, looking around. 

"Joel," you whispered, "Leave."

"Some of the walls are busted, the roof is leaking but it ain't nothing I could not fix," he mumbled, not paying a single ounce of attention to you.

You thought you might as well go insane. 

"Joel, I swear to fucking god, leave!" the frustration was pouring out. The hands were thrown in the air, the redness in your cheeks filled your whole face, as your voice rose because of Joel. "Seriously, you treat me like some fucking burden the whole time, but now, you have a what, a change of heart?"

He shrugged his shoulders, remaining calm. "I don't need a change of heart. I just need to fix this house."

Unbelievable. 

"If you do all of this to just laugh in my face, you are probably more pathetic than I ever thought." 

The longer you stayed, the heavier the ache had become. 

"You know, I was so afraid meeting my father would disappoint me," you whispered. "Thankfully, you had prepared me. Now I know that whatever waits in the east, it won't hurt nearly as much as this."

In that final moment, Joel knew the chances he waisted, took for granted, had, at last ran out. There were no words to say, no ropes to hold onto. Everything you had given him, everything you allowed yourself to feel for him, vanished into the night as you got up from the stairs, brushed off your knees and disappeared inside. 

The hopes you had given into this, now ached deeply in your chest as you walked upstairs. For a moment, you wondered, whether this would be the end -- of everything. Whether this wound be the final destination. 

Head buried in the bedding; you thought the agony would never go away. The suffocating feeling in your lungs, the cries. The pain swallowed you whole, piece by piece until you found yourself wishing to tear off your own skin to escape it. 

There has not been this much pain inside of you since your mother died. That night, you held her lifeless body, screaming until there was no air left in your lungs. Cursing yourself, cursing the world itself, wishing to come away with her. 

You hoped to never go through this ever again. 

Now, here you were. 

Yet, what turned out to be the worst part of it all was not the pain itself, however intense it might have been. It was the sole realisation that for Joel, you would go through it. The same way you had done with your mother, for Joel, you would do it, too. The role he had earned in your life, despite denying it, settled down. And there was nothing you could do about it. 

Only accepting the grievous conditions. 

He would not, you thought. No, you convinced yourself. 

Would he? 

He wondered, as he found himself standing by the door of your temporary bedroom, watching you sleep. Would he? Would he put his shame and guilt to rest? How many times would he need to ask himself this question before the time ran out? Before the last bits of patience, you had stored for him, vanished along with his chances. 

He looked around the room, taking it all in -- the teared-up wallpaper, missing pieces of furniture, cracked wooden floor. He was right when he said that house was no lost cause. He could have done wonders with it, saving the treasured, replace the destroyed. 

He would paint the walls for you, fix your bed, find new bedding for you -- just to make sure you would have a place to call home. In the middle of nowhere, surrounded by peace. He would make you dinner, he would eat it with you on the front porch, whilst the two of you would be watching the sunset. He would force you to help around to garden -- only because he would want to make it safer for you. 

You mattered -- that was the most frightening part of it all. However big of coward he could be, his impulsive urges could never be stronger than the fear. The swallowing, harrowing fear.

So, would he? 

He asked himself again, sitting on the edge of your bed. 

Would he fix it? Instead of the broken windows and leaking celling, would he fix the damage he had done?

Joel sighed. 

His hands grabbed two ends of a blanket. 

There it was -- the feeling. Looking down on you, lying there quietly, he wondered again. 

He wondered that long he did not even notice you had woken up. 

Only when his gaze met yours, all red and tired, he realised he was still holding the ends of the blanket. 

He could have waisted the words. 

Or he could do what felt right for him. What felt familiar. 

"Joel," you mumbled, half-asleep trying to grasp the situation. 

It was hard to keep your eyes open, being too worn out. The only thing you felt was the warm of the blanket you wished to hold onto. You grabbed so tightly on the thread of comfort -- as tight as you could, before you passed out again. 

Holding Joel's hand. 

There it was.

His world collapsed. 

The spare defences left in his scarred hands, vanished. Now, the only one he could have held onto, was your hand. 

Almost twenty one years later, under the hoards of pain and buried memories was the feeling of peace he would never find at a bottom of any bottle. 

Looking down on your, falling asleep under his guard, Joel sighed, before he leaned over to your face. Staring at you quietly, he felt at strangely calm. 

How easy it was for Joel’s world to collapse, with just one look at you. If there were ever to be a salvation, a chance to fix what he had done, pay for mistakes no one would ever put on his name, there it was. Holding his hand.  

There was nothing to forgive, nothing to repay. Despite the anger and frustration he managed to awaken in you with confusing actions, despite your vocal wishes of leaving you alone, you held for your life on the last thread you had given him. 

He wanted to leave -- somewhere in his mind, the coward voice of his past failures urged him to leave and never look back. He could have done it anywhere on the road, having more than enough opportunities. But if his doubts made him a coward, then the fear of losing you made him a twice of one. 

He walked through the cities, through the highways, through the meadows for one reason. The one he denied himself of having, pushing you so far away, he almost lost the last thread. He could never lose the reason, no -- for it lived in him for the past twenty years. It never left, however much Joel tried to convince himself. 

There was something to fight for -- someone to fight for. 

He sat there for a while, losing track of time, holding your hand. He could not move -- he did not want, no. Instead, with shattered breath and trembling existence, Joel dared to squeeze your hand.

In that moment, across the quiet bedroom, Joel could have sworn on his life, his watch started to tick again. 

[andy-15-07]

If you want, could you write some Joel Miller smut please? 🙂

Come Here, Darlin'

PAIRING: Joel Miller x reader

WORD COUNT: 984| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

You were folding laundry on the couch when you heard the front door creak open.

“Joel?” you called.

“Yeah, it’s me,” came that low, gravelly drawl. He sounded tired.

He tossed his bag down and you peeked around the corner to watch him stretch. His flannel pulled up slightly, exposing the waistband of his jeans and a sliver of firm, tanned stomach.

You licked your lips.

Joel noticed.

“You lookin’ at me like that for, baby?” he asked, walking toward you with a slight smirk.

You shrugged, feigning innocence. “Didn’t say I was lookin’ at anything.”

“Mmhmm,” he murmured, standing in front of you. “Your eyes’re sayin’ otherwise.”

You stared up at him. “Maybe I was just admiring the view.”

His brow lifted. “That right?”

Without warning, he reached down, gripped your hips, and pulled you to stand. His body pressed flush to yours, warm and solid. His lips hovered over your ear.

“Say the word, darlin’,” he whispered. “And I’ll have you cryin’ my name ‘til you’re hoarse.”

Your breath hitched. “Then what the fuck are you waiting for?”

That was all it took.

Joel kissed you hard,no hesitation, no slow build-up. Tongue, teeth, pressure. You moaned into his mouth as he walked you backward until the backs of your knees hit the couch. He shoved your shirt up, exposing your bra, then pulled it down to bare your chest.

“Fuck,” he muttered, mouth moving to your neck. “Missed these tits all day.”

You gasped when he sucked one into his mouth, warm and wet and rough with stubble.

“Joel,shit,”

He pushed you down onto the couch, pulling your pants and panties off in one motion.

“Spread ‘em,” he ordered.

You obeyed, legs falling open, cheeks flushed.

He knelt between your thighs like a man starved. “Look at this pretty little pussy,” he growled. “Drippin’ already.”

“Joel, please,”

“Beggin’ already?” he smirked. “Ain’t even touched you yet.”

You whimpered when his tongue finally slid through your folds. He groaned like a man who’d found water in the desert, mouth latching onto your clit and sucking hard. His tongue was filthy,slow, teasing swirls one second, then fast flicks the next.

“Oh my God,” you cried, fisting the couch cushion. “Right there,fuck,”

He slipped two fingers inside, curling just right, hitting that spot that made your vision blur. Your hips bucked, but Joel held you down with one strong arm across your stomach.

“You’re gonna come for me, baby,” he rasped against your cunt. “You’re gonna soak my fuckin’ beard.”

You were close. So close.

“Joel,fuck,I’m,”

You cried out, coming hard, thighs shaking around his head as he moaned into you, drinking it all up.

But he didn’t stop.

He kept going.

“Wait,Joel,too much,!”

He growled, fingers still working you, tongue relentless. “Said I’d have you cryin’, didn’t I?”

You gasped, hips twisting, tears welling in your eyes from the intensity. Your second orgasm ripped through you, sharp and overwhelming. Your legs gave out.

Only then did Joel pull away, wiping his soaked mouth with the back of his hand. “Told you,” he grinned. “Messy girl.”

You blinked up at him, still dazed. “That was... fuck.”

Joel stood, unbuckling his belt. “Ain’t done with you yet.”

You watched, lips parted, as he shoved his jeans and boxers down. His cock was thick, hard, leaking.

You reached for him, wrapping your hand around the base.

“Look at you,” Joel groaned. “So greedy.”

You stroked him slowly, loving how his breath caught.

“I want you inside me,” you said, voice hoarse.

He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look him in the eye. “Then get on your knees on the couch. Face down.”

You scrambled into position, gripping the back of the couch. Joel moved behind you, dragging his cock through your slick folds, teasing.

“You want it rough, baby?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“I want you to fuck me rough, Joel,” you moaned. “Use me.”

That was all he needed.

He slammed into you in one deep thrust, and you screamed.

“Fuck,”

He started pounding you hard and fast, holding your hips like he owned you. Your moans filled the room, each thrust punching a breath from your lungs.

“You feel that?” he grunted. “That’s me stretchin’ this pretty pussy open.”

“God, yes,so big,”

“Tell me who you belong to.”

“You, Joel,” you gasped. “I’m yours,all yours,”

“That’s right,” he growled. “No one else fucks you like this. No one else gets this tight, wet cunt.”

You were falling apart. He reached around to rub your clit, adding that unbearable pressure.

“Gonna come again, darlin’?”

“Y-yes,”

“Good. Come all over this dick. Let me feel it.”

You came with a cry, walls clenching around him, and Joel cursed, hips stuttering.

He pulled out and flipped you over, kneeling on the couch, spreading your thighs wide again.

“Not done,” he muttered, rubbing the head of his cock through your soaked folds. “Gonna fill you up.”

“Yes,please,”

He slammed back in, deeper this time, angling to hit every sweet spot inside you. Your body arched, mouth open in a silent scream.

His thrusts got rougher. Sloppier. He was close.

“Gonna come inside you, baby,” he grunted. “Gonna fill this pussy full.”

“Yes,do it,fill me up,”

With a deep groan, Joel slammed in one last time and came, hips jerking as he spilled inside you. You felt the warmth of it, dripping out around his cock.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. Just panting. Sweaty. Fucked out.

Joel pulled out gently and looked down, grinning. “God damn, look at that mess.”

You laughed breathlessly. “Told you I was admiring the view.”

He chuckled and leaned down to kiss you softly, hand cradling your cheek.

“Love you, darlin’,” he murmured against your lips.

You smiled. “I love you too.”

“And don’t be surprised when I bend you over the kitchen counter tomorrow.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it.”

[saturnyo]

Before You Go

Chapter 1- Something Borrowed, Something Burned

Pairing: dbfJoel x OC(Delilah)

Warnings: Emotional Cheating, Angst, Age Gap, foul language, Suppressed Emotions, Unhealthy Relationship Dynamics, Minor injury, mentions of possible Infidelity,

Summary: It's a month before my wedding, and I have to return to my hometown to finalize the details before the big day. But then i see the man I've been trying to forget for years. Joel Miller, my dad's best friend. He's always been off limits. But now, with too many late nights and lingering looks, the line starts to blur.

Word Count: lil over 3.2k

Song Choice: Eyes Closed- Halsey

**I just discovered this song and I thought this goes perfectly with the vibe of this fic**

In one month, I'll join my fiancé in holy matrimony, the happiest event of my life.

Amid the chaos of wedding planning and the constant flow of congratulations, I stand beside him, managing only a small, tight smile while Dustin, my husband-to-be, is head over heels in love.

It’s not that I don’t love him. I feel something for him, but “madly in love” isn’t exactly how I would describe my feelings.

Maybe contentment? But nothing more.

One specific memory slowly erodes into my mind as a bit of guilt settles in my heart while I watch Dustin deep in conversation with my dad. He talks about the effort he put into the proposal and the struggle he went through to keep it a secret. Marriage had come up in discussion before, which I expected after being in a relationship for two years, and the idea of it was nice. But in that moment, seeing the way Dustin’s eyes lit up as he spoke about the wedding made me realize something.

That night, when he was down on one knee, explaining how much he loved me and wanted to spend the rest of his life with me, I realized I had never truly envisioned my life, my future, with him.

Needing a moment to clear my head before dinner started, I stepped outside onto the front porch, taking in the cool autumn air. The memory that slowly came to the surface was practically screaming at full volume as I remembered the feeling of another man's lips on mine, sending a persistent ache between my legs. Joel Miller, my dad’s best friend, the man who was a constant in my childhood. He worked alongside my dad at their construction company while being co-CEO.

He would make me lunches when my dad forgot, caught up in his work, and he would drive me and Sarah to the mall on Saturdays. The age difference between us was 20 years. Completely off-limits. That crush I used to have was just some silly childhood fantasy, and the kiss we shared, the feeling of his lips molding perfectly against mine, was just a fluke, a moment of alcohol helping me make bad decisions.

It was my 25th birthday, a final sendoff my dad wanted to throw for me before I moved to the big city. During the night, Joel seemed to get closer to me, placing light touches on my arm and whispering in my ear. His voice cut through my drunken haze, making every nerve ending light on fire. Stepping away from the party, I ran into him. I’m not sure how it happened, but he started kissing me, pushing my body against the wall as he found his hands beneath my dress. The magic of the moment came to a grinding halt once we both realized where we were, the sound of footsteps coming toward us in the hallway.

Since then, we avoided each other like the plague. The kiss, despite how it made me feel, was a mistake, and it seemed Joel thought that as well. His cold gaze stared at me whenever I came home for the holidays.

Holding the wedding in my hometown was for family reasons, but deep down, I knew Joel’s presence played a huge part. Shaking away those thoughts, I thought about how I insisted I would not hold the wedding in the summer, no matter how much Dustin tried to convince me otherwise. A Texas summer would be brutal on my makeup and would make me uncomfortable in my wedding dress. Finally, he caved, and the ceremony was set for October 18.

My relationship with Dustin was calm and steady, a huge contrast to my past relationships. But this was the life I wanted: stable, predictable, and simple. Not every couple needs to have that earth-shattering love that creates sparks every time they kiss; that kind of passion is for books and movies. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing, which I ignored, chalking it up to pre-wedding jitters.

“It’s normal,” I thought to myself. Not every day needs to be exciting. Some can be boring, and that doesn’t mean the relationship should end. But that nagging feeling deep in my gut just wouldn’t leave.

The hard concrete scratched against my thighs, pulling my attention from the storm of doubt and uncertainty raging in my mind. The autumn breeze tousled my hair as night fell, biting cold and sending a shiver down my spine. My thin jacket offered little protection, leaving goosebumps all over my body. The clouds settled along the skyline as dusk blended hues of orange and red, offering a sense of familiarity amidst my inner confusion.

Despite everything I was feeling, home was the one place where I could find peace.

Or so I thought.

My tirade of emotions was cut short by my dad calling for me from the kitchen.

“Delilah! Dinner is ready!”

A deep sigh fell from my mouth as I got up, putting on a fake, award-winning practiced smile as I walked inside. The tune of some old 2000s song I used to listen to played from the speakers my fiancé set up earlier that day. I walked up to him, placing a kiss on his cheek before he pulled out my chair for me.

He was always a gentleman, opening my car door for me whether I was driving or just a passenger, getting me things at the store that he’d say reminded him of me, and just a bunch of other stuff that felt like it fell out of my typical romance novel.

His tastes and mine were vastly different, though. I wanted someone dominant, someone to take control. That was my preference. But Dustin… he was like milk toast. Extremely vanilla. The sex was lackluster.

As I took in the mountain of food on the table, settling in before the chime of the doorbell rang out throughout the house.

“Oh wait, I almost forgot,” my dad mentioned. He rushed over to the front door, swinging it open to reveal someone I certainly did not expect to see.

Joel Miller…

The man who had been haunting my subconscious since I was a teenager.

I thought I escaped him, and the way his brown eyes made me melt into a puddle. The way his lips parted slightly, taking in my full figure and narrowing in on the 6-carat engagement ring on my left hand. His jaw clenched in a way that I wouldn’t have noticed if I weren’t really looking at him. His micro-expressions showcased the first two steps of the five stages of grief, and I say that because Joel was never really a man for bargaining, so that negated the third, fourth, and fifth step.

I was angry.

He didn’t necessarily do anything, but him being here in front of me felt as though I was put back at square one. Suddenly, Sarah threw herself into my arms, giving me a huge hug. A part of me was glad she was there to at least take away some of the tension.

“Delilah, I've missed you so much,” Sarah said excitedly. “And that ring of yours is gorgeous. Your fiancé chose well.”

“Of course. I'll always know what my future wife loves,” Dustin answered. His grip on my waist grew tighter, staking some sort of weird claim on me. It rubbed me the wrong way, even though I knew he was trying to be sweet. Sometimes he had this strange notion of saying “mine” or “all mine.” I just didn’t like it when it came out of his mouth.

Joel’s gaze grew even more hardened at Dustin’s words. I’m not sure why, he has no right to be upset with me or Dustin.

“Come eat, everybody,” my dad waved us all back over to the table. It was filled to the brim with enough food to feed an army.

I sat down beside Dustin and Sarah as they started to talk about the proposal and the upcoming wedding. I needed to distract myself, so I began to stuff my face full of the delicious food my dad made. It did provide me with some comfort. Words flew around about the flowers that I chose and the theme of the wedding and reception. My dress and his tux and how his tie matched me.

I kept nodding along, seemingly engaged in the conversation, but my eyes kept drifting to Joel, also deep in conversation, but with my dad, talking about some random construction job that’s coming up where the client is demanding. Despite not knowing anything about it, I couldn’t help but tune in to their conversation. The way his deep voice rumbled as if he was grinding his voice through clenched teeth. Every word, every syllable feels deliberate, like he’s not letting anything slip.

It was low and quiet. I never remembered him raising his voice, ever. But there’s a bite in the way he folds his hands, clenching his knuckles almost turning them white. If he clenched them any tighter, I think he would break them. The drawl in his voice is dragged out on certain syllables, as if he’s buying time to rein himself in from jumping across the table and attacking my fiancé. I felt bold in the way my hand gripped Dustin’s shoulder, looking him in the eye and daring Joel to do something. A part of me actually wanted him to do it so this whole charade would be over.

But there’s one frustrating thing about him. Despite his being quick to anger, he has an incredible amount of patience.

The loud clinking of forks and spoons against plates cuts through the tension that everyone is seemingly blind to. I finally got a moment to breathe as I take the dishes into the kitchen. When dinner was over, I practically jumped at the chance to get as far away as I could from Joel. Being near him caused a lot of feelings that I just did not want to deal with. Dustin did notice something weird, but of course, he can’t see past the fog of our wedding looming over our heads.

He figured it was because Joel was there when I was growing up, so alongside my dad, he took up some sort of fatherly role as well.

Thank fuck my husband-to-be can be pretty dim sometimes. If he truly had half a mind, he would notice the way my eyes couldn’t quite meet his gaze and the way I clenched my legs, trying to ignore how wet I was.

The beautiful dusk creates a beautiful mirage of colors as the night settles down, and the lights make the city come alive. It looked like someone had spilled wine and fire across the horizon.

I felt like it was mocking me on how perfect it was. a huge contrast to the broken jumbled mess i was

The dishes were stacked in the sink in front of me as the steam rose and fogged up the window. I braced myself against the counter, pressing my palms into the linoleum. My chest felt tight. I could still hear Joel’s voice coming from the dining room. It was as smooth as bourbon and extremely dangerous. Needing something to distract myself, I started rinsing, scrubbing the dishes harder than necessary. My hands felt raw as the sponge dried out my skin.

Like a broken record, the way Joel said my name kept replaying in my head, deep and slow. He only said it just once, but the way he did made me want to punch something. Or kiss. Honestly, I'm not really sure.

And that confused me more than anything.

Sarah had left just a few minutes before, but Joel stayed behind. Casually and effortlessly, he made an excuse to stay, pretending it was only because he needed to talk to my dad. I'm not sure what his goal is here, but I think it’s just to piss me off.

I didn’t realize the way I was gripping a knife I was cleaning until blood started to drip from my hand. The stinging pain was a welcoming distraction, even though it was brief. Remembering my dad had a first aid kit somewhere in the kitchen due to his having accidents and accidentally cutting himself by using the knife the wrong way.

Like father, like daughter.

The blood drips onto the counter and into the grooves of the once pure white countertop. The disinfectant stings like a bitch against the cut, making me wish I was anywhere but here. This was supposed to be the happiest time of my life, but here I was in the kitchen of my childhood home, a gash on my hand, with my fiancé, and thinking about the 56-year-old man in my living room bending me over this countertop.

I’m such a terrible person for thinking that.

I hear footsteps against the floor, expecting it to be the two of the three I would rather see, but the universe threw up a middle finger and sent Joel my way. His stature is imposing no matter what room he walks into. It’s like he demands his presence to be known.

“Are you okay, Delilah?” Joel asks. His concern rattles me as if ten minutes before he wasn’t just staring me down like I was the most delicious thing at the dining table.

I gulp slightly, shaking off the feeling of want and need. “Yeah… I just somehow accidentally cut myself while washing dishes.”

“Like father, like daughter,” he says. A small chuckle comes deep from Joel’s chest. I never really heard him laugh all that much growing up while hanging out with Sarah after school or on weekends. He was the strong, silent type, always brooding in a corner.

“Yeah, it seems like it is.”

Tension settled back into the air, stifling and heady, making me feel uncomfortable. There was a question demanding to be answered, and neither one of us wanted to be the one who had to.

“So you’re getting married soon…” Joel muttered. He asked it like a question, but deep down, it was a matter of disdain. He never seemed to be the type of man to stoop so low as to play with my mind and linger beside me, dripping uncertainty, infecting me with the thought of his lips on mine. Bringing me back to that night about five years ago.

“You haven’t changed much,” he said

I clenched my jaw, ignoring the sudden urge to just throw myself in the middle of the road. I would rather get hit by a car than be standing here with him in the kitchen. Joel carefully steps forward, taking my hand in his as he puts the final bit of disinfectant on my cut. His fingers dance across my wrist as i notice his own hands shaking, his touch sends shockwaves and overloading my nerves. It’s unusual. Such a feeling I haven’t experienced in years. The very look in his eyes sends me into orbit and into the heavens, stealing my breath and giving me his instead.

He places a band-aid on my hand and gives it a light kiss. A sweet gesture that not even my future husband would do.

What the hell was I doing?

Backing up from Joel, creating as much space as I possibly could, I pretended there was some sort of invisible barrier between us, acting as if he’s on the other side of the world. Far away from me.

“Don’t…” my voice trembled, unable to hide my frustration. “You can’t do this. Not now.”

“Darlin’, I… that kiss…” Joel hesitated. “That kiss felt right, but your dad… he would kill me.”

“I spent the last five years in torment because of you. And now that I’m getting married, you’re here and for what? Your big ego couldn’t handle it?”

“Delilah, that is not—look, that guy is not right for you. I can see it plain as day.”

“That guy is Dustin, and he will be my husband. And what do you know about what’s right for me? The man who kisses someone and then runs away like they’re some shy teenager?”

Joel’s face fills with guilt and shame. He looks like someone who’s about to confess a sin and ask for repentance. I could tell it was gnawing away at him, stripping him down to sinew and remorse.

Dustin’s voice cuts through the remaining bit of sanity I had left.

“Delilah… are you okay in there?” Dustin asked.

“Yes, honey, I’m almost done with the dishes,” I replied.

I finally put away the first aid kit as I hear Joel shuffle behind me, leaving the kitchen, hopefully to leave and go home. This month is going to be like when I was a kid, being dragged to church on Sundays. Long and drawn out.

The rest of the night was uneventful. After I finished the dishes and Joel finally went home, my dad decided to go to bed. Wishing us goodnight, he headed upstairs, leaving me and Dustin alone. I kind of wished that he wasn’t here, as terrible as that may sound. I felt overstimulated, and I didn’t want him to be all over me. His touch wasn’t the one I wanted. He’s downstairs while I’m up in our room, my childhood bedroom, trying to sort out the extremely complicated situation that I have somehow put myself in.

After all these years, Joel still ignited a fire that pooled in my lower belly. I’m not sure what I did in a past life, but I was being given torture and punishment like how Prometheus was punished after stealing fire for the humans. Never-ending, rib-sticking pain.

A hot shower did nothing to soothe my aches and pains of being rigid and stone-faced all night. Hopefully, some sleep will fix it. I laid in my bed, the mattress molding into my frame, giving some relief.

The stick-on stars I put on the roof glare at me as I start to nod off, my eyes growing heavy with drowsiness. I got them when I was about eight. It was when I was really into outer space and everything in between. Begged my dad for weeks to let me, until he finally gave up. Him and Joel put them up one weekend, and they’ve been there since. Everywhere I look is a constant damn reminder of the southern drawl that reminds me of a warm summer day here in Texas, sipping on sweet tea while sitting on the porch.

The last thought I had before finally going to sleep was a pair of brown eyes instead of the usual blue ones, and rough, calloused hands instead of smooth and soft ones.

I am absolutely screwed.

[esotericverse]

Gibson Girl - Joel Miller x OC

Fic masterlist/summary here

Previous chapter

CW: DDDNE, Child abuse, eating disorders

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Chapter 2

The mid-morning sunshine glowed golden from the clear Nebraska sky, the warm rays beaming across Mary’s face as she lay sprawled across the porch swing of her parent’s home. Her back was propped against the armrest, the bite of the hard wood softened by a lacy pillow she brought out from the couch.

Her bare legs hung over the other armrest, swinging in tune to the country music drifting from a little radio that sat on the stool near the swing. She had bought it this summer, and only when her parents had both left for the day did she bring it out from under her bed.

Her nightgown rippled in the warm breeze, the lacy white fabric tickling her thighs. She took a bite of the peach she had taken from the fridge for breakfast. The sweet juice dripped down her forearm and she twisted it to catch the drop with her tongue.

Her legs swung over the armrest and her bare feet hit the porch planks as she stood up. It was a beautiful day, and she hated to retreat back inside. The birds were singing in harmony with Johnny Cash on the radio, and the air smelled like peaches and grass and the dwindling remnants of summer.

Alas, she reached for the radio, switching it off and grabbing it by the handle, turning to open the front door.

On the kitchen table she found a note in her mother’s elegant script that she must have missed on her initial trip out to the porch.

Mary,

I will have to stay late at work today, there is lots of extra planning to be done on account of the festival coming up. I left fifteen dollars for you to purchase your school supplies. No need for a backpack, you can use the one you already have. I expect you to go out and get them and be back before me and your father return. Take your bike. Don’t talk to strangers.

Mother

Sure enough, Mary found fifteen dollars stacked under where she had lifted the paper. She fisted them, leaving the note on the table.

Setting the mini radio on the table, she tossed her peach pit in the trash can and padded over to the fridge, swinging the red door open. The cold wafted around her, making her shiver in her thin nightgown.

She reached for the bottle of milk, leaving the door open as she pulled a glass down from the cabinet above the counter. She poured milk into the cup and returned the bottle to its shelf, slamming the door shut. She gathered her things and made her way up the stairs to her room.

Just as Mary suspected, her room had been throughly straightened by Margaret earlier in the morning. Mary had awoken with the sun and had retuned from her bath to find her floor clear, clothes folded neatly, and duffle bags returned where they usually sat unused in the hall closet.

Less than 24 hours and her space had already been violated. She knew it was stupid. It was just stuff, just a room. But it felt deeper than that. Every part of her was under constant violation at the hands of her parents. Her body, her things, her thoughts and emotions. She just wanted some space. Some peace. To be able to feel like she could breathe without fear of being slapped or insulted.

Thankfully, she knew her parents would be at the church late today, engulfed in fall festival planning. The fall festival was Wallow’s biggest event of the year. Her mother’s job as head of the town events committee kept her extra busy this time of year. The actual festival was over a month away in September, but the buzz of excitement tended to begin right after the Fourth of July.

That’s how the residents of Wallows lived, ambling from one exciting event to another, with nothing but mundaneness to fill the months in between. As silly as it was, the festivals gave the town a reminder of why life was worth living. The few-and-far-between highs of excitement were like life rafts, and the residents of Wallows clung to them.

With all of the extra time on Mary’s hands, she was planning a visit to the house. Only for a little bit, she couldn’t afford to stay away for long periods of time. It had been hard enough to explain her overnight absence the last time she had gone at the beginning of summer.

When she returned in the morning to her furious parents she had mumbled something about it getting too dark and her having to stop at Mrs. Grant’s on her way home from the library. Of course they didn’t believe her, and of course her father had beaten her, re-opening the wounds she had mended only the night before. But when they returned from inquiring Mrs. Grant about it, she had been greeted with reluctant apologies and a bottle of pain reliever. Mrs. Grant never brought it up.

Mary drained the last of her glass of milk and set it on the dresser, checking the clock nearby. The roman numerals indicated that it was just past ten in the morning. Perfect.

She rummaged through her newly organized drawers until she had settled on an acceptable outfit: a pair of overalls that cutoff at her mid-thigh, a white top that puffed at the sleeves, and a little pair of ruffled socks.

She slipped off her nightgown and replaced it with the blouse, slinging the overalls over top and fastening them. She stumbled a little as she pulled the socks over her feet. Peering into the mirror, she grabbed her crucifix off of the jewelry tray near to the clock. She strung it over her neck and slipped pearl studs into her ears, turning her head and ruffling her hair.

In the bathroom down the hall she smoothed a serum over her hair and sprayed perfume over herself, the sweet vanilla scent filling the air and clinging to her hair and clothes. She swiped mascara over her lashes and applied pink lip balm to her cracked lips. Finally satisfied, she turned back to her room to grab her bag.

Out in the sun, she dragged her bike from under the empty carport at the side of her house. For a yard and house so large, she always wondered why they didn’t have a garage. She slung her bag into the basket and pushed off, feet landing on the pedals.

Before she had stepped out and locked the door she had pulled a pair of brown Mary-Jane shoes over her socks. They had been a welcome-to-Kentucky present from her Nana and, being the creature of habit that she was, she wore them almost every day.

When she reached the Jackson-Hutton intersection she turned right this time, heading straight to town. As she rode along, friendly faces waved at her as they mowed their lawns and walked their dogs and smoked on their porches. She always smiled back, lifting a hand off her handlebars to wave back. The neighborhoods and homes facing the roads grew in number and density as she reached the next intersection.

On the corner of where Hutton Street intersected with Main Street sat the school complex. Wallows High stood largest in the center, while the middle and elementary buildings lay on each side. The three large buildings were connected by walkways and courtyards and advertised by a large wooden sign near the street. A small playground was fenced off by the elementary school. The complex was huge, and it backed up into the woods behind it, which had been partially cleared to make room.

Mary sighed as she watched workers fixing the gutters of the high school. In just a week she would be in there, starting her first day with kids who had been attending these schools together since kindergarten. She was the only homeschooled kid in Wallows, and it was fucking embarrassing. She turned away, shaking her head. She had seven days until next Monday, and she planned on making the most of them.

She pedaled closer to the intersection, turning left down Main Street. Straight to the heart of town. She didn’t even know where to go to buy school supplies. Her mother had always provided pencils and scissors and glue for their kitchen table lessons. She figured she would try the crafts section of the Hinky Dinky.

She rode through the center of town, past the town hall and the expansive green that was considered the heart of Wallows. The grass rippled in the breeze, littered with little patches of flowers. This was where every festival, gathering, and picnic took place. It was one of the few places in Wallows that always felt full of life, even on an early Monday morning like this one.

Mothers sat picnicking with their small children on spread-out quilts, and a few of the older kids ran around chasing a kite high above them. An old couple sat on a bench feeding the birds. The Johnsons, Mary thought their name was. They were nice, she often saw them at church.

The shops and restaurants along the sidewalk that crescent-mooned the green were beginning to awaken, with signs flipping from Sorry, Closed to Open! and doors being propped open by apron-clad owners.

The scene was worthy of a postcard.

Gilded cage, indeed.

Mary turned and steered down a smaller road in between two rows of buildings across the street from the green. The little road led to her to the Hinky Dinky parking lot, which was littered with only a few cars.

She leaned her bike against the side of one of the brick columns and traipsed through the automatic doors.

“Morning, Mary!” A man from behind the counter greeted her.

It was Earl, a kind old man who had run the grocery store since long before Mary was born. He could come across as kind of creepy sometimes, but Mary knew he meant well.

She smiled back at him, “Good morning, Earl!”

“Anything in particular you’re lookin for?”

“Some school supplies” She responded, bracing for the coming conversation.

“Ah, excitin!” Earl exclaimed.

“You’re gettin awfully big, what grade you goin into?”

“My senior year”

Earl nodded, pointing to the back.

“Well, try your hand in the office supplies. Don’t know if we got exactly what you need, but you’re welcome to take a look.”

“Thanks, Earl.” Mary responded, turning from the checkout counter to slip between the aisles.

In the back of the store, a small rack of craft and office supplies stood in the middle of the large back aisle of meat and dairy fridges.

There wasn’t much to choose from. She grabbed a pack of pencils, some erasers, and a pen. She bent down and reached for a cellophane-bound stack of ruled paper. She wasn’t sure what else she might need. Maybe a calculator, but she certainty wasn’t finding that here.

She took her measly findings back to Earl at the checkout counter, tuning out his droning at the thought of her next stop of the day.

“You want a bag?” He asked loudly, and her head snapped up.

She nodded, and he handed her a plastic sack filled with her supplies. She slipped her change into the bag and waved to him as he bid her farewell.

She glanced the clock on the wall before she exited the double doors, seeing that it was only noon. She had plenty of time. Her parents surely wouldn’t be home till after dinner.

She tied her plastic sack to the center of her handlebars and rode off, starting to sweat underneath the hot sun. It was getting really hot. A swim in the lake would feel incredible right about now.

As she passed back through Main Street, the town had fully awoken and was now bustling with activity. Well, actually it wasn’t really, but for Wallows it was definitely busier than usual. All of the families who had vacationed over the summer were slowly trickling back in, flooding the Main Street shops to re-stock their homes with necessities.

There were so many cars on the street that Mary had to retreat to the sidewalk to avoid getting hit. She weaved through pedestrians until she had turned back onto Hutton Street, where the traffic was considerably less heavy. Still, Mary was passed by a half a dozen cars heading towards town, and there was actually a backup at the stop sign intersection of Hutton Street and Celia Street, which led to the freeway. She had never seen cars lined up there before.

As the houses turned to fields and she could hear the birds sing again, a wave of peace washed over Mary, mingling with the cool country breeze cutting through the heat. She loved it out here. It was so tranquil, so quiet. It was like a little oasis that miraculously appeared to only her and nobody else.

The next fifteen minutes were filled with daydreaming and humming and contemplating whether to pull an apple out of her bag for lunch. No, she had already had a peach for breakfast. But she was so hungry. But her shorts were feeling a little tight, she couldn’t afford it. But she was soooo hungry.

The back and forth in her mind was abruptly cut off when the familiar rusty mailbox came into view. Her eyes came up to take in the house. What a sight for sore eyes. Her gaze swept the gables and windows, the roof and the yard, and what the fuck?

What. the. fuck.

No.

Mary couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

Right in the center of her yard, a big, ugly FOR SALE sign was planted into the grass. And to make it a hundred times worse, a red stripe baring the words SOLD was slapped diagonally across.

What was happening? Nobody else was even supposed to know about this place. It was hers, hidden away and waiting for her when she needed it. So why was there a big ugly flag planted right on the lawn, marking a territory that had long been claimed as her own? It wasn’t right.

She faintly heard her bike clatter to the ground as she ran over to the sign, her mind spinning. She ran a hand over it, trying to figure out the trick. It surely wasn’t real, some kind of optical illusion, or a trick of the light. But no, the sign remained, towering high as it mocked her. A flash of red caught her attention from out of the corner of her eye. She turned towards the driveway to find a large red truck parked in the dirt.

She couldn’t think straight. She felt tears burning in the corners of her eyes. She stumbled to the oak tree, using it as a brace to keep herself up. She sunk down to the ground, shutting her eyes and leaning her head back onto the wood. Her trembling hands sunk into the earth and clawed the dirt. The thought of someone else in her house, filling her rooms with their things.

Oh my god.

Her stuff.

Her clothes and supplies and CDs and pillows and books. Oh god, her books. Her stories. Where were they? Still in the house? Surely not.

The only thing keeping her sane, keeping her alive, was this house. The hours she spent here were what kept her going. It was her sanctuary, a little pocket of safety she had carved out and kept close to her heart. Where would she go? How would she fill her free time or get a few hours of quiet or read her books? This couldn’t be happening.

“Hey little girl! Get the fuck out of my yard!”

She was jolted from her misery by a gruff, deep voice shouting at her. Her eyes snapped towards the direction of the noise, landing on the porch. A stranger stood holding the front door open with one hand and a rifle in the other. She squinted, trying to make out who it was. She didn’t think she’d ever see them before. It was a man. A very large man. A scary man who looked like he was moments away from shooting her.

She stood up, suddenly nervous due to the way the man was holding the gun. Surely he wouldn’t actually shoot her. What the fuck was going on? This had to be some kind of joke.

As she stood in the yard that used to be hers but now apparently belonged to this man, she felt like a deer in the headlights. Like she had been caught. Caught doing what? Coming to her house? At this thought, all the fear in Mary’s veins turned to anger. It coursed through her veins and burned her insides.

She stalked across the grass and up the porch steps to stand in front of where the man still held the front door open. She looked up at him as he stepped forward, letting the door swing closed, keeping her out. The rifle still hung limp in his other hand.

“Who the fuck are you?” Mary questioned, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

The man huffed out something like a laugh, but the look in his eyes was far from humored.

“Why are you askin me that? The real question is who are you, and what are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere sittin in my yard like you own the place?”

Because I fucking do, Mary thought. But she didn’t, not anymore. And it made her want to sob.

Mary glared up at him, taking in his frame. He was huge. She was pretty tall, but he still towered over her. He was broad and strong, muscles rippling through his t-shirt.

He definitely had a face to match his frame. Rugged and weathered, with a hardened expression that sent a little shiver through Mary’s body. He was really handsome, but also the scariest person she had ever seen. She felt so indescribably small in front of him, shaking and barely holding back sobs but still trying to look intimidating. She probably looked fucking stupid, like a scared little girl. Which is what she was.

“I do own this place.”

What the fuck. Why did she say that? What was happening to her? She was so angry she couldn’t think straight, and apparently couldn’t talk, either. The urge to slap this man across his face was growing stronger by the second.

He chuckled again, pointing to the sign in the yard.

“Not what the sign says, little girl.”

Shame and embarrassment blushed across Mary’s face, making her skin burn and flush scarlet. All the fight within in her died and curled in on itself, like an animal of prey that knew it was caught. She looked down at her feet, unable to meet his eyes.

“Well, no that’s not what I meant . . . I mean, I used to own it. Like, I would come here, and I have a key and all my stuff is inside . . .”

She was rambling now. She couldn’t stop it. She felt tears streaming down her cheeks.

The man held up a hand in front of her face, bringing her pathetic babbling to a halt.

“Listen little girl, I don’t really care. I don’t care who you are or if you used to come here, but what I do care about is you handing me the key you apparently have to my house and runnin’ on home before your parents start worryin”

Mary was angry again. What right did he have to talk to her like this? Like she was some stupid child who had misbehaved.

“I’m not a little girl” she seethed. “My name is Mary.”

At this, the man stepped back slightly from where he had been crowding her. His face changed from demeaning to something a little more confused. Something flashed across his eyes, something dark, and Mary watched it spread across his features and settle there. He looked fucking terrifying.

His eyes searched her face for a few moments, and he looked so taken aback Mary almost asked him what was wrong. But after a few seconds he spoke again, his voice darker than before.

“Do you really have a key to my house?” he asked, and Mary was so petrified all she could do was nod.

“Where is it?”

“In my bike” She squeaked.

“Go get it.”

Mary scrambled down the steps and over to her bike, digging in her bag for the brass key that lay at the bottom. She hated the mean, angry man who was currently watching her trudge back to him from the porch. She despised him and she didn’t even know him. She didn’t even know his name, for God’s sake. She hated how scared he made her, and that he was the person she was being forced to resign her key to. She was practically fuming by the time she made her way back up the steps and reluctantly dropped her key into his waiting hand.

“Now get out of here. If I ever see you here again, little girl, I’ll shoot ya myself.”

From the way he was looking at her, Mary knew he meant it.

She glared at him with all the hatred swirling inside her, hoping he could feel it. After a few seconds, she turned around slowly and made her way back down to her bike. As she pedaled away down the road, she could feel his eyes watching her as she turned around the corner and out of sight.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

The next six days dragged out in front of Mary like a movie playing on a screen. She couldn’t feel, couldn’t think, couldn’t experience things the same way she did before. Before. Before her only escape and sense of self was yanked out from under her by that man. Just the thought of him sent shockwaves of hatred through Mary’s body. She hadn’t seen him since last Monday, and she hadn’t been back to the house out of fear of being fucking shot down.

The week had been an out-of-body experience, and Mary hadn’t felt like herself. She had come back from the house to her angry parents waiting at the kitchen table. Her encounter with the man had set Mary back a good bit of time, and it had been almost dark by the time she got home.

Turns out her parents had gotten home early, and they grilled her for almost an hour about being “a good steward of the time the Lord hath granted you”. Some preachy bullshit that barely made any sense and that Andrew would surely re-use for one of his sermons. Then Margaret had hit Mary across her palms with a ruler, and when that failed to produce any tears, Andrew had slapped her across the face with his Bible.

Whenever her parents had a bad day at work Mary expected that kind of thing. She was their punching bag. She knew it wasn’t actually about her, but that thought did very little to quell the pain that shot across her body or comfort her aching heart.

When she had made her way up the stairs to her room she found the milk glass she had forgotten to take down to the sink shattered across her floor. Margaret’s doing, surely. The little jagged pieces had latched onto the bottoms of Mary’s feet and caused blood to seep from her soles and ankles into the floorboards.

So now Mary stood, shifting uncomfortably in her shoes in the shadow of her mother as Margaret chatted with one of the insufferable church ladies. It was Sunday, and her father had just finished up an hour-long sermon to which Mary had paid absolutely no attention to. Just a few words caught her attention. “Good steward” and “being timely” had caused her to chuckle darkly. Called it.

The pain in her feet was bordering on unbearable, and the itchiness of the lace that trimmed her socks brushed and chafed the scratches on her ankles. Her blue Sunday-best dress was pinching her neck and armpits uncomfortably, and the ribbons in her braids were partially falling out. She fidgeted with them as she half listened to a woman behind her whisper about her maybe-cheating husband.

She was hot - the small chapel hadn’t had working air conditioning for over five years - and the droning of her mother’s grating voice nearby was driving her crazy. As she looked around the small room, a conversation between a few men caught her attention. She shifted slightly in order to hear better.

“Yeah, yeah, I heard that too”

“So he’s back?”

“Henry, keep your damn voice down! Remember where we are”

“Ah, that’s right. I wonder if he’s heard yet.”

“Probably. That old fucker always knew how to make an entrance.”

A third man entered the circle, and Mary had to lean even further to hear his hushed words.

“Y’all talkin’ about Joel?”

“Chester!” They both whisper-shouted.

“Keep your voice down!”

“Sorry” Chester whispered, lowering his tone even further.

Mary took a few steps in their direction, pretending to be interested in something out the window.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Old Joel Miller, back in Wallows.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s wild. Hardly believed it myself”

“Heard he moved into the old house. Yeah, yeah, the big one out in the fields. Haven’t thought about that place in damn near 20 twenty years.”

Mary could barely hear herself suck in a gasp over the blood roaring through her ears. She stumbled forward, reaching her hand out against the windowsill to steady herself. Surely she was hearing wrong. They were talking about her house. Well Joel’s house, apparently. Was that the name of the man she met? It had to be.

Joel Miller.

“Ya alright, sweetheart?”, she heard coming from her left.

She turned her head to where the three graying men stood huddled together, looking at her with concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She mumbled. “Just . . . hot.”

The one in the middle nodded slowly.

“Well. . . alright then.” he said, and they turned back to their conversation.

Her head snapped back up to the window as something red and familiar streaked across her peripheral. Her eyes focused on what was now moving fast away from the church. A truck. A red truck. The same truck she had seen in the driveway of the house. Was the man - Joel - here? She hadn’t seen him in the service. Why else would he be here? Why had he not come in?

She turned away from the window and dashed towards the door, ignoring her mother’s stern call. She pushed open the heavy chapel doors and stumbled down the steps, racing through the parking lot after the truck.

Her chest heaved as she watched it pull away, too far gone now for her to catch up. As the red blur grew smaller down the road, only one thing echoed through her head. A mantra of her bitterness, her hatred, and her pain.

A name.

Joel. Joel. Joel. Joel.

[joelcrush]

Curtains Wide Open

pairing: joel miller x f!reader warnings: no outbreak, voyeurism, dubcon-adjacent dynamics, masturbation, explicit sex, dominant behavior, power imbalance (landlord/tenant), obsession, spanking, unprotected sex, breeding language, MDNI word count - 3.2k summary - You’ve never met your landlord. But sometimes you feel watched. You start leaving your curtains open. Dressing slower. Touching yourself louder. Then one night, Joel shows up. He’s been watching all along. And now he wants a turn.

---

You never met your landlord in person when you moved in.

Just signed the lease through a property manager, dropped your deposit into some barely-updated portal, and got your keys in an envelope taped to the inside of your mailbox. No walkthrough. No welcome packet. No real name.

The building was older. Quiet. A little worn. A little too cheap for this part of town. But the hardwood floors were real, and the windows let in a lot of light. You told yourself not to question it.

You didn’t know that Joel Miller read your application three times before approving it.

Didn’t know he called your old landlord, then your boss, then your emergency contact—just to hear how they spoke about you. Didn’t know he watched your move-in through the hallway security feed. Didn’t know he started memorizing your schedule the moment you shut the door for the first time.

He never meant to get involved. Not at first. He just liked how you looked. Headphones in. Skirt too short. One hand wrapped around an iced coffee, the other tugging your apartment key free from your tote bag. You didn’t look at the camera when you walked past it, but you smiled at your phone. He paused the footage and watched it again. And again.

He told himself it was curiosity. A tenant check-in. Routine.

But curiosity became interest. Interest became obsession. And obsession meant he started making exceptions.

Like showing up when you submitted a maintenance request—even though he had a guy for that. Like walking past your apartment door every night at exactly 10:03, just to hear if your TV was still on. Like letting himself in when you weren’t home, tightening your loose bathroom knob before you even noticed it was turning wrong.

He never took anything. Never made a mess. He just needed to be close. That’s what he told himself. Until the night he let himself in just to stand in your bedroom doorway.

He didn’t turn on the light. Didn’t move past the threshold. He just stood there. Watched your sheets stir in the breeze from the open window. Imagined your body beneath them. Imagined crawling in. Imagined how warm you’d feel pressed up against his chest, whimpering his name into the pillow, not scared—grateful.

That was the night he installed the first camera. Just one. Hidden inside the old smoke detector in the corner of your living room. He only wanted to check in sometimes. Just a little. Just enough. And he didn’t think you’d ever notice.

---

You were dusting. Standing on a stool in a cropped tee and your underwear, hair piled on your head, humming under your breath. And then you saw it. That tiny red flicker. The almost-invisible eye. You looked up at it, still for several long seconds. Then you climbed down from the stool, stood in the middle of the room—bare legs, bare thighs, nothing but soft light on your skin—

And smiled.

You didn’t say anything. Didn’t call the police. Didn’t even cover up.

You just walked to the window. Turned on the lamp. And pulled the curtains open.

That night, you stretched out on the couch like you knew he was watching. Tank top riding high. Panties clinging. You didn’t touch yourself. You didn’t have to. You let your legs fall apart slowly. Shifted your hips just slightly. Played with the hem of your shirt. Arched once when you yawned, and made sure your nipples pressed just right through the fabric. You looked directly at the corner of the room.

“Good night, Joel.”

---

He didn’t come that night. Not the next night, either. But your sink stopped dripping on its own. Your Amazon order—marked as delayed—showed up two days early. And the next rent invoice never came.

You left the curtains open every night. You didn’t stop performing. And he didn’t stop watching.

When he finally knocked, it was late. You opened the door in just your sleep shorts and a loose camisole, braless, warm from the way your body had been grinding quietly against your sheets just minutes before. Joel stood there. All six feet and change. Black shirt. Boots. Breath steady. He didn’t speak right away. Just looked at you. Then at your window. Then back at you.

“You left them open,” he said. “You been doing that for me?”

You didn’t answer.

He stepped inside. Closed the door. Locked it.

Then looked at you like you were the thing he’d been waiting to unwrap for months.

“You want to put on a show,” he said calmly, voice low. “Then show me. Curtains wide open.”

You moved slowly. Crossed the room, your thighs brushing, your breath shaky. You walked to the window and stood in front of it. He didn’t follow. You lifted your shirt. Let it fall. Your nipples tightened in the air, cool light catching on your skin. Then you looked over your shoulder.

“Are you going to touch me?”

Joel’s voice stayed flat.

“No.”

You blinked. Mouth parted.

“Then what—”

“You’re gonna do it yourself. That’s all you get tonight.”

You turned back to the window. Let your hand slide down your stomach, under your waistband. And he just watched.

No words. No breath. No movement.

He didn’t flinch when you whimpered. Didn’t speak when your thighs started to tremble. Didn’t say a word when you came with your forehead pressed to the glass and his name falling from your lips in a shudder. When you turned around, flushed and wet and panting—

He was already gone. The door left open an inch. The message clear. You want more? Ask for it.

---

You didn’t see him for three days. But the camera stayed on. You whispered his name every night. You got nothing in return. Until the fourth night, when there was a knock at 11:56 p.m.

You opened the door without hesitation—heart thudding, lips parted, soaked just from knowing he was on the other side—Joel stood there. Big. Still. Breathing slow. His eyes dragged down your body like they’d already been there. You didn’t speak. You didn’t have to.

“No more putting on a show unless I’m in the room.”

You didn’t say anything. You just stepped back—barefoot, braless, nearly trembling—your eyes locked on his as the door stayed wide open. Joel followed.

Slow. Calm.

Like he’s not walking into your apartment for the first time since you caught him. Like he’s been here all along.

The door clicked shut behind him. Locked. He set the key on your counter.

He’s not hiding it anymore. He never was.

“Bedroom,” he says.

Your body moved before your brain did. You led him down the hall—feeling his eyes on the sway of your hips, the hem of your shorts, the place where your thighs touched. You sat on the edge of your bed. You thought he’d come to you. But he didn’t. He just stood there. Watching. Like he always does.

“Take your clothes off.”

You reached for your shirt.

His voice sharpened—quiet, deadly.

“Slow.”

So you obeyed.

You lifted the tank top inch by inch. Your nipples hardened in the air. You heard his breath shift when they were exposed.

You stood to slide your shorts down. Stepped out of them. Left them pooled on the floor. You didn’t cover yourself. He didn’t move.

Then:

“Lie back.”

You crawled onto the bed. Laid there. Naked. Waiting.

He walked toward you—finally—tall and deliberate, shedding his jacket, then his shirt, slow as sin. His belt came off with a low scrape of leather. And when he pulled your knees apart, it wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t tender. It was inevitable.

Joel kneels between your thighs, one hand braced beside your head, the other sliding down between your legs, fingers slipping through the slick heat already waiting for him. You gasp at the contact. He smirks.

“Already wet?” “You been thinkin’ about this?”

He dips two fingers inside you, slow and deep. Crooks them just slightly until your hips lift, a needy whimper leaving your lips.

“Knew you’d be soaked for me.”

You arch into his touch, desperate.

“Joel, please—”

He pulls his fingers out and wipes them across your lower belly—marking you with it, like a warning. Then he leans down, voice hot against your ear.

“You don’t get to beg. Not yet.” “You invited me in. Now you take what I give you.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply. Just presses the thick head of his cock against your entrance, teasing you with shallow thrusts. You squirm, whimper, try to shift your hips forward—but his hands grip your thighs hard, holding you down. And then he sinks in—slow, deliberate, filling you inch by inch until you’re stretched wide and gasping.

“Jesus,” he mutters under his breath, voice strained. “Tight little pussy like this—and you were wasting it on your fingers?”

You cry out, back arching as he bottoms out. He stays there, deep inside you, grinding once just to feel how tight you clamp around him.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes meet his—dark, unblinking, possessive.

“I want you to remember what it looks like when someone fucks you right.”

Then he starts to move. Long, deep strokes that make the bed creak. His hand slides up your chest to grab your throat—not squeezing, just holding, guiding your gaze so you can’t look away from him.

“You like being watched?” “Good. Then watch me.”

He fucks you harder now, his hips snapping against yours, the wet slap of skin echoing around the room. Your hands grip the sheets, your mouth open and panting, the tension building fast.

“Joel—fuck—I’m—”

“You don’t come until I say.”

His hand moves from your throat to your mouth, thumb pressing between your lips. You suck it instinctively, your eyes fluttering.

“Good girl.”

His pace grows rougher, more punishing, every thrust hitting deep, knocking the breath out of you.

“Next time you wanna touch yourself in front of that camera,” he growls, “you call me first. Understand?”

You nod around his thumb, eyes rolling back as your body trembles beneath him.

“Say it.”

“Yes—Joel—yes, I’ll call you—”

“Damn right you will.”

He pulls his thumb free and presses your knees up toward your chest, fucking you deeper now, the angle brutal, relentless.

Your climax hits hard—a cry ripping from your throat as your whole body shakes. And Joel doesn’t stop. He keeps going, driving into you through your orgasm, chasing his own, groaning low and broken as his rhythm stutters.

“Gonna come inside you,” he grits, head dropping to your neck. “You’re gonna take all of it, yeah?”

You can’t speak—can only nod, sobbing with how full you already feel.

“Say it. Say it’s mine.”

“It’s yours—fuck—Joel, it’s yours—”

He buries himself one last time, grunts against your throat, and comes—deep and rough and full. You’re boneless beneath him, panting, your skin damp with sweat. He pulls out slowly, the loss making you whimper. His fingers slide between your thighs, spreading you open just enough to watch it drip out of you.

“Messy little thing,” he murmurs. “Better keep those curtains open. I wanna see this every night.”

He grabs your chin, makes you meet his gaze one more time.

“Next time,” he says, “you don’t wait so long to ask.”

He kisses your forehead.

Grabs his keys.

And walks out.

Like he’s coming back tomorrow.

Because he is.